Blood Ties (48 page)

“Unhelpfully, we have a post office box address here in Big Town, so we could go down and heavy the manager of the post office to tell us who’s renting it. But we also have a mobile number and it’s the same one listed for both sales, so I presume it’s real.”

“Let’s not rush into this,” he mused, sitting on the desk and lifting both his feet to rest on my chair. I winced in pain as his boots pressed on my bruised hip.

“Sarge! Move your feet. You’re hurting me.”

“Oh sorry,” he said, removing his feet quickly, but less than a minute later, one had crept back up onto my seat, poking me again. I bit off my sharp comment and shifted over, looking up at him expectantly.

“Will I ring the mobile?” I asked, prompting him impatiently.

“How about we ask the Senior Sarge to ring for us? If it’s Murchison, he might recognise one of our voices.”

“Okay.” I pushed my chair back suddenly, almost making him tumble off the desk as his foot lost its purchase. We waited patiently until Daisy had finished railing at a poor probationary cop for stuffing up some paperwork. He looked as though he was on the verge of tears as he redid his report, eyes flying to Daisy every second minute in fear.

I explained what we wanted her to do and what we were trying to find out about Stanley Murchison and gave her a rough script to follow. Her eyes sparkled at the opportunity to do something different than processing the steady stream of petty crims which came to her, day in, day out. She picked up the phone and rang the number. She listened for a moment then hung up without saying anything.

“No luck,” she said flatly. “Nobody answered. It went to voicemail for a Lionel Mundy of Traumleben Pty Ltd. I didn’t bother leaving a message.”

The Sarge and I looked at each other in frustration.

He said, “We’re just not getting anywhere with this case.”

“Time for a visit to the post office?”

He agreed and asked Daisy for the number for the Big Town post office. She tapped on her keyboard and wrote it down for him. We found a quiet desk and he rang, making an appointment with the post office manager in forty-five minutes time.

“Let’s go have a coffee,” he suggested.

“Okay,” I said. I stopped at the front desk again to talk to Daisy. “Senior Sarge, we’re done with Graham Mundy. You can let him go when he’s processed and has his court date.”

“Goodo Tess. I need the space, frankly. It’s crazy here today – must be a full moon or something.”

As we headed out the door, my phone rang and I answered. It was the police prosecutor, Pinky Kowalski, wanting me in court the next day for the committal hearings for the Bycrafts.

“Their lawyer doesn’t want you in court, but I bloody well do,” she croaked in her gravelly voice. “The magistrate will take one look at you and commit the four of them to trial straight away and keep them on remand in custody. The last thing we want is those Bycrafts released on bail, even though I’ll bet my right tit they’ll be applying for it.”

“There’s no chance Red Bycraft will get bail, surely? He was already on parole when he attacked me.”

“In a fair world, no, but who knows with some of these bleeding heart magistrates,” she said with caustic contempt. “A few of them believe every sob story they’re fed. Even when there are Bycrafts involved.”

I blew out a sigh. “Thanks Pinky.” I hung up.

“No magistrate is going to give them bail, Tess. Stop worrying,” soothed the Sarge, patting me on the shoulder.

“I’m not worried about them,” I lied calmly. “I’ll be ready for them if they return to Little Town.”

He searched my face. I returned his stare steadily. I’d had a lot of practice in not betraying my emotions.

“You’re a hard person to read,” he said finally, frustrated.

“Good,” I smiled in satisfaction. “So are you.”

“Good,” he said in return.

“Two clams, huh?”

“Evidently.” He unlocked the car and we climbed in. My eyes flicked to him as we did up our seatbelts.

“Maybe it would be better if we were more open with each other? As partners?” I suggested, a little hesitant, watching his face carefully, not sure if he’d embrace the idea or reject it. And I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about either response – offended or relieved?

“That would certainly stop me putting my foot in it all the time,” he noted dryly and we shared a quick smile. “It would good to know you better because we depend on each other so much at work. And being able to second guess each other could be critical one day. But I’m not sure if I can. I suppose I want to keep my private life private. If you know everything about me, then it’s as if –”

“You grew up in Little Town with me?” I asked, interrupting, and we exchanged another smile.
We’d better stop doing that soon
, I thought,
or we might find ourselves becoming friends
.

We drove for a while and I took a deep breath and offered him another way to help crack that thick ice sheet between us. “We could share some information about ourselves. How about if you ask me something about myself and I’ll do the same to you?”

He wasn’t thrilled by my suggestion as he nosed out of a side street onto the main road. “All right,” he said after a while. “Nothing too personal though.”

I nodded agreement.

“Good. Me first,” he insisted.

I braced for his question, but there was nothing but silence.

“Well?” I encouraged. “I’m waiting with bated breath.”

“I can’t make up my mind between two questions.”

“You only get one,” I reminded him.

“I know, I know.” He concentrated on navigating a congested roundabout.

“Sarge? I’m going to withdraw the offer if you don’t hurry up!” I said impatiently, on edge.

“Okay, I’ve decided. Where were you placed during your city service?”

“Benara, for the whole time, from leaving the academy to returning to Little Town,” I admitted reluctantly. I knew my answer would spark a predictable reaction. And it did.

“Benara? Are you kidding me? What in God’s name were they thinking sending a probationary cop, especially one from the country, to a hellhole like Benara?”

“Gee Sarge,” I said sarcastically, “that wasn’t in the slightest bit patronising to me, I promise.”

He braked sharply for a young P-plater who cut in front of us without indicating. “Who teaches kids to drive these days?” he grumbled to himself.

