CSI: Darlinghurst
I came over all Nancy Drew last week. I caught a perp.
Okay, so my boyfriend did, but I provided the technology, and as any of those people who pout into a microscope on a CSI franchise will tell you, that can make all the difference.
It all happened in Mont Clair Lane, which serves as both the repository for my building’s refuse and the stage for expensively cheap behaviour (I believe I’ve mentioned the lethargic blowjobs).
It’s provided no end of puerile titillation over the years, and ever since I got my digital camera -鈥� thanks, dad -鈥� I’ve been able to share the love. Suffice it to say, if you plan to do anything there other than garbage collection, prepare to be emailed.
Now I can’t go into detail, but the incident involved a couple of plain-clothes detectives, several uniformed cops and two gay men pretending to be mates. (It’s easier that way.)
You see, noises were made in the Lane. Then Come here! was stage-whispered, the camera was rushed to the bathroom window and shots were taken of a man, clearly worse for wear.
A couple of hours later, said Lane was swarming with police. The boyfriend, let’s call him Mick, runs down, informs them of our sighting, tells them about my photos and before I know it I’m burning them onto a CD to be put on some sort of police bulletin.
It was thrillingly inconveniencing.
Of course after the second visit to Kings Cross police station for yet another statement I was ready to strangle Mick for his good Samaritanism. But when we heard the guy was arrested -鈥� for a pretty nasty act, I should add -鈥� I was on a crime-stopping high. I felt like Helen Mirren in Prime Suspect. Or perhaps Mariska Hargitay on Law And Order. Whatever, it was a pleasant change.
My services might very well be called upon again. Just as every Sunday on Taylor Square is like a Mardi Gras recovery gone horribly wrong (24-hour licences are the kiss of death), my neighbourhood appears to be getting most of Clover’s leftovers. When she decided to clean up the Cross, I wonder where she thought the dregs would end up? Woollahra Council?
Until they get that far, I’ll keep my camera handy. And practise saying perp with a straight face.
