St Kilda Blues (17 page)

‘Come in, dear chaps, pull up a pew. Shall I have one of my girlies make us all a nice cup of tea?'

Berlin knew an interview was off to a bad start when the first words out of the interviewee's mouth made you want to punch them in the face. He put Lance Meuwissen at maybe twenty-five, but with his drawling speech pattern he sounded like a fifty-year-old polite society patriarch. Meuwissen had his desert boot–shod feet up on an old wooden desk and was leaning back in a captain's chair. Neatly pressed slacks and a white shirt with a paisley print cravat at the open neck finished off the outfit.

Berlin thought Meuwissen's long, mousy-brown hair made him look like one of his ‘girlies'. There were three females in the office, none over twenty, all slender with long, straight hair and all wearing a variation on the theme of peasant blouses in white cotton and floor-length, flower-patterned skirts. Berlin guessed Bob Roberts must have been in his element, since it was obvious none of the three were wearing bras. Berlin hadn't much cared one way or the other about what young girls chose to wear or not wear, but having a pretty teenage daughter had changed that.

The editorial offices of
GEAR
were located above a Greek cafe on Sydney Road, on the first floor of a run-down three-storey brick terrace. The place might have been a family home at one stage but now the entrance stairway at the side of the cafe was stacked with string-bound piles of the music newspaper. There were a number of second-hand furniture dealers located along Sydney Road and it looked like
GEAR
had taken advantage of that fact for their office furnishings. A large room at the top of the stairs was crammed with desks and tables in multiple shades of scratched and fading French polish and in various stages of collapsing under piles of paper and heavy IBM Selectric typewriters.

An artiscope copying camera was set against a back wall next to an alcove draped with a heavy black floor-length curtain. A printed sign pinned over the alcove read, ‘Darkroom – do not enter or all the dark leaks out!' Someone had added in bold marker pen, ‘This means you, Derek, you nasty little fucker!'

Yellow boxes of Kodak Tri-X Pan film were stacked on a mantelpiece next to three empty Jim Beam bourbon bottles and a small Bakelite radio which was tuned to 3XY. The room smelled of patchouli and sweat and hot wax. A girl at a tilted drafting table positioned near a window was pasting lines of type onto a layout. The tall, double-hung sash windows facing Sydney Road had no blinds so the already warm place must have been an oven in summer. Berlin's nose also picked up the aroma of hot fat and oregano from the cafe downstairs, and an underlying smell of marijuana.

He put the newspaper clipping down on the desk in front of Meuwissen.

‘We'll say no to the cup of tea if it's all the same to you, Mr Meuwissen, we're in a bit of a rush this morning. I need to know who took this photo so I can have a friendly chat with them. It's important, really important.'

He put the newspaper clipping down on the desk in front of Meuwissen. The desktop was strewn with photographs of rock bands, rumpled sheets of Letraset type, paste-up layouts and several open packets of Tally-Ho rolling papers. An overfull ashtray was spilling its contents into the mess. Amongst the ashes and filter-tipped cigarette butts there were the spit-stained, twisted, brownish ends of several joints, one still locked in the grasp of a roach holder made from a paperclip. Meuwissen's eyed flicked down to the ashtray and back up to Berlin's face. ‘And just so we're clear, Mr Meuwissen, we're not from the drug squad.'

Meuwissen smiled. ‘Always happy to cooperate with the police.' he picked up the clipping. ‘Not really my area but I'm sure Lauren can help us out. Lauren, darling, be a dear and come over and look at this, we need to know who took this snap. It's important.'

The girl at the drafting table straightened up and looked around. She was tall, very tall, maybe five ten or eleven, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Berlin could see in those blue eyes that she wasn't happy at being interrupted but she didn't say anything. As she crossed the room towards them, the sway of her breasts and the bulge of nipples against the white top confirmed her lack of a bra. The cotton blouse had a drawstring at the neck and some colourful flowers embroidered on the right sleeve. She stopped next to Meuwissen and leaned over the desk to study the clipping. Her blouse top gaped open and Berlin knew Roberts would really be enjoying this now.

‘The lovely Lauren here puts the paper together for us every week so she knows everything that's in it, don't you, lovey? She's a treasure. A photographic memory and a very photogenic figure, don't you think? I think she should do modelling. I'm sure she looks absolutely stunning in the nude, natural blondes always do. You are a natural blonde, aren't you, darling girl? Collar and cuffs match, as they say.'

Meuwissen put his hand on her backside and smiled at Berlin who felt his fist tighten as the urge to punch the man in the face came back. It must have been the morning spent out at the house in Melton that had set him off, he decided. He noticed a brief twitch in the girl's eye when Meuwissen's hand had touched her backside. She moved round to the side of the desk and towards the grubby windows.

‘Let me get a better look at this in the light.'

It was a nicely done move that extricated her from Meuwissen's grasp. The grime on the windows softened the light coming in and gave her blonde hair a sort of halo. It also made the thin cotton blouse almost transparent. She did have a nice body, and Berlin studied her face. Rebecca had taught him about the structure of the face as it related to the camera and this girl had good bones, as his wife would put it. He liked having the opportunity just to study a pretty face for a brief moment. Too much of his life was spent looking for a lie in the eyes of someone calculating just how much they could get away with and not get caught.

