Blood Feud

By JD Nixon

Book 3 in the Little Town series. A seemingly inexplicable and shockingly violent crime in the beautiful rural locale of ‘Little Town’ has devastating personal and professional consequences for its two police officers, Senior Constable Tess Fuller and her partner, Sergeant Finn Maguire. And has Tess really seen the last of the predatory Red Bycraft?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JD Nixon
• Release date: Nov 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301608027

JD Nixon

I live in beautiful Queensland in Australia. I started writing in 2009 because I wanted to do something creative and haven't stopped since! I have two series of books:The Heller series (first book Heller - free!) features the frequently outlandish adventures of security officer, Tilly Chalmers, and her complicated relationship with her beautiful, mysterious and intense boss, Heller.The Little Town series (first book Blood Ties - free!) features police officer, Tess Fuller, and her struggle to survive a long-standing vendetta with the feral Bycraft family and at the same time manage the tense relationship between her new Sergeant, Finn Maguire, and her boyfriend, Jake Bycraft.I took a very long break from writing, but am now back!Heller 7: Heller's Family out in 2023.Hope you enjoy reading my books as much as I enjoyed writing them! I'd love to hear your feedback, so why not email me at: [e-mail]

Book preview

Prologue

The terrible events of that day passed in a few blurred minutes, leaving me no time to think or react. But in my dreams, those few moments always replay in slow motion, each detail intensely sharp, every reaction sluggish and exaggerated.

I’m back home on a rare break from the city. Nana Fuller and I cross the highway, planning to enjoy a leisurely coffee and a slice of Fran’s justly famous hummingbird cake at the town’s newly opened cafe/bakery. It’s our time together; something we both treasure. Tiny Nana Fuller trails behind me, still grumbling under her breath about an infestation of mealybugs that’s destroying her lemon tree. She’s a little slower on her feet these days, recovering from a slip in the bath that fractured her ankle. Halfway across the wide road, I stop and wait for her to catch up, checking the traffic again.

And that’s when I spot it.

The car is a behemoth, four times larger than any real vehicle. It accelerates towards us, agile and target-locked, a predatory beast. The car is alive, its grill and headlights forming a face – a grinning, expectant, evil face bearing the same expression as its young driver, Tommy Bycraft. He grips the steering wheel with determined intent.

A fierce defender of decorum in this rude age, Nana Fuller always relentlessly drummed into my head that a lady never raises her voice in public. But I don’t care about good manners now and urgently yell at her to move it. She’s frozen in place, staring helplessly at the predator fast approaching. I grab her frail wrist and yank her with me, sprinting towards the safety of the footpath. Everything seems so languid, yet so clear – the horrified, distant screams of passers-by on the footpath, the roar of the predator, my own panicked shouting, the thumping of my heart.

I’m not fast enough. The predator is swift and unstoppably ruthless. It hunts us down. The sickening sound of engine-powered metal impacting on delicate human flesh and bones thuds through the air. I lose my grip on Nana Fuller, knocked flying to the ground, pain tearing down my leg from my hip. I can’t move and can only watch as Nana Fuller is thrown upwards over the bonnet in a series of acrobatic tumbles. She lands hard on the road, the predator speeding off, obscured by exhaust smoke.

Her body is shattered, her bones jutting out at impossible angles. Such fragile flesh, I think to myself, stunned senseless. Blood trickles from her mouth, her nose, her ears, her eyes. One of her shoes has landed in the gutter and her dress is ruched up around her thighs, exposing her lacy petticoat. She’ll be embarrassed by that, I stupidly think to myself.

She blinks her eyes, the blood in them mingling with the white, leaving her with a pink-hued gaze. With great effort she lifts her head and turns it my way.

"Tessie, she reproaches thickly through her broken neck. Why didn’t you save me? Why? And she sounds so sad and disappointed in me that tears instantly flood my eyes. Why?"

She turns her head away as if she can’t stand to look at me anymore. I have let her down.

I have let her die.

