Blood Tears

  Blood Tears

  by JD Nixon

  Copyright JD Nixon 2014

  Smashwords Edition

  Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters and locations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real locations, is purely coincidental. The police force and justice system, and their operations and procedures depicted in this book are purely the product of the author’s imagination and are not based on any real jurisdiction.

  JD Nixon is an Australian author. Australian English and spelling have been used in this book.

  Discover other titles by JD Nixon available at many ebook retailers:

  Heller series

  Book 1: Heller (free ebook!)

  Book 2: Heller’s Revenge

  Book 3: Heller’s Girlfriend

  Book 4: Heller’s Punishment

  Book 5: Heller’s Decision

  Book 6: Heller’s Regret

  Book 7: Heller’s Family (to be published)

  Little Town series

  Book 1: Blood Ties (free ebook!)

  Book 2: Blood Sport

  Book 3: Blood Feud

  Book 4: Blood Tears

  Book 5: as yet unnamed (to be published)

  Cover design by Infinity Rain

  ~~~~~~ ###### ~~~~~~

  Cuttings from my scrapbook . . .

  Wattling Bay Messenger, Friday, 14 September 2001

  Man killed in vicious jail murder

  Robert John Bycraft, aged 44, formerly of Mount Big Town, was murdered in the City Jail on Tuesday. Prison authorities report Bycraft was beaten to death by two fellow inmates.

  Bycraft was serving a life sentence for the rape and murder of Leonie Mary Fuller, 24, and attempted murder of her two-year-old daughter, both of Mount Big Town, in 1985.

  Wattling Bay Messenger, Thursday, 8 April 2010

  Man sentenced to probation for indecent exposure

  David Anthony Gatton, 43, farmer, of Mount Big Town, appeared in the Wattling Bay Magistrates Court yesterday on a charge of indecent exposure. Gatton was arrested for urinating in a public park situated next to a primary school in Mount Big Town.

  Gatton was given a twelve-month probation period by Magistrate Helen Tyler who took into account his lack of previous convictions, and testimonials by several of the town’s citizens on his behalf.

  Wattling Bay Messenger, Wednesday, 19 January 2011

  Cemetery vandalism ‘out of control’

  Councillor Elenora Villiers, representative of Mount Big Town, stated at the Wattling Bay District Council meeting on Tuesday that vandalism at the Old Cemetery in Mount Big Town was ‘out of control’. Mrs Villiers brought to Council members’ attention that the allocation of money for maintaining the cemetery had tripled in the past financial year due to the necessity of removing offensive graffiti from headstones and repairing the perimeter fence on multiple occasions.

  Mrs Villiers blamed ‘unemployed hooligans’ in the town for the vandalism and requested that Council consider installing more lighting in the area.

  Wattling Bay Messenger, Wednesday, 30 November 2011

  Spate of petty thefts ‘not related’

  In response to the Mayor’s request for information on the marked increase in petty thefts in Wattling Bay over the past three months, Superintendent Fiona Midden, of the Wattling Bay Police, stated that all thefts were being thoroughly investigated. At this stage police considered the thefts were ‘not related’. Investigations are continuing.

  Prologue

  I am in church for a festive occasion, Jakey by my side, holding my hand. We’re dressed in our best formal clothes, as is everyone around us. The church is festooned with decorations, and a festive buzz of conversation fills the air.

  At the front of the church, waiting with patient anticipation, is Dad. He is in his wheelchair, dressed formally in a dark blue suit, a jaunty red carnation in his lapel. His smile is unstoppable. This is the best day of his life.

  Organ music strikes up – it’s a familiar tune. We all stand respectfully, gazing towards the entrance of the church. In floats a vision of ethereal beauty in white satin and gauze. Her skin is clear and creamy, her dark blonde hair twisted up into a flattering style, tendrils delicately brushing her swan-like neck. Her dark grey eyes sparkle with excitement and her mouth curves in happiness. She is beautiful beyond words.

  “That’s my mother,” I say to Jake in wonder, my hands up to my mouth. “I’ve always wanted to be able to hug her and to talk to her. And here she is.”

  He kisses my cheek. “You’re as stunning as she is.”

  “I can’t believe it’s her.”

  She walks down the aisle, but she’s so graceful it’s almost as if she’s dancing lightly on her toes. When she passes our pew she blows me a kiss, and tears of joy pool in my eyes. She remembers me. She loves me.

  “Mum . . .” I say, holding out my hand to her. But she has passed by on her way to the front, where Dad waits for her.

  I understand now. They are getting married.

  She continues on her way, her head turning from side to side to acknowledge everyone who’s crammed themselves into the pew to watch such a glorious ceremony.

  Dad watches her procession, and there is so much love shining in his eyes that it brings renewed tears to mine. But they are tears of happiness. My family will finally be reunited.

  Dad holds out both hands to her, so he can gather her to him and make her his wife, and my mother, again.

  She reaches out one hand to him, but someone calls to her, so her attention is turned to the side. An angelic smile is bestowed on the caller, but still she moves forward.

