Blood Tears (23 page)

“
Sarge.” He glanced at me enquiringly. “Thank you for buying
me lunch.”

“
That’s okay,” he said with a faint smile. “You need to be
well-energised for the next few hours so you can tackle all those
reports you have to write by the end of the day.”

I groaned in disgust.
“I thought you were being nice, not having an ulterior motive.”

His faint smile grew
wider. “It’s good to clear all your work each day. Clean desk,
clean mind.”

“
Seriously, if I hear that one more time, I’m going to have to
thump someone. And seeing that you’re the nearest person in the
vicinity, it’s going to be you who’s the thumpee.”

“
Oh,
how I missed being thumped by you.”

Despite myself, I
giggled. “I missed thumping you. Baz wouldn’t let me thump
him.”

“
Wise
man. And it’s not like I
let
you thump me either. You just
tend to do it without any warning or permission.”

“
You
love the attention.”

He snorted. “I can
think of plenty of other kinds of attention I’d prefer than a hard
thump on the arm.”

“
Should I try your stomach next time?”

“
Fuller, you’re a laugh a minute.”

We drove a few more
kilometres in silence.

“
Speaking of thumping, how did Melissa take the break up?” I
asked.

“
Not
particularly well,” he said vaguely.

“
What
was the catalyst? It wasn’t you just waking up one day and deciding
it was over.”

“
You’re not really into minding your own business, are
you?”

“
Just
answer the question.”

He sighed. “I wanted to
go to Ireland to visit my father, and stay there for a long time.
She wanted to do other things.”

“
There’s a lot more to it than that, isn’t there?”

“
Isn’t there always?” he said, but declined to
elaborate.

Taking the hint, I
returned to my thoughts, puzzling over who was our mystery man. I
knew there had to be something deeper going on than what it looked
on the surface.

Back at the station, we
worked in companionable silence until it was almost knock off time.
I did everything I could to avoid writing reports, eventually
running out of minor cleaning jobs, reading emails, and even a spot
of filing, a fact that the Sarge observed with barely concealed
amusement.

Just as we were packing
up, the phone rang. We looked at each other in a battle of the
wills. He arched an eyebrow, and nodded his head towards the phone.
Relenting, I picked it up, to find Mr X on the other end.

“
Tess, when you spoke to Annabel after us, did she tell you
anything more?”

“
Nope. Her story was the same as what you said she told
you.”

He sighed with
frustration. “She’s given us a false name. We can’t find records on
anyone with her name around her age on any database. And believe
me, we’ve tried them all.”

“
I
don’t know what to say. I guess she really doesn’t want to go back
home, and doesn’t want her family to find her.”

“
Yeah, but she had no identification on her. It’s going to
make her life difficult in the future.”

“
It’s
strange with two people giving us fake identification.” An idea
popped into my head. “Unless . . .”

“
What?”

I gathered my thoughts.
“Unless the man who came here purporting to be Jamie’s father is
really Annabel’s father?”

“
They
both gave us fake names. But why?”

“
Maybe there’s something about the baby they’re both trying to
hide?”

A silence from the
other end. “Oh. One of those kind of cases?”

“
Perhaps. It would certainly explain why she’s so vehemently
against returning to her family.”

“
And
why he’s trying to track her down through Jamie. He wouldn’t want
that situation coming to light.”

“
But
she told us the baby was Jamie’s.”

“
Wishful thinking?”

“
Can’t blame her. Who’d want their kid growing up knowing that
her grandfather was really her father?”

“
What
a mess.” He sighed again. “I guess Z and I will have to interview
her again tomorrow. I just want this case closed. We have so much
other work to do.”

“
I’ll
let you know if I find out anything else.”

“
Thanks, Tess.”

At the Sarge’s
enquiring expression, I gave him a rundown on the newest theory. He
pondered it for a few minutes.

“
Makes sense, but it’s very unsavoury.”

“
Perhaps Jamie was helping her escape an abusive
situation.”

He shook his head
sadly. “Poor kids.”

We went our separate
ways for the night. I spent a quiet evening. After dinner, I sat on
the ramp to our back door with a cup of tea. I listened to my
chickens contentedly settle themselves down for the evening,
enjoying the varied aromas from my herb garden. Dad eventually
coaxed me inside for a couple of games of chess, which he
decisively won.

That night, lying in
bed, I thought sadly about my relationship with Jake. At one time,
we would have texted or rang each other every night, that remote
contact only heightening our anticipation for our next physical
meeting. Now, days would go by where we didn’t contact each other,
because when we did, it was inevitably strained, usually leading to
bickering or outright arguments about his family or my job. Or
Denny’s funeral.

Weary after last
night’s interruption, I finally asleep. I dreamed.

I lie on the dirt
floor of a ruined shed, the moonlight streaming through the gaps in
the roof where the tin has rusted through. I am in labour, trying
to pant my way through the excruciating pain of each contraction.
Sweat drips from my forehead, and my mouth is parched as I inhale
and exhale with effort.

The Sarge kneels in
front of me, acting as my midwife, giving me a constant stream of
instructions and assurances.

“
Come
on, Tessie. A few more pushes. That’s all we need,” he
urges.

“
I
can’t. I can’t,” I moan. “It hurts so much.”

“
Be
strong.”

“
I
can’t. Please. Give me something to take away the pain,” I pleaded,
tears flooding down my cheeks.

“
You
have to be strong.”

“
I
can’t. Please. It’s too much pain for me to bear.”

The Sarge looks at me
with great compassion and sorrow. “I’m not allowed to give you pain
relief, Tessie.”

“
Please,” I beg.

“
No,
it’s impossible,” he says. “Your life is meant to be full of pain.
There’s no other way for you.”