Chapter 1

In the early dawn I jolted awake without calling out, a few tears dripping on to my pillow, my breath ragged. Once more I mourned my immense loss, though it was six years since Nana Fuller had died. But how could I ever forget that awful day? I berated myself yet again. Why didn’t I save her? Everyone told me it wasn’t my fault, but in my vulnerable deepest sleep, my psyche regularly asserted its steadfast conviction that it was. I’d failed to protect my much-adored grandmother from the Bycrafts and my guilt was a weighty burden to carry for the rest of my life.

Troubled by my dream and knowing that sleep would now prove elusive, I padded over to my dresser and took an envelope out of my top drawer. I’d read the enclosed letter a hundred times since it arrived a week ago, but I slipped it out and read it again. Badly scrawled and poorly spelt, it showed the consequences of years of playing hooky from school.

Tessy

I know that Im the last person you ever want to here from, but my conshense forces me to write this letter to you. And the prison shrink says its good for me to do it and maybe for you too which is the only reeson Im doing this. Im not trying to bring up bad memeries. Please beleive me.

Im sorry for what I done to you and your nana. It was very wrong and I was wrong to not stay and help youse after. Im sorry she died and Im sorry you got hurt so bad. Ive been thinking a lot since Im in jail and talking to the shrink a lot about my family. Ive decided that when I get out I want to move away from Little Town and get a real job and be a better person and dad for my kids. I dont want them to grow up and go to jail like me. I dont want them to grow up with the hate in there hearts. They send me happy drawings a lot and that makes me think of a happy future for me and Kym far away from Little Town. Away from my family. I hope you beleive me.

Yours sincerly

Tommy Bycraft

PS. I dont do any drugs or drink no more.

And even though I’d read it so many times before, I sank on to my bed, overwhelmed. This letter was unexpected, momentous. Unprecedented. A Bycraft had finally expressed remorse for what he’d done to my family and me.

Joanna, our brawny yet feminine mailperson, had delivered the letter at the station, announcing her arrival with a jaunty ring of the counter bell. When the Sarge had frowned at me for not being quick enough on my feet to answer, I’d reluctantly dragged myself away from a fresh cup of tea and a tight game of solitaire on my computer. After wasting five minutes leaning on the counter chatting to Joanna, I took the letter, the only piece of mail she had for us, back to my desk. I’d read the missive, gasping audibly as I did, scarcely able to believe my own eyes. Immediately noticing the odd expression on my face, the Sarge had snatched the piece of paper from my hands and scanned it quickly.

He’d whistled softly under his breath.

I’d looked up at him, unsure. Do you think it’s some kind of trick? Some sneaky way of Tommy obtaining parole earlier? A lifetime of not trusting the Bycrafts had an indelible influence on my thought processes.

The Sarge’s eyes had rested on my face as heavily as his hand did on my shoulder. No, Tessie, I don’t think it’s a trick. Look here. The letter’s countersigned and stamped on the back by the prison psychologist. This must be part of Bycraft’s rehabilitation therapy. The psychologist wouldn’t let an apology letter go out to a victim of crime with his endorsement if he wasn’t convinced of Bycraft’s sincerity.

My dark grey eyes had locked on to his stormy dark blues. A Bycraft being sincere? Really?

His face had held its usual serious expression. Think about it, Tessie. Bycraft’s not due for parole yet. He’s only done six years of a fourteen year sentence. That’s not the reason for this. We regarded each other intently for a few more ticks of the clock. What are your instincts telling you?

I’d sighed deeply and glanced away, not trusting my own answer. That he means it.

The Sarge had smiled, his stern features softening into an appealing attractiveness. Then he means it. Your instincts are usually sound about the Bycrafts. Trust yourself.

Not convinced, I’d shown the letter to my father later that day when I’d returned home after work. He’d been less impressed with Tommy’s apology.

I don’t trust any of them and you shouldn’t either, love. Bycraft’s after something, Dad had replied grimly, throwing the letter on the coffee table with contempt.

He’d wheeled his chair away, his face etched with fresh lines of suspicion and old lines of tired pain from his advancing cancer. I worried about him constantly as I was often on-call day and night and frequently worked long hours, never knowing when I’d have to leave him by himself. I was fortunate in that his long-term girlfriend, Adele, was willing to help as often as she could. She didn’t have far to travel to get to our house – nobody did. Our small mountain town, known fondly as ‘Little Town’ to all locals, could be traversed in a matter of minutes.

