Blood Tears Page 3

  “What the hell do you think I’ll get up to in an hour or two?”

  “Who could even guess?” was his parting comment.

  I waited until I heard the bell trill on the front door, signifying their exit, and then I did a brief freedom dance. I wasn’t the best dancer around. Actually, that was a lie. In any group of people, I was most probably the worst dancer around. The dance I performed was pure free-form artistic expression, but it felt good. That was until I realised the three men were watching me through the window from the station’s carpark, mouths agape. Embarrassed, cheeks aflame, I sat down and worked on my reports some more.

  The phone rang. “Mount Big Town police station. Senior Constable Fuller speaking.”

  “Tess.” There was no mistaking that husky phone sex voice, or that exhaled breath of nicotine.

  “Oh, it’s you.”

  She sighed. When I said the Super and I were estranged, it was really me estranging myself from her. She was more than willing to move forward. I wasn’t.

  “Put Baz on.”

  “Sorry. No can do.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s not here.”

  I felt her stiffen through the phone line. “Why the fuck not? Where is he? If he’s in that fucking crapper again, then tell him to haul his arse back to the phone, turds and all.”

  “He’s gone to the pub, ma’am,” I said in my most innocent voice, smiling to myself.

  “What the fuckity fuck? I’m going to roast his fat arse over an open flame and serve it for dinner. I gave him instructions about not leaving you alone for a second.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that. I really appreciate it.”

  “Don’t start that shit with me again, Tess. I’m not in the mood.”

  “Neither am I,” I snapped. “What do you want? Baz isn’t here, so I’m it.”

  Three ticks of silence. “The kid that died yesterday. He had no ID on him. Nothing. We don’t know who he is. Forensics will be lucky to scrape any dental or finger prints from him. He was fucking jam after that semi hit him.”

  Guilt stabbed me so badly it hurt. “I didn’t mean to chase him on to the highway. I yelled at him to stop. He was just a kid.”

  Her voice softened. “I know you tried to stop him. But those shitwits in the city are investigating this closely, Tessie. You’re skating on wafer thin ice as it is. I’m doing what I can.”

  “Thank you,” I said softly, knowing that no matter our current personal situation, she’d always look out for me.

  I needed this job. I couldn’t afford to lose it. Dad’s medical bills were diabolical lately, and the council rates on the unwanted house I’d inherited were due this month. Why couldn’t life toss me a bone now and then? I thought with great bitterness.

  “That kid. Did you recognise him?” the Super asked.

  “I didn’t see his face properly, but if he was a local, I’d know by now. Someone would have missed him.”

  “Fuck,” she said quietly, her fingers impatiently drumming her desk. “I’ve had a spate of petty thefts here in Wattling Bay recently. I wondered if this was connected. Would that grocer have had much in the till?”

  “Judging from the price he charges for Tim Tams, probably millions.”

  An exasperated exhalation in my ear. “Tess. I’m fucking serious.”

  “Not much. You know most of us shop in Big Town. That store is mostly for tourists, and he gouges them deeply, believe me. But living in a town with the Bycrafts, the shopkeepers tend not to keep much in the till. He’s probably the same. Most of his dosh would have been in the safe in his office.”

  She sighed again, and I heard her lighter flick the flame on another cigarette. “Ask around. We have to know who this kid is. He has a family somewhere, and they deserve to know what happened to him.” She breathed the fumes in deeply. “Even if they don’t give a shit.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And Tessie?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Stop being such a stranger. Ronnie misses you a lot.”

  I took my time responding. “I miss Ronnie too,” I finally said, not sure whether we were even talking about her husband at all.

  “I’ll let him know,” she said, hanging up. I listened to the dial tone for a few seconds before replacing the handset, still not sure who missed me the most.

  Before I went back to work, and as Baz wasn’t around, I logged into my bank account, and stared for a full minute at the dire screen in front of me. Unless I was late with a few bills, I’d never get out of December with my head above water. And when I checked my diary and realised it was only the second day of the month, I knew I was doomed to total penury. It’d be definitely be poor pickings of a Christmas celebration for Dad and me this year, not that that was anything unusual for us. I could only thank God there weren’t any debtors’ prisons around these days, because I calculated I’d end up there by about mid-December.

