Blood Tears

By JD Nixon

Book 4 in the Little Town series. Is Senior Constable Tess Fuller really as resilient as she thinks? When faced with the tragic consequences of her own stubborn decision – further inflaming her lifelong feud with the large, revengeful, and violent Bycraft family – how will she cope? And can she rebuild her trust and relationship with her newly returned partner, Sergeant Finn Maguire, while they work a puzzling accidental death case?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JD Nixon
• Release date: Oct 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310406492

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

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, Trig 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.

I smiled at him sweetly, sensing a few minutes of freedom from his velvety iron grip. No need to lock up, Baz. I’ll keep an eye on the place while you’re gone.

No can do. You’re coming with me.

I groaned, my smile instantly evaporating. I’m getting really tired of this stick-together-all-the-time business.

He dropped his joviality. I’m here to supervise you, and to do that I need to know where you are, and what you’re doing. You’re coming with me. Lock up.

He took the key to the patrol car from its hook, swinging it around his finger, whistling nonchalantly as he ushered the guys to the carpark.

With a temper hovering somewhere in the volcanic region, I shut windows with such force it was a miracle they didn’t shatter. With both doors to the station locked, I jammed on my sunglasses, and stomped down the front stairs to the patrol car. Trig sat in the passenger seat with all the enthusiasm of a five-year-old getting a ride in a fire engine.

Get out, I ordered.

His face fell. Aw, but Baz said I could sit up front.

Get out. Sergeant Chives should know better than to let civilians in the front seat of a patrol car. I stuck my head through the doorway to glare at Baz. I’ll let the Super know about this. I can report on you too.

He threw his head back and laughed. Oh, Tezza, you’re such an ordeal for a man. Let the lad have his ride.

No. Get out.

A sullen Trig slunk from the front seat to join Harley in the back.

You’re not good at making friends, he sulked.

I don’t want friends, I said, adjusting the seat from his long legs.

No shit, he muttered, doing up his seatbelt.

I moved the rear view mirror so it reflected him. We locked eyes. He smiled, a sardonic half lift of his mouth. He was cute. In different circumstances, he seemed like someone I could like. But I stared back at him, unsmiling, before I adjusted the mirror.

We drove around for ages showing ‘the lads’ all points of the town, until there was nothing much left to show them.

Where are you staying? I asked our visitors politely.

They looked at each other.

I guess we’ll just stay at the pub, said Harley.

Have you booked?

No. A place like this, there’s bound to be a free room.

Baz whistled under his breath. Lads, there’re only three rooms at the pub. I have one of them. And it’s bushwalking season.

Do you know the number of the pub? asked Trig, his brow lowering. I rattled it off. He dialled and we listened in on his half of an unhappy conversation. Finished, he slumped against the seat. Shit.

All sorted? I enquired.

No. The pub’s full, he snapped. Where the hell are we going to stay? It’s a seven hour drive here from the city.

I checked my watch. You could be back there this evening if you left right now, I suggested helpfully.

We just spent all morning driving here to check on a grouchy woman as a favour for a good mate, Trig said through clenched teeth. The last thing we want to do is drive back home today.

I twisted the mirror to pin him with my eyes again. I’m not grouchy.

Well, I’m glad we caught you on a good day, because I wouldn’t want to see you when you were feeling grouchy.

It’s not pleasant, lads. Trust me.

Who asked you? I grumped.

Tezza doesn’t have any good days.

I do so, I lied. And stop calling me Tezza.

Baz sat up in his seat, struck with a good idea. I know, lads. You can stay at the police house. I’m staying at the pub, so it’s vacant right now. Tezza’s got the keys for it.

Awesome, smiled Harley in relief.

I don’t have them on me at the moment, I delayed, unhappy at the thought of the two guys staying so close to the station. I didn’t need even more men keeping an eye on me. Baz was enough.

The keys lay in the top drawer of my dresser at home –the Sarge handing them to me before he’d gone. I hadn’t used them for a while, no longer wanting to wander aimlessly around the possessions he’d left behind. I couldn’t say why, but expunging every hint of him made my life easier to live.

Let’s go get them, said Baz, throwing a cautious u-turn on the main stretch of road through the town.

At my house, I jogged up the stairs. It’s only me, Dad, I called out as my father rolled his wheelchair to the door to see who was there.

Dad and Baz exchanged a wave. Who’s in the patrol car with Baz?

Some nobodies. Just a couple of Maguire’s friends.

Have they come to visit you?

Who gives a stuff why they’ve come here?

Oh now, love. Don’t be like that. It’s not going to hurt you to show them some hospitality.

I’ll leave that for the gentler, less-disillusioned people of the world. I dropped a kiss on the top of his head and jumped down the stairs. When I slid back into the car, I threw the keys over the back of the seat, hitting Trig in the arm.

Ow, he complained, rubbing the sore spot. You could have just handed them to me.

"I could have."

Somehow I don’t think the next three days are going to be much fun.

Three days? Oh, God, I moaned.

Don’t worry, lads. I’ll keep her away from you as much as possible so you can enjoy your break, Baz said, pulling out on to the road as I waved goodbye to Dad.

