The Tempest

‘Excuse me. My bike has been stolen.’

The harassed teen at the Coles service desk looks up from her register.

'What!?' she shouts over the customers.

‘My bike has just been stolen. It was here and now it’s gone.’

She turns to another clerk behind her. ‘Another bike has been stolen!’ She turns back to me. ‘That’s the second one today.’

It’s near closing time and Coles is bustling. I phone the police and check over the front car park. Cars are queuing to leave and people are shuffling around with bags of shopping. I don’t see my bike.

A gravelly voiced policeman answers my call and takes the details of the incident.

'What brand of bike?'

'Bombtrack, Tempest.'

'Got the serial number there?'

'Not on me.'

‘Was it locked?’

‘No.’

He scoffs and gives me the report number.

Back in Coles I find the night manager, Andy, who has a friendly smile and looks about fifteen years old. I explain that my bike was taken and ask to view the security footage.

Andy leads me through the back of Coles into a small control room with a desk and three monitors. He pushes a few buttons and locates a low-res image of the store entrance. A skinny young man in black rolls into view on my bike and disappears out the doorway.

‘Do you mind if I record this?'

'Go ahead,’ he says politely, reversing the footage.

The rider's face is pixelated and obscured by the camera angle but it’s better than nothing. I capture it using my Samsung device camera and share it as a status update on Facebook with the caption:

This is what my bike being stolen from Coles looks like.

. . .

In the morning I dust the cobwebs off my old Trek bike and walk it to Speedlite Cycles for repair. Tyres punctured, brake pads gone, cranks loose, cassette worn, chain rusted. They quote $400 to restore it and I leave it with them. On the walk back I stop in at Coles. I see Andy, the manager, standing at the self-checkout.

‘Hi, Andy. It's me from last night.’

‘I’m not Andy,’ he says, with raised eyebrows. ‘Andy’s off today.’

'Of course, you’re not Andy. I'm sorry. My bike was stolen from here last night. Would it be possible to view the security footage once more?’

‘I’d better check with the service manager.’ He says.

Andy’s double retreats down an aisle, stopping midway to speak with a stern-faced woman who could pass for his mother. She shakes her head and approaches me with Andy’s double in tow.

‘We can’t let you view the footage.’ The service manager says.

‘The manager last night let me view it.’ I reply.

‘Well, he shouldn’t have. It’s a privacy issue.’

‘Privacy issue …’ I echo blankly.

‘The police will handle it.’ She says.

I surrender and buy some groceries. As I’m leaving the checkout Andy’s double catches my arm and hands me a small brochure.

‘Try putting your bike on here,’ he hisses. ‘It’s the site that police use for stolen bikes.’

He hurries back to his post.

The brochure reads: Bikelinc, powered by Crime Stoppers WA and the Community.

. . .

I’m sitting at our dining table in the kitchen, entering data on the Bikelinc site, when Graham enters the room. Graham is a housemate who's visiting Perth from Edinburgh. He's 7-foot tall with size 15 shoes. The water in my drinking glass ripples as he strides past.

‘What you up to man?’ Graham asks.

‘My bike was stolen.’

‘I heard.’ Graham flips the kettle on as he passes it and then rinses a mug at the sink.

‘I’m just entering the bike details on this site.’

‘SomeCuntStoleMyBikeDotCom?'

‘Basically,’ I confirm. ‘I need the frame serial number.’

My phone springs to life – a call from my friend, Candice.

‘Hello?’

‘Did you want me to get the footage from Coles?’

Candice's recently got her private eye licence. She must have heard through the grapevine about my bike. Or maybe she read it on Facebook.

‘Can you?’ I ask.

‘Yeah, I’ll just flash my badge,’ Candice says. ‘Leave it with me.’

She hangs up.

Graham’s towering figure strides past sipping his instant coffee.

'Maybe the place you bought the bike will have the serial number.’ Graham says.

‘Yeah, maybe.’ I pick up the phone again.

