St Kilda Blues (Charlie Berlin #3)(86)
‘Jesus, Charlie, if the bastard wasn’t dead already I’d f*cking kill him.’
‘Someone did it for you, Bob, but I don’t think it was someone who knew these pictures existed.’
Charlene was the oldest of the girls in the photographs and the only one with developed breasts and any sign of pubic hair. Berlin wondered if she had been used to lure the younger ones in, to make them feel it was okay. He recognised a couple of the others from the gaggle outside the recording studio but the rest were unknowns. Some were sitting, some standing, and a couple had attempted what he guessed were supposed to be sexy poses. In most of the shots, discarded clothing was piled up near the edge of the frame and Berlin thought that was the saddest part of the pictures. Stained seagrass matting and peeling wallpaper confirmed the location used for the photographs was Derek’s living room, right where they were standing.
‘Whoever killed Derek wanted to throw us off the scent but didn’t know about the nasty little hobby hidden away under his TV. If you were going to knock yourself off for being a kidnapper, torturer and murderer it doesn’t seem to make sense that you’d be shy about some snaps of a bunch of naked ten-and twelve-year-olds.’
‘You think Derek was just into taking pictures?’
Berlin didn’t know and he really didn’t want to know. He started packing the enlarger and the other items back into the trunk.
‘Suspended or not, I suppose we should impound this lot as evidence, just to stop the landlord from flogging it down the pub. I’ll hang on to the photographs, though.’
They hauled the trunk and its contents down to Roberts’ car but it was too big to fit in the boot. Berlin walked down to Fitzroy Street and found a phone. The constable who answered the phone at the St Kilda cop shop took down the address, repeated it and said they’d have a van round in five minutes.
Roberts was sitting on the Triumph’s front mudguard smoking when Berlin got back. He looked up at the sky then down at his wristwatch. ‘How long, you reckon? I can smell rain. You want a smoke? I know you’ve given up but I reckon a bloke could use one after seeing those pictures. Or a stiff drink.’
Roberts was right on both points but Berlin shook his head. ‘They said five minutes. Did you lock the front door of the flat?’
Roberts smiled. ‘You know what, I completely forgot. Must be all the stuff I have on my mind right now. But then I remembered and asked a passing druggie to pop up and do it for me. Told him not to pinch anything, though.’ He grinned. ‘Bloke looked like the honest type.’
Berlin ran through a checklist in his head. Hopefully they’d taken all they needed from Derek’s flat because it would almost certainly be picked clean well before the landlord got back.
‘Speaking of honest types, Bob, did you happen to see This Day Tonight on the ABC on Tuesday last week? They covered the press conference about the progress of the inquiry, you know the one, into police corruption.’
‘Missed it, I’m afraid, and I’m devastated. How is it progressing – three months now, is it? No doubt it will find we have a police force that is squeaky clean and the envy of Scotland Yard and the S?reté. That’s how these things usually go, right?’
‘Maybe, maybe not. But at the end of the report they had all the investigators and lawyers lined up for the cameras.’
‘That must have been a bit ugly for the press photographer boys, they’re not a handsome bunch down at the inquiry, I’ve heard. They reckon you can see better looking heads on ice down at the fish-mongers.’
‘Piss about if you like, but I’m being serious here. One of the lawyer types was hard to miss. Tall bugger, six-footer, maybe more, bit gangly and bald on top. Had a nose on him a feller could trip over if he wasn’t paying attention. Kind of bloke who’s a bit hard to miss, even at a distance.’
‘I’m sure his mother loves him, though, Charlie, big beak and all, and despite him being a lawyer, or whatever.’
‘I saw him again just recently, twice as it happens.’
‘That so? It’s a small world, Charlie.’
‘Not that small. The first time was when we stopped at that pub you were so anxious to get to on the way back from Melton – to meet that informant, remember? The fizz with no useful information. The lawyer bloke wandered into the pub a couple of minutes after you arrived and left a couple of minutes before you came back out. Funny that. Or shouldn’t I be laughing, Bob?’
Roberts flicked his cigarette butt into the gutter. ‘Just a coincidence, nothing to fret about. I’d put it right out of my mind if I was you.’
‘Can’t do that, Bob, not when people are talking about you maybe doing a stretch in Pentridge for being bent, being someone’s bagman.’
Roberts winked at Berlin. ‘It’s early days yet, nothing to fret about, like I said. I’ve got people keeping an eye on me, looking out for me if push comes to shove.’
‘These people happen to hang out in a terrace in Parkville?’
‘I told you before, Charlie. I’m a good copper, I’m going to be fine.’
‘Because you think good conquers evil, right is might? You really have to stop hanging around with those hippy uni students, mate. They’re giving you a rose-coloured view of the world, and where we are right now is pretty much just black and white, winners and losers.’