Blood Sport (22 page)

But it wasn’t long before he came back to force me out of the comfort of the car into the biting cold of the relentless rain.

“The driver has a flat tyre. I want you to help me change it.”

“I suppose,” I said ungraciously. I didn’t see why I should have to become cold and wet while the driver sat in their toasty, dry car. “Why can’t they help you?”

He merely grinned and raised his eyebrows.

I groaned. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?” He nodded and I sighed with exasperation. “You men are all the same – swayed by a pretty face or some nice boobs. And anyway,
I’m
a woman too, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I certainly have noticed, but right now you’re a senior constable and your sergeant is telling you to get out of the car.”

“I don’t like my sergeant sometimes.” He smiled. I tried again. “I’m no use. I only have one good arm.”

“I’ll do all the work. I just need you to hold the umbrella over me so I’m not soaked to the skin afterwards.”

I grumbled as I stepped out and let him drape the raincoat he was holding over my shoulders. “Most men can change a tyre by themselves, you know.
I
could change a tyre by myself, even with only one arm. Even in this rain. With my eyes shut. In the dark. In fact, even my Nana Fuller could change a tyre by herself and she was tiny.”

He smiled again good-naturedly, not paying any attention to my whining. “It’s good for us to do things together.”

“We don’t have to do
everything
together, Sarge.”

“Yes, we do. It helps us bond as partners.”

“I’d like to bond
you
, partner – to a railway track with a train coming,” I said rudely, snatching the gigantic umbrella from him and holding it over our heads as he swiftly and skillfully changed the flat tyre. That bit of community service finished, we went to the driver’s door. She wound down her window again and thanked us in a charming manner with an undeniably stunning smile. I could see why he was won over.

“All fixed, but make sure you get a new tyre when you return home. Don’t forget,” the Sarge advised her nicely. She waved at us before zooming off, spinning her wheels in the roadside gravel. The Sarge took the umbrella from my hand.

“So, was it her pretty face or her nice boobs you were swayed by most?” I asked straight-faced, looking up at him as we walked back to the car.

He laughed. “I think it was more the fact that she reminded me of my Grandma. She has that same fluffy white hair and old-fashioned perfume.”

I elbowed him accusingly. “You tricked me.”

“I didn’t say a word, Tessie,” he teased, throwing the umbrella in the boot and hastening for the driver’s door. We both climbed in. “It’s not my fault you’re the jealous type.”

I glared at him with indignation. “I am not!”

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s quite common for senior constables to be very possessive of their sergeants,” he laughed. “Maybe even a little bit in love with them.”

I blew a raspberry at him. “And it’s even more common for senior constables to think that their sergeants are complete wankers.”

“Luckily for me that you’re one of the former, hey?”

I rolled my eyes. “Dream on, Sarge.”

“Oh Tessie, if only you knew,” he sighed enigmatically and we drove in companionable silence until we pulled into the carpark at the Big Town police station, parking in one of the ‘police vehicle only’ spots.

It was still bucketing down.

“God, I’m fed up with this rain,” the Sarge complained as we ran into the station, throwing our arms uselessly over our heads as makeshift umbrellas. Inside, I wiped the rain from my face, damp and rumpled. We walked towards the counter, minds set on heading inside to the modern, well-equipped staff room to dry off and find some coffee or tea to warm us up.

Unfortunately the Super had other ideas. Unluckily for us, just at that instant she strode from the lift across the foyer towards us, Bum in tow, licking off the cappuccino froth that formed a white moustache on his upper lip. She glanced at her watch.

“Took your sweet fucking time getting here, didn’t you? Did you stop for a screw or something? We’re due in court in fifteen minutes.” She marched towards the front door, lighting up a cigarette as she did, despite the number of ‘No Smoking’ signs posted in the foyer. “Bum, bring my car to the entrance. I’m not going out in that fucking deluge. It’s pissing harder than a bunch of men during happy hour at a brewery.”