But we promised Finn we’d check on her and make sure she was okay. See if she needed help with anything. I suppose that means we’re going to have to interact with her at some point, lamented Trig.

I angled the mirror to look at him again. I’m as thrilled with the prospect as you are. And what on earth do you possibly think you could help me with?

Manners?

I scathed him with my eyes at that suggestion, while secretly giving him a point. It was well played.

We kind of hoped we could be friends, said Harley. We’re all friends with Finn. He shrugged. We just thought you’d want to be friends with us too.

Maguire’s not on my friend list.

Is anyone? asked Trig.

No.

That doesn’t surprise me at all.

Baz laughed. Tezza, there you are, at it again. Winning over the public one person at a time.

I wasn’t hired to be congenial.

Don’t take any notice of her, lads, Baz boomed heartily. She’s just ticked off about being disciplined. Haven’t seen her crack a smile since I got here.

You haven’t given me any reason to smile.

Some days I wonder which of us is the one actually being punished, Baz laughed. I really do.

Finn wanted to know how you’ve been coping, Harley said tentatively.

I don’t care what he wants to know. He’s not my supervisor anymore, and my career is none of his business.

It’s going to be a long three days, muttered Trig.

My snarky reply died on my tongue. A young man brandishing a knife ran from the grocery store, frantically shoving cash into his jeans pocket.

Baz, I alerted, sitting up.

I see him. He screeched around the corner, braked hard, pulling over to the curb, and parking the car askew.

We flung open our doors and hared off after the man. He looked around in panic, speeding up. We chased him down the street, people jumping out of our way.

I began to gain on him, Baz falling behind, his breathing laboured and harsh. The man threw a desperate glance over his shoulder and sprinted across the road, doubling back on himself, heading for the main road. I cut across the road at an angle that helped close the distance between us. We both pounded down the street.

The next few minutes were a blur of nightmare. We never really knew what the man was thinking at that moment. Maybe he thought he could dodge around the traffic to lose me but misjudged, or maybe he just didn’t look properly.

Stop! I remember yelling at him. "Stop!"

But he didn’t. He ran right out on to the highway, forcing a semi-trailer to slam on its brakes, locking them up. The driver struggled, battling to keep his rig on the road.

Out of the way! Get out of the damn way! Baz shouted loudly, pushing the pedestrians standing around watching in horror away from the road.

The man froze in fear in the middle of the highway, and that was the last I saw of him as the semi-trailer smashed into him.

Chapter 2

It was a traumatic scene. After the impact, it took the truck driver a few tense and uncertain moments to bring his rig safely to a halt, the trailer jackknifed across the highway, the smell of burning tyres rancid in the air. The remains of the young man lay scattered across the road in a sickening tableau.

I ran over to help the driver climb out of the truck. He collapsed at the side of the road, shaking uncontrollably, his face stripped of all colour.

I tried to stop. I tried, he kept repeating. He came out of nowhere – right in front of me. I tried to stop.

We know you did, I soothed absently, my mind racing through all the things Baz and I needed to do.

I didn’t need a coroner to tell me there was no saving the young man, so traffic control was our first priority. Although the Coastal Range Highway wasn’t busy compared to many others, it was still an important route with a regular flow of traffic.

Shit, Tezza, Baz said grimly, slipping his phone back into his pocket. What a mess. I’ve rung the Super. It’s going to be hard for us to manage this by ourselves.

Let’s rope in some of the townsfolk for traffic duty. I’ll look after that. The semi is completely blocking the highway, so I’ll detour it through the back streets here.

Sounds like a plan. I’ll go talk to the supermarket owner and find out what happened.

I blocked off the highway at either end of the accident scene with bollards and crime scene tape, before rounding up the more sensible and less shocked people amongst those standing around. I set them to work directing traffic off the main stretch to wind through the back streets before safely rejoining the highway again. When that activity was operating to my satisfaction, I took out my notebook, and commenced interviewing.

In between collecting initial statements, Baz came over to me, reading through his notes.

Mr Grimmell told me the guy came into the store and loitered for a while, arousing his suspicions. It seems he was waiting for the other customers to leave, before pulling out his knife, and threatening Grimmell. He handed over the cash and the guy ran out.

I glanced over to the highway at the horrific sight. He’s paid a heavy price for that petty crime.

Baz held my eyes, his face serious. There will be an investigation, Tezza. There’s no way around it.

I closed my eyes. I’m screwed. I’m going to be fired this time.

Don’t say that. You didn’t do anything wrong. I heard you yelling at him to stop.

I tried to warn him. I honestly did, Baz.

He patted my shoulder in consolation. I know, so don’t automatically assume the worst. I was chasing him too.

Why didn’t he look before he ran out on to the road? He would have seen that semi bearing down on him.

Can’t really ask him now, can we? Maybe he panicked. He scanned his notes again. Did you get a good look at him?

Not really.

He looked young to me. Mr Grimmell didn’t think he was more than sixteen.

Oh, geez.

