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 dismantled 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, stilltoting the evidence bag. Tennant had placed 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 your bowser: does it work?”
“It works.”
“Video or hard drive?”
“Hard drive.”
“I need to see footage from last Friday, mid-morning.”
Tennant was confused. “Somebody broke in? I’m not missing anything, and I would have known, I was here then.”
With a “just routine” air, Hirsch said, “Someone put a note under my door, no big deal, something about a tax cheat, as if that’s the police’s business, but if the lens range and angle allows it, I might get an idea who left the note, and I can put a flea in their ear.”
Stop babbling
, he told himself.
“Tax cheat?”
“Not you,” Hirsch assured the shopkeeper.
Showing doubt and irritation, Tennant took him to the back room and showed him the equipment and how to run a search. Wanted to hover, so Hirsch said, “Police business.”
H IRSCH WAS IN LUCK : Tennant’s camera had been angled to cover the bowser, but also showed the footpath and part of the police station. He saw a woman of slight build and above average height, shoulder-length fair hair swinging around her neck and cheeks, moving rapidly. No clear shot of her face, damn it all. Of course it helped that he rarely locked his old bomb, but she was in and out of his car inside a minute.
Hirsch found Tennant at the front door, anxious to lock up and go home. “Finished?”
“I need to buy a memory stick.”
“Really? You found something?” Tennant said, intrigued,unlocking a drawer, fishing around in it and coming up with an 8-gig version. “This do you?”
“Fine.”
“I can show you how to transfer the footage.”
“I’ll be right.”
So Tennant charged Hirsch twice what the device was worth and waited in a sulk at the door.
W HERE TO STOW THE phone and cash? If Internal Investigations officers searched his car now and found nothing, they’d tear the house, office and HiLux apart. And he knew and trusted no one here.
Hirsch walked around to the rear of the station, poked his head over the side fence, into the old woman’s backyard. It was overgrown by weeds and roses, the little garden shed mute testament to her inability to keep up anymore. He clambered over the fence. Concealed everything in an empty paint tin, taking reasonable care not to touch it, disturb the dust that covered everything.
B ACK IN HIS OFFICE , Hirsch dialed an Adelaide number.
“We need to meet.”
Sergeant Rosie DeLisle said tensely, “You bet we do. In fact, I was about to call you.”
Making Hirsch tense. “What happened?”
“You tell me.”
Hirsch knew then that the Internals had some fresh hell in store for him: new evidence, a new slant on old evidence, something like that. Rosie had always been straight with him, ultimately gone into bat for him, but he’d always skated on thin ice, the sessions he’d had with her.
“I’m being set up,” he said.
“Is that a fact,” she said flatly.
“You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
“Not over the phone.”
“That suits me. I can be in the city by ten.”
“Tonight? No thanks. Tomorrow afternoon sometime.”
“That works for me.”
“Somewhere off the beaten track, Paul.”
“I embarrass you,” Hirsch said, meaning,
I taint
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 dismantled 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, stilltoting the evidence bag. Tennant had placed 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 your bowser: does it work?”
“It works.”
“Video or hard drive?”
“Hard drive.”
“I need to see footage from last Friday, mid-morning.”
Tennant was confused. “Somebody broke in? I’m not missing anything, and I would have known, I was here then.”
With a “just routine” air, Hirsch said, “Someone put a note under my door, no big deal, something about a tax cheat, as if that’s the police’s business, but if the lens range and angle allows it, I might get an idea who left the note, and I can put a flea in their ear.”
Stop babbling
, he told himself.
“Tax cheat?”
“Not you,” Hirsch assured the shopkeeper.
Showing doubt and irritation, Tennant took him to the back room and showed him the equipment and how to run a search. Wanted to hover, so Hirsch said, “Police business.”
H IRSCH WAS IN LUCK : Tennant’s camera had been angled to cover the bowser, but also showed the footpath and part of the police station. He saw a woman of slight build and above average height, shoulder-length fair hair swinging around her neck and cheeks, moving rapidly. No clear shot of her face, damn it all. Of course it helped that he rarely locked his old bomb, but she was in and out of his car inside a minute.
Hirsch found Tennant at the front door, anxious to lock up and go home. “Finished?”
“I need to buy a memory stick.”
“Really? You found something?” Tennant said, intrigued,unlocking a drawer, fishing around in it and coming up with an 8-gig version. “This do you?”
“Fine.”
“I can show you how to transfer the footage.”
“I’ll be right.”
So Tennant charged Hirsch twice what the device was worth and waited in a sulk at the door.
W HERE TO STOW THE phone and cash? If Internal Investigations officers searched his car now and found nothing, they’d tear the house, office and HiLux apart. And he knew and trusted no one here.
Hirsch walked around to the rear of the station, poked his head over the side fence, into the old woman’s backyard. It was overgrown by weeds and roses, the little garden shed mute testament to her inability to keep up anymore. He clambered over the fence. Concealed everything in an empty paint tin, taking reasonable care not to touch it, disturb the dust that covered everything.
B ACK IN HIS OFFICE , Hirsch dialed an Adelaide number.
“We need to meet.”
Sergeant Rosie DeLisle said tensely, “You bet we do. In fact, I was about to call you.”
Making Hirsch tense. “What happened?”
“You tell me.”
Hirsch knew then that the Internals had some fresh hell in store for him: new evidence, a new slant on old evidence, something like that. Rosie had always been straight with him, ultimately gone into bat for him, but he’d always skated on thin ice, the sessions he’d had with her.
“I’m being set up,” he said.
“Is that a fact,” she said flatly.
“You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
“Not over the phone.”
“That suits me. I can be in the city by ten.”
“Tonight? No thanks. Tomorrow afternoon sometime.”
“That works for me.”
“Somewhere off the beaten track, Paul.”
“I embarrass you,” Hirsch said, meaning,
I taint
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