Blood Ties (24 page)

Greg was let off with community service as it was his first offence (well, the first one he’d been caught for anyway), but Rick had already been on parole at the time for a botched bottle-shop holdup and was sentenced to one year’s jail. He had only been released on parole again a month ago.

I hauled out the attendance book and wrote the details in quickly, turning it around to get him to provide his illegible scrawled signature. I turned it around and countersigned it.

“I’m going to write in here that you assaulted me yesterday,” I said steadily, looking up at him.

“Bitch.”

“If you don’t want me to also write that you’ve used offensive language, then you best be keeping your mouth shut,” I suggested coldly.

“Slut,” said Dorrie, taking up the slack.

“God, looks who’s talking,” I shot back. “Is there anyone in town you haven’t slept with?”

“Piglet whore,” she continued, regarding me with hatred.

“You keep that up and I’ll be forced to tell everyone what I saw in Big Town yesterday,” I threatened.

She stared at me, totally still, and paled. She grabbed Rick’s hand and pulled him towards the door. Luckily for her, he was too thick to pick up on anything less subtle than a sledgehammer blow to the head. “Let’s go, Rick. It stinks in here of bacon and old man piss.”

Young Kenny looked up at that, offended.

I put the book back in its place and was just about to go back to the computer when there was a ruckus from the carpark. I looked out the window to see Rick and Dorrie running headlong into Stacey Felhorn who had just arrived in her twenty-year-old clapped-out burnt orange Toyota.

Stacey flew out of her car to confront Dorrie and there was an immediate heated exchange of words. A few choice expressions flew around, turning the air blue. To his credit, Rick tried to drag Dorrie away into her old clunker, but she was having none of that. She was right in Stacey’s face, taunting her about the hot sex Rick and her were having and how Rick had complained to her that sleeping with Stacey was like screwing a corpse. Stacey responded with a stream of obscenities and pushed Dorrie in the chest. Then it turned into a free-for-all.

I opened and closed the counter hatch and ran outside, down the steps, my baton out ready for action.

“Hey! You are not doing this in my carpark!” I shouted. “You can piss off somewhere else to have your scrag-fight.”

I forcefully pushed myself into the middle of the two fighting women and copped a scratch on the cheek from Stacey’s inch-long talons and a bite on the shoulder from Dorrie’s bared teeth.

“Rick! Sort your woman out or I’ll arrest her,” I shouted, appealing to the male Bycraft pride (totally delusional) in being able to control their women. He shot me a look of pure hatred, but that trigger never failed to hit the right button with a Bycraft man and he grabbed Dorrie by her arm and dragged her backwards. She resisted him all the way, kicking, punching and screaming.

I had Stacey in front of me, and with my palm out and baton up, I ordered her to calm down immediately. To my surprise she did, and then starting crying, collapsing against the bonnet of her car.

“I
loved
you, Rick. I gave my whole heart to you. You told me we were going to be together forever. I had your name tattooed on my
tit
, for fuck’s sake!” she sobbed, eyes and nose running, mascara smeared all over her cheeks.

Oh God
, I thought wearily.
What was worse – violence or hysteria?

“Well, that’s just too bad,” taunted Dorrie, “because he’s never loved you. He was only using you so he had somewhere to stay. He loves me! We’ve been fucking each other for months.”

All that just prompted another round of wailing from Stacey. I’d had enough of the whole soap opera. “Rick and Dorrie, I suggest you get in your car and get out of here now.”

Stacey was a right mess by then. She reached into her oversized fake leather handbag for a tissue, but instead she pulled out a little gun and waved it around in a dangerously careless way. It probably wasn’t loaded, I reasoned to myself, but when Dorrie made a run for it to her car, Stacey squeezed the trigger. Fortunately she aimed widely, the bullet smashing into the side of Dorrie’s car, leaving a hole in the metal. Dorrie stopped in her tracks, face white with fear.