  The counter bell interrupted my depressed musings. Quickly logging out, and with my hand on my gun again, I went out. I lifted the latch of my holster when I greeted my new customers.

  “What do you want?” I demanded of Lola Bycraft, mother of my boyfriend and matriarch of the whole stinking, rotten Bycraft clan.

  “I want to tell one stubborn bitch of a piglet to stay away from my son’s funeral,” she snarled, customary cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth, noxious smoke curling up into the atmosphere.

  “No smoking in the station.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Put it out or I’ll shoot you.” I double-patted my Glock so she would pay attention.

  She glanced over each shoulder at her offspring flanking her, Rosie and Rick. Three of my least favourite Bycrafts – and that was saying something, because I’d never yet met a Bycraft I liked.

  Except Jake.

  And now Denny.

  She pulled the cigarette out of her mouth – barely a stub at that point – and ground it on to the time-battered timber counter.

  “Happy, bitch?”

  I smiled at her, a tight, creasing upwards of my lips that held no humour. “I’ll never be happy while you’re breathing, Lola.”

  She laughed, a short bark of humour. “My Denny’s coming home soon, and I don’t want you there with all your pig stink wafting over everything to spoil it for us.”

  “I’m going to his funeral and none of you will stop me.”

  “We’ll stop you, all right,” threatened Rick, stepping forward.

  “One more step and it’s trouble for you, buddy,” I threatened back, unholstering my gun.

  “Red’s coming and Karl’s coming and Tommy’s coming,” Lola gloated. “You better watch your back, piglet.”

  “Tommy, sure, I can see that happening. But not Red or Karl. They won’t be letting them attend. No way. Especially Red.”

  “Red’s coming, bitch,” Rosie affirmed. “Watch your back.”

  “I don’t care what you say. I’m going to Denny’s funeral.”

  “I’ve never met a dumber bitch in my life,” scorned Rick.

  “And I’ve never not respected someone who saved my life. And I’ve never not given credit to a decent Bycraft on the extremely rare occasion I find one from you bunch of sewage scum. I’m going to Denny’s funeral. And all three of you can piss off now, because that’s the last thing I have to say to any of you.”

  “I’m going to kill you if you try to turn up,” Rick snarled.

  I laughed in derision at his warning. “Okay, you and me out the back now, loser. Let’s rumble about it.”

  “Fuck you,” he said, stepping away.

  “How erudite of you. Piss off now, the three of you. I don’t want to have to say it to you again in a more painful way.” I laid my Glock on the counter, my hand covering it.

  Lola launched a gob of spit on her smouldering cigarette butt, and the three of them sauntered out of the station, six middle fingers up and proud.

  I released a huge b
reath and locked both front and rear doors. Grimacing at the extra housework, I pulled on disposable gloves and used ten disinfectant wipes to clean away Lola’s spittle.

  I returned to my desk, sitting aimlessly staring out of the window, and trying to regain my composure. I didn’t give a toss about Rick’s threat, but the knowledge that Red would be allowed to attend his brother’s funeral threw me. I really thought I’d seen the last of him in the courtroom dock when he’d been sent back to jail for virtually a lifetime. I’d grinned and waved at him as he’d been led away, promoting a string of shouted obscenities from him that resulted in some rough handling from the Corrective Services officers as they bundled him out.

  I picked up the phone and rang Jake.

  “Baby doll, you missing me?” he bantered playfully.

  I was in no mood to be playful. “Jakey, when is Denny’s funeral?”

  His voice snapped into serious mode. “We don’t know yet. They haven’t released his body. Soon, they tell us.”

  “Will Red be there?”

  Silence.

  “Jakey! Will Red be at Denny’s funeral?”

  “Yeah. I meant to tell you, honestly, but –”

  “How can they let him out for any reason? He’s a previous escapee.”

  “Tessie, it’s his brother’s funeral.”

  “When did you know?”

