Free Confessions of a Police Constable by Matt Delito Page B

said.
    â€˜Well, damn …’ I said.
    â€˜I’ve run the bike through the box,’ Kim said. ‘It was reported stolen six days ago, by Kees here, and the serial number of the bike matches up with the police report. Also, when he filed his report, he showed the original purchase receipt of the bike, which matched the serial number as well.’
    â€˜Oh,’ said Kees, ‘and if you still doubt it, take the seat stem out of the bike’.
    I walked around to the bike, unlocked the quick-release clasp, and took the seat off the bike. It looked pretty normal to me.
    â€˜What am I looking for here?’ I asked.
    â€˜Look inside,’ Kees said.
    I felt around the bottom of the seat stem with my finger, and found something. I took it out and took a look. It was a piece of laminated paper that read: ‘Property of Kees Jacobs’, with a telephone number.
    â€˜It’s a normal thing to do in Belgium,’ Kees said, with a shrug.
    â€˜Hang on a sec,’ I said, and went back to the bike shop.
    â€˜I’m starting to believe that the bike belongs to the “thief”,’ I told the shopkeeper. ‘He reported it stolen six days ago. When did the lad drop it off to have the tyre fixed?’
    The shopkeeper picked up the piece of paper that Kees had torn off the bike, and read it.
    â€˜Six days ago,’ he said.
    â€˜So it seems as if someone stole the bike whilst the riots were raging, and Tommy dropped it off at your shop to get the tyre fixed soon after,’ I said.
    â€˜Well … Fuck,’ the proprietor contributed, summarising the culmination of our predicament perfectly.
    â€˜Yeah,’ I agreed.
    â€˜We’ll take the bike to the station, as it’s stolen property. The owner can come and claim it when they produce their receipt,’ I said.
    â€˜I bloody hate bike thieves,’ he said.
    â€˜Yeah, I imagine you must do,’ I replied. I paused, and looked at the shopkeeper for a few moments. His eye had swollen even further. The words ‘Crikey, that’s gonna hurt in the mornin’, son’ from that annoying Fosters advert echoed around in my head.
    â€˜That leaves only one thing,’ I said. ‘The bike owner assaulted you. We have all the evidence we need to prosecute him, I think. All we need is your video footage, and a statement …’
    â€˜Ah,’ the shopkeeper said, rubbing the side of his head. ‘You’re positive he’s not a bike thief?’
    â€˜You can never be sure,’ I said. ‘But he does seem to have all the receipts to back up his claims. He bought most of the parts off eBay and put the whole bike together himself. He showed me a blog of the work in progress; it looks like it all checks out.’
    â€˜Can I talk to him?’ he asked.
    I hesitated.
    â€˜Not really, to be honest. If we’re going to charge him, we need to interview him at the police station.’
    â€˜Can I go stand by your van and just think out loud for a bit, then?’ he asked, with a conspiratory smile on his face.
    â€˜Do you have a bathroom?’ I asked.
    â€˜I do,’ he said, pointing with his thumb towards a door in the corner of his workshop.
    â€˜I’m going to go use the loo, then, if you don’t mind. What you do whilst I’m gone is up to you, really,’ I said, and walked to the bathroom.
    When I came back out, the shopkeeper was standing next to the van, laughing with Kim.
    Kim came up to me.
    â€˜The shopkeeper is refusing to make a statement about the assault, and says that he may have “accidentally” deleted the footage of it,’ she said. ‘What should we do?’
    â€˜Well, if there’s no evidence of an assault, no allegations of any sort …’ I said, adding: ‘Obviously, Kees can’t have stolen his own bike.’
    Kim let our suspect out of the caged van but kept him in handcuffs.
    â€˜So, just to