‘Pretty average, until the bride sprung him having a knee trembler with the bridesmaid in the dunnies at the reception. That’s going to be one icy honeymoon. Last root Chater will be getting for a while.’
There was a pause. Berlin waited it out.
‘And how was your weekend, DC Berlin?’
There it was. From Hargrave’s tone Berlin knew he had all the details.
‘We had a run-in with the gang on Saturday afternoon.’
‘Oh, right, that would probably explain the picture on page six of The Argus this morning. And why I had my arse kicked round the top floor before my breakfast had a chance to settle.’
There was no noise in the background this time. Well, at least Rebecca was getting something out of all this.
‘You know what, Berlin, you need to get your head out of the bottle, stop hanging around with the press – no matter how great the sheila’s tits are – and get me a line on these arseholes.’
Twenty minutes later, Berlin found Roberts and the Dodge down the street at Toole’s garage. A mechanic had just finished working under the hood. He lowered the engine cover, locked it, wiped the handle clean with a rag and winked at the constable.
‘There you go, Bob, good as new.’
Berlin nodded to Roberts and the mechanic.
‘Morning, Mr Berlin. Got us a new fanbelt. I thought I could hear the old one slipping.’
‘Let’s take her for a run then, shall we? I want to visit the crime scenes – all of them.’
The two men climbed into the car and the constable started the engine.
‘Which one would you like to go to first, Mr Berlin?’
‘Let’s start with the furthest out and work our way back.’
Eight hours later, Berlin studied the countryside through the window as they headed back to town. They were running parallel to the main railway line and every so often they were passed by a goods train hauling wheat or freight, or a passenger service with its red dogbox carriages and buffet car strung behind the straining loco, briefly blanketing the roadway in rolling clouds of acrid, black smoke.
All the interviewing of witnesses, pacing out the robberies and reconstructing the events in his mind had produced very little of use. Careful inspection of the ceilings in places where shots had been fired confirmed his suspicion the gang was firing blanks.
These guys didn’t leave any evidence behind and they were in and out so fast that their hapless targets didn’t know what had hit them. Not one witness could give a decent description. Tall and solidly built were the common denominators, but the balaclavas meant no hair colour, and no one could report accurate eye colour or distinguishing marks – nothing new to go on.
The light was just beginning to fade and he glanced at his watch – four o’clock. It was getting cold. He turned up the collar on his overcoat and put his hands deep into the pockets. He was very tired – tired of waking up in the morning, tired of his days, tired of his nights, tired of drinking and tired of being sober.
‘Wakey, wakey, Mr Berlin.’
They were parked outside the Wodonga Police Station. There were lights on inside.
‘Sorry, Roberts, I must have drifted off.’ It was just past six by his watch.
‘Don’t worry about it. It’s boring country round here, and that’s the truth. Looks like we’ve got a visitor.’
They were parked next to Captain Bellamy’s blue Chevy.
‘Bellamy and your sergeant seem to be —’ The phrase ‘thick as thieves’ didn’t seem appropriate. ‘Good mates.’
Roberts looked across at Berlin. Berlin sensed he was about to say something. He waited.
‘Yeah, mates, that’s about the size of it.’
Berlin couldn’t fault the lad’s discretion. But there was enough information in the pause as Roberts considered his words carefully. He winked at the constable.
‘Thanks, Bob. And from now on why don’t we make it Charlie, after six o’clock.’
‘Righto, Mr Berlin.’
Inside, Bellamy and the sergeant were having tea in his office. The sergeant had his feet up on the desk. ‘Nice of you two to join us. Roberts, you get that front desk tidied up and the floors swept before you even think of pissing off home.’ He stood up. ‘I’m going for a slash. Berlin, the Captain here wants to have a word.’
Berlin knew that tea wouldn’t be cutting it for Corrigan this late in the afternoon and that he’d definitely have a bottle stashed somewhere between the office and the lavatory.
Berlin let the sergeant pass and then leaned on the office door. He waited.
‘The sergeant tells me you’re very focused on this case.’