“Stacey, you are
not
going to fire that weapon again! What you’re going to do is place it gently on the ground, turn around and put your hands behind your neck. Do you understand me?” I directed in a loud, clear voice.

She turned to me and the gun followed that movement, so it was now aimed in my direction.

“
Don’t point that gun at me!
” I shouted at her. Upset, she turned back to Dorrie, who was cowering against Rick. And he was looking as though he wished he was somewhere else. Anywhere.

Surreptitiously, I replaced my baton and removed my own gun from its holster.
Just perfect for a Monday morning
, I thought sourly,
a showdown in the carpark.
Stacey was floundering, with no clue about what to do next, having escalated matters to this alarming situation without any forethought or plan.

“Put the gun down, Stacey, before anything happens. You don’t want me to arrest you. Think about your kids.” I covered her with my Glock. “Who’s going to look after them if you’re in jail?”

She wavered and was on the brink of obeying, when Dorrie opened her big obnoxious mouth again.

“She hasn’t got the balls to shoot anyone,” she mocked.

“Dorrie! Shut your mouth right now!” I yelled at her, over my shoulder. Stacey straightened up and held her gun up again. She had a small tussle in her mind over who to shoot –
Rick or Dorrie? Rick or Dorrie?
– before deciding on Dorrie. I couldn’t fault her logic. I wanted to shoot Dorrie too.

She was concentrating hard on what she was doing and wasn’t paying any attention to me, so without any warning, I rushed her and knocked her flying just at the moment that she pulled the trigger. The bullet flew wild and smashed through the police station window, narrowly missing Young Kenny who was peering out.

I sat on Stacey’s legs, cuffed her hands behind her and retrieved her weapon. The Sarge and the removalists were on the veranda of his house, watching with concern. I waved above my head to let him know that it was okay and everything was under control.

I hauled Stacey to her feet and pushed her towards the station. She could cool down in there for a while. Dorrie revved her car and gravel sprayed up everywhere as she quickly reversed.
Good
, I thought as I marched Stacey to the stairs. I was glad they were finally taking my advice and leaving.

I heard the men shouting at me from the veranda of the police house, saw the Sarge sprinting down the stairs and spun around to see Dorrie’s car heading straight for us. I just had time to push Stacey to the side and jump aside myself, before the front of the car clipped me on my right hip, sending me flying, sprawling into the gravel. Dorrie quickly reversed all the way out of the carpark through the gates to the road and sped off.

Stacey struggled to her feet and made a run for it. The Sarge detoured from me to bring her down, firmly holding on to the cuffs. The two removalists crouched down next to me. I was winded and shocked, and my body just flat-out refused to move. My hip was screaming with pain, and I fervently hoped it was okay, because I had that bloody fun run coming up.

Cautiously, carefully, I pushed myself up to my hands and knees and, with the help of the two burly men, managed to get to my feet, testing everything to make sure it all still worked.

“She deliberately tried to run you over!” exclaimed one of the men in disbelief. “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.” The other man shook his head in stunned agreement.

“Happens all the time,” I said casually, wincing as I took a few steps. “They usually miss me though.” I looked up at the window to see Young Kenny still watching and turned to the three shocked men. “I really need a cup of tea.”

Chapter 12

I limped towards the station, shaking the gravel out of my uniform and dusting myself down. The Sarge followed, pushing Stacey in front of him. I glanced up at the police house.

“Sarge, there’re some Bycraft boys trying to steal your furniture.”

The three men raised their heads to see two young Bycrafts – Chad and Mikey by the looks of them – jumping down from the removalist truck, carrying a side table between them.

The Sarge stared in disbelief. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! We’ve only been gone a minute.” He bellowed in his loud voice, “Hey, you boys, put that down. Now!” The two removalists ran towards the truck, shouting at the boys who dropped the table carelessly and legged it down the driveway.

Walking up the stairs was painful and I winced all the way, clinging onto the handrail for extra support. Inside the station, the Sarge was surprised by Young Kenny’s presence, his nose twitching as he caught his unpleasant odour.

