Blood Tears

by JD Nixon

  “I don’t see what else we can do, Sarge. I think we just have to let it go. As usual.”

  “I’m going to ring their principal at least. If they were at school like they’re supposed to be, half of these crimes would never happen.”

  “Sure they would. They’d just happen after school. Leopards won’t change their spots, and Bycrafts won’t change their lazy, thieving ways. But good luck with the principal. I’ve tried a few times over the last few months, and he’s just as flummoxed as us as to how to handle them.”

  “Perhaps if we issue a few truancy fines to their mothers, that might at least make them listen.”

  “They wouldn’t pay them anyway. Well, Valerie might, but Lola wouldn’t. She’s probably collected a whole drawer full of unpaid truancy fines over the years.”

  I watched as he slowly recovered his equilibrium. “All right. I suppose I have to give in and give up. I guess I’ll just have to look on the bright side.”

  “There’s a bright side?”

  He winked at me. “Another report for you to write this afternoon.”

  I groaned. “As if there weren’t enough reasons in the world already for me to hate the Bycrafts.”

  *****

  Later, after many boring hours writing reports, I tried in vain to coax Dad into eating some of the salad I’d made for dinner. We spent the evening together relaxing by watching some mindless quiz show on TV. At a reasonably early hour, I had to nudge him awake so he could prepare for bed, and with nothing better to do, I decided to hit the sack too.

  Seeing Jake’s guitars gathering dust in our music room, I lay in bed and called him.

  “Hi, baby doll,” he answered, and I felt such a strong need to see him and touch him, that it almost hurt. “Watcha doing?”

  “Just lying in bed, thinking of you, honey-boy. I miss you a lot.”

  “I miss you, too. I wish I was there with you.”

  “So do I. Maybe soon?”

  “I’m due quite a bit of time off from tomorrow.”

  “You deserve it. You’ve been working so hard lately.”

  “So have you, babe.” He paused. “Heard you had a run in with the kids today.”

  “Yep.”

  “Could you just go easy on everyone at the moment? With the funeral coming up, everyone’s a bit on edge,” he said, a discernable level of pleading entering his voice. “We all just need a bit of space from you and Maguire.”

  “Jakey, they shoplifted. Not to mention that they were wagging school, and drinking and smoking pot, out in the open in public. We can’t ignore it when people make a complaint to us.”

  “Just back off a bit until the funeral’s over. That’s all I’m asking.”

  I refused to agree to do that, so swiftly changed the subject. “When is the funeral going to be?”

  “Soon. Not everything’s been finalised yet.”

  “Who’s paying for it, Jakey? I’m pretty sure Denny wouldn’t have left much money behind because he didn’t have a job. Plus he’s got kids.”

  “He left virtually nothing behind,” he confirmed, but I didn’t fail to notice that he evaded my question.

  “So, who’s paying for the funeral?” I persisted.

  He was silent for so long, I thought he wouldn’t answer, though I knew what his answer would be from that silence. “I am.”

  I stayed silent too. It wasn’t my place to criticise him for paying for his own brother’s funeral. But once again, I thought with anger about how much his layabout family depended on him financially, even though he didn’t earn all that much. Nothing would make me happier than for him to make a break from his family, as much for his psychological welfare as his financial future.

  “Let’s not fight about it. Please,” he implored.

  “We’re not fighting about it, Jakey. It’s your money.” And when I thought about it, I knew I wouldn’t care for him to start telling me how I should spend my money. Not one little bit.

  “I’m sorry, babe, but I have to go. We’re so short-staffed here at the moment. This is the first break I’ve had all night. I haven’t even managed to have dinner yet. Bloody government cutbacks. I’m really looking forward to tomorrow.”

  “Will I see you tomorrow night?”

  “Try to hold me back,” he said.

  “I love you, Jakey.”

  “I love you too, babe.”

  And with those comforting words ringing in my ears, I fell asleep.

  Once again, I dreamed.

  I am headed for a solemn occasion set in an old church. It’s surrounded by a graveyard full of cracked, leaning headstones, some inscribed with faint and illegible writing. A badly neglected tall wrought iron and sandstone fence encompasses the compound, parts of it collapsed on itself.

  The day is grey; heavy, low clouds threatening to release their loads of water at any moment. It is completely still in the graveyard, and as I open the rusting gate, it screeches with eerie loudness in the silence. I am dressed sombrely in a dark charcoal skirt suit with low black heels that clack on the cobblestone path, as I make my way to the door of the church.

  I push open the heavy oak door, liberally studded with iron bolts, needing a bit of effort to do so. Inside the church, mournful organ music fills the hall. A group of people sit on one side of the aisle, one lonely figure on the other. It is dark inside the church, making it difficult to determine who they are, or where it would be most appropriate for me to sit.

  I walk down the aisle, and it is only as I reach the last row of the crowded side of the church that I realise everyone on that side is a Bycraft.

  “Oh, no,” I say to myself. I’m doing what the Super told me not to do and I’m attending Denny’s funeral. She will be so angry with me.