‘Is that a good thing?’
The Captain smiled. ‘I believe so. The sooner we get this whole affair sorted out and everything gets back to normal, the better.’
‘Well, that’s something we can agree on, Mr Bellamy.’
‘Fine, then. I’ve just offered the services of my men to Sergeant Corrigan and yourself, should the need arise. We are ready and willing to help.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind. But I thought your blokes might have the wind up after what happened on Saturday. Or at least be finding things a tad draughty.’
‘We’ll be ready for them next time, believe me. My boys are itching for another go at those bastards.’
Bellamy’s boys hadn’t made much of a fist of their first go at the gang but Berlin decided to leave it alone. The militia might be better than nothing if it came to a fight. But how much better, he wasn’t really all that anxious to find out.
THIRTY-SIX
In the dining room Berlin bumped into Lily, who was rushing back in the direction of the kitchen. She seemed flustered.
‘Hello, Mr Berlin,’ she said. ‘Tea is roast pork, baked potatoes, steamed pumpkin and beans but I’m a bit behind, I’m afraid.’ She wiped her hands on her apron. ‘We’ve got some extra people in tonight,’ she continued, ‘and the girl who usually helps in the kitchen didn’t show up this afternoon.’
‘Take your time, Lily,’ Berlin said, ‘I’ll have a drink while I’m waiting.’
There was laughter from across the room, where a small crowd of locals had gathered around a man with a sharp suit, well-polished shoes and Brilliantine-slicked hair. He was wearing a silk cravat with a matching pocket handkerchief and Berlin remembered the contempt the Pommy officers on his squadron had for anyone gauche enough to wear a cravat in the mess after six.
‘Who’s the lair?’ he asked, ordering a whisky from Maisie at the bar.
‘That’s Brian,’ she said. ‘A salesman for Fly Tox, you know, the fly spray. Just got a nice new company car he tells me, a Ford V8. Stops in once a month, regular as clockwork.’
‘So all the shopkeepers know when to lock up their teenage daughters.’
‘You’ve got that right. Fancies himself as God’s gift to women, that one.’
There was a look in her eye and a lack of malice in her voice that made Berlin think she might have opened that gift parcel sometime in the past and perhaps wouldn’t mind doing it again. Brian had a pencil moustache that Berlin suspected might have had some assistance from a mascara brush. He also had a stock of jokes that kept the crowd entertained. When the laughter from one story died down he started in on the next.
Berlin spotted Rebecca at a table further across the room, smoking and reading The Bulletin. She was wearing a grey skirt with a matching jacket over a silky, pale blue blouse. She glanced up at him and smiled.
‘You’re looking a little bit better than the last time I saw you.’
Berlin nodded. ‘I think I probably smell better, too. Mind if I join you? Just until someone more interesting shows up, of course.’
‘Goodness gracious, Charlie, don’t tell me you’re in danger of developing a sense of humour.’
As he sat down there was a burst of raucous laughter from the crowd surrounding the salesman. The man grinned at his audience, finished off his beer and launc
hed into his next story.
‘So this old cove with a big nose and a leather apron, a real Ikey Mo, is standing outside Goldberg’s Greengrocers on Chapel Street.’
Berlin saw Rebecca turn her head towards the group.
‘Next thing you know this young bloke jumps off the tram and starts belting into him. “Why are you hitting me, why are you hitting me?” the old bloke starts whining and the young bloke says, “Cos you sank the bloody Titanic!”’
The crowd was smiling in anticipation and so was the salesman.
Rebecca pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘Excuse me for a second will you, Charlie.’ She walked across the room to the group.
The salesman continued his story in a whiny, nasal voice. ‘“Oy, that wasn’t me, it was an iceberg what sank the Titanic,” the old man yells —’ Someone cleared their throat noisily and nudged the salesman, and then there was silence.
He turned around. Rebecca was behind him, smiling pleasantly. The salesman looked her up and down slowly, his eyes lingering on her breasts. He gave her an oily smile and Berlin felt an urge to smash the man’s face in.