I hadn’t talked to Dad about the letter again.

The last person I’d shared Tommy’s note with had been Superintendent Fiona Midden, commanding officer of the entire police district that encompassed Little Town. She was also officer-in-charge of the large, well-equipped and well-staffed police station in the pleasant coastal regional centre of Wattling Bay, or ‘Big Town’ as we locals called it. We were good friends, and had been acquainted since I was two-years-old and she was in her twenties, a young probationary constable fresh from the police academy. She was the closest I’d ever had to a mother figure in my life, not that even I’d admit that she was at all motherly.

I’d scanned and emailed the letter to her, as Big Town was a good ninety minute drive away.

Her response had been quick and pithy: Well, blow me! The dopey bastard’s grown a conscience in jail. Maybe those nut doctors have more in their diagnostic repertoire than just accusing people of wanting to root their own mothers.

Do you think he means it? I’d asked her in reply.

Fucked if I know, she’d emailed back. Stranger things have happened.

And I’d had to leave it at that, knowing she was far too busy to devote any more time to my little problems.

For some reason I couldn’t explain to myself, I’d left it another couple of weeks before I showed the letter to my boyfriend and Tommy’s brother, Jake. While I realised that Jake would be pleased with his little brother’s sentiments, he wasn’t good at dealing with negative situations. Being reminded that one of his close relatives had been responsible for robbing me of someone precious would only discomfort him, leading to an awkward moment between us.

So in the morning after he’d spent the night at my house, I showed him the letter. I’d broken suddenly from sleep, sitting up, wide awake, upset and trying to control my breathing. I’d just dreamt about Nana Fuller’s death again. Jake woke instantly and comforted me, eventually leading to some sweetly tender lovemaking. And when we’d finished and he lay naked in bed with me, holding me close and happily sated, I fetched the letter from my dresser.

He leaned back on the pillows and read it through a couple of times, a thoughtful frown puckering his forehead. I watched carefully for his every reaction, studying him as I did. He was a gorgeous man with honey-brown skin, wavy golden hair, unusual amber eyes, and a ready smile. All the Bycrafts were tall, well-built and beautiful, the golden hair and eye colouring running in the family, but only Jake was good-natured, industrious, and respectable. The rest of the huge clan constituted a socially-bankrupt, one-family crime wave. They hated the police and in particular, they hated me. The feeling was returned two-fold.

Wow, Jake said softly. That’s just . . . Wow.

Do you think he means it, honey-boy?

Jake’s sharp glance was indignant, quick as always to jump to the defence of his rotten family. Of course he does! He made the effort to write to you. Why would you doubt him?

I gazed back at him with silent steadiness. I didn’t want to insult him by stating the obvious – I doubted Tommy because he was a Bycraft.

People can change, baby doll, he entreated.

He never expressed any remorse at the trial. In fact, I distinctly remember him grinning and giving you all the thumbs-up when the judge handed down her sentence.

I don’t know what he did. I wasn’t there, remember? And besides, he’s clearly been thinking a lot about it, just as he wrote in his letter. Jail gives some people a different perspective on things, some self-realisation of where they’ve gone wrong in their lives. I’ve seen it happen tons of times. Jake worked as a prison officer at the nearby low-security prison, though I had strong reservations about whether being sent to that luxurious jail would engender any self-examination in its pampered inmates. Half of them probably never wanted to leave.

The Sarge believes he means it, I said without thinking.

Jake stiffened and stared at me. You talked about this with Finn before you showed it to me?

I sighed quietly. He was with me when I received the letter, so I showed it to him. It’s no big deal.

But it was to Jake. How long ago was this?

About a month ago.

His face filled with hurt, he slipped out of bed, not meeting my eyes. I’m going for a swim in the surf.

Jakey . . . I began, but it was no use. I stayed in bed, watching him gather up his clothes and leave without kissing me goodbye. The roar of his ute as he drove off spoiled the morning peace.