  “Tessie –”

  I slammed the phone down and checked the locks on the station doors again. I sat at my desk researching the prison system, looking for an answer to my question.

  How could they let him out to attend anything, even a funeral?

  And that was how the three guys found me on their return.

  Chapter 3

  “Tezza, what’s the matter?” Baz demanded the instant I finally unlocked the front door after their increasingly worried knocking.

  “Red Bycraft’s coming back here for his brother’s funeral,” I told him in a flat voice.

  He snorted. “Of course he’s not. They’re not letting him out for that.”

  “They told me. The Bycrafts told me. They came here especially to tell me while you were gone.”

  “Who? Not the kids pulling your leg?”

  I stared at him in annoyance. “No. It was Lola herself.”

  “Shit.” He ran his fingers through his ‘hair’, ruffling it into an unbecoming mess. “He’ll be accompanied by prison staff the whole time.”

  “Right,” I said dismissively. “Because that’s going to make such a difference. He stole a prison van last time he escaped.”

  “Tess, is this bad? Should we tell Finn?” asked Harley anxiously, his eyes full of an innocence which could surely only exist through unfamiliarity with the Bycrafts.

  While my response to that question was a death-stare, Baz ushered the two men aside to whisper frantically to them. I didn’t even bother listening in, but whatever he said made them leave, and for that, this time I made him a decent cup of tea.

  “It will be okay, Tezza,” he said, sipping in cautious appreciation.

  “Sure.”

  “He’ll be accompanied all the time.”

  “Sure.”

  “He’ll be identifiable.”

  “Sure.”

  He scratched his neck. “It’ll be okay,” he repeated, but with much less enthusiasm and belief than a moment before.

  “If you say.”

  “I’m saying, but I guess you’re not believing.”

  I twisted my chair to look at him. “I’m hearing you, but I’ve heard it all before. Do you know he shot me?” I pulled up my shirtsleeve to show him the scar. “And he also stabbed me here,” I said, rubbing my finger over that scar. I threw back my chair and stood, pacing around the office. “This guy is obsessed with me for some reason. He’s been hunting me my entire life. Does anyone seriously think he’ll meekly come back here to town, and not try to escape to come after me again when he promised he would?” I rounded on him and leaned objectionably close to him. “Seriously?”

  He flinched backwards. “Tezza,” he said faintly. “It’ll be okay.”

  “No, it won’t. I’m out of here.”

  “I’ll have to report it if you leave.”

  I turned on him. “I don’t care anymore. Report me all you want. I just don’t care.”

  “Hey! Hey, come back here.”

  “No. The police force just doesn’t seem to give a shit about the Bycrafts.”

  “Maybe not. The force is a bureaucracy. It doesn’t give a shit about anything except its budgets and meeting targets,” he shrugged. “But I give a shit. Come back here.”

  He stopped me in my tracks at that. Maybe he was the Cop Wrangler, after all?

  “You’re just saying that because it’s your job,” I accused, half-turned to him.

  “No, Tezza. I’m saying that because I – me, the man – care about what happens to you. You’re a cop in a town where half the population hates you. I see how hard that is for you every day. It would be hard for any cop. You’re not alone.”

  I sank back into my chair and rested my head on my palms. “Then why do I feel so alone, Baz?” I asked, deflated.

  “Because you’re fighting everybody all the time. Even those trying to help you. Stop fighting so much.”

  “If I don’t fight, I don’t live. It’s not an option for me to stop fighting.”

  “Tezza, find some faith in others. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

  I closed my eyes so he couldn’t see the turmoil in them. “I’ve heard that before,” I whispered, mostly to myself. “And I believed it.”

  As if in understanding, he stood, patted my shoulder and rinsed our mugs out in the sink, a rare act of housekeeping from him.

  “Finn will return,” he said with quiet assurance, placing the mugs upside down on the drying rack.

  “Who said anything about him?” I demanded, eyes back on my screen.

  “Not you,” he replied, easing his butt back on to the Sarge’s chair. “And that’s unusual in itself.”

