St Kilda Blues (Charlie Berlin #3)(68)
‘Why am I a suspect copper?’ Berlin regretted the words as soon as he said them.
A brief look of surprise flashed quickly across Sunderland’s face and his eyes started to swing towards the parked Triumph and then he stopped himself.
Exactly who was suspect here? Berlin wondered.
Roberts started the Triumph’s engine then leaned across the car to Berlin’s window.
‘Hey Warren, why don’t you do the world and me a great big favour and go and get rooted.’
Sunderland stepped back from the side of the car and smiled. ‘I’d like to quote you on that Bob but a lot of my readers are of a quite delicate disposition. Wouldn’t want them getting the vapours. Maybe I’ll see you in court.’
Berlin had barely closed his door when the Triumph accelerated away and he was slammed back in his seat. The passenger seat in the sports car was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the pilot’s seat in his bomber but at least in the Lancaster he had a safety harness. From next year seat belts would become compulsory in motor vehicles but right now from the way Roberts was driving next year seemed a very long way off.
When he looked in the passenger-side mirror Warren Sunderland was already a small and quickly receding figure. Bob Roberts was staring straight ahead and his hands were clenched white-knuckle tight on the steering wheel.
What the hell have I landed myself in? Berlin wondered.
THIRTY-TWO
After parking the Triumph in an empty lot behind the recording studio and the old stables they made their way round the side of the building. Roberts stopped and peered in through the dusty windows of the old lolly factory under the photo studio.
‘You know, we could rent this place and open our own disco, it’s big enough.’
‘One teenybopper not enough for you, Bob? Don’t have enough trouble in your life?’
It looked like Roberts had calmed down a little on the drive from Brighton to South Melbourne but Berlin had decided against pressing him on his relationship with Sunderland for the moment.
He glanced in through the window. Dust seemed to be covering everything, including some long metal tables which he guessed was where they had formed the candy. How exactly did they manage to get the sherbet inside sherbet bombs?
Upstairs in the photo studio, the receptionist was at her desk reading a copy of a fashion magazine. She was wearing a white silk blouse that appeared to be at least a size or two too small. The dog was gone from its place on the couch and the studio was quiet. The girl looked up, concern immediately showing on her face when she saw Berlin.
‘Golly, did you bump your head? That looks nasty. Was there a fight? I can get you some Mercurochrome and a bandage if you want.’
Berlin acknowledged her concern with a smile and a shake of his head. ‘Thanks, but it’s nothing. We’re just here to have another chat with Derek. Is he about?’
‘He’s not here, you missed him. The Beast was on location today, him and Derek, out early to catch the sunrise. They were shooting girls jumping on a trampoline.’
Roberts sat on the edge of the reception desk and smiled at the girl. ‘A trampoline?’
The girl smiled back. ‘Yeah, you know, those things you bounce on. It’s an ad for the newspapers, for pantyhose. You know how when you jump up in the air how your skirt keeps going up? These new pantyhose have underpants sewn right in so nothing rude shows. That’s pretty handy, eh?’
Roberts was intently studying the girl’s chest and the underpants comment got his attention. ‘Maybe we should track him down at this location and re-interview him there, Charlie, what do you say?’
‘Let’s keep our minds on Gudrun Scheiner, shall we?’ He turned back to the receptionist. ‘You said we missed Derek.’
‘Yair, about forty-five minutes ago. The shoot’s over already so the girls have stopped bouncing.’
The last part of her answer was directed towards Roberts, Berlin noticed. She was still smiling, leaning forward now and directing other things towards the younger detective.
Jesus wept, Berlin said to himself ‘Derek came back forty-five minutes ago?’
The girl nodded, not taking her eyes off Roberts. ‘He came back to drop off the camera gear and leave the trampoline film with our Tim to be developed and then he left.’
‘Thanks for your help. We might just wander down the back and have a word with Mr Egan then. You coming too, Bob?’
At the rear of the studio Roberts knocked on the darkroom door and waited. When Tim Egan finally opened the sliding door there was an overpowering smell of rotten eggs.
Roberts stepped back quickly. ‘Jesus, mate, what are you doing in there? It stinks to high heaven.’
Berlin could hear water running and the steady rumble of exhaust fans, but the fans weren’t having much effect on the odour. Egan was wearing a white dustcoat and had a handkerchief tied over his mouth and nose. His hands were in thick rubber gloves.
He pulled the handkerchief down so he could speak. ‘Sorry, it’s hydrogen sulphide from the sepia toner I was using.’ He took off the rubber gloves. ‘I suppose it does stink a bit, maybe I’m just used to it. Is there something I can help you with?’
Roberts was holding his folder in front of his face as if it would somehow block the smell. ‘We’ve got a few more questions about your friend Derek but do us a favour and shut that door first.’