Good one, stupid, I scolded myself, climbing out of bed as well. Jake wasn’t normally a jealous person, too easy-going to be bothered by that kind of possessiveness, but there was something about the Sarge that just pushed his buttons. He resented the close relationship we’d forged in the nine months since the Sarge had arrived in town, forgetting how important it was for our safety on the job to work together as a tight team.

And Jake kept overlooking the critical fact that the Sarge was engaged, not that we ever saw much of that spoiled young lady here in town. She flatly refused to move to Little Town, forcing the Sarge to faithfully trot back and forth on the seven hour drive to the city whenever she summoned him. I didn’t know why he continued to put up with such treatment – it wasn’t as if he was a doormat in any other part of his life. I guess he felt he’d made a commitment to her and he was an honourable guy, trying to make their relationship work. But it was obvious to me that the whole situation was testing his patience almost beyond breaking point. And judging from the tense phone calls I’d accidently overheard – okay, I’ll admit I was trying to listen in – things weren’t going too smoothly between Melissa and him.

Virtuously brushing all that aside as not being any of my business, I concentrated instead on hurrying through my shower, breakfast and tending to my chickens. I had no time for my usual morning jog as I needed to arrive at work early these days to beat Kevin, our overeager recruit from the police academy. He’d been placed with us for two weeks on field experience as part of his training. We’d never had a recruit posted to Little Town before and I’d been excited when the Super rang to tell us the news. Then she explained that he didn’t want to come here, having nominated Big Town as his choice, but they had too many to cope with there. He was one of the unlucky ones to be farmed out to the nearest smaller towns.

The Sarge was kindly putting him up for the fortnight in the police house adjacent to the station, and the two men were getting along well. Kevin was a bit of a Sarge-clone, serious and by-the-book, listening intently and taking copious notes on everything we said and did. But while the Sarge was the very model of rectitude and professionalism, I’d had to make Kevin expunge quite a few of his scribblings when he’d recorded me ranting about paperwork or procedures once or twice (or fifteen or twenty times). Unwisely, I’d expressed some very frank opinions about police bureaucracy in his presence that would surely land him in hot water if he ever aired them back at the police academy.

In fact, the Sarge had assiduously and deliberately kept Kevin away from me during his time with us, mentoring him personally. They’d bonded over traffic infringements, random breath tests, gun licences, and petty small town problems such as straying horses, shoplifting, public drunkenness, and preventing the Bycrafts from destroying the very fabric of the community with their anti-social behaviour. The two men had cruised around together in the patrol car, leaving me back at the station sullenly doing paperwork, gorging on Tim Tams, and answering wrong number calls for the Saucy Sirens Gentlemen’s Club.

And to top off the whole terrible fortnight, the Sarge hadn’t even made me dinner once since Kevin arrived.

But today, on his last day with us, my time with the impressionable young recruit had finally arrived. The Sarge was bogged down with routine end-of-month paperwork about our statistics and activities, so I shamelessly took advantage of his preoccupation and offered to take Kevin with me to walk the beat. Kevin swiftly agreed, rather bored with watching the Sarge tote up numbers and punch them into his spreadsheet. There were only so many notes you can take on that, I suppose.

I hoped Kevin would ask me lots of questions about policing so I could share my knowledge, not having ever mentored anyone before. But although I’d noticed he was deferentially inquisitive with the Sarge, with me he was gawky and inarticulate, not able to string a single sentence together. A tall, gangly copper-haired young man with freckles from tip to toe, he somehow managed a full-body blush every time I even looked at him. And though I felt for him, not being the most socially adept person in the world myself, it was strangely compelling to witness. I’d never seen anything like it, leaving him looking as though he’d been sunbaking out in the Simpson Desert for an entire day in summer, slathered in olive oil.

We climbed into the patrol car and I spun out the tyres in the loose gravel that formed the station carpark, alarming Kevin. He blushed. As soon as we hit the road, my phone rang. Blatantly disregarding the law forbidding the use of a phone while driving, I pulled it out of my pocket, earning myself a shocked glance from my passenger.

Isn’t that . . . I mean . . . Are you allowed to . . . Sergeant Maguire warned me . . . They told us . . .

I waited patiently for him to finish. Or to start. I wasn’t sure which.

