Digger Field by Damian Davis Page A

up.
    We showed Sergeant Tranh the photos of Mr Black in the deserted house.
    ‘Whose camera is it?’ he asked.
    ‘Ours,’ I said.
    ‘What were you doing putting a camera in someone’s house? That’s an invasion of privacy.’
    ‘Nobody owns that house. It’s the deserted one down by the river,’ Tearley said.
    We could hear the front door of the police station swinging open.
    ‘Stevens?’ Tranh yelled out.
    A female constable came in looking out of breath and carrying an enormous handbag.
    ‘Sorry I’m late, sir,’ she said and gave Tranh a crooked smile.
    Stevens was short and freckly and a bit nervy. She looked like she was just out of police school.
    Tranh whispered something to her and she disappeared into the back of the station.
    ‘So what were you doing at this house in the first place?’ Tranh asked us.
    ‘We skim,’ I said.
    ‘What, credit cards?’
    ‘No, rocks,’ I said.
    ‘And why did you set up a camera?’
    ‘Because this guy was hanging around that house and acting all weird,’ I said. ‘We thought he was up to something, so we set up the camera.’
    ‘And do you always set up cameras to watch people?’
    Stevens walked back in and gave Tranh a piece of paper.
    ‘Told you,’ Tearley whispered to me. ‘They don’t believe us.’
    ‘Constable Stevens just looked up the Land Titles Office records for the derelict house in question,’ said Tranh. ‘It says the land is owned by a Mr Bayoumi.’
    ‘Then why is the house falling down?’ asked Wrigs.
    ‘I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Mr Bayoumi,’ said Sergeant Tranh, holding up the piece of paper. ‘Constable Stevens is an expert on the Google-web and she has found this proof of land ownership. So, kids, I’m afraid to say, it’s you who are trespassing.’
    ‘What about the guy in the photos?’ said Wrigs, pointing at Tearley’s laptop.
    ‘How do you know he’s not Mr Bayoumi?’ said Tranh.
    ‘Why would he slink around the place like a gangster if he owned it?’ I said.
    ‘People are complicated, kid,’ said Sergeant Tranh. ‘Maybe that man doesn’t want anyone to know he owns the house.’
    Then he looked at Constable Stevens and said, ‘Or maybe he’s just getting away from his kids.’
    Stevens laughed.
    I looked at Tearley and she flicked her eyeballs towards me without turning her head, which was her way of saying she was very, very annoyed.
    Tranh turned to us again. ‘Look, we’re busy. We have important stuff to do.’
    ‘Yeah, there’s a lot happening in Pensdale,’ said Tearley. ‘Like speeding tickets, lost cats. You must be run off your feet.’
    Constable Stevens let out a sharp giggle. Tranh shot a glance at her and she blushed.
    Tranh turned to Tearley. ‘Well, young lady,’ he said, ‘we’re not too busy to investigate reports of some minors trespassing near the river.’
    He sat back in his chair and didn’t say anything more. The silence said, ‘This-conversation-is-over-now-it’s-time-to-go-away.’
    So we did.
    As we left, I took some more rocks from the garden at the front of the cop station.
    When we were back on Queen Street I said, ‘Hey, Tearley, I thought you were about to have a Wrig-out in there.’
    ‘I hate it that they don’t take us seriously just’ cause we’re kids,’ she said.
    ‘Do you reckon we’ll really get in trouble for trespassing at the house?’ said Wrigs.
    ‘No, they just wanted us to stop hassling them,’ I said.
    ‘Or maybe they’re involved,’ said Wrigs. ‘Maybe Mr Black is paying them off so they don’t arrest him.’
    ‘Yeah, as if,’ said Tearley. ‘Maybe the cops are right and we should just forget about Mr Black.’
    ‘What, and waste a hundred bucks?’ I said. ‘No way. We have to go down to the house and put the memory card back in the camera.’
    ‘Why bother?’ said Tearley. ‘Even if we can prove something, it’s not like the cops will listen to us.’
    ‘But if we don’t do anything, there’s no way we’ll