Blood Ties (27 page)

“Doesn’t matter, that’s enough for today anyway,” he decided, recovering from his anger. “You need to rest.”

I appreciated his concern, considering his underwhelming opinion of me.

“I promised Mrs Villiers that we’d drop by her place today to investigate her peeper,” I told him regretfully. I wouldn’t mind going home and just forgetting all about today. “She’s not someone you want to upset by ignoring.”

“Okay, we’ll go to Mrs Villiers’ place and then we call it a day,” he sighed as we sped off back to Little Town.

There were two parts to Little Town. The nice part where the more respectable townsfolk lived was situated to the north of the town, around Pine, Ironbark, Silky Oak and Blackbutt Streets. The houses there were large, well-kept timber homes with wide surrounding verandas, high ceilings, ornate ironwork and beautifully tended gardens. The not-so-nice part was where the Bycrafts and their offsiders clustered, around Cypress, Jarrah and Kwila Streets. The houses there were dilapidated and unkempt, the yards either wild with overgrowth or total dust bowls bereft of any vegetation at all, graveyards to rusting junk heaps and discarded, broken kids bikes and swings.

Mrs Villiers lived in a stately old home on Silky Oak Street. It was the grandest home in town, boasting five bedrooms and three bathrooms. She lived there with her meek little husband Vern, who had never uttered a word to my knowledge, and her four spoilt and obnoxious Persian cats – Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha.

I limped up the path behind the Sarge and we climbed the steps to the broad front veranda. Vern answered the door with a silent nod and shyly showed us into a spacious, well-appointed study where Mrs Villiers was frowning over some paperwork, her glasses firmly perched on her nose. Carrie and Charlotte (I think) laid indolently on her table, eyeing us malevolently, their tails waving lazily.

“Ah, officers,” she said, looking up. “You’ve caught me trying to make sense of the Council’s financial statements.”

I apologised for the interruption, which she brushed aside advising us she was more than glad to have a break because whoever had prepared the statements was an innumerate buffoon and she would be telling them so in no uncertain terms the following day. Feeling sorry for the poor Council accountant who would be copping that spray, I introduced her to the Sarge. She was instantly impressed with him, probably thinking that he looked much more like her ideal senior officer than Des ever had.

Des and Mrs Villiers had shared a mutual loathing. He thought she was sour and pretentious and she thought he was lazy and incompetent, and they were both right. She had never missed an opportunity to opine that his slack policing was directly responsible for the ‘Bycraft problem’ that blighted Little Town, although she did condescendingly acknowledge my futile efforts to maintain some law and order. She was partially correct in that thought, but the complete lack of resources didn’t help either, and where she could have been a powerful advocate for getting better resourcing for the police station, her overwhelming hatred of Des stopped her from even trying. But perhaps now that the Sarge was in charge, she might become more interested in petitioning for better resources for the tiny Little Town police force. Or so I hoped.

She directed us to the window in her study where she had spotted the peeper, and explained that she had been working the previous evening when she’d heard a noise at the window and glanced up in surprise to see a man’s face peeking in. Not being one to shock easily, she hadn’t screamed but had instantly stood up and marched over to the window where she’d shouted at the man who had jumped down and beat a hasty retreat. Regretfully, she hadn’t caught a glimpse of his facial features.

We went around the side with our torches out and could see some footprints in the soft soil of the garden under the window.

“Look at these,” I commented. “Whole footprints. It’s very obvious that someone was standing here. It’s as though he wasn’t even trying to hide his presence this time.”

The Sarge mused, “Maybe he wants us to know that he’s doing it.”

I looked up at the window. “He’d have to climb onto the battening to be able to see into the window because the house is so far off the ground. He might have left some fingerprints on the windowsill.”

He looked up as well. “Good thinking. How long would it take to get some crime scene techs out here?”

I took out my phone and rang the head of the techs in Big Town, a no-nonsense veteran fortunately working late tonight, who informed me in her flat monotone voice that the earliest would be late tomorrow or early the following day. I gave her Mrs Villiers’ address and the address for Miss G’s ransacked place as well, and she logged both jobs for me.