“
There is. There is. You can take away the pain for me. You
can do it.”

“
I’m
sorry. I can’t.”

Another contraction
rips through me. I can feel my baby forcing its way out, until it
is fully emerged and the Sarge holds it, smiling at me.

“
It’s
a girl,” he tells me.

“
Can
I hold my baby?” I ask, drenched in sweat. “I want to hold my baby.
I want to see her face. I want to cuddle her.”

The Sarge’s glance is
full of pity. “I’m sorry, Tessie. This baby is not for you.”

“
But
she’s my baby.”

With a last glance at
me, he walks over to a darkened corner of the room, and hands the
baby to a shadowy figure.

“
Thanks, Tessie,” gloats a familiar voice. Red Bycraft steps
out of the shadows, a triumphant grin on his face. “I’ve always
wanted a Fuller of my own.”

“
No!”
I scream, appealing to the Sarge. “Don’t let him take her from
me.”

He returns my
desperation with an apologetic smile.

“
And
look, the baby’s a girl. A female Fuller. Just what I’ve been
asking for my whole life,” says Red.

“
No!
She’s my baby, not yours. She’s mine. Mine. Sarge, tell him,” I
implore.

“
Sorry, Tessie. It’s the way it must be,” he says, sympathy on
his face.

Red laughs, an evil
sound. “What fun I’ll have with her.”

“
No!”
I scream, struggling to sit up.

The Sarge holds me
down by the shoulders so I can’t move as Red slips out the door,
clutching my baby to his chest, laughing all the way.

I woke with a start, my
heart thumping, real beads of sweat on my forehead, barely able to
swallow from the dryness in my mouth. I leaned over to take a huge
gulp of water from the glass on my bedside table.

“
It
was just a dream,” I tell myself once again. “It was only a
dream.”

The first light of dawn
crept through the gaps on the side of my drawn blind. I flopped
back on my bed, knowing it was pointless trying to get back to
sleep again now.

Another great start
to another great day
, I thought to myself with a weary
sigh.

Chapter
16

After my morning jog,
tending to my chickens, breakfast and a shower, I was back at the
station at an early hour. I made a cup of tea and settled at my
desk, contemplating my unfinished reports with little interest. As
a diversion, I glanced at my phone for the first time this morning,
noticing a voicemail message from an unfamiliar Big Town
number.

When I heard the
message, my first thought was to jump in the patrol car and tear
off up there. But knowing that would get me into trouble, I decided
that I’d better tell the Sarge first. And besides, he had the keys
to the patrol car with him.

I locked the station
and jogged up to his house. I banged on the front door, bringing a
half-dressed Sarge to the entrance, hastily buttoning his
shirt.

“
What’s the matter?” he immediately asked,
concerned.

“
I
just wanted to let you know I’m going to Big Town.”

“
Why?
We were just there yesterday.”

“
This
morning, Annabel rang me. I’ve only just seen her message. She
wants to talk to me.”

“
What
about?”

“
I
don’t know. That’s why I’m going there to see her.”

“
I’m
coming with you,” he said, but then stopped. “Oh, damn. I have a
conference call this morning with some of the bigwigs in the city
to discuss road safety for semi-trailers. It’s some kind of working
party, and the Super rang me last night to demand I be involved
after the recent accident here.”

“
Oh,
well. Tough luck for some,” I said, happy to go by myself. “Can I
take the patrol car?”

“
Better not. I might need it.”

“
Aw,
that means I’m going to have to drive my old bomb. It will take me
forever to get there. Unless . . .” I speculatively eyed his shiny,
cute Beemer.

“
Not
a chance, Fuller. Not. A. Chance.”

“
You’re mean.”

“
It’s
the only way to be with some people,” he smiled. “Enjoy the
drive.”

I blew a raspberry at
him and bounded down the stairs, striding back to the station where
my Land Rover sat forlornly alone in the carpark.

“
Have
you got your phone?” he called out after me. Without turning
around, I held it up for him to see. “Do you have enough
petrol?”

“
Of
course
I do,” I shouted back, though I wasn’t sure if I had
or not.

“
And
don’t plan on taking all day about it.”

At the Land Rover, I
gave him a mock salute, before climbing into the driver’s seat. The
engine started on the third go with a sick splutter, and I gloomily
wondered if I’d be stranded by the side of the road trying to make
it to the hospital. And then that made me think about the cost of
the petrol driving to Big Town and back. I’d put in a compensation
form for that when I returned, I decided, pulling out on to the
Coastal Range Highway in a cloud of exhaust fumes that seemed to
get worse every day.

I listened to the Big
Town radio station on the drive, about the only one the Land Rover
could pick up reception for amongst the mountains of Little Town.
After suffering through a swag of ancient tunes, droning news, and
alleged ‘banter’ between some monotonous hosts, I hastily turned it
off when I caught the snooty tones of Mrs Villiers, the Little Town
representative on the District Council. I didn’t hear much of what
she said before I killed the radio, but she was moaning on about
something or other. Probably the Council accounts, about which she
was often quite scathing.

Or maybe she was
complaining about me
, I thought with a quietly wicked giggle. I
wasn’t her favourite person, but then, she wasn’t mine either, so
we were evenly matched in that respect. Since a few months ago,
when Teddy had almost beaten her in the election for her long held
councillor position, she’d become a strident champion for all
things Little Town. That didn’t always include the town’s police
though, especially me.

The drive to the
hospital seemed interminable, and I longed for the cruisy comfort
of the patrol car, with its powerful engine, comfortable seats, and
air-conditioning. And maybe the company of the Sarge, as well. It
was a long, dull trip to undertake by yourself.