I call my buddy Marc Nesbitt. Marc sold me the bike back in March when he was running William Street Cycle Co, the designer bicycle store.

‘The Tempest is gone.' I say. 'Stolen yesterday.’

‘Oh no.’ Marc says. ‘Check all the cash converters. Keep a look out on Market Place and Gumtree. Also, post on Bike Jam, Bicycle Market Perth, Perth Bike Bartering, and any other Facebook pages that look relevant.’

‘Okay, thanks.'

'Timing is crucial.' Marc says. 'The first 48 hours will usually tell if the bicycle can be returned.’

I’ve had four bikes stolen so I know what Marc means. Bikes are transformed. Taken apart, frames repainted, gears stripped.

'Would you happen to have the serial number there?’ I ask.

‘No. I don’t think so.’ Marc says.

. . .

I begin scanning every site to do with second-hand goods for my bike or for different bike parts that might have been mine: bottom brackets, groupsets, handlebars, seats, wheels, brakes …

There’s a knock on my door. It’s Candice. I open the door, she marches in and hands me the flash key.

'Take what you need and then give it to the police,' Candice says. ‘Tell them that you need the bike for work and that it's your only means of transport.'

'That's true actually.'

'Most importantly be polite and respectful. Cops love that shit.'

‘Okay, thanks,’ I hold up the flash key. 'And where do I say I got this?'

'Tell them you hired a private detective.'

Candice leaves and I port in to find three video files.

Video 1 shows the Coles entrance, which I’d seen before, but this time I can see the thief entering Coles. Video 2 shows the service desk where my bike is parked. Video 3 shows the entrance from the carpark side. The man exits Coles with two shopping bags, walks out of frame, then walks back into view without the bags, re-enters Coles, and rolls out of Coles on my bike.

Shopping bags … he paid for shopping. Maybe there’s a name on his card … if he paid with a card. But then he loses the bags in the carpark … somewhere off camera. In a car most probably … but the camera doesn’t show the car.

I email the screen grabs of his face to Bayswater police and I post the three security videos onto Facebook. Not just on my page but on every page related to anything to do with bicycles or second-hand goods in Australia.

I add the caption: Do you recognise this person? Please let me know if you do. Re: stolen bicycle.

. . .

The weekend arrives and I'm making my way to a family lunch in the hills. I’m waiting on the Maylands train platform when I receive a private Facebook message from someone called Peter Andre. The profile picture is Ben Stiller from Zoolander posing Blue Steel. His message reads:

Sending from. Another account.. The person stole your bike is Raj Mishtoa. I know that piece of shit junkie Cunt.’

My train screams into the station and whines to a halt.

I step on board and open Peter Andre's account. It's definitely anonymous. No friends. No photos. No history. Just that Zoolander pic.

I lean into a corner of the carriage and find Raj Mishtoa’s Facebook account. He looks South East Asian. His profile picture shows him and a young child both with black caps, both throwing two-finger gang signs. There’s pictures of him squeezing an older woman who looks hard as nails. Under his name it reads: My family is my life.

Other pictures show Raj with sunnies flashing fists full of fifty dollar notes. The bare-brick background looks like public housing projects. No mutual friends but he's a real person and he matches the perp from the Coles footage.

I type a reply to Peter Andre: ‘Can you help me get the bike back?’

‘Cops Will. Know where he is. Trust me. And the bike. Will. Be there aswell. He doesn’t drive so that bike is his only. Mean of. Transport.’

I go back to Raj’s Facebook page. There are no pictures of the bike. I look closely at the more recent pictures of him. He bears a likeness to the thief, but it’s hard to be sure it’s a match due to the poor quality of Coles security cameras. In some pics he looks the same, in others he looks older.

I question Peter Andre: ‘Is it definitely him?’

‘Defiently know. It’s him I dnt forget a. Face of a scum. That steal n burns. Bridges’

I look up from my phone and realise the carriage is almost empty of passengers.

I go to Midland Station on the way to lunch. It's surprisingly empty in there too. An officer at the counter asks me for the report number. I give it to her and explain that I want to add the details to the report.

