St Kilda Blues (Charlie Berlin #3)(70)
Derek’s favourite pose was with the girls sitting on the ground with their legs wide apart. Rebecca always said that a photograph tells the viewer as much about the photographer as it does about the subject. Going by these images, Berlin judged Derek Jones was pretty much as uncomfortable in the studio as his subjects were.
‘There’s also this, Mr Berlin, and I really don’t know what to make of it.’
Egan handed him a magazine folded neatly in half
The magazine was in black and white and both the paper and the printing were high quality. The text in oriental characters meant nothing to Berlin but it was the images that made him suck in his breath. The girls were all Asian, with long black hair, and were either naked or wearing long robes that gaped open to reveal their nakedness. It was the ropes and gags that made Berlin hold his breath. Some of the girls were suspended from beams in what looked like attics, hanging limply, bound in almost elegant harnesses of artistically looped and knotted ropes tied around wrists and arms and ankles and waists.
Melinda Marquet had severe rope burns on her wrists, according to the coroner’s report and the post-mortem photographs, though Berlin recalled there was nothing elegant or artistic about them. His mouth was dry and a sudden light-headedness and buzzing in his ears reminded Berlin to breathe. Bob Roberts’ voice brought him back to reality.
‘It’s a Jap thing, Charlie.’
‘What?’
‘The business with the ropes. Some sort of kinky thing they get into over there. Been going on for years. It’s call Kinbaku I think, or some name like that.’ He smiled an uncomfortable smile. ‘You can find all sorts of funny stuff in the uni library if you’ve got time to kill. Weird buggers, the Japs, but you have to admit they do make a good transistor radio.’
Berlin folded the magazine and put it into the envelope along with the proofs and prints. ‘You don’t happen to know where Derek is right now, do you, Tim?’
Egan looked at his wristwatch. ‘Dunno, but he’s not working. Him and the Beast did a trampoline shoot first thing and I know the Beast had a lunchtime meeting at the Little Reata in the city with some advertising agency people. Those advertising people like to drink a lot so I’m pretty sure he won’t be back in until tomorrow. Derek said he had the rest of the day off when he dropped by with the film – thirty rolls, can you believe it? I’ll be here all night developing and proofing. I suppose Derek might be at home, since they had such an early start.’
‘You know where that is, where he lives?’
Egan shook his head. ‘Nope. But ask Bethany out the front, she should have his address in the Rolodex. I think he’s got a flat in St Kilda somewhere.’
‘Does he drive? Have a car?’
‘He’s got a nice little Ford Cortina. I wish I had a car.’
‘Bide your time, Tim,’ Roberts said. There might just be a Cortina on the second-hand market any day now.’
THIRTY-THREE
The two men sat down with plates of pasta at Leo’s Spaghetti Bar in St Kilda to discuss their strategy for the interview. Roberts had held back at their initial meeting with Derek Jones and he suggested he should go in hard from the start.
‘I’ll see if I can rattle him, Charlie. He’s a smug little bastard and not the smooth talker he thinks he is.’
Roberts paid for their food with a wink and a grin to the waitress. They drove round to Grey Street then turned into Burnett Street, where Roberts found a parking spot. The shabby block of flats was on a slight rise towards the Princes Street end and from the open second-floor walkway Berlin could just make out the water of Albert Park Lake across Fitzroy Street. Roberts knocked on the door, rattling the rippled-glass centre panel. Landlord needs to come round with some putty, Berlin said to himself. When Derek opened the front door it was obvious that the landlord hadn’t been round to this joint in a very long time.
Derek Jones was in his socks. He was wearing brown cord trousers and a South Melbourne football club team jumper. He was also wearing his lunch. By Berlin’s estimation, around one third of the Chiko Roll was in the hand in front of his face, another third in his gut and the rest on the front of his moth-eaten jumper.
Roberts leaned in close to his face. ‘Interrupt you scoffing your afternoon tea, did we, Derek? People are telling us you have been a very, very bad boy.’
Derek’s face went pale. It was a pretty standard copper’s opening gambit but Berlin knew that, coming from Bob Roberts with his twisted, scarred face, it would have quite an impact.
Roberts stepped forward and Derek took a step back, still holding the Chiko Roll up like he was about to take a bite.
‘Hide the bodies in the cellar downstairs, did you, Derek?’
‘But there’s no cellar in this building.’
Berlin already knew there was no cellar as they’d done a quick walk around the block of flats before climbing the stairs. It was Derek’s response he was interested in, and this time the look was one of confusion. Berlin’s hands bunched in his coat pockets. Bugger. But it was just wishful thinking that Derek would break down in tears and confess. They would have to do this the hard way.
Roberts pushed past Derek, making him drop his Chiko Roll, and Berlin followed him into the flat. Derek picked up the roll from the floor and wiped it with his hand. Berlin really hoped he wasn’t going to finish it off right then. If he wasn’t going to chuck it in the bin, could he at least wait until they left?