I mean . . . I was just asking . . . He sputtered to a halt and promptly blushed again.

After a few more ticks where Kevin remained silent and rosily glowing, I figured that comprised the entirety of his conversation and resumed answering my phone. It was Jake, lovingly apologetic for his temper this morning and immediately asking for a favour. He’d just turned up to work after his swim and couldn’t find his security swipe card, which he needed to access the prison. He thought he’d left his wallet behind at my place after hurrying off in such a snit.

Glad that he wasn’t angry with me anymore, I readily agreed to help him out. So instead of walking the beat, Kevin and I made the quick trip south down the highway to my house. I left him in the car as I dashed inside, yelling out to Dad not to worry himself about me as I was only home for a second. I grabbed Jake’s wallet and his watch from my dresser and bolted back down the stairs.

Kevin spoke as soon as I threw myself back into the driver’s seat. I thought . . . You know . . . We’re not supposed to . . . Private use? They told us at the academy . . .

He petered out again, furiously reddening. Even his earlobes turned scarlet. Pondering the physical plausibility of that, I drove back out to the highway and set off towards town, heading for the prison. Jake ducked out to the entrance to meet me, still dressed in sea-dampened clothes, looking a little sheepish. Even though they knew him well and he was one of the live-in staff, the officers at the front wouldn’t give him access to the prison without his security card.

He took a few precious moments to apologise again and to thank me with some sweet kisses that were probably just this side of being unprofessional, me dressed in my uniform as I was. His workmates cheered, catcalled and wolf-whistled as we smooched. Being an all-male prison, they didn’t see a lot of women outside of visiting times.

Hey, keep your eyes off her, fellas! She’s all mine, Jake yelled back at them, grinning as he held my hand and walked me over to the patrol car. Kevin sat in the passenger seat burning with colour. Jake opened the door and settled me in the driver’s seat, fastening my seatbelt for me while I smiled up at him like the gooey-eyed besotted fool that I was. I introduced the two men and Jake politely enquired of Kevin if he was enjoying his placement.

Oh . . . It’s very . . . Sergeant Maguire . . . And of course, Senior Constable Fuller . . . They . . . You know . . . Well, they both have.

And he sat there gazing at Jake as if that explained everything, leaving Jake staring back at him, at a loss as to what to say in response. His amber eyes cut to me for a second before returning to Kevin’s blazing face.

Oh, he said finally. That’s . . . just great. And Kevin emphatically nodded in agreement.

Jake leaned through the window to kiss me once more, causing Kevin’s face to change from cerise to crimson. I drove off, waving cheerily from the window. I wouldn’t see Jake again for days as he was working a week-long block and also pulling a couple of double-shifts.

Righto, Kevin, I said. Let’s go back to town and walk the beat for a while.

That would be . . . I’d like . . . Yeah.

But we weren’t destined to. At that precise moment I noticed a gang of teenaged Bycrafts screeching around the T-junction of the Coastal Range Highway and the road to Big Town, in what could only be a stolen car.

Chapter 2

Crammed into an unfamiliar late-model red Commodore, the Bycraft juniors zoomed off towards town at least fifty kilometres over the speed limit, the stereo blasting out horrible doof doof music. That was bad enough, but what made it worse was the identity of the driver – Chad Bycraft, a notorious car thief but not yet old enough to even hold a licence. The Commodore was definitely not one of the Bycraft family’s fleet of ancient rust-buckets, meaning that Chad had probably ‘liberated’ it from its owner in a shopping centre carpark back in Big Town.

Not people naturally attracted to early rising, the fact they were driving around at this time of the morning meant a couple of things to me. They obviously didn’t plan on going to school today, and were probably returning home after spending an entire night rampaging around Big Town, a spree most likely started the previous afternoon.

I immediately threw on the siren and lights and sped up after them, dodging around the other cars and semi-trailers travelling in both directions on the highway.

Hold on, I warned Kevin tersely. He clutched the arm rest, his eyes round with fearful anticipation.

I checked the mirrors carefully before I pulled out on to the other side of the road to overtake another law-abiding vehicle travelling at the speed limit.