She looks at the computer. ‘You just called a minute ago.’

‘Yes,’ I reply.

‘Why didn’t you just email it in?’

‘I was told that I had to come in person.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘… the police.’

She rolls her eyes and writes down an email address for Bayswater Police.

‘They’ll get it on Monday.’

. . .

Two days pass with no news from police so I call Bayswater station. They take my details and say they’ll get back to me.

I message Peter Andre, ‘Is there any more information that you can give me that might help?’

No response. I sit at my desk staring into my computer screen and have a Eureka moment.

In the storage room opposite my bedroom I find the frame serial number in a cardboard box with a manual and some untouched wheel reflectors. I return to my computer and complete the listing on Bikelinc. Then I start scanning Facebook.

I’m following Maylands (2.6K members) and Bayswater (2.7K members) Community Facebook Groups. Group admins advise their members that while it feels we are in the grip of a crime wave Bayswater has only an average amount of crime. There is the occasional post on petty theft, suspicious characters, indecent exposers, but mostly it’s community events, lost dogs, babysitter recommendations and noise complaints.

I enter the Mt Lawley Crime Watch Facebook Group (1.5K members). There's less content but more protein: bike theft, car theft, home burglary, tirades about police impotence, calls for vigilante justice and heated arguments about the group's principles and objectives. Every second post seems stamped with rage, violent intent, or horrid racism. Group admins remind members to be civil to one another, not to name suspects and not to encourage vigilante behaviour.

I scroll past dozens of photos and videos of suspected criminals, each with their own personalised condemnation. Beneath my stolen bike post a man called Aaryn has commented: ‘Bait them, find them, bash them!’

My phone vibrates. Peter Andre has responded,

‘Last known.address’

There's a Bassendean address and two google street-view photos of a plain red-brick house. The front entrance is covered by a torn drop down sheet. The dying front lawn is scattered with dead leaves.

‘The. house his bouncing around from. Are with meth heads.. And you don’t. Want to be wandering thru asking for Shit as one of them. Is on the gear

So.give the cops what you already got. And let them sort it out.’

I email Bayswater police and update the report with Raj’s address.

The net is closing in.' I whisper to myself.

. . .

Three days pass and still no news from police so I call Bayswater station. A cop answers and tells me that Mirabooka police are now handling the case. I call Mirabooka station and they tell me that Bayswater police are now handling the case because it falls under their jurisdiction. So, I call Bayswater back for clarification but now they’re busy and they tell me a detective will get back to me.

I’m standing on the front porch with Fox, our Labrador, on a sofa beside me. It’s a still evening with low-hanging clouds and the Swan River is a flat, grey mirror. Cyclists glide along the path below and I track their movement as they pass the yacht club and disappear into the wetlands.

I get a call from a private number.

‘Hello?’ I answer.

‘Is this Tim Holland?’

‘Yes.’

‘This is Detective Pelican from Bayswater Police.’ He says it loud and fast, and it sounds like he has better things to do.

‘Um,’ I say, ‘I’m just wondering if there is any news on my bike?’

‘Do you know how many cases we get in every day?’

‘I’m sorry, can I grab your name again?’

He spits the name out just as fast, ‘Detective Pelican’.

‘Um,’ I say, and spell it back to him, ‘P-e-l-i-…?’

‘Look. It doesn’t matter. If we raise taxes we get more coppers to deal with this stuff but we have thirty new cases every day. We will get around to it.’

‘Okay, thank you.’ I say, breathing out a sigh.

He hangs up. I imagine him spreading his gigantic wings and soaring over the river to work on a more pressing case.

'Useless!' I say

My housemate, Tummy, opens the front screen door and leans out.

‘Is Fox out here with you?’

‘Yep, she’s here.’ Fox looks up at Tummy, her tail wagging.

‘Hello bubby,’ Tummy says to Fox. ‘Did you want dinner?’

Fox leaps off the couch and trots over to Tummy. He cups her face in his hands, bows and kisses her on the head.