  His coffin sits on a bier at the front of the church. A couple stand next to it, but I can’t tell who they are in the dimness. As I walk past the Bycrafts, they all turn to smile at me, big, evil grins across their beautiful faces. I even detect some snickering amongst them.

  That’s not appropriate for a funeral, I think to myself, scandalised. It should be a serious occasion, not a celebration.

  Something compels me to the front of the church, so that I can say goodbye to Denny. At the first row, I realise the lone person sitting on the opposite side to the Bycrafts is the Sarge, dressed in a black suit, white shirt and black tie.

  “You shouldn’t have come, Tessie,” he says to me, shaking his head in disappointment.

  “I know,” I whisper to him in return.

  “The Super tried to warn you.”

  “I wouldn’t listen to her.”

  “You wouldn’t listen to any of us,” he says sadly.

  I continue to where the coffin sits, realising that the couple standing next to it are Dave and his mother.

  “But, why are you here?” I ask them, confused.

  Mrs Gatton dabs her eyes with a lacy female hankie monogrammed with the letters AF.

  “That’s Nana Fuller’s handkerchief,” I say, increasingly puzzled. “I recognise it.”

  “She wanted me to be here for you today, Officer Tess. She couldn’t make it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You can pay your compliments to the dearly departed now,” Dave advises. “It’s for the best.” He smiles kindly at me. “Everything is peaceful now.”

  I look into the coffin and gasp, staggering back in shock, my hand clutched to my mouth.

  Lying there on the soft silk, dressed in my best clothes, my eyes closed, face pale and still, is me.

  Chapter 21

  On my morning jog, my mind alternated between wondering what it meant to dream of your own funeral, and thinking about where in town it could have been that Annabel had fruitlessly waited for Jamie to return. Deciding that I’d look up the meaning of dreams when I got to work this morning, I turned my mind exclusively to the possible whereabouts of Annabel’s hideaway.

  There were plenty of abandoned, ruined sheds in town,
but they were mainly situated on people’s properties. Because nobody had noticed anything suspicious on their properties when we’d asked around, I wondered if was possible that Annabel and Jamie had sheltered somewhere in a vacant lot. The problem with that theory was that there weren’t many unoccupied plots of land surrounding town, as most of the available land was used for farming-related activities.

  It was only in the shower afterwards that I recalled one particular block that remained undeveloped. The Sarge and I had discovered, in his first week in town, that a vacant block that people had long assumed was owned by the government, was in fact owned by the last member of one of the town’s pioneering families.

  Thinking of that, I immediately wanted to go to the site, dripping water and all. But then I remembered I had no wheels. It would have to wait until I got to the station. But how was I going to get there? It was a five-kilometre walk into town along the highway – not a hike that anyone would look forward to with eagerness.

  Just when I was lacing up my boots, tossing up whether to ring the Sarge to ask for a lift, or just slog it out, a car pulled into our driveway and a horn tooted. I peered out the door to find the patrol car waiting for me. I waved to show him I’d seen him and ducked back inside to grab my phone and wallet. I peeked into Dad’s room, but he was still asleep, the lines of pain on his face only slightly softened by deep slumber. I hated to leave him alone, but apart from a small pension he received, I was the breadwinner in the family, so had no choice but to go to work every day. I made a note to myself to ring Adele to see if she could spare a few minutes from her job to pop in and check on him sometime today.

  “I was just about to ring you for a lift,” I said, flopping into the passenger seat.

  “See what a top partner I am? I anticipate your every need,” he smiled.

  I rolled my eyes. “If you say so.”

  “Did you have a good jog this morning?”

  “Yes, thank you. Why didn’t you join me? Did the good life make you lazy?”

  “I worked out on my own equipment.”

  “Sure you did. Admit it – you slept in.”

  “Stop looking in my window.”

  “You’re going to stack on a few kilos if you don’t start moving your butt soon.”

  “Charming,” he said dryly, waiting while I did up my seatbelt. “I’ll have you know that I weigh exactly the same now as when I left here.”

  “It’s just proportioned differently, right?” I smiled, enjoying winding him up. “More fat, less muscle?”

  “I can see why you’re such a hit with the men. And besides, you’re the one who told me I looked the same when I returned.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I know how sensitive you men can be about your weight.”

  “I’d rather have a bit more fat than to have shed a huge amount of weight by losing all the muscles in my brain, like someone I know.”

  “Ooh, he stings.”

  “Like a scorpion.”

  I giggled. “More like a slightly annoyed mosquito. And for your information, I used my muscle-less brain this morning to perhaps locate where Annabel and Jamie were staying.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Remember when Valmae Kilroy brought in that suitcase of money she found in an old lean-to shed on the property next to hers?”

  “Who could forget that? It’s not every day you see that much money.”

  “That property is still vacant. They must be waiting for someone to buy it. That shed is probably still there.”

  “You’re thinking that’s the shed Annabel was talking about?”

  “It’s hard to think of another vacant block as close to where Dave’s ute was found. I think we should check it out now.”

  “Okay.”

  On our drive there, I asked, “Sarge, what do you think it means if you dream about your own funeral?”

  He shot me a look of concern. “Is that what you dreamt last night? Are you still having all those bad dreams?”