We went back upstairs to tell Mrs Villiers that the techs would be coming out eventually to examine the windowsill and the garden bed and to keep away from both until they were able to complete their investigation. And with nothing more that we could do, we drove back to the station. Jake’s ute was in the parking lot.

Some fruity language was drifting to us from the back of the station. Giving each other a curious glance, the Sarge and I went around the back to find Jake swearing with irritation, trying to coerce Miss Chooky from the lockup into a big cage. Out of my five chickens, he had two in the cage and three still running loose in a panic.

“If you don’t come here right now, then I am going to break your scrawny neck and roast you up with some potatoes,” he threatened as he made another grab for her. She squawked in alarm and pecked him ferociously on the hand, making him shout out loud in pain.

“Hey Jakey. How’s it going?” I asked and ruffled his hair. He spun in surprise and stood up, stretching, leaning down to kiss me.

“These birds will not obey me. All I want is for them to come out of the lockup and get in the bloody cage so I can transport them to their new home. Does that sound unreasonable to you?”

“No,” I laughed.

“Then why won’t they listen to me? That Miss Chooky has pecked me four times already. Doesn’t she realise I’m trying to help her?”

“No,” I laughed again, kissing his bleeding hand. “She’s just a chicken. They’re not the smartest creatures around.”

“She’s not a chicken, she’s a demon,” he insisted.

I pushed him to one side. “Let me have a go. They’re used to me.” Jake had unsettled them though, so it took a good fifteen minutes to get close enough to the remaining three to pounce on them and manhandle (henhandle?) them into the cage. The Sarge watched for a little while but was soon bored and abandoned us to go into the station.

Finally all the girls were safely secured in the cage. I picked a stray feather out of Jake’s hair and took the opportunity to smooch with him for a pleasant minute. That important task completed, I grabbed hold of one side of the cage while he grabbed the other and we hauled the cage out the front to the carpark to put on the back of his ute.

“I’ll be back home soon, honey-boy,” I promised as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “I can’t wait to see the new chook house. I bet you did a great job.”

“I did,” he admitted immodestly, a cute splash of paint on his nose. I rubbed at it without helping and leaned in the window to kiss him again. “Are you going to be long, Tessie? You need to take it easy after what happened to you today.”

“Won’t be too long. See you soon.”

He drove off, tooting his horn at me as he did. I waved and made my slow, painful progress up the stairs inside the station. The Sarge was sitting in front of the computer, jigging his leg up and down and tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk.

“I’ve been waiting over ten minutes for this stupid thing to start,” he complained, annoyance stamped onto his features. “How long does it normally take?”

“Fifteen minutes to get to the log in screen and then another five to actually log in,” I replied, pulling up my chair to join him.

He stared at me in disbelief. “You’re kidding me?” I shook my head. “What about the other computer?”

“I told you – it’s been broken for weeks. It doesn’t work at all anymore.”

He muttered to himself, “This place is unbelievable.” The phone rang and he picked it up. “Mount Big Town police station.” He listened for a moment, then exclaimed in a surprised voice. “No, it’s not the Saucy Sirens Gentlemen’s Club.” He listened again. “Well, it’s not. It’s the Mount Big Town police station.” He listened again. “Do I sound like a saucy siren to you? . . . No, I didn’t think so. You’ve got the wrong number, mate.” And he hung up.

The computer flashed briefly as if it was about to give him the log in screen, but then the screen went blue.

“Oh no! What did you do to it?” I groaned in dismay. “You’ve made it blue-screen!”

He was defensive. “I didn’t do
anything
. I just turned it on.”

“Shit! Now we haven’t got any computers. I’m going to have to go scrounging to see if someone in town has an old one they can give us.”

“This place is beyond a joke. It’s like the stone age here,” he said, banging his fist on the side of the monitor. It didn’t help – the screen was still blue. The phone rang again.

“Mount Big Town police station,” he said crankily. “No, it’s not the Saucy Sirens Gentlemen’s Club. It’s the police station at Mount Big Town. You’ve got the wrong number.” He slammed the phone back onto the cradle.