‘Hullo, darlin’, haven’t seen you around here before, what might your name be?’
‘It’s Rebecca, Rebecca Greenbaum.’
The salesman’s face froze. ‘Look, girlie, I didn’t mean … I mean …’
‘Don’t let me stop you.’ She smiled pleasantly at the salesman. ‘I think the punch line is “Iceberg, Goldberg, what’s the bloody difference. You fucking Jews are all the same to me.”’ She spat out the words ‘fucking Jews’, the smile gone from her face.
‘Language, please!’ Maisie said from behind the bar, after an uncomfortable silence from the crowd.
Rebecca walked back to the table and sat down. The bar stayed silent until the traveller said, ‘I’m shouting a round for the house. What’s everyone having?’
‘Mine’s a gin and tonic.’ Rebecca yelled her order across the room in the direction of the salesman and then winked at Berlin. ‘Nothing pisses off an anti-Semite more than having to buy a drink for a Jew.’
‘You’re Jewish, Miss Green?’ Berlin asked.
‘I am indeed. Is that a problem for you, Charlie? And if you’re about to tell me I don’t look Jewish I should warn you I’ve been told that before and it really ticks me off. Jews come in all shapes and sizes.’
Berlin shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t mean to offend you … but the church in Albury … I assumed —’
‘I wasn’t there for communion or confession, Charlie, I was just keeping an eye on a friend.’
‘You seemed to be familiar with it all, though.’
‘I’m Jewish with a Catholic girls’ school education. Sometimes it gets a bit confusing for me as well. My parents originally came from Stuttgart. I was born there.’
‘You’re German, too?’
She smiled. ‘I’m full of surprises. Have you ever been to Stuttgart?’
Berlin shook his head. It wasn’t strictly a lie. Both of his visits had been at twenty thousand feet, and all he’d seen of the city were the raging fires lit by incendiaries and fanned by the pressure waves spreading out in circles from the impact point of thousand-pound high-explosive bombs.
‘My father had a commercial photography business there, in partnership with a German friend. By ’34 he could see where things were going for the Jews and fortunately he still managed to get a decent price from his partner for his share of the business. We had a neighbour who’d sold farming machinery in Australia and he spoke a lot about the wide open spaces so we came here.’
‘That must have been tough.’
‘I was only ten, so I adjusted pretty quickly. There wasn’t much work in the big cities, especially for foreigners, so my father opened a small camera shop in Ballarat. My parents weren’t what you’d call observant Jews in any case, and with what was happening in Europe they decided to reinvent themselves in their new life, so Solomon and Sarah Greenbaum became Sam and Betty Green. I got to stay Rebecca but if anyone asked I was named after the one from Sunnybrook Farm. The local Catholic school was the best in the district so I was sent there.’
‘I can see how that would get confusing.’
‘Tell me about it. Every Friday night we had a Shabbat dinner. My mother would light the candles and my father would say a prayer over the wine and the challah.’
‘What’s challah?’
‘It’s a special kind of bread, I used to help my mother make it.’
‘You really are full of surprises.’
She reached across the table and brushed her hand against his. ‘You have no idea, Charlie.’
Berlin decided she was right about that.
‘Then the following Monday I’d be back at school, a good little Catholic girl, sitting with my knees together and making up interesting sins to confess. Even after I Ieft school a lot of my friends were Catholics. I really didn’t think much about being Jewish until they started showing the newsreels from the camps after the war. Finding out that six million of your people were murdered simply for being Jews does make you want to stand up and be counted.’ She smiled at Berlin. ‘But I have to say there’s nothing like going to a Catholic high school to get a great insight into Jewish jokes, if you can call them that. But if you want to hear some really good jokes, funny ones, you have to hear the ones Jews tell on themselves.’
‘I went to a state school so I’ve got a few about Catholics. But mostly in state school they were about sex and farting.’
‘Let me get my gin and tonic and then you can tell me some.’