  There is a rustling in the congregation as the caller rudely pushes past others in the pew to reach the aisle. My mother’s face changes from radiant to frightened in a snap.

  The caller steps out and it is Bobby Bycraft. He’s holding a wicked knife in his hand.

  “Give me what I want,” he tells her.

  She shakes her head, backing away from him. I stand, ready to protect her from him. I’m a cop. It’s my job to protect people. But Jake is still holding my hand and he won’t let it go. I try to shake it off, but he tightens his grip, yanking me down next to him again. I struggle to free myself, but his grasp is iron-tight and I’m captured.

  Bobby Bycraft advances on my mother. My father seems rooted in place, unable to move. Nobody else attempts to help her.

  Bobby raises the knife and we all scream as the blade slices through my mother’s pale skin. He pulls it out and thrusts it in again. And again. And again.

  I lose count of how many times. She collapses to her knees, blood pouring from her, spoiling her beautiful dress. Her eyes remain fixed on her murderer the entire time he kills her.

  I yank at Jake’s hand, desperately wanting to help her, but he keeps me restrained.

  In her gurgling, dying moments, my mother turns her eyes to me. They are filming over with death.

  “I love you, Tessie. I’ve always loved you. I’ll always love you. Never forget that.

  I cry and cry, a river of tears runs down my face.

  Jake drags me by the hand towards the entrance.

  “No!” I scream at him. “I want to help my mother.”

  “It’s too late, Tessie. You can�
��t help her now.”

  And though I can’t stop crying, I know in my heart that what he says is true. I can’t save her.

  I’m always too late.

  Chapter 1

  “Geez, you’ve got a nice arse on you, Tezza.”

  I straightened up from bending over to shove boring, unread paperwork into random files, just to get it off my desk. I slammed the drawer shut and leaned my elbow on top of the rusty filing cabinet, casting baleful eyes at the man in the station with me.

  “For the last time, stop calling me Tezza. It’s Tess or Tessie. Or in your case, Senior Constable Fuller.”

  He laughed, a huge, jolly, belly-shaking roar of hilarity. Nothing I ever said to him caused offence. He was impossible to rile.

  “And don’t ever comment on my arse again. I believe that’s the third time I’ve asked you that this week.”

  He laughed harder, slapping his knee. “You’re a feisty one, all right! I can see why they sent me here to deal with you.”

  I pressed my lips together, somehow resisting the urge to reach for my gun. I definitely didn’t want to hear all about his mythical powers as the so-called ‘Cop Wrangler’. Again.

  He leaned back in his chair, its springs complaining under his weight. “I told them I couldn’t do it, that I was booked out solid for the rest of the year. You’d be surprised how many cops need disciplinary supervision in this state.”

  “Would I? You’ve only told me how many every week since you arrived.”

  He ignored me, carrying on. “But you were a special favour.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded. He’d never mentioned that before.

  He pointed a finger towards the ceiling. “Those above insisted I drop everything to come here. And I can tell you that really threw out my schedule.”

  “Are you talking about the Super?”

  “Nah. More senior than the Super, though she was the one who originally suggested I become involved in your, erm, ‘situation’.” He raised quizzical eyebrows at me. “You have friends in high places.”

  “No, I don’t.” Some days I didn’t feel as though I had any friends at all. “Who would care about my career? I’m just a senior constable in a small town. Nothing but an anonymous foot soldier to those above.”

  “Just saying.” He stood and stretched, the buttons on his straining uniform shirt threatening to ricochet across the room. He looked around, smiling when he spotted his horse racing form guide half-buried under unfinished productivity statistics. “I’m off to take a dump.”

  I screwed up my nose in disgust. “You don’t need to tell me that each time.”

  He waved the form guide. “And hopefully pick a few winners for the weekend.”

  I turned back to my ‘filing’, recklessly jamming paper into already bursting files. The bell on the rear door tinkled as he left for the bathroom on the station’s verandah. “And for God’s sake, clean the bowl when you’re finished for once!” I shouted after him.

  The last few months had been a trial for me. I’d thought I’d been treated lightly for my behaviour with the deputy commissioner, but then Barry – “Baz, if you don’t mind, love” – Chives turned up in my life.

  The Cop Wrangler – a nickname in which he didn’t bother masking his delight.

  Jovial, affable Baz, also known as my worst nightmare. To be lumbered with a relentlessly cheerful sergeant when I still wallowed in the depths of my furious misery was unbelievably painful – as it was meant to be. I had no doubt now I was being punished in the most terrible and specific way that only the Super could dream up. And I had no doubt that she’d been angry enough with me to arrange it.

  A friendly giant of a man with a girth to match, Baz had a meticulously groomed moustache and a dodgy hairpiece that looked as though a small animal died of exhaustion on his head. He presented more as a used car salesman than a police officer, but it would be a foolish person who assumed that. He was shrewd and diligent in his duties. When he rocked up to the station on his first day, I’d hoped he’d be like my old sergeant, Des, who pretty much let me do what I wanted.