The girl handed him back the clipping. ‘Derek Jones shot this series at Opus a couple of weeks back. I used this image mainly because the girl on the right looked so happy. I can't help you with a name, since Derek is too bloody lazy to write anything down. Apart from their home addresses if they're extra good-looking, of course. He arranges to stop by later for private photo sessions, I've heard, and we don't get to see those photographs. Lucky us.'

‘Nasty little fucker, is he?'

Lauren smiled at Berlin. She really was a looker. He knew a lot of blokes would find it easy to misinterpret that smile. She was thinking he was a nice older gentleman, and with a sense of humour too. And not too uptight to say ‘fuck' out loud.

‘He's a smooth-talker, comes off as a nice enough bloke when you first meet him but let's just say I went out with him once and once was enough. My dad took me to see the professional wrestlers at Festival Hall a few times when I was a kid and Gorgeous George and Killer Kowalski had nothing on Derek. When we got into his car it was like being attacked by an octopus, one who didn't understand the word “no”.'

‘Do you know where we can contact him for a chat? Maybe someplace he might be right now.'

She wrote an address down on a notepad and tore the page off. ‘This is the studio where he works. He's there most days.'

Berlin handed the page to Roberts, who put it into his folder without taking his eyes off the girl.

Berlin extended his hand. ‘Thanks for your help, Lauren.'

The girl shook his hand and smiled. ‘Don't mention it. And when you track Derek down don't say I said hello.'

Berlin glanced at his watch then looked up and down the street. ‘See anywhere we can grab a pie or some fish and chips for lunch? Something fast, I don't want to waste time.'

Roberts indicated the cafe under the
GEAR
office. ‘What about Greek? I reckon we can be in and out in ten minutes, fifteen tops. Just as quick as fish and chips, and tastier.'

The cafe was dark after the brightness of the street and it took a minute for Berlin's eyes to adjust. The only other customers he could see were several elderly men playing dominos at a laminex-topped table towards the back. They looked around when the two men came in and then went back to playing and drinking black coffee out of tiny cups. The music from the jukebox was unusual and there were travel posters on the wall showing ancient temples. Some of the tattered and grease-stained posters looked to be almost as old as the temples.

The bloke behind the counter who took the orders was wearing a dirty apron over a dirty singlet. Berlin didn't have a clue about Greek food but Roberts appeared to know what it was all about, probably from hanging out with his girlfriend's uni mates. Roberts ordered two souvlakis with everything and promised Berlin he would enjoy the taste. Cubes of meat impaled on metal skewers went into a puddle of oil on the hotplate. They sizzled and the smell told Berlin it was lamb.

The two men drank icy lemon squash from cans and watched as the meal was prepared. Round flatbread was warmed on the grill next to the skewers of lamb then spread with a smear of white creamy paste. Berlin glanced over at Roberts.

‘It's called tzatziki, Charlie. Cucumber and yoghurt and garlic and stuff. It's nice.'

The tzatziki was topped with shredded lettuce and diced tomato and onion and the cook layered the meat from the skewers across the top. Each souvlaki was sprinkled liberally with dried oregano and then rolled up in waxed paper. They came to the table on plastic plates. Berlin peeled the waxed paper back and took a bite. After a second mouthful he decided he would add Greek food to his list of good things to eat.

Roberts finished off his souvlaki before Berlin was halfway done. He leaned back in his chair and let out a loud belch. Hanging around with a bunch of twenty-year-olds appeared to have also affected his manners.

Berlin took a two-dollar note from his wallet. ‘Why don't you pay for lunch and ring in to Russell Street and see if anything's come up on the girl while I finish this off?'

After paying at the counter, Roberts left the cafe and walked across to a public phone box at the kerb near the parked Triumph. Berlin followed him outside a minute or two later and waited at the kerb by the Triumph. He noticed the cook from the cafe was leaning in the doorway in front of the multicoloured vertical strips of vinyl meant to keep flies out. The man appeared to be waiting, looking up the street to his right. Berlin turned around and saw Lauren coming out of the stairway entrance to the
GEAR
offices.

The long skirt and peasant blouse had been replaced by tight satin shorts, a ribbed woollen top with a high collar, a big soft cotton cap and a leather shoulder bag. She had a wide studded belt around her middle, a long chain with a crucifix round her neck and a brown suede jacket that came down to mid-thigh. Matching suede boots came up to just below her knee and between the bottom of her very short shorts and the top of her boots there was nothing but leg. She smiled when she saw Berlin and walked over to the kerb.

He smiled back. ‘I think my daughter might say that was fab gear.'

‘Thanks. We can't wear stuff like this around Lance, unfortunately, he gets a bit too grabby. I don't think he understands it's just fashion.'

Berlin took a business card from inside his suit coat pocket. ‘If you ever did want to give modelling a shot I know someone who could have a job for you.'