The idea of telling Rebecca dirty jokes made Berlin slightly uncomfortable. But then he realised almost everything about this woman made him uncomfortable. And, strangely, that was something he liked.
Dinner was thick slices of pale pork drowning in rich, glossy gravy that washed over a pile of potatoes and vegetables. There was also a large wedge of crisp, golden skin on one side of the plate.
‘Thanks, Lily, this is just what I needed. And I’ll bet it tastes as good as it looks.’
Berlin’s comment got a smile out of her. ‘I’ve given you that extra big bit of crackling there, Mr Berlin, but if you want more just ask.’ She glanced over at Rebecca.
‘Will you be eating this evening, Miss Green?’
Rebecca shook her head. ‘I had fish and chips in town earlier, thanks Lil.’
‘Is it the pork?’ Berlin asked, after Lily walked away. ‘Are you a kosher person?’ He pronounced it ‘kosh-er’.
Rebecca shook her head. ‘It’s “ko-sher” and no, I’m not.’
‘How was it living in Ballarat during the war? You said your old man had to go away. Was he interned?’
‘He was – took it a lot better than I did. He said at least they were locking him up for being a German rather than a Jew.’
Berlin guessed at how she had taken it from the look on her face.
‘Dad said he knew they’d wake up to themselves eventually, which they did.’
‘He hold a grudge?’
She shook her head and Berlin decided to change the subject. ‘I saw your photograph of Bellamy’s militia in the paper. Not your name though.’
‘I’ll get there, Charlie, sooner or later. It looked okay, didn’t it?’
‘I suppose so. Got me some grief from my boss.’
‘I’m sorry about that. I guess I owe you one.’ She stood up. ‘It’s been a long day so if you’ll excuse me I’m going upstairs to slide naked into a tub full of bubbles for a very long, very hot soak.’
Berlin watched her as she walked across the room, the image she’d left him with firmly in his head.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Just after ten there was a firm knock on Berlin’s door.
‘It’s open.’
He wasn’t expecting it to be Rebecca.
‘Something wrong?’
‘My room’s a bit chilly.’
‘That’s probably why the landlord keeps his tropical orc
hid collection in here.’
She looked at the cheap wooden bedside table, the cracked washbasin and the sagging plywood wardrobe in the corner. ‘This is grim, isn’t it? Mine’s not a whole lot better. How’s the bed?’
‘I’ve slept in worse places. You want a drink?’ The bottle of whisky was on the side table, next to his packet of cigarettes and a box of matches.
Rebecca shook her head. ‘No, apart from the odd gin and tonic I’m not a big fan of alcohol.’
She undid the snaps down the side of her skirt and stepped out of it. ‘I’ve got other vices to make up for it though.’
‘If this is about the photograph getting me into trouble …’
She stared at him then shook her head slowly. ‘Jesus, you’re a funny bastard, Berlin.’
After carefully folding the skirt she placed it over the back of the chair, putting her cardigan on top, and her blouse after that. Berlin reached for the bedside lamp, with its flyspecked bulb inside the flyspecked shade.
‘You can leave it on if you like, Charlie.’
‘I thought you might prefer …’
‘When a girl finally manages to get her hands on some decent lingerie she wants to show it off. The bloke I got it from in Melbourne said it was French, pre-war. Real silk.’
She stepped out of the white half-slip. Underneath she was wearing cami knickers over her garter belt and stockings. Wriggling out of the knickers she sat on the edge of the bed, carefully removing her shoes and stockings. She had an even nicer arse than he’d imagined.
Then she reached behind and unhooked her bra. She turned around, standing naked in front of him. Her breasts were larger than he’d expected, full and round with dark-ringed nipples puckering in the cold of the room. Her pubic hair was a thick dark triangle, almost shocking against the white of her skin.
She slipped into bed next to him, and when their skin touched his whole body stiffened, except for the part that was most appropriate.
‘Not exactly the sort of response I expected. Can I have a cigarette?’
Berlin took one from the packet and handed it to her. She took a long drag after he lit it.
‘Sorry about …’
The Diggers Rest Hotel Page 14