The Sarge and I abandoned our hot drink plans and scrambled to our car again. Not long afterwards we pulled into the back carpark of the courthouse, reserved for the court staff. The Sarge eased our patrol car into the space next to where Bum had parked. I shut my eyes briefly when we stopped, trying to psyche myself up into stepping out of the safety of the car. The last time I’d been at the courthouse, Red Bycraft had taken me hostage. I’d resigned myself to dying that day on the bitumen in the carpark rather than suffer a horrible and torturous death at his and his relatives’ hands.

The Sarge grasped my hand and squeezed. “You’ll be okay, Tess. We’ll all be watching out for you this time. Bycraft won’t get anywhere near you.”

I squeezed his hand in return, appreciating his support. “Thanks Sarge. That means a lot to me. I’ll admit that I’m a bit jumpy today.”

We huddled in the foyer outside the courtroom for a quick briefing by Pinky Kowalski, the police prosecutor. She was particularly blinding in a trademark fluorescent pink skirt suit, her gray hair recently trimmed to its usual two-centimetre, almost military length. The Sarge and I would both be required to testify about our dealings with Red that morning when he shot me. Of course, I would also have to testify about his later attack on me at the hospital, but no other witnesses were being called up at this stage of the proceedings. Pinky assured us that there was zero chance that Red would not be committed to trial for those assaults.

I was summoned into the courtroom first. I made a perfunctory bow to the magistrate before moving through the room to the witness box to be sworn in.

The public gallery was jampacked with Bycrafts. A stream of obscene taunts flowed in my direction as I passed by, but I made a point of not turning around to look at them. The magistrate, voice increasingly querulous, threatened to evict them if they couldn’t be quiet, forcing them to settle down.

After being sworn in and seated on the stand, I waited anxiously for Pinky to gather her information and begin her examination, my eyes wandering around the room. I didn’t plan on it, but I found myself looking at Red. He sat relaxed in a wheelchair, dressed neatly in a suit, his hair now cut as short as Jake’s, his yellow eyes bright with anticipation – he was beautiful, radiant and confident. His eyes were fixed on me. He grinned, pleased, as if I’d turned up to support him, not testify against him.

I clutched the front of the stand and closed my eyes for a moment, not only to avoid his gaze, but to concentrate on slowing down my breathing and pulse. And for the first time in my life I wondered if the Bycrafts’ relentless campaign of terror was starting to get the best of me. Maybe there was only so much one person could take before they cracked irreversibly? I feared then that I was edging precipitously close to that cracking point.

The Super shot me a sharp look from her spot in the gallery, as if she could read my inner unrest. Later, she told me that her arrival in the courtroom with Bum had been met with a similar wave of sneering hostility from the Bycrafts. In response, she’d apparently cast some aspersions about the nature of their mothers’ intimate relationships with various farm animals that only made them ramp up the vitriol. That had brought the wrath of the magistrate heavily down on them, leaving the Super smiling with smug satisfaction.

Her tight smile of encouragement lasted only a second before her attention was again captured by her phone, but surprisingly it did help to steel my resolve. I reminded myself that Red was properly shackled and guarded this time and would be no danger to me. While Pinky continued to rearrange her papers, Red conferred briefly with his lawyer, a public defender with an ill-fitting suit, amateur haircut and a sweaty face, who looked even more nervous than me.

Pinky was finally ready and the proceedings commenced, taking their usual course. Led by careful questioning from Pinky, I summarised what had happened between Red and me over the past few days. He stared at me relentlessly as I spoke, a faint air of bored amusement around him. I had to hand it to him for his casual attitude.

I nearly lost it talking about my chickens again, but Pinky quickly steered me away from that emotional minefield before I became soggy. None of us mentioned what had happened at Lola Bycraft’s house afterwards.

Red’s snake eyes burned into me as I gave my testimony and when I’d finished, they tracked me the entire way out of the courtroom. As I passed him, he blew me a kiss.

