in okay, your lovely new quarters.’
Hirsch motioned to the stiff chair that faced his desk, but Kropp shook his head. ‘No thanks. Somewhere more comfortable, think you can manage that?’
Hirsch pictured his living quarters and doubted it. ‘Come through.’
The connecting door led to a short corridor and a shut-in smell, no natural light, boxes hard against the wall. Edging past, Kropp said, ‘You’ve been here what, three weeks already? You’re not going anywhere else, sunshine, so you might as well unpack.’
‘Had my hands full, sir.’
The corridor opened on to the cramped sitting room. ‘Get your wife to do it,’ Kropp said, and stopped to give his meaty head a theatrical smack. ‘Oh, I forgot. She left you, I seem to recall.’
‘Kind of you to remind me, Sarge,’ Hirsch said, his voice full of light cadences. He opened the curtains without improving anything. He switched on the overhead light. Dust motes floated. This was a loveless place and Hirsch sometimes found himself talking to the furniture in the dark hours. Dumping Saturday’s Advertiser from one of the armchairs, he sat in the other, better, armchair. Kropp eyed the remaining chair and lowered himself as if clenching his sphincter.
‘Tea?’ said Hirsch. ‘Coffee?’
The sergeant shook his head, thank Christ. ‘This hit-and-run. Anything leap out at you?’
‘Probably she was hitching home and a vehicle hit her. Possibly she was killed elsewhere and dumped. Until I know what she was doing there I—’
‘What’s this “I” shit? Team effort. Oh, I forgot, you don’t do team effort.’ Kropp leaned his forearms on his knees and stared at Hirsch. ‘Let the accident boys deal with the evidence and we will work out a plan of action to answer your questions about her movements, okay?’
‘Sarge.’
‘Meanwhile I want you down in Redruth at noon tomorrow for a briefing.’
‘Sarge.’
Hirsch waited, Kropp watching as if to chase him if he ran.
Then the man grinned unpleasantly and stood. ‘That crack in your windscreen? Get it fixed.’ He paused. ‘Know why?’
Hirsch’s mind raced. Roadworthiness? He guessed, ‘Anything we don’t tolerate in the citizenry, we don’t tolerate in ourselves, maybe?’
‘Aren’t you a boy scout. Try Redruth Automotive.’
Then Kropp was gone and Hirsch heated and ate his lasagne— talking, for want of another candidate, to the less comfortable of the two chairs.
~ * ~
6
WHAT WAS WRONG with him? Those kids this morning had seen a woman hovering around his car. He dumped his dirty plate in the sink and hurried out to the Nissan with a torch, a rag, a pair of latex gloves. After a moment’s thought, he went back for a couple of evidence bags.
He started at the boot and moved forwards: toolbox, spare tyre well, under the boot carpet. Then the parcel shelf, under the rear seat, inside the door cavities, under the front seats, glove box. He found what he was looking for in an ancient, forgotten first-aid box, but continued his search inside the engine bay, just in case. Nothing there.
He returned to the first-aid box. An iPhone and a bundle of cash. First he photographed both items in situ, then removed them. Still some juice in the phone; it was an iPhone 5 in perfect nick. He scrolled through until he came to a screen showing the IMEI number, photographed it. The cash amounted to $2500 in hundred-dollar notes. He took the rubber band off the bundle and photographed each note, twenty-five serial numbers. Finally he stowed everything in one of the evidence bags.
The time was six-thirty. Hirsch returned to the shop, still toting the evidence bag. Tennant had a CCTV camera above the petrol bowser. Might get lucky.
He found the shopkeeper switching off lights. Tennant frowned at the evidence bag. ‘You want a refund on your dinner?’
‘Ha, ha. The camera above
Hirsch motioned to the stiff chair that faced his desk, but Kropp shook his head. ‘No thanks. Somewhere more comfortable, think you can manage that?’
Hirsch pictured his living quarters and doubted it. ‘Come through.’
The connecting door led to a short corridor and a shut-in smell, no natural light, boxes hard against the wall. Edging past, Kropp said, ‘You’ve been here what, three weeks already? You’re not going anywhere else, sunshine, so you might as well unpack.’
‘Had my hands full, sir.’
The corridor opened on to the cramped sitting room. ‘Get your wife to do it,’ Kropp said, and stopped to give his meaty head a theatrical smack. ‘Oh, I forgot. She left you, I seem to recall.’
‘Kind of you to remind me, Sarge,’ Hirsch said, his voice full of light cadences. He opened the curtains without improving anything. He switched on the overhead light. Dust motes floated. This was a loveless place and Hirsch sometimes found himself talking to the furniture in the dark hours. Dumping Saturday’s Advertiser from one of the armchairs, he sat in the other, better, armchair. Kropp eyed the remaining chair and lowered himself as if clenching his sphincter.
‘Tea?’ said Hirsch. ‘Coffee?’
The sergeant shook his head, thank Christ. ‘This hit-and-run. Anything leap out at you?’
‘Probably she was hitching home and a vehicle hit her. Possibly she was killed elsewhere and dumped. Until I know what she was doing there I—’
‘What’s this “I” shit? Team effort. Oh, I forgot, you don’t do team effort.’ Kropp leaned his forearms on his knees and stared at Hirsch. ‘Let the accident boys deal with the evidence and we will work out a plan of action to answer your questions about her movements, okay?’
‘Sarge.’
‘Meanwhile I want you down in Redruth at noon tomorrow for a briefing.’
‘Sarge.’
Hirsch waited, Kropp watching as if to chase him if he ran.
Then the man grinned unpleasantly and stood. ‘That crack in your windscreen? Get it fixed.’ He paused. ‘Know why?’
Hirsch’s mind raced. Roadworthiness? He guessed, ‘Anything we don’t tolerate in the citizenry, we don’t tolerate in ourselves, maybe?’
‘Aren’t you a boy scout. Try Redruth Automotive.’
Then Kropp was gone and Hirsch heated and ate his lasagne— talking, for want of another candidate, to the less comfortable of the two chairs.
~ * ~
6
WHAT WAS WRONG with him? Those kids this morning had seen a woman hovering around his car. He dumped his dirty plate in the sink and hurried out to the Nissan with a torch, a rag, a pair of latex gloves. After a moment’s thought, he went back for a couple of evidence bags.
He started at the boot and moved forwards: toolbox, spare tyre well, under the boot carpet. Then the parcel shelf, under the rear seat, inside the door cavities, under the front seats, glove box. He found what he was looking for in an ancient, forgotten first-aid box, but continued his search inside the engine bay, just in case. Nothing there.
He returned to the first-aid box. An iPhone and a bundle of cash. First he photographed both items in situ, then removed them. Still some juice in the phone; it was an iPhone 5 in perfect nick. He scrolled through until he came to a screen showing the IMEI number, photographed it. The cash amounted to $2500 in hundred-dollar notes. He took the rubber band off the bundle and photographed each note, twenty-five serial numbers. Finally he stowed everything in one of the evidence bags.
The time was six-thirty. Hirsch returned to the shop, still toting the evidence bag. Tennant had a CCTV camera above the petrol bowser. Might get lucky.
He found the shopkeeper switching off lights. Tennant frowned at the evidence bag. ‘You want a refund on your dinner?’
‘Ha, ha. The camera above
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