Tiverton seemed deserted. Perhaps country people didn’t walk or jog? He took their point: they knew the place, worked hard at physical labor all day, so what was the point? A couple of passing motorists eyed him, curtains twitched and mad dogs raced as he invaded fences and hedges. He gazed benignly at the school, the little grain business along a side street, the Catholic church and the Anglican, various back and side yards, chook sheds, a skeletal horse on a patch of dirt. Galahs screeched in the gum trees and it occurred to him that he’d not been hearing the sounds of big city life these past three weeks. No traffic, no hoons with sound systems, no voices spilling from cafés. Only galahs in the trees. Back in the office, he fired up the computer. One email, headed Quine hearing: starting Monday, Hirsch was obliged to present himself at the hearing into allegations of corruption against Senior Sergeant Marcus Quine and other detectives of the Paradise Gardens CIB. Hirsch acknowledged, then fired an email to Sergeant Kropp, explaining the circumstances.