“What are we going to do with her?” he asked, pushing Stacey through the open counter hatch.

“I’m going to make her a cup of tea, she’s going to sit here quietly until she’s calm and then I’m going to let her go.”

“Thank you, Officer Tess,” she said, almost inaudible. I didn’t mind Stacey – she wasn’t a bad person and was much nicer to me than most of the other women who hung around the Bycrafts. It wasn’t her fault that she had trusted a Bycraft with her heart.

“I’m confiscating your gun though. I bet you don’t even have a licence for it.”

She shook her hanging head, staring woefully at the floor.

“You could have killed someone today, Stacey,” I lectured. “You only just missed poor Young Kenny. How would you have felt if you killed him?”

She cried gently, fat tears plopping onto her jeans. I turned to the Sarge. “You can uncuff her, Sarge. She’s not going to do anything stupid.”

I filled up the kettle and flipped it on, then went to the small safe and placed Stacey’s gun inside. I wrote her a receipt for it that she shoved indifferently into her handbag while rummaging for a tissue. Silently I handed her the box that was sitting on top of the filing cabinets. While she blew her nose noisily, I limped out to the counter to fetch Young Kenny’s mug, only to find him sitting on the bench in forlorn tears, the shattered remains of his mug carefully collected and neatly placed on the counter.

“Aw, Young Kenny,” I sympathised. “You dropped your mug?” The bullet had probably frightened him.

He shook his head and pointed to the little bullet-sized hole in the window.

“The bullet smashed it?”

He nodded, tears streaming down his face. I handed him some tissues from the box I kept out the front and patted him on the shoulder.

“I’ll just have to buy you a new one, okay?”

He nodded again. I chucked the pieces in the bin and limped back to make some tea.

“You broke Young Kenny’s special mug with that stray bullet, Stacey. He’s out there crying about it.” That only made her cry even more. I stuck the knife in deeper. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to find a replacement for it either.”

“Sorry, Officer Tess,” she sobbed.

I twisted the knife hard. “Don’t say sorry to me. You better say it to Young Kenny instead. He’s never hurt anybody in his life and now the only thing he had of his own is smashed because of you.” She stumbled out to the counter, sobbing, to apologise to the old man.

“You need a doctor. Who do you go to?” asked the Sarge.

“When I need to, I see a doctor in Big Town and she doesn’t do house-calls. There’s nobody here in town.”

“Let me look at your hip then.”

I glanced at him with sardonic amusement. “Excuse me, Sergeant Maguire, but did you just ask your junior officer to drop her trousers in front of you? Because she’s not going to.”

He reddened. “I wasn’t asking for any prurient reason.”

“That’s your story,” I retorted, before softening. “Do you want a cup of tea?”

“No, I better get back to my house if you’re sure everything is okay here.” I nodded. “And who can I call to come and look at you? You need to be checked, Tess. For God’s sake, you were just hit by a car!”

“I’ll live,” I dismissed. “It was only a clip. I can walk. I’ll get Jake to take me to the doctor at the prison tonight.” I gave a humourless laugh. “They know me well there.”

“Okay, but I’ll take you there this afternoon when I’m done with the removalists. Then we’ll be paying a visit to our hit-and-run driver. She’ll be spending the night in custody.”

He took off and Stacey returned to the back office and sat down quietly. I made three cups of tea, placing three Nice biscuits on a plate for Young Kenny, and carried his morning tea out to him. I then eased painfully down onto my chair to drink my tea, offering Stacey a Tim Tam from my precious packet.

But before I could even take a sip of my tea, the bell rang. Breathing in deeply and gripping the armrests tightly, I pushed myself up from the chair, grimacing in pain. At the counter was Mrs Villiers, the town’s representative on the district’s super-Council that was based in Big Town. She was fierce and stout with an impressive ships-brow bosom, each strand of her blonde hair always perfectly sprayed into place in a Margaret Thatcher hairstyle.