  Boy, was I wrong.

  Baz took his title of Supervisory Sergeant seriously. He insisted on us taking every call together, day or night, and he didn’t let me out of his sight for a second during work hours. That pissed me off beyond belief. I knew he sent reports about me to someone, maybe the Super. I wished I could give him more positive things to communicate, but I wasn’t viewing life through rose-coloured glasses, and I couldn’t hide it, especially from myself.

  Knowing Baz was safely ensconced on his ‘throne’ for a while, and with nothing better to do, I tidied up the back office of the station. It was a bad move. Every spare second I spent doing menial things, my thoughts would wander to the Sarge. But I ruthlessly crushed each one of them. I didn’t want, or need, to think of him. I’d even stopped reading his emails and opening the gifts he sent me from overseas. He had nothing to say that I wanted to hear.

  The bell to the front door rang. I went out to the counter, my hand hovering near my gun, expecting a Bycraft. Relations between them and me had deteriorated even further over the last couple of weeks. Rumours of the coroner’s potential release of Denny Bycraft’s body hadn’t helped, fuelling any number of arguments between my boyfriend, Jake, and me.

  “You can’t go to his funeral,” Jake maintained every time we spoke.

  Last night, we’d bickered about it again.

  “Why not?” I’d asked him. “I want to pay my respects to someone who saved my life. Nothing you say will stop me from going.”

  “Tessie, no. You being there will just make my family angry.”

  “Including you?” I’d asked.

  When he didn’t answer, I rolled over, turning my back on him, pretending to sleep.

  But it wasn’t Bycrafts at the counter. Two guys stood there expectantly, eyes widening when I stepped through the doorway. You couldn’t find two more mismatched men if you tried. One was ridiculously tall and gangly with gingery hair and a goatee. The other was shorter, more compact, muscled, clean-shaven with blond hair.

  I’d seen them before somewhere. My mind raced over all possibilities before hitting the jackpot.

  “Hello, guys. Can I help?” I asked politely, my eyes moving from one to the other.

  The gangly ginger one spoke, now shorn of the dreads he’d worn in the photo I remembered. “Oh, sure. We’re just here for –”

  “You’re Maguire’s friends, aren’t you? I’ve seen a photo in his house of the three of you at your graduation,” I butted in, not giving him a chance to even test his pathetic excuse out on me.

  They looked at each other, almost blushing.

  “Yeah,” Ginger admitted reluctantly. “I’m Trig, and this is –”

  “I’m Harley,” his friend said, holding his hand out. I let it hang. He blushed even more, pulling it back.

  “You can call him Harry,” said Trig.

  Harley shot him an annoyed look – clearly a long-time irritation amongst good friends, which Trig duly ignored. “Only Trig and Finn ever call me Harry. Everyone else calls me Harley. You can too.”

  “I’d rather call you a taxi out of town.” They didn’t need to know we had no taxis here.

  “Wow! You really are prickly. I thought Finn was exaggerating,” said Trig.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Nothing,” asserted Trig, his chin lifting in mild defiance. “Finn told us this was a nice part of the world. Harry –”

  “Harley.”

  “Harry and I had a few days off, so we thought we’d check it out. You know, kind of a holiday.”

  “Right,” I said, eyes darting from one to the other again. “And I’m supposed to believe that bullshit? You guys need to come up with better alibis.”

  Silence reigned for a few ticks.

  Harley leaned over, whispering to Trig, “She’s really hardarse.”

  “Finn warned us,” Tr
ig whispered back. I wondered if I should tell them I could hear them.

  “I didn’t think she’d be this bad. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just say something, will you,” urged Trig. “We look like dicks standing here.”

  “All right,” blurted Harley to me in desperation. “Finn asked us to check on you.”

  Anger exploded inside me. I slammed my palms down on the counter, scaring them. “You can just tell Maguire to enjoy his life and to butt out of mine.”

  I stormed into the back office, ignoring the repeated dinging of the counter bell.

  Baz, returning from doing his business sooner than normal, walked through the rear door, shaking his head sadly. “It’s just not happening for me today, Tezza. Geez, I’ve got to eat more fibre or give up those tasty meat platters at the pub,” he said with great regret, patting his stomach. “I sat there, giving it all I had, but –”

  “Not one more word! I really don’t want to know.”

  He stopped, listening to the dinging. “Aren’t you going to get that?”

  “Nope,” I replied, sitting and restarting my computer. “Nothing but time wasters.”

  He went out to the front counter. I heard much conversation, laughter and hearty bonhomies between the men. It didn’t improve my mood.

  “Keep it down out there!” I shouted, opening a game of solitaire on my screen. “Some of us are trying to work.”

  The conversation muted slightly before Baz strolled back through the doorway.

  “Tezza, lock up will you, love? I’m taking the lads for a spin to show them all the town’s highlights.”

  “Like what?”

  He thought for a moment. “I dunno. The lake. The pub. The Bycrafts.” His belly wobbled again as he laughed at his own little joke.