Blood Feud (45 page)

He was looking for me
, I thought unhappily.

According to Barb, the man had seemed a little angry when he didn’t find what he was searching for, and pulled the girl after him rather more roughly than he had before. They’d headed down the alleyway at the back of the yard and that was the last she’d seen of either of them, Bruce claiming all of her attention at that point.

I jogged over to the unattractive high fibro fence surrounding the back yard of the club. It led into a long, narrow alleyway flanked by fences and completely unlit. I didn’t hesitate but with my knife in my hand, I headed into the darkness. After taking their details, the Sarge thanked the couple for their information and hurriedly joined me.

It was disorientingly dark in the alleyway and I had to run my hand along the fence so as to not stumble. The Sarge bumped up against me. The alleyway was so narrow, there was barely enough space for the Sarge’s broad shoulders.

“Let me go first,” he directed, manoeuvring me behind him. It was an awkward movement, at one point both of us squished between the fences in the narrow space, jammed intimately up against each other before I managed to squeeze past him. I wasn’t going to argue about him being in front.

“God, it’s dark in here,” he complained. “Hold on to me so we stay together.”

I resheathed my knife and looped my fingers under his belt. With my other hand on his waist, I tripped after him.

After a few minutes, we burst out of the alleyway on to the street bordering the park fronting the bay, blinking in the bright street light. The Sarge and I had eaten our fish and salad not far from here the other day.

A lot of people milled around the park – some having late BBQs, others romancing each other, families eating double ice-creams and letting the kids run wild before a very late bedtime. There were far too many people for this to be a place where Red Bycraft would dare to do anything awful.

The Sarge scanned the environment. “He’s not going to be here where it’s well lit and populated. We need to search the isolated places. Where Tessie? Think.”

I thought for a moment, trying to put myself in Red’s position. He would want to find somewhere remote and dark, but somewhere I would find him. So a location that was both public, but away from any crowds.

“South Bay Park?” suggested a voice from behind us, making us both jump. It was Kieran, still following after us. I sincerely hoped he didn’t decide to take up a career in crime, because he was showing some excellent stealth skills already.

“Good thinking,” I told him and explained to a confused Sarge. “There’s a park to the south of here. It’s separated from this main part of the Wattling Bay parklands by that rocky outcrop.”

I pointed to the south where the ironically named ‘Rocky Mountain’ was located. In fact it was an ancient lava spill that hadn’t eroded over time and stood like a sentinel between the main bay, Wattling Bay, and the smaller South Bay. Most people preferred the bay parklands because they were larger with better facilities and closer to the main stretch of town, whereas South Bay Park was wilder, offering far fewer amenities. South Bay itself was separated from Wattling Bay by a rock groyne. The water there was rougher and more exposed to the weather. Most water sport enthusiasts preferred the calmer, deeper Wattling Bay.

At night in particular, South Bay Park became a place to be avoided by families and lone women – a place where drug deals and solicitation flourished under the cover of darkness. It was, therefore, an excellent choice for a violent rapist who needed some privacy.

“This is hopeless, Tessie,” said the Sarge. “We have absolutely no idea where Bycraft is. He could have gone to his car, her car, her house. He could be somewhere in these parklands or he could be down a side street. He could have returned to the nightclub for all we know. It’s a classic needle in a haystack situation.”

“Sarge, we can’t just give up.”

“There’s a huge difference between giving up and abandoning a futile pursuit.”

We traded glances heavy with increasing frustration.

“The Super should have given us –” My phone beeping an incoming text message distracted me from my incipient rant. I read it, gasped, and thrust it in the Sarge’s face. “Read this!”

The message read:
red went 2 old boatsheds hurry
.

“Old boatsheds? What are they?” asked a puzzled Sarge.

“It’s the old boatsheds,” Kieran unhelpfully tried to clarify after snatching my phone from the Sarge to read the message. I snatched it back off him with a frown.

“They’re a set of dilapidated adjoining old boat repair sheds from the early days of Big Town,” I explained hurriedly, feet itching to start moving. “They were abandoned when South Bay began to silt up as they expanded the main bay and built new wharves and sheds on the other side. Because they’re heritage-listed they can’t be pulled down, but nobody wants to spend any money on restoring them either, so they’re slowly falling apart.”

“How do we know this text is real?”

“How do we know it’s not?”

“Who would have sent it? Bycraft might have sent it himself. It could be a trap.”

“We’ll turn the trap around on him.”

“Tessie . . .”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Let’s go then,” I said and started walking southwards. “We’re wasting time.”

The old boatsheds were situated at the very far end of South Bay Park, the most poorly lit, least populated and most dangerous part of the park. You could guarantee that anyone loitering around the old boatsheds was up to something nefarious. I couldn’t possibly imagine how Red had managed to convince a young woman to accompany him there. Which meant only one thing – she hadn’t gone willingly.

Trying not to attract unnecessary attention, we walked as fast as possible down the shared bike and pedestrian concrete path running the length of the two bays. Kieran hurried after us, the need to quickstep to keep up ruining his carefully cultivated languid Goth attitude.

“Go home,” the Sarge instructed him at one point.

“No,” he refused, trotting after us.

“Make him go home, Tess.”

“Go home, Kieran. This isn’t a game. It’s police business.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The Sarge and I looked at each other.

“I tried,” I said, shrugging.

“He better not get in our way.”

“I won’t,” Kieran said, puffing a little.

We passed the crowds to the darker, less populated part of the parklands and it had only taken five minutes of walking. How long had it taken Red to cajole the young woman to continue with him past the safety of all those mothers and fathers to this area? How long had it taken her to realise, too late, that she no longer had a choice about it? Had he produced his little gun or did he now have a different weapon?