  “Yeah. I don’t think they’ll ever go away.”

  “I suppose this dream is directly related to Denny’s funeral.”

  “You were in my dream telling me I should have listened to the Super and not gone to the funeral.”

  “That wasn’t a dream. That’s the reality of me telling you that every day.”

  “Geez, I can’t even get away from your nagging at night time.”

  “Do you really dream about me?”

  “Sometimes. Do you ever dream about me?”

  “All the time. But they’re called daymares, and I only get them every time you walk into the station ready to start work.”

  I thumped him, causing him swerve the car.

  “Careful,” he admonished.

  I returned to my dream. “All the Bycrafts were there at my funeral, and they were all smiling at me. They were glad to be there. They were glad I was dead.”

  I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “I don’t think it’s any kind of premonition, if that’s what you’re worried about. Funerals are a very final way of saying goodbye, so perhaps it symbolises your readiness to say goodbye to something, or some part of your life. Or maybe a phase in your life is going to end.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, Tess. I don’t even know if I believe in dream interpretations.”

  “Me neither. It probably means nothing.”

  “Probably. Now where exactly was Dave’s ute found?”

  I directed him to the location. We stepped out and locked the patrol car.

  “Annabel said they walked for a while until Jamie spotted a shed on a property.”

  We headed south for a kilometre or so, ending up at the boundary of the Kilroys’ property.

  “Yeah, look,” said the Sarge, pointing. “You can see a shed way down the end of that driveway.”

  “Okay. So then she said they started heading for that, before dogs began to bark at them.”

  We walked down the driveway, and as if just on cue, the Kilroys’ two dogs began to bark, drawing the attention of Gerry Kilroy from the back of his house. His hands were oily, and he had a smear of grease across his face.

  “Officer Tess. Sergeant Maguire. Can I help you?” he asked, a little puzzled and wary. People were often disconcerted to find police officers heading up their driveway – even the innocent ones started feeling vaguely guilty.

  “Morning, Gerry,” I said. “Remember when Dave’s ute was abandoned, and that teenager was killed by the truck?”

  “How could I forget? You only interviewed us four times about it,” he replied, more than a little snarky. “I hope you’re not here to interview us again. We’ve told you everything we know.”

  I ignored his well-deserved irritability. “Can you remember your dogs becoming agitated at any time around then? A few days before that teen was killed?”

  He stared at me. “You have to be kidding me.” He pointed at a big, goofy dog, known for its disobedience and lack of smarts. “Lupin barks at his own shadow. If he was barking, I wouldn’t even hear it because we’ve learned to block him out.”

  “Does the other dog bark a lot too?” queried the Sarge.

  “No. He’d bark if there was a trespasser or unknown visitor, but that’s about all.”

  “Did you hear them both barking about then?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t possibly tell you,” he said. “I spend most of the day in the field or doing maintenance on the property. I’m usually only around the house at night. I’m only here now because our hot water system’s sprung a leak, and I’m trying to fix it.”

  Disappointed, but not surprised, I said, “Okay, thanks, Gerry. Could you ask Valmae if she remembers hearing anything, please? She can ring me anytime if she does.”

  “All righty,” he said, and returned to his task, dismissing us.

  “Is it okay with you if we just access your property for a bit longer?” asked the Sarge.

  “Help yourself,”
Gerry replied, not bothering to turn around.

  We walked off.

  “So the dogs frightened them off this property,” I reconstructed. “They needed to make a quick escape before they were discovered.”

  “So they moved into the next property.”

  The Kilroys’ driveway butted up against the next property, nothing separating them apart from a flimsy fence constructed of timber posts and barbed wire. Like most of the town’s outlying land, the vacant block rose gently uphill at the foothills of the Coastal Range, before the mountainous terrain took over. Try as I might, I couldn’t see any sign of the ruined building I knew was on that vacant land.

  “They must have pushed through the bush a bit before they spotted the shed,” I said.

  The Sarge frowned at the sight of the overgrown vacant block. “They made their way through that?”

  “People do lots of things when they’re desperate.”

  “Just great,” said the Sarge. “Let’s go face our punishment.”

  The Sarge stretched two strands of barbed wire apart so that I could slip through them. I then did the same for him, my arm muscles popping out as I strained to hold them as far apart as possible to allow him to climb through without scratching himself. A telltale trickle of blood on one of his arms taunted me that I hadn’t quite succeeded.

  “Bugger,” he said, wiping it off, only managing to smear it everywhere. “I hate barbed wire.”

  “Sorry, Sarge. I did try to hold it as wide as I could,” I said contritely.

  “I’ll live, but I hope you’re noticing how manly I am in handling the debilitating pain and horrendous loss of blood.”

  “You want a tissue to mop up those tears, princess?” I laughed.

  He pulled my cap down over my face, and started making his cautious way through the tangle of bushes.

  “They couldn’t have come this way,” he decided after five difficult minutes of pressing through, both of us now with multiple scratches on our arms.

  “Perhaps they skirted the fence line? The Kilroys keep their property in good maintenance, so they wouldn’t allow vegetation from a neighbouring property to encroach on theirs.”