Sentimental

Subiaco had always been a good neighbourhood. Kings Park was just across the road and who wouldn’t want such a verdant oasis on their doorstep?

Janice.

Oh sure, by day it was full of joggers and picnickers and kite-flyers and children playing and ladies chin-wagging over skinny, soy lattes. But, by night, like most dark parks, it was a denizen for criminals. Janice wouldn’t mind so much, if it remained contained in the park. The problem was that it spilled over into the flats where she lived.

One morning Janice had woken at three and gone to her window. Two youths were outside the front fence – one squatting, almost out of view. It wouldn’t be the first time Janice had found human excrement in the cul-de-sac outside the flats. Then, she realised that the other guy was two paces back, watching. The streetlights showed his expression, and as the squatter rose from his haunches, the art connoisseur nodded approval. Janice didn’t need to see the squatter shaking his spray can to know they had just tagged the front fence. She went and dialled the police.

“I’d like to report a crime.”

“When did this crime take place?”

It’s happening as we speak. Out the front of my house at 3-15 Keightley Road, East.” There was silence. “Do you want me to repeat that?”

No, ma’am. I’ve noted it down.”

“Aren’t you sending a car out to apprehend them?”

“They’re all on calls at the moment. Make sure you stay inside, and I will send someone to drive by as soon as I can.” Another pause. “Wipe Out is the best thing to use if it’s a brick fence.”

Exasperated, Janice hung up. She went to the window, but they had already disappeared. She checked the locks, jotted down Wipe Out on her bedside pad and crawled back into bed. Telling her the cleaning product was about the only use the cop had been. “Ma’am” for goodness sake. Was this little America? She tossed and turned until first light slanted through her blinds and then finally nodded off.

Rrrrrr! Rrrrrr! The roar of an engine and the squeal of tyres on the road, pulled Janice from her slumber another night. She reached for her phone and it illuminated to show a few minutes before midnight. Car doors slammed below. Janice trained her ears to the fracas, but silence invaded bringing its own buzz of white noise. Straining her auditory powers felt like a physical effort, particularly combined with holding her breath to suppress the noise of exhalation. Nothing. She padded to the window and peered out through the curtains. Bert’s light was on next door. The glow was reassurance enough. She would talk it over with him the next day when he drove her to Auto Masters where her car was being serviced.

But it was Bert who called on Janice the next morning. “Come and see,” he said with an air of cloak and dagger about him. In the undercover parking, a car was skewed across her bay. “Did you hear the noises last night? Looks like it’s been stolen for a joy ride and then ditched here. We’ll have to call the police.”

Janice knew where that would get them. “Why don’t we see if there are any clues inside?”

Seated with his head bent into the glove box, Bert called out that it was a rental. He jotted down the rego.  Janice was eyeing the suitcase and small burgundy rucksack in the boot. “Bert, would you be a darl and carry this suitcase inside?”

 “Sure. What’s the plan?”

“The police are useless, so I’m just going to have a look through and see if I can find out who rented the car so that we can return their property. You can be my witness.” A thorough search of the suitcase revealed nothing other than male and female clothes. The burgundy rucksack held a toiletry bag with expensive skincare, a set of women’s underwear and a video camera.

Bert was beginning to show signs of edginess. “We shouldn’t have tampered with the crime scene?”

“Do you really think this is CSI? They don’t care. I was the one who cleaned the graffiti up, and I’ll be the one who will get this property back to its rightful owner.” It was a big claim, but she was a woman of her word. To ameliorate the situation, she picked up the phone and dialled the police. “I’d like to report a stolen car. No, not mine. We found a stolen car abandoned in my parking spot.” She waved Bert closer. “The registration is...” Bert pulled the slip from his pocket and passed it over. “1EFR 729.”

 The guilt slid from him like a gossamer cloak as he took another step forward. “The suitcase,” he mouthed, barely audible.

 “We found a suitcase in the boot.” A pause. “Bert Saunders. Janice Holmes. Okay. I should be able to bring it in this afternoon.” Hanging up, Janice went and flicked the kettle on. “I’m parched. Tea? Someone will tow the car this morning, which is pretty efficient for them, if it happens. But they want me to bring in the luggage. Get this. If no one claims it in six months, we can have it.”

“Will you take it in?”

“After you drop me to Auto Masters. Yes.” Janice busied herself making tea and letting Bert acknowledge the police’s lack of interest.

“I guess if they want their suitcase, they will contact authorities.” Bert was starting to excuse the constabulary and Janice knew she would have to go it alone from here. “They may have already made a report.” Eager to be done with it all, Bert left his cup half full and headed for his flat to get his keys for the drive to Auto Masters. Janice sipped her tea, wondering about their discovery.