After a few more kilometres, it became obvious the young Bycrafts had no intention of stopping in response to our siren and lights. That conviction became a certainty when two of them stood on the back seat to press their bare butts against the rear window in a blatant show of disrespect. Kevin gasped a sharp intake of breath, shocked at the audacity, but I didn’t react, by now rather immune to their insolence.

I’d say Mikey’s and Sean’s butts judging from the shape, I decided after a moment’s consideration.

Kevin stared at me. How . . . How . . .? He probably wondered if we kept a database of butt shots as well as mug shots in this town.

God knows I’ve seen them enough, I explained. Bycraft boys aren’t shy about showing off their bodies. I waited for a semi-trailer to zoom past us before pulling out to overtake a slow moving van. Actually, come to think of it, neither are the Bycraft girls.

Chad performed a reckless overtake, forcing the car in front of him to slow down and drive half off the road to avoid a side collision with him.

They’re going to drive through town at that speed, I noted through clenched teeth. They’ll kill someone. It’s nearly time for the primary school to start for the day.

All I could think about was that my good friend’s darling little daughter, Toni, was one of those children at risk. And with that dream about Nana Fuller fresh in my memory, red rage swamped me as I imagined Toni’s tiny body being struck and broken by Chad Bycraft’s speeding car.

Shouldn’t you . . . You know . . . I just thought . . . We’re told . . .

What, Kevin? I snapped impatiently. "What?"

An ugly burgundy flush blossomed over his neck and up to his face. To call it in, he managed to spurt, a little upset by my tone.

Nope, I’m not doing that. There’s no point. They’ll just tell us to abort.

But . . . I mean . . . High speed chases . . . Sergeant Maguire said . . .

I’m not calling it in, Kevin, I said firmly. We’ll deal with this ourselves. It’s our town and our problem.

Technically, we were meant to confer with the district communication centre in Big Town about a range of policing activities before we proceeded. But in reality the cops there inevitably proved patronising towards us ‘country cousins’ and our small town troubles. When assistance was offered, it was always done reluctantly and slowly. Learning that bitter lesson soon after taking up the junior police position in town, I’d fallen into the habit of never calling in anything before the Sarge arrived. But now, at his insistence, we called in about half the times we ought. Regrettably though, with red hot anger consuming my mind, today wasn’t one of those times. Especially as I didn’t have the Sarge sitting next to me demanding that I consult with Big Town.

As I feared, the Bycrafts shot through town, nothing more than a red blur to the startled townsfolk out and about on the main road this morning. I followed at an equally risky speed, siren wailing, lights flashing red and blue. I should have set a good example and slowed down when we hit the town’s sixty zone, where the highway briefly wended its way through our small patch of civilization. But I didn’t, because I was concentrating so hard on driving safely. Or at least that’s what I’d tell the Sarge when this was all over.

"Senior Constable!" Kevin yelled out in panic as a blue Volvo pulled out on the highway directly in front of us.

Its driver, the town’s representative on the district’s super-Council, pompous Mrs Villiers, was talking on her mobile phone and made only a cursory check to the right for oncoming traffic. I’d already clocked her though and smoothly swerved around her. I narrowly missed potato farmer Brett Cusack driving in his ute in the opposite direction, before falling back to my side of the road. Brett screeched to a halt, his face a shocked smudge as I flew past. Mrs Villiers received the fright of her life and unwisely jerked her steering wheel in response, mounting the curb and pranging into one of the town’s two street-bins.

Oh dear, I thought, glancing in the rear view mirror at her crumpled bumper. There would be hell to pay over that. An absolute dragon of a woman, she would probably immediately be on the phone to the Super to complain about me.

Senior Constable Fuller . . . Shouldn’t you . . . ? Isn’t this . . .? Kevin’s strangled voice barely dented my consciousness. I had the scent of a Bycraft hunt in my nostrils and I wasn’t stopping for anything. Not now. And unfortunately, for once the Sarge wasn’t here to moderate my actions. For once, I was in charge.

Poor Kevin.

My radio crackled and the Sarge’s angry voice burst out, ordering me to end the pursuit and get my butt back to the station immediately. I reached down to turn the volume to its lowest setting so I couldn’t hear him.