My heart thumped so loudly I thought it would burst through my chest. I was torn. On one hand, as a woman, I wanted to find nothing and learn later that the young woman had made it safely home without being molested in any way, even if that meant Red Bycraft had escaped once again. On the other hand, as a cop, I badly wanted to catch him. I hungered for it so much it was almost a burning physical pain.

We moved carefully through the south bay parklands, ears and eyes straining through the dimness for anything that didn’t seem right. The dark lighting and gentle wash of the water on the sand didn’t quite mask the movement and sound of dodgy activities in the shadows. The Sarge and I conferred over these and decided to ignore anything we noticed tonight. We agreed we were in no position to arrest any drug dealers or prostitutes, having no weapons, no backup and no police vehicle. We had to disregard everything except our current focus – Red Bycraft.

The lower part of South Bay Park where the boatsheds were located had been left as a ‘nature reserve’. That was the local Council’s euphemism for a parcel of public land abandoned to the wilderness due to a lack of money available to develop the park any further. The bushland also served the purpose of mostly shielding the old boatsheds from view, making it even more of an attractive location for the seedy side of business in Big Town. So it took a while of picking through the park before the jagged silhouettes of the rotting boatsheds came into view through the increasingly dense vegetation.

We approached the derelict buildings slowly, both wishing we had our guns with us. The Sarge had, as usual, tried to push his way to the front, but I hissed at him that I knew the buildings better than him so it made sense for me to lead us in.

In truth though, I was almost as unfamiliar with the buildings as he was. The only time I’d been inside them was as a twelve-year-old in the company of the seven children of Dad’s best mate. After an unsuccessful day of fishing, our two families had settled instead for a fish and chip dinner from The Salty Seagull’s predecessor eaten in the main bay parklands. Afterwards, we kids had sneaked off while the adults were busy doing boring adult things like talking. Disregarding our parents’ warnings about not going further than the end of the main parklands, we’d dared each other further and further into South Bay Park until we’d reached the old boatsheds. Even then they’d been dilapidated and widely known as a place to avoid.

The other children, who lived in Big Town, had tried to scare me with stories about the old boatsheds for years. They ganged up, double-daring me to go inside by myself. Always out-numbered and not willing to let them have a win over me, I’d stuck my chin in the air and marched inside, my hand resting on my knife.

I can still remember the feeling I’d had entering that derelict, unsafe building alone. I’d stood at the doorway and turned back to the others, all lounging a safe fifty metres away.

“You have to go inside. You have to bring us back a souvenir,” had shouted Felix, the oldest, an obnoxious boy who grew up to be an obnoxious man.

My heart pounding, I’d stepped inside the first cavernous shed, half its roof missing so the sunlight spilled in generously, throwing light into every dark corner.
It’s not so bad
, I’d told myself, looking around for something that hadn’t already been pillaged or trophied. The first shed was completely stripped bare, nothing but rubbish left strewn around its cracked cement floor.

The doorway to the adjoining shed yawned open, the door itself long gone. The roof was in better repair in that shed, so the space was inkier, shadows lurking in every corner. I’d hesitated at the doorway, scanning the shed with uncertainty. The place smelt of urine and salty, rotting timber. Scuttles of tiny paws sounded from the depths of the room, not enticing me to advance further.

A man sprang out and grabbed my arm. I’d shrieked in fear, pulling out my knife.

“Give me your money,” rasped an old smoker’s voice. He was shabby and dirty, his trousers stained and ripped, his shirt sweat-stained and misbuttoned. He’d not shaved for a while and his white beard was straggly and sparse. Several of his front teeth were missing and he smelt bad.

“I don’t have any money,” I’d told him, sounding braver than I’d felt. “I’m just a kid.” And I’d kicked him in the shin, pulling my arm free from his feeble grasp. He’d been lucky I hadn’t stabbed him with the knife Dad had only entrusted me with wearing a year ago. I’d turned tail and fled, hurriedly picking up an empty softdrink can from the rubbish in the first shed as I did.

When I’d broken free of the sheds, I’d thrown that can straight at Felix.

“Here’s your stupid souvenir,” I’d shouted at him angrily, my heart still galloping. It had hit him in the forehead, causing a gash that bled copiously and which he milked for every drop of sympathy from the adults for the rest of the day. That little action earned me stiff angry rebukes from Dad and a horribly embarrassed Nana Fuller, a humiliating sullen and insincere public apology to a gloating Felix and a TV ban for an entire week.

Those feelings washed over me again as we approached the sheds, but were driven away the second we heard a strangled scream from a woman from inside.

Chapter 30

The meagre lighting thrown by the street lamps forced us to pick our way with frustrating carefulness through the greenery to the rotting timber hulk of the sheds. Sounds of a woman weeping and another choked-off scream carried in the night air.

I pulled Kieran to the side. “You stay here and don’t move,” I ordered. “I mean it.”

“I’m not staying out here by myself,” he shot back in a fierce whisper. “It’s dark. I want to go home.”

“Good, go home,” said the Sarge. “This isn’t a situation for kids.”

“You’re not leaving me here,” Kieran insisted and I detected a hint of fear in his voice. I couldn’t blame him. This was no place to be abandoning a sixteen-year-old to defend himself.

“I don’t think we can leave him, Sarge. We have a duty of care.”

The Sarge rebuked me in a low voice. “Duty of care? Maybe you should have thought of that before you let him tag along with you. If you think the Super ripped you a new one when you took Kevin to a crime scene, how the hell do you think she’s going to react when she finds out you’ve brought a civilian teenager with you this time?”

“I didn’t
bring
him. He just sort of followed me. But we can’t leave him by himself now. It’s not safe around here.”