I was boiling mad about him being so condescending. “I
volunteered
for Benara. Nobody
forced
me to do it. In fact, my instructors at the academy tried to talk me out of it. But I needed to know if anything could possibly be as bad as living with the Bycrafts here in Little Town. And do you know what? It wasn’t. Because those communities in Benara have self-value, organisation and respect for their own history and culture and you could at least negotiate with the community elders. You can’t do that here, because the Bycraft elders are the worst of the bunch. How much success do I have negotiating with Lola Bycraft about the behaviour of her children?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I didn’t give him the opportunity, cutting him off with a snort of unamused laughter. “Well, you’ve already seen how well that went! Do you think I was fazed by being spat on or sworn at in Benara? Having shit thrown at me? Being punched, kicked and scratched? Having my property vandalised and destroyed? Having guns held to my head and people running me down with their cars? Trying to inject me with their dirty needles? Trying to rape me? Threatening to kill my family? Trying to burn my house down? Stalking me? Hunting me? It was water off a duck’s back. Half of those things didn’t even happen in Benara, but they’ve bloody well all happened to me here. And much more. And not just as an adult either.”

“Jesus, Tess . . .” he began, but stopped for a moment when he saw my face. “But
why
do they do it? What
is it
between you and the Bycrafts? Normal people don’t behave like that.”

I didn’t know if he was referring to the Bycrafts or me as not being normal, or maybe even all of us, and all of my insecurities rushed to the surface.

“I answered your question,” I stated with sullen stoniness, feeling miserable and wishing I hadn’t said anything.

“God!” he said, flaring with instant heated frustration. “You don’t answer anything. I feel like I’m working in the dark here. We’re supposed to be a team, but you don’t tell me
anything
!”

I rounded on him. “You don’t tell
me
anything!”

There was total silence between us for a long time.

“I really liked working in Benara,” I mulled, my mind returning to my former post, forgetting him, almost lost in my own memories. “I miss it. It was a great place to learn hands-on policing. I’m still in contact with a lot of the cops who work there because I expect to be back again, one day. When . . . you know.” I looked out the window sadly, not wanting to think about poor Dad. “I want to go back there when I leave Little Town. We had a tight and supportive police team working that suburb. We had each other’s backs, one hundred per cent guaranteed.”

“Not like Little Town?”

“No,” I said bluntly. Des had never had my back, and after this week I was reserving my judgement on whether the Sarge did either. And I had the feeling that he was conscious of my doubts.

He parked the car out the front of a strip of shops that contained a franchise for a large international coffee chain. We went in and ordered, ignoring the unmistakable change in atmosphere that happened whenever we were around. Uniformed police always made people uncomfortable – even decent, upright, law-abiding citizens, who suddenly remembered every small transgression in their recent lives when they set eyes on us. There was also an amount of slight disapproval that some people directed towards cops who dared to take a coffee break and do something that ninety-five per cent of the workforce did everyday without thinking twice.

My battered face didn’t help matters and I was positive I saw one over-protective mother actually clamp her hand across her young child’s eyes so he wouldn’t see me. Her hurried departure soon after, her coffee only half-drunk and most of a piece of carrot cake left on her plate, only reinforced that impression. It didn’t improve my mood.

We took our coffees to the darkest corner of the brightly lit store we could find.

“Did you see that woman?” I hissed indignantly as soon as we sat down.

“I did,” he said sympathetically.

I moped for a while, staring at my coffee, watching the steam rising from the cup.

“Tess?”

“What?” I asked sharply, not looking at him. I was still miffed at being treated like some kind of freak.

“You haven’t asked me your question.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m happy to know whatever you want to tell me,” I said, not caring at that moment. I couldn’t believe how thrown I was by that anonymous woman’s reaction to me. Didn’t she realise that I was another human being, like her, with feelings? I grabbed a napkin and shredded it into small strips. And when I’d finished that one, I grabbed another and gave it the same treatment.

“You’re angry,” he noted.

I glanced at him in surprise. “No, I’m not. What makes you think that?”

“What’s all that about, then?” he asked, nodding towards the small mountain of shredded napkins in front of me.

“Oh,” I said, looking down at them, embarrassed. “Maybe I am, after all.” I pushed them to one side and took a sip of coffee through my sore lip, wincing at the pain.

“Ask me your question.”

I couldn’t care less about him right then. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me,” he insisted. “I forced information out of you. You have to do the same or you might never find out anything about me.”

“I kind of hoped that you’d begin to trust me and tell me things of your own accord,” I said honestly. “That’s how I’m used to working. Well, it was until I met Des.” I laughed suddenly. “He told me way too much about himself. Especially about him and Foxy.” I pulled a face, remembering the mortifyingly intimate conversations I’d had with Des. Well, not conversations as such – more like monologues. He’d always done the talking and hadn’t expected or even really wanted me to respond.

“Please ask me, Tess,” he persisted, serious and intense. I stopped laughing straight away. We eyeballed each other for a long moment, and then I realised that it was a trust thing with him, and it was important for the future of our partnership.

“Where’s Melissa?” I asked him bluntly.

He leaned back, an unhappy expression settling on his face. “She’s overseas, backpacking with a group of her friends. I don’t know
exactly
where she is right now, but it’s in southern Greece somewhere. I’m waiting for her to ring or email me again to tell me.” Then it was his turn to avoid emotion by taking a sip of coffee, looking everywhere except at me.

He probably thought he’d given me nothing with that answer, but I felt as though I’d learnt a lot. Like the fact that he wasn’t pleased about his fiancee being overseas and that she was an irregular correspondent. And why wasn’t he overseas with her enjoying the experience, anyway? If I’d done the whole European backpacking rite-of-passage when I’d had a fiance instead of with my girlfriends as I had, I would have wanted him to be there with me. Who were the friends she was with and how could they be more important than her fiance? And to go backpacking without your fiance soon after you became engaged did not scream of maturity or commitment to me. Hmm, the mystery only deepened.