Senior Constable Fuller! I don’t think . . . started Kevin, scandalised by my actions.

Shush, I demanded. I’m trying to concentrate.

Free of town, the red car sped up, so I sped up as well. I reasoned they’d keep driving on the highway, past the mental health clinic, heading for the state border where I’d have to abandon them. I didn’t want to pursue them across the border because of the attendant jurisdictional issues. The two states had a formal agreement covering interstate police pursuits, but it came with ten tons of paperwork and a whole world of pain. I didn’t need that in my life.

And also I’d definitely have to call it in if I crossed the border. I really didn’t need that in my life either.

But the Bycrafts surprised me by throwing a hard right into Mountain Road at the crossroads two kilometres out of town. I spun the steering wheel frantically after them, the patrol car screaming around the corner.

Why the hell are they going up there? I wondered aloud. It’s a dead end road. There’s nowhere for them to go.

Shouldn’t we . . .? You know . . . Wait? Kevin spluttered, grasping the arm rest so tightly his knuckles shone white through his skin. As it’s a dead end and they’ll . . . you know . . . have to come back?

I paid him no heed as I chased them down the initial straight stretch of Mountain Road before it started its torturous winding ascent up to Mount Big and Lake Big. And that was when we hit a huge dip in the road.

We launched into the air at over one-fifty kilometres an hour. Well, that’s what the speedometer was showing right before we left the road and as air speed indicators weren’t yet a standard feature in a patrol car, I was only guessing. I clutched the steering wheel with a death grip, pretty sure it wasn’t going to make a lick of difference if none of the car’s tyres was actually touching the ground at that moment. The Bycrafts’ car also became airborne, both Chad and I driving way too fast to safely negotiate the large dip.

"Holy shit!" shouted Kevin, suddenly articulate, one hand clamped around the arm rest, the other pressed on the dashboard, fingers splayed, his long legs braced against the car’s leg well. His pale blue eyes bulged with an equal mixture of horror and fear, every tint of colour abruptly fleeing his face, leaving his freckles standing out in bold contrast.

Chad hit the road again badly, nearly losing control of the Commodore, the unrestrained occupants thrown around inside. The car’s suspension crunched noisily and the vehicle bounced twice before swerving off the side of the road, the back left tyre dangling for a moment over the steep incline leading down to the surrounding bush. The car fishtailed, repeatedly overshooting the bitumen road on to the gravel verge as Chad struggled desperately to correct his steering.

I lost track of what he was doing then because we made our own hard and unforgiving landing, the patrol car’s tyres compressing as it slammed down on to the road, before rebounding. Kevin and I were flung violently upwards then downwards with a painful thump, both of us thankfully held in place by our seatbelts. I fought for control for a long uncertain minute as the car bounced over the road. My brain screamed at me not to oversteer, but my hands wrenched the steering wheel back and forth like a first-time learner driver. Somehow, eventually, we came to a shuddering halt.

Kevin opened his mouth, but nothing came out except a stifled and rather inadequate, Oh.

I planted my foot and we sped off again in pursuit of the teenagers up the winding mountainous road.

But that small delay cost us dearly. When we reached the end of the road and screeched to a stop in the public carpark adjacent to Lake Big, the red Commodore was sitting forlornly alone and deserted, all four doors wide open, its engine idling, stereo still blasting.

I jumped out of my seat, ignoring the abandoned car and ran to where the thick bushland of the lower mountain pressed against the gravel of the carpark.

Chad Bycraft! I shouted. You better show yourself right now. You’re in a mess of trouble. Don’t make it worse for yourself by running away.

Fuck you, piglet! yelled his disembodied voice from inside the tangle of trees. Sniggers echoed around the bush, all the other young Bycrafts now recovered from their bone-jolting ride and enjoying his wonderful display of wit and bravado. For some reason today, his use of the Bycrafts’ longtime nickname for me really made me boil.

Yeah, fuck you, piglet! repeated one of the young Bycraft girls from a different direction. It was probably Jade from the sound of her voice, giggling with impudent confidence. And why wouldn’t she be confident? The Bycrafts had terrorised and ruled this town for well over a century.