'Who's useless?' Tummy asks.

‘Police.’

'Did you tell them about the tip?'

'I did. They're busy or they don't care.’

'I'll drive out to the house with you tomorrow after work.'

‘Thanks man.’ I say.

Tummy walks back inside with Fox at heel. I turn back and the river is a darker grey.

. . .

The next night, Tummy’s behind the wheel of his Mitsubishi 380 and I’m beside him navigating with Google Maps. The thick half of a pool cue sits on the back seat, in case there’s trouble.

It’s a short trip from Maylands to Bassendean. We drive down a maze of back streets till we come to a curve in the road and arrive at the house. The dead front lawn is lit from the street but the house is otherwise dark, inside and out. A blue hatchback is parked in the driveway.

Tummy and I sit in his car and watch for movement but there’s nothing. House on the left, driveway on the right, a car and a gate at the end of the driveway.

‘I could look behind the gate,’ I say. ‘I’ll need a torch though.’

There’s a torch app on my phone but the light may draw attention. If someone comes from the front I’ll be trapped.

‘We could knock on the door,’ Tummy says, ‘and pretend we’ve got the wrong address. When they open the door we could look behind to see if the bike is in view.’

‘I don't want to raise suspicion in case they get rid of the bike. If the cops ever do come I want the bike to be there.’

Behind on the footpath a figure approaches.

'Did you see that?' Tummy says. 'She looked at the house and shook her head.'

A plain-dressed middle-aged woman passes us and walks around the bend out of view.

Maybe she thinks we're scoring.' Tummy says, chuckling.

I don't know what I expected. I wasn’t there for a stakeout. I just needed to see the house with my own eyes. I’d hoped to find the bike out front or for Raj to be riding it home as we arrived.

I come to my senses. ‘Forget it. Let’s go.’ I say.

Tummy and I don’t say much on the way home. We drive to KFC and wait in the drive through.

‘That could have got pretty stupid quickly.’

‘Yeah,’ Tummy says. ‘Probably did the right thing.’

‘I don’t even know that Raj is the thief.’

‘It’s him in the picture isn’t it?’

‘I want it to be. But it’s hard to tell.’

. . .

It's a Tuesday and I'm at Hillarys Marina Beach with dad, my sister, Vanessa, her husband, Roger, and my 5 year old niece, Lilly. Vanessa and Lilly are collecting shells on the beach. Roger and dad are sitting on the rocks talking. It’s a pleasant scene.

I’m walking back from the showers when a call comes through from a private number.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, this is sergeant Kelly from City Police. We have Raj Mishtoab in custody.’

Hillarys always reminds me of the beach in the movie Jaws for some reason. If you can recall the vertigo shot of Roy Scheider's Brody first witnessing the shark in the water you can probably imagine my face upon hearing Sargent Kelly.

‘We have him on a number of charges unrelated to your case. I’ve had a look at the footage and I personally don’t think it’s a match. There doesn't appear to be sufficient evidence linking him to the stolen bicycle.’

A breeze blows sand in my eye.

‘Okay, thanks for the call.’

I message Peter Andre: ‘Police didn’t think he matched the footage.’

I look up at the still water, blinking to dislodge the sand.

Peter Andre’s angle wasn’t hard to imagine. Raj had ripped him off and now Peter Andre was using me to settle a score by making Raj a patsy. Andre may even be the bicycle thief covering his tracks.

Peter Andre replies,

Wtf…fuk the copper are dumb cunts’

. . .

I get home, go to my room, turn on my PC and find a notification on the Bayswater Community Facebook Page. A woman called Carrol has responded to my posting of the Coles security tapes:

Video of outside Coles, guy who steals bike is with lady in pink top & they get into the car in video - he goes back for bike & she gets out of front passenger seat to change to driver’s seat. I think they are your people.’

Lady in pink … My fingers tap my mouse furiously to load video 3.