He patted my shoulder again. Come on, let’s get back to talking to witnesses. He checked his watch. It’s going to be ages before the Wattling Bay team gets here. He walked off towards the truck driver. I’m going to see if I can get anything out of him.

He’s in shock. I hope they’re bringing an ambulance with them.

Yep. You go talk to the lads. I’m not sure what they witnessed.

The two men stood near the patrol car, subdued, distress showing in their faces.

That was the most awful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I don’t know how you can be so calm, Trig said quietly, his hands trembling a little.

I have a job to do, and a town to look after, I replied, probably a tad harsher than I ought to have been in the circumstances.

Harley looked at me with unhappy eyes. Is Finn also as . . . stoic at a scene like this?

Yes. Probably more than me. He’s mostly a very composed man.

The two men exchanged glances, as if learning a new character facet to their long-time friend.

Did you both witness the accident? I asked, and they nodded.

I spent ten minutes with each, jotting down notes. When I finished, I told them to stay where they were, and jogged over to Baz to let him know I was taking them to the police house.

We joined the traffic snaking through the back streets, and drove to the Sarge’s house in silence. I went into the house with them to ensure everything was in order, as it had been a while since I’d last been inside.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but I thought I detected the aroma of the Sarge’s cologne lingering in the air. And even at that tiny reminder of him, my blazing anguish at being abandoned, which I usually brutally suppressed, bubbled over, swamping me. I left the house abruptly, without even saying goodbye to the two men. I sat in the patrol car, gripping the wheel, and breathing in a controlled way until the pain abated.

Back to work, I reprimanded myself, nosing the car down the driveway.

*****

It was a long, exhausting, and emotionally draining night. The only bright point was that we were spared the personal attentions of the Super, Mr X and Zelda turning up instead. That was a double bonus for me, because not only did I think Mr X was pretty cute, but also the Super and I remained largely estranged.

But not even that small comfort was enough to allay the sheer awfulness of the night. When Baz and I finally handed over to the Big Town force, we left them guiding a team trying to free the truck from its jackknife, a job that would surely take hours. I pitied the townsfolk living near the accident site, as there would be little rest for them tonight.

Grateful for once that I lived five kilometres out of town, I flopped into bed that night, asleep before my head hit the pillow.

But the next day was little better. We spent half of the morning on traffic duty again until the semi-trailer was finally able to be driven away. Then we returned to the station to deal with the endless reports to be compiled and statements to be typed up.

I hate this job, I muttered to my computer, carelessly banging out words on my keyboard.

No, you don’t. You have the makings of a good cop, assured Baz, working more quietly at his own computer. And to prove it, how about making me a cup of tea?

Grumbling, though secretly glad for the distraction, I made both of us some tea. I plonked his mug (Young Kenny’s, for the flavour) in front of him, slopping some over the side, while I carried mine carefully back to my desk.

Baz took a sip and grimaced. I don’t know what tea you’re using, love, but this is not good.

Sorry, I said insincerely. Can’t afford anything better.

Tezza, he said, with so much sympathy it made me feel bad. For a second. Just ask. Like I said – you have friends in high places.

And you’re full of it, Baz. I don’t have friends in the police force. And . . . I looked down at my keyboard for one sad moment. I just don’t have friends.

You’re not valuing the ones you have much when you say that. It’s not their fault if you keep shutting yourself off from them. I glared at him, not appreciating the advice. Only the ringing of the bell broke the resultant stare-off.

For once, he stood to answer the call. After five minutes, he yelled to me, Trig and Harley want to know if you’re okay today.

Tell them to piss off back to the city, I shouted in reply.

She’s okay, I heard Baz say. Though don’t accept a cup of tea from her today. I could almost hear his full-body shudder. It’s not good. It’s almost like she dunks her mood into it or something.

More chatting, then Baz popped his head around the doorway. I’m taking the lads to the pub for lunch.

What? It’s only eleven-thirty.

He strode over to me and leaned an elbow on my desk, his face uncomfortably close to mine. His breath smelled like Young Kenny’s armpits, though I suspected the tea had something to do with that. Tezza, the lads are badly shaken about yesterday. They need to debrief. You dumped them and ran.

I had to get back, I half-lied, not willing to admit to him my visceral reaction to the Sarge’s house.

Yeah, I understand that. You’re under disciplinary supervision, so you want to be vigilant in your job, but . . . there’s humanity too. These lads aren’t cops. They’re just normal people who witnessed something terrible yesterday. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t spare them a couple of minutes, and a few drops of sympathy. Especially as they’re Finn’s friends.

I felt ashamed of myself for not being more empathetic towards them. I’m sorry, Baz. Will I lock up?

He contemplated me. Nah. You stay here and mind the fort. I think the lads would be better off without your company today.

That stung, but not enough to overwhelm the giddy sensation of momentary freedom I felt at his words.

Really? Are you sure? And I could have kicked myself, not believing those words actually tumbled out of my mouth.

He nodded. I’m sure. He reached the doorway before turning. I’m trusting you, Tezza. Behave yourself.

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,

Reviews for Blood Tears

[lara carter · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Good book can't wait for the next one!