Her smile was polite but Berlin saw disappointment in her eyes. So he was just another sleazy middle-aged man. ‘My wife is a photographer and I think she'd like to work with you.'

The girl glanced at the card and then back at Berlin. There was a different look in her eyes now.

‘You're married to Rebecca Green? Really? I saw some of her nudes in a group exhibition at the Photographers' Gallery last year, she's groovy.'

‘I think she's groovy too. You should give her a call.'

‘Thanks, I will.' She gave him the V-sign with her right hand. ‘Peace.'

Berlin smiled. ‘Always. You too.'

The cook from the cafe was still leaning against the door. He watched the girl walk off down the road and smiled. It seemed like the whole street had stopped to watch her go. Peace would be nice, Berlin decided, along with a world full of pretty girls who had nothing to fear.

She stopped after about a dozen paces, paused for a moment, then turned and walked back to Berlin. For several seconds she appeared to be a little uncertain about her next move.

‘Mr Berlin, can I tell you something?'

‘If you like.'

‘Earlier, after you left the office, Lance made a phone call.'

Berlin waited.

‘The people who print
GEAR
are the ones who put out the
Truth
, and Lance knows a lot of the journalists there, if you can call them that.'

Truth
was a weekly tabloid newspaper specialising in political and sexual scandals and dramatic exposés. It also had racing pages, and the racing tips and news articles were often of about equal veracity.

‘Lance is a bit of a shit but he does have a nose for a story, I have to give him that. He asked for a bloke named Warren and gave him a rundown on your visit.'

Berlin knew Warren would be Warren Sunderland – Wozza or Sundo to his friends and drinking mates and ‘that turd Sunderland' to anyone who had been the subject of one of his hit pieces. Rebecca had known Sunderland when he was a cadet reporter on
The Argus
and had said he was a nasty piece of work, even back then. She had summed him up as someone who, given the choice between fact and supposition, would choose the third option of just making stuff up and throwing in a bit of illicit sex or oblique hints of incest or bestiality to liven things up.

From time to time, however, Sunderland would break a real story on the front page of the
Truth
, usually something scandalous and often embarrassing to the police or opposition politicians. It was generally accepted he had contacts at the upper levels of government who found him useful. Having someone like Sunderland poking about when a millionaire with political connections had a child missing could complicate things.

‘Thanks, Lauren, that's good to know. Call my wife soon, eh? You can do better than working for someone like Lance.'

Bob Roberts had left the phone box and walked across the footpath to join them.

‘You need a lift anyplace?' he asked.

Was Roberts planning on putting her in the cramped space behind the front seats Berlin wondered, or would he be a gentleman and offer her the passenger seat?

The girl smiled and shook her head. ‘No thank you, Sergeant Roberts, I'm cool. We just put next week's edition to bed so I've got the afternoon off and it's such a lovely day, I'm happy to walk.'

She gave them the peace sign again and walked off. Someone leaned out of a passing tram, let out a long wolf whistle and yelled, ‘Wild thing!'

The girl turned, smiled and waved towards the tram.

Whoever you are, mate, she'd bloody eat you alive
, Berlin said to himself.
And Roberts too, for that matter.

The cook from the Greek cafe looked towards the two detectives and shook his hands slowly, like he was trying to flick water off them. Berlin didn't know the gesture but he could take a good guess at what it meant. Hemlines were rising to impossible levels all over the city and those very short shorts were starting to pop up all over the place. To the young girls wearing them it really was just the latest fashion and they seemed to have no idea of the effect it was having on a generation of men who had grown up when women's fashion was meant to conceal and not reveal.

Berlin coughed to get Roberts' attention. He finally managed to get his eyes off Lauren's figure as it receded in the distance.

‘Anything new?'

Roberts shook his head. ‘They've got half the force out looking now but no one really has any idea of where to start. We wouldn't even be where we are right now if you hadn't noticed that picture on Gudrun's corkboard or spotted that the Marquet girl disappeared from her home and not a discotheque like the others. That's good police work. That's the kind of thing that gets noticed.'

Getting himself noticed was not something that was high on Berlin's agenda, not right at the moment. ‘The girl is still missing, Bob, so we're a hell of a long way from patting ourselves on the back. We ought to get moving.'

Berlin climbed into the passenger seat of the Triumph, while Roberts had to let a bright red Arnott's Biscuits delivery truck go past before he could open his door. He slid into his seat and the engine on the Triumph rumbled into life.

‘So where are we off to?' Roberts said, handing Berlin his folder.

Inside the folder Lauren's note was on top. She had elegant flowing handwriting, and under the address where they could find Derek Jones she had drawn a flower and a smiling sun.

‘Looks like we're going to South Melbourne, Bob, to number 100 Albert Road, to be exact.'

Roberts glanced into his side mirror. He gunned the engine and pulled out into the traffic quickly so they wouldn't have to wait for the tram coming up behind them.

Berlin checked his watch. Gudrun Scheiner had been gone for around sixty hours now and according to the lovely Lauren's note tucked in Bob Roberts' folder, the next destination on their search for her was the Lair of the Visual Beast.