The Coles carpark flashes onto the screen. A woman in a pink top walks out of Coles moments before the thief exits Coles with shopping bags. The two walk separately but meet at the car—a black Holden. She goes to one side and he goes to the other. Jesus. I hadn’t noticed the car hidden in the corner of the frame.

The woman in pink gets in the passenger seat as the thief walks out of frame with the shopping bags. Five seconds pass, time enough to conspire, then he reappears without the bags, and re-enters Coles as the woman gets out the passenger side and walks around the car to switch seats with him. Seconds later he leaves Coles on my bicycle, and the car pulls away.

The rego plate is visible: 1EFN 164

More notifications appear showing responses to the same video on various group pages. On Perth Bike Bartering Group page someone called Thomas has posted:

The guy who stole bike look like is with lady in a pink top and they get into a black Holden in video outside Coles.

He goes back and lady in pink gets out of front passenger seat adn walks around to the drivers side.’

The rego is: 1EFN164’

On Bike Jam someone called Nicky says simply:

‘1EFN164’’

I call Bayswater Police and report it.

. . .

I’m at a Curtin guild café in the engineering block sitting at one of the outdoor tables with a chicken sandwich cased in clear plastic. Four days have passed without news from police so I call Bayswater station.

‘Bayswater police.’

‘Yes, I’m calling for an update on an investigation of a stolen bicycle. I reported the rego number and model of a car belonging to the perpetrator four days ago.’

‘Got the report number there?’

I give the number.

‘Just a sec.’ He says and puts me on hold.

I pry the plastic open at the hinge, pick up the cold white sandwich and take a bite.

‘Okay, yep, we have the footage and have noted the car rego. Unfortunately they can't be compelled to talk to us’.

‘I’m sorry?’ I ask, ‘I didn’t catch that.’

‘We can’t compel them to talk to us.’

‘You have video evidence of them stealing my bicycle. Does that not warrant a means to compel?’

‘Welcome to WA legislation,’ he says. ‘If they had violated a traffic code then we could pull them over but that is not our duty.’

‘Can I talk to anyone who is directly involved in the case?’ I ask.

‘The team that has been assigned to your case is not on until Friday.

‘Can I ask which team?’

‘Team one!’ He says. I imagine every cop at the station breaking into laughter behind him.

‘Can I get the name of a detective who is currently directly involved with the case?’ I ask.

‘Someone will get back to you.’

. . .

I enter Bayswater Police Station to an empty reception desk. The doors on either side are mirror glass covered by blinds. Sliced fragments of me look back uneasily. A low hum of voices sounds from an interview room to my right. A row of filing cabinets behind the desk are labelled with teams 1-4, each drawer classified as either fresh cases or those pending court.

A brown-haired young detective with heavy eyes and slumped shoulders trudges out from the back office.

'Can I help you?'

‘Yes, I spoke with a detective Darryn today.'

'I'm Detective Darryn.'

'Ah! I brought the Coles footage that you requested.'

I hand him the flash key.

'Oh, yeah, our computers are currently on the fritz so I couldn't download the files you sent us. I.T. is coming next week. Take a seat and I'll copy this and give it back.’

He slogs his way back to a hidden office. I sit on a side bench and wait. On my left is a table of 16 missing persons. I study each face and wonder where the hell they went. A poster on the opposite wall shows a man in a hoody digitally shaped to resemble a gorilla climbing through an open window. Above the ape it says 'Open Invitation.' Under the ape it says, 'Open windows can let in more than the breeze.'

A small man in a green cap and a blue tracksuit enters the station and walks to the reception desk. He looks to be in his 60s. He’s greeted by a fresh rookie cop at the counter. The man demands a transcript of his interview. The young cop retrieves a sergeant from the interview room. The sergeant looks a similar age to the small man. He tells the man that he doesn’t need a transcript because he hasn’t been charged with a crime. The small man says he doesn’t care, he wants a transcript anyway. The sergeant says that he’s not even a suspect at this point and that he doesn’t need a transcript. The old man says he’s not leaving without a transcript seconds before giving up and leaving.

I look at my phone. It’s been almost half an hour.