  I made a sound of exasperation, banging on my keyboard again. “The Super rang while you were away,” I said, diverting the conversation.

  Baz sat up straighter. “Oh, yeah. And?”

  “And I told her you were at the pub.”

  “Tezza,” he deprecated mildly.

  “She said she’s going to roast your arse on an open flame for leaving me unsupervised.”

  He considered, half-shrugging. “Well, that’s probably a tasty way to cook my arse, truth be told. Lots of fat to render down,” he laughed heartily. “Hats off to her for that recipe.” But then his eyes zeroed in on mine. “But, Tezza? Tattletale? Really? I’m disappointed.”

  I felt a little ashamed, but not too much. “What’s good for the goose . . .” I replied.

  “Is not good for your supervisor.” He leaned back in his chair. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Fiona and I have a special understanding.”

  “What does that mean?” Eww, I thought, aghast. Surely not . . . that?

  “We didn’t have an intimate relationship,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. “But we had a work relationship.” He slyly glanced over at me. “Much like the one we have.”

  My mouth fell open. “No! Are you saying Fiona had some cop wrangling in her time?”

  He didn’t reply, but winked, touching his index finger to his nose. “You never heard a word about it from me.”

  “But you’re not that much older than her.”

  He sighed in happiness. “Tezza, I had a calling that was recognised early on in my career. A certain somebody was a constable at the time of our interaction, and I was an acting-sergeant.”

  I finally decided to broach something that had been puzzling me since I’d met him. “Baz, if you’re so great as a cop wrangler –”

  “Which I am.”

  “And were recognised as such early in your career –”

  “Which I was.”

  “And were an acting
-sergeant when Fiona, our superintendent, was just a constable –”

  “I was.”

  “How come you’re still a sergeant? That’s ages being a sergeant.”

  “Decades,” he corrected gently. “I’m happy being a sergeant and wrangling senior constables and constables. And sometimes the occasional more junior sergeant lands on my plate too. If I advanced, I’d have to start wrangling the senior sergeants and the inspectors, and worst of all, the superintendents. Can you imagine trying to wrangle Fiona today?”

  We both instinctively shuddered at the thought.

  “No, thanks. Not for me. It’s a sergeant I’ll stay until I retire. I like my job,” he said with the decisive happiness of a man who knows his place in the world. “And speaking of that, what did the Super actually want?”

  After I told him, we discussed the deceased teen for a while, deciding on strategies to try to determine his identity. No doubt Mr X and Zelda would be doing the same, but we – well, I did anyway – had the advantage of local knowledge and trust. In agreement, we spent the entire afternoon hitting the phones.

  I rang every shopkeeper in town to see if the boy had visited any of them, enjoying giving Mr Grimmell a rather unsympathetic second grilling over whether he’d seen him before. He was a sleazeball who’d made my life difficult when I’d worked for him as a teenager, so I didn’t mind hassling him.

  I also rang Adele, one of Grimmell’s employees, and Dad’s long-term girlfriend, privately on her mobile phone. Still extremely distraught, she managed to confirm that the boy hadn’t been a previous customer before the unfolding of the tragic events of the previous day.

  Baz rang Abe, the town’s publican, to see if he or his staff had overheard any drivers – truck, car, motorbike – talking about giving a teenager a lift into town recently. We always officially discouraged hitchhiking, but that never stopped anyone from doing it. Particularly as the Big Town to Little Town bus service ran either way only once daily, fitted primarily around the school timetable conveying high school-aged students to Big Town. Little Town was an inconvenient place to be without some form of private transport.

  With no luck from our early enquiries, we discussed the possibility that the teen had cycled into town. It was not unheard of, though the steep ride up the range to reach Little Town, sharing the narrow, winding road with huge trucks all the way, discouraged most. And usually, the cyclists who made it were reasonably well-off enthusiasts, happily flashing their tightly lycra-clad bodies and fancy bikes to the unimpressed townsfolk. But remembering the boy’s red checked flannel overshirt, t-shirt, none too clean jeans, dirty runners, and sheer desperation, cycling didn’t seem a very likely option.