Soft murmurings and rustlings indicated the teens’ withdrawal further into the bush, but it was impossible to pinpoint from where any of the voices came. Bycrafts had retreated from the law into these mountains since the first settlement in town. They had any number of family bolt holes and secret paths to safety, passed down through the generations as any normal family would pass down favourite recipes. Combine that expert local knowledge with a feral animal’s instinctive survival mechanism, and you had one cunning and slippery bunch of customers on your hands.

I lost my final shreds of patience, Toni’s sweet face and cute ringlets flashing into my mind again.

Get out here now, Chad Bycraft! I’m arresting you for reckless driving. You could have killed someone, you stupid little shit! I shouted into the wilderness with frustrated futility. All I received in response were howls of mocking laughter and a few crude suggestions as to what I could do with my baton and handcuffs.

Senior Constable? Kevin asked hesitantly, standing next to the Commodore. He’d taken the initiative to turn off its engine, instantly amplifying the relentless sounds of nature that had been drowned by the stereo. The bush was never truly silent and various birdcalls mingled with crickets buzzing loudly in the unseasonably warm spring weather. His eyebrows pressed together and his front teeth chewed on his bottom lip, probably concerned by the unprofessional and deeply personal anger I was displaying on a job.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Reluctantly, I tore my eyes from scanning the bushland and turned to him. He received a radiant burst of my most insincere and sweetest smile, sending his facial redness quotient sky high.

Kevin, could you please drive the Commodore back to the station for me? And ask the Sarge to track down its owner? They’ll be worried sick about the disappearance of their car.

What about . . . you know. . . forensics? he asked. Fingerprints?

We both flung glances back towards the bush at a crashing sound. The Bycrafts were on the move, consolidating. My feet itched to chase after them.

I shrugged. What’s the point? The forensics team might turn up after three days and we might receive some results after three weeks. Just to confirm what we already know – Chad Bycraft wiped his prints from the steering wheel, I reasoned, my leg jiggling with the need to pursue the Bycrafts to hell and back. At least we recovered the car and it’s not too badly damaged. And ultimately, that’s all the owner will care about.

We’re both . . .? Back to the station? And he waited by the car, shooting me a look loaded with sharp and careful wariness. It reminded me of the Sarge’s own expression when he fronted another example of my tendency to go a little overboard when it came to the Bycrafts. I wondered exactly what the Sarge had divulged to Kevin about my relationship with them.

Cursing to myself, I threw one last glance over my shoulder at the bushland, but I really had no choice. Besides barging through the thick scrub, achieving little but scratching myself and looking like a fool, there was nothing more I could do here. The teens had already made their escape, thumbing their noses at the law once again. My only consolation was that it was a long walk back from here to town, but even then I knew that the Bycraft juniors soon would be on their stolen phones, ringing members of their vast clan to pick them up. They’d learnt nothing today except a reinforcement of their well-understood maxim that a small, under-resourced and isolated police team was no match for them.

Let’s go, I sighed heavily, casting my eyes around the trees and bushes one last time. They remained still, the only movement the quiet rustle of small animals in the undergrowth. The Bycrafts had gone.

Kevin and I drove the two cars back to the station.

*****

One glance at the Sarge’s face and I knew I was in trouble. His dark blue eyes, normally so deep and expressive, were frosty and flat and he controlled his features into an unreadable mask. With great restraint he waited until Kevin had settled down to the task of completing some assessment he was required to do during his field placement. I busied myself in the kitchenette, making a cup of tea, avoiding all eye contact with him. But the moment Kevin was occupied and I’d no sooner dumped the teabag into the mug, he gripped my upper arm and dragged me outside to the small verandah at the back of the station, gently closing the door behind him.

He used his extra inches of height to tower over me. I looked up at his stern face steadily, my own expression neutral but my heart thumping a wild beat.

What the hell did you think you were doing, Tess? he demanded in a quiet but angry voice. I ran to the window when I heard the siren, only to witness you chasing a car through town at a dangerous and reckless speed. And then I received no response from you when I told you to cease pursuit.

"It was Chad and the other

Reviews for Blood Feud

[xxjshnmoxx · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Very well written, grammer and editing are spot on. Plot is well thought out and seldom as you think.