“I’ll be thinking of you every day in prison, Tessie. Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone,” he laughed softly.

“I’ll be sharpening my knife waiting for you.”

“No contact with the defendant!” snapped the magistrate, earning me a frown from Pinky.

“
Sorry,
” I mouthed sheepishly and hastily left the courtroom, inhaling and exhaling with huge silent breaths after I shut the door behind me.

I waited patiently outside until the Sarge had finished with his testimony and then we both waited for the verdict to be given. At the end of the hearing, the Super told us that Pinky had done a fine job finalising her case, showing the court why Red Bycraft should be committed to trial and why he should be denied bail. Unbelievably, Red’s lawyer had the audacity to request bail for his client, citing his extreme injuries as mitigation. Fortunately, the magistrate didn’t entertain that prospect for more than the few moments needed to remember that Red had been a fugitive at the time of the assaults and was most certainly a flight risk.

So Red was denied bail and remanded in custody for a forthcoming trial on a number of counts, including the original assault charges against me from months ago and all the new charges he’d since accumulated. Of course he’d plead not guilty to all the charges, but he’d be going down for a long time if he was found guilty at his trial.

He was whisked away back into custody without a chance to talk to anyone in his family, and there were a lot of pissed off Bycrafts in the courtroom afterwards. It wasn’t safe for me to hang around and the Sarge and Bum, assisted by court security, hustled me out the front door around the back to where our cars were parked.

I was very quiet on the drive home despite the Sarge’s best attempts to engage me in conversation. The thought of possibly having Red put away for decades should have made my heart lighter, but I had a bad feeling about something that I couldn’t shake.

“Let’s have some lunch, then we’ll visit those bikies,” the Sarge suggested.

“Okay, but let’s go back to my place so I can make us some sandwiches. I don’t have any money to buy my lunch.”

“No, not your place. Your kitchen will still be leaking. We’ll go back to my place.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting at his kitchen table regarding a tuna salad sandwich with a glum lack of enthusiasm.

“Not tuna
again
,” I complained ungratefully. “How many tuna do you eat in one year, anyway? No wonder they’re becoming scarce. You’re eating them into extinction all by yourself.”

He smiled. “It’s good for you. Lots of omega-3.”

“Humpf,” I grunted sceptically, my mouth full of food. I was positive there was loads of omega-3 in a Big Mac.

He chewed his sandwich contemplatively. “We have to do something about your financial situation. It’s impacting on your life.”

I took a sip of juice and stared at him. “What do you mean ‘we’? It’s not your problem.”

“Your problems are my problems,” he replied calmly.

“My problems are
my
problems,” I insisted. “I just need to earn some more money. Maybe I should move back to the city and go for my sergeant’s stripes?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he shot out.

That surprised me. “Why not? Don’t you think I’d be a good sergeant?”

“It’s not that,” he clamoured to explain. “You can’t leave yet – your father wants to stay in Little Town.”

“True,” I sighed.

“Maybe you could earn some extra money on the side closer to home.”

I laughed suddenly. “Great idea! Maybe I could do some exotic dancing at the Saucy Sirens Gentlemen’s Club?”

He didn’t approve of my levity. “I don’t think that’s very funny, Tess.”

“I do. You haven’t seen me dance. It would be embarrassingly funny. It would be a solid gold comedy act.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I’m not. Don’t you want to watch me shaking my booty and twirling my tassels?”

“Oh God . . . um . . . I have absolutely no idea how to answer that without causing a lot of difficulties for everyone,” he stumbled, my question clearly throwing him. I laughed softly to myself while he regrouped quickly. “It’s just that I don’t want to have to sell everything I own to get you out of trouble.”

We looked at each other, the only sound the soft ticking of his kitchen clock. I leaned my head to one side and regarded him thoughtfully. “You would sell your things for me?”

“If you desperately needed the money.”