Before it could ring again, I picked up the phone and dialled Abe’s mobile.

“Hello police station,” he answered.

“Hello pub,” I responded.

“Everything okay, Tessie?”

“I was wondering if you still have Romi’s old computer that I borrowed last year?” Romi had replaced it with the flash new laptop Abe had bought her for her birthday.

“Sure. Do you need to borrow it again?”

“If you don’t mind, Abe. The Sarge has just broken our last working computer.”

“I didn’t break it,” the Sarge insisted in the background.

“He broke it when he turned it on,” I said to Abe.

“I didn’t break it!” the Sarge repeated.

“How about I drop it over tomorrow morning?” Abe suggested.

“Sounds great. You’re a lifesaver, thanks Abe. See you then.” I hung up. The phone rang immediately, so I picked it up.

“Mount Big Town police station.” I listened. “No, it’s not. You have the wrong number . . . No, I’m not. I’m a police officer . . . No, of course I don’t do strip shows in my uniform . . . That’s a disgusting suggestion. You should be ashamed of yourself. Does your mother know you talk like that? . . . If you don’t stop talking to me like that, I’m going to track you down and arrest you . . . Yes, I would have my handcuffs and baton with me. Why? . . . No! I wouldn’t be willing to do that with them, you sick pervert.” I hung up on him.

“Are these wrong numbers a regular thing?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so,” I said and explained about the almost identical phone number to the brothel.

He exhaled noisily and looked up at the ceiling. “You know, if someone had told me about this town I wouldn’t have believed them for a second. I can scarcely even believe it being right here, living through it.”

I patted him on the shoulder, consolingly. “Never mind, Sarge. You’ll get used to it. Or more likely, you’ll just get jack of the place, run away and find another posting somewhere sane and leave me behind.”

“Why do you stay, Tess?”

I regarded him steadily, meeting his dark blues, choosing to be brutally honest with him for once. “My father. He’s too sick to be put through the trauma of a move. And . . .” I turned away so he couldn’t see my face. “He wants to die in this town and be buried here, next to my mother. I can’t deny him that last wish.” I wouldn’t deny Dad anything, no matter what it cost me. When I thought I’d mastered my emotions, I turned back to him brightly. “If you don’t need me anymore, I think I’ll head off. It’s been quite a day, even for this place.”

“Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said quietly.

I left him, made it to the carpark and realised I didn’t have a lift. Damn! I was forced to ask him to give me a lift home, which he did without complaining. I felt obliged to invite him to dinner, but he declined saying he had a lot of unpacking to do, giving me a toot on the horn as he drove off.

Chapter 14

The chickens were settling nicely into their new home. Jake and Dad had done a wonderful job and the coop was mended, freshly painted and spacious. During the day my chickens would be free-range and could wander our yard at their whim. It was only at night that I’d lock them away in their coop. There were always foxes and feral cats to worry about around these parts.

I made the men dinner, gave Dad a big hug and kiss in appreciation of his help and thanked Jake heartily for all his hard work later in the privacy of my bedroom. The fact that he had to be up early the next morning to get himself off back to work at the prison and I was in a great deal of pain restricted our nocturnal activities. We didn’t over-indulge as we had the night before, but shared enough good loving to send us both off to sleep as soon as we had finished with each other.

I loved it when he stayed over, loved sleeping in his arms, loved waking up with him lying next to me in my bed. I had suggested once that he think about moving in with Dad and me, but could tell that he wasn’t keen on the idea. He enjoyed his carefree single lifestyle, seeing me often enough to satisfy his emotional and carnal needs, but not enough to suffocate him. He had a strong case of commitment-phobia. That was okay with me at the moment, but it would become an issue between us sooner or later. I didn’t know what would happen when it did rear its ugly head. Like most women, I harboured dreams of one day marrying a good man, settling down with him and having some kids. But I was pretty sure that it wasn’t going to be Jake that I’d be settling down with, no matter how strong our feelings were for each other. And that unwelcome truth overwhelmed me with sadness whenever I thought about it, so I tried not to think about it very often.