At the city cop shop, Janice dragged the suitcase down the hallway, the burgundy rucksack on her shoulder. At the main counter, a policeman leaned on his elbows writing details from the woman before him. Janice waited her turn, but she couldn’t help but hear the plaintive explanation of the young girl telling the policeman of her backpack, with all her belongings, being lifted from the hostel where she was staying.

“Do you have money with you?” asked the policeman.

“I only took twenty dollars and my passport. The rest was locked in my backpack in my room.” Janice could hear an accent in the distraught tone. “I don’t have a change of clothes.”

“I’ll just get this stamped and you can take it up with your insurance.” The policeman was all efficiency, no help.

The girl slumped in the seat beside the counter, head bowed. Janice joined her with a sympathetic look. “Where are you from?”

“I’m over from Holland.” The girl tried to raise a smile.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your plight. Your problem,” Janice tried as a crease of confusion furrowed the girl’s brow at the word ‘plight’. “I might be able to help in a small way. Will you wait a moment?” Janice stepped up to the counter and began to fill in the form for the suitcase. The officer returned with the girl’s report and passed it through to her. He listened to Janice’s story and took her paperwork. The girl waited in the chair, directionless and glum. As the policeman turned away to file Janice’s report and come around to collect the suitcase, Janice motioned for the Dutch girl to follow her.

Back outside with the small burgundy rucksack still in her possession, Janice removed the video camera and passed the rest over to the girl. “I know it’s not much, but there is a clean set of underwear in there and some skin care. It might tide you over until the insurance can help.”

The girl was torn. Janice could see she wanted to protest, but there was a greater need. She took the proffered rucksack. “Thank you so much. I am wanting a shower and a change of clothes.”

“There’s no clothes, but there is a very pretty bra. It’s not mine.” An explanation was going to be difficult, and she now knew how to find the owners of the suitcase. She wished to put her plan into action. “Good luck.”

The girl flung her arms around Janice and squeezed her appreciation.

At home Janice fast forwarded through images of Kings Park and Cottesloe Beach on the video camera. There was nothing to track the couple. Then, tropical foliage. Slowing the tape, she heard an American voice talking about Daintree Rainforest and looking for a Cassowary. As she listened closely for a clue to their identities, she realised that it was a Canadian accent. A few frames on, her patience was rewarded as a woman looked back over her shoulder in front of a sign announcing they had been staying at the Daintree Riverview Lodge. Janice dialled the number for the hotel. There was no avoiding the explanation this time, but the manager was interested.

“Look, love, I’m not good with names and faces, but my wife might be able to help. I’ll just get her.”

Janice could hear muffled voices and then the wife was on the line. “You’re after the lovely Canadian couple? We’re not supposed to give out details, but these circumstances are different. Poor Bernice and Jack. I do hope you can get their luggage back to them.”

“A phone number would be more helpful than their address at this stage. You don’t even have to tell me Bernice and Jack’s surname.”

This seemed a fair deal to the wife and she happily supplied the number. Janice needed to wait for a suitable time to contact the couple, so she rewound the tape and decided to watch Bernice and Jack’s trip on the viewfinder. She had cracked the case and a celebration was in order.

“Hello?” A groggy voice, even though it would be mid-morning there.

Janice felt fully awake. “Hello. My name is Janice Holmes. Was your hire car stolen

two nights ago?”

There was a rushed rejoinder. “Yes. Oh, yes. Do you have some news?” Presumably Bernice’s voice came down the line.

“The car was left in my flat’s car bay and I took your suitcase to the police. Were you at the airport when it was stolen?”

“Was the small burgundy bag there? Sorry. We had stopped at Kings Park for one last photo. Silly really as it was cutting it fine for time. When we came back to where we had parked it, it was gone.” Bernice still sounded dumbfounded by this discovery. “I’m sorry,” she apologised again, “but did you find a small bag as well?”

“I did, but...”

“Oh, thank goodness. I don’t care about the suitcase, but the video camera has all our memories on it.”

Janice breathed again, relieved to know that it wasn’t the burgundy rucksack itself that was important, but the video camera she still had.

“I know this may sound odd, but could you also send the bra back to me if I give you our address and a credit card number to pay for the shipping? It’s inside the small bag.”

Surely this woman could not be thinking about lingerie at a time like this. Janice exhaled. She would need to explain her actions.

Misreading the silence, Bernice said, “The burgundy bag was my carry-on luggage and I always tuck my jewellery inside my bra for safe keeping. My grandmother’s antique ring is inside the bra. It’s the sentimental value, you see?”

Janice did see. She saw the Dutch girl wearing that bra and being none the wiser to its value, perhaps losing the ring in the washing machine the next time she did her laundry. “What’s the address?” she asked. As she replaced the receiver, with the details written on the pad, she sighed. She had discovered exactly why policemen didn’t interfere.