Detective Darryn steps out from behind the staff door and sits with me.

‘Sorry it took a while. Listen, I’ve had a look through the footage and I don’t think it shows that the woman and the man are together.’

‘I think it does. It’s beyond doubt in fact.’

‘Well, it’s a theory but there isn’t any evidence. How long ago was the bike taken, two weeks?’

‘Three weeks.’

‘I’ve been off for a few weeks. We have the car rego but the car is linked to an old address. When we visited the house a woman wearing a burqa answered the door.’

I pinch myself to check if I’m dreaming.

‘So they’ve changed address?’ I ask.

‘Yes, it would appear so.’

‘So what happens now?’

‘When the car does show up we’ll talk to the owner of the vehicle.’

‘That’s it?’

‘For now, yes.’

. . .

I’m at my desk scrolling through the Maylands Community Notices Facebook page. I now browse community pages the way one might surf reality TV. I’m not looking for my bike anymore. Four months has passed since it was taken. The community content now is mostly about where to find toilet paper, or people who are laid-off, looking for work. The Covid-19 Crisis has taken hold and the world economy is suddenly collapsing.

My phone rings.

‘Hello?’

‘This is Bayswater police calling.’

The police-woman has a friendly voice.

‘Yes?’

‘We’re just following up on your missing bicycle case. We are having difficulty locating the black Holden vehicle but there is a vehicle alert so when it is spotted by police we will speak to them about the case.’

‘I didn’t think it would be so hard to locate the driver of the vehicle.’ I say.

‘Well they drive back streets but as soon as it’s spotted we’ll talk to them.’

‘Is the vehicle stolen?’ I ask.

‘We can’t tell you that.’

‘Okay, well thanks for the update.’

I put the phone down and lean back in my chair.

A number of posts still show abandoned bicycles found on random streets – bikes that the thieves probably didn’t rate. A woman called Sally posts that her stolen bicycle has been returned to her by police. Sally says,

'To anyone who's had a bike stolen recently don't give up hope.'

The post links to the Perth District - Police Force Facebook page where police are seeking the public’s assistance in identifying people committing various criminal acts. It says that Perth is experiencing an increase in opportunistic crime. The page cites figures showing bicycle theft surging 60% some ten years back and now sees over 9000 bikes stolen across WA every year.

I scroll down the page and find that every few weeks a new post appears showing police returning a stolen bicycle to its owner.

One shows a man in his forties with an honest smile standing behind a specialized bicycle. Beside him stands a similar-aged policeman shaking his hand and looking satisfied with the end result.

The header reads,

Bikelinc, Re-uniting bikes and owners all over Perth.

Beneath the photo it reads,

YET ANOTHER #BIKELINC SUCCESS STORY

I lean forward to study the image. I start to see myself, holding my Bombtrack bike, with a shit-eating grin and giving a thumbs-up to the camera. I’m shaking the cop’s hand before stopping, looking frantically for hand sanitiser, and riding to a safe distance.

The image fades.

I notice an old message alert in my private messages folder. It’s from a woman called Tania. It’s a month old.

‘Hi I saw 2 men this evening both riding bikes past my house, twice. The reason I noticed them is they didn’t look the typical cyclists.’ One looks like the fellow in your video. Unfortunately I didn’t look too closely at the bikes. I live down Caledonian Ave. I will let you know if I see them again.’

I open Google Maps and look up Caledonian Avenue. It runs parallel with Coles.

‘Thank you.’ I reply.

I didn’t get my bike back. It wasn’t found or returned to me. It appeared for sale on gumtree recently. Someone called Readdler was selling it for $2500.00, which is more than I paid for it. The profile showed a man with an Adidas jumper from the head down. The ad read:

Bought in December 2019

Hardly used and well maintained

Cash on pick up as I don’t own a car

No time wasters please

Readdler could have been the thief but most likely it was a fake ad. I made an offer but he didn’t take it. I told police but there was no number on the ad so they couldn’t help, which is a shame because it would have been a far better ending to the story.