by JD Nixon
“You, Chad Bycraft!” thundered a voice from the verandah. “You better take that car back to the station now without one dent on it, or we’ll be hauling your arse off to the lockup for the rest of the day. Do you hear me?”
I had no doubt he’d heard the Sarge. Half the town probably had, he was that loud. At the Sarge’s threat, Chad’s rat-cunning survival instinct kicked in. Realising that a couple of cops had now named him out loud in the presence of two witnesses – Kevin and Dr Fenn – he knew that could really spell trouble this time. The red car pulled a sudden u-turn and burned off back towards the station.
“Thanks, Sarge,” I called out, climbing back under the tape. Once again, he’d stepped in to save me from my own impulsively thoughtless actions.
He raised a casual hand in acknowledgement, but was soon engrossed in a serious conversation with the doctor. I watched them for a while, wanting desperately to confer with him and to hear what Dr Fenn had to say. But a steady stream of people began to arrive at the house, on foot, by bike and in their cars. Word of something amiss with Miss G had spread quickly.
I remained tightlipped, declining to answer any queries and returning the questions of the more persistent folk with nothing more helpful than my expressionless cop face. However, it didn’t take the more astute townsfolk too long to work out that something seriously awful had happened to Miss G. The fact that I guarded the driveway, the lack of urgency in the Sarge’s and Dr Fenn’s actions and body language, and the general air of us all waiting for someone, but not an ambulance, gave it away.
Most of those who turned up were visibly distressed by the situation. They huddled in small groups, speculating with each other in soft, shocked voices. Miss G was the town’s oldest resident and so for everyone, particularly those of us who’d grown up here, she’d always been an integral part of the town – someone who seemed as if she’d be around forever. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I thought about her, determined to remain professional. But I couldn’t help wondering who could have done such a terrible thing to a person so harmless.
That was the last chance I had to reflect on anything for a long time as more and more people arrived. It appeared the town had collectively decided to turn out in force to offer its condolences. And those who couldn’t leave their houses or work places for whatever reason kept my phone busy ringing, probably wanting to confirm if what they’d heard was true. Knowing my ability to keep my lips zipped would be sorely tested, especially when my first caller was Dad, I turned off my phone and didn’t answer any of the calls. The Super was tolerant of many things I did, but messing up a murder investigation by shooting off my mouth would most definitely not be one of them. She might not care about winning popularity contests, but she was deadly serious about fighting crime.
The three Bycraft teens, without the car this time and now accompanied by the rest of the young ones, slouched towards us, their hands shoved in the pockets of their jeans. They were soon joined by some of their older relatives driving up in their clapped-out cars. They’d obviously decided to make an afternoon of it, one of them turning up the car stereo, another pulling a carton of cold beer out of his boot, others taking photos of the house with their mobile phones.
“Heard she had her throat slit from ear to ear. Blood everywhere,” drawled Greg Bycraft off-handedly, as if it was something that happened in town every second day.
I didn’t waste any energy puzzling over how he could have found out about it already, because for all I knew, he’d been sneaking around her house for days, pilfering her treasures as soon as he’d noticed she wasn’t clearing out her mail. Vacant houses were fair game according to the Bycrafts, even if the owners had just gone on holiday for a week. Even if the owners had just gone to the shop for a couple of minutes. And of course none of them would ever be civic-minded enough to actually report a murder if they did stumble on such a thing during one of their housebreaks. I made a mental note to inform the investigating dees of that little nugget when I had the chance. I personally didn’t think Greg, cousin to Jake, was the murdering type, but you never knew with the Bycrafts.
“Shut your mouth and turn that damn music off. What do you think this is – some kind of party? Why don’t you louts show a bit of respect for once?” angrily demanded Gerry Kilroy before I had the chance to suggest the same. Gerry, one of the local farmers, must have come into town to stock up on some supplies, deducing from the boxes of goods in the tray of his ute.
“Why don’t you go root your horse?” sassed young Kristy in response.
Rick, her uncle and brother to Jake, sniggered. “Good one, Kristy.”
My stomach churned as my temper rose again. Their treatment of Miss G’s murder as nothing more than a bit of light entertainment sickened me. “Why don’t all you Bycrafts just do everyone a favour and piss off?”
Rick’s jovial face switched to hostile in a flash. He still hadn’t forgiven me for my rampage at his mother’s house a few months ago. Or for being partially responsible for breaking up his relationship with Dorrie Lebutt, who was now living with his cousin, Mark. He’d since made it up with both Dorrie and Mark, but still blamed me for the breakup and that was the way a Bycraft brain worked. I was an easy scapegoat for every bad thing that happened in their crappy, meaningless lives.
Rick stepped forward, right up against the tape. “Yeah? Is that what you reckon, piglet?”
I took a couple of paces closer as well until we were almost nose-to-nose on either side of the tape. “Yeah, that’s what I reckon. You heard me. Piss off now.”
He snorted in derision. “Or what?”
I showed him my hand on my OC spray. “Maybe a bit of this.” Then I twisted slightly to show him my other hand on my baton. “Followed by a bit of this.” We stared at each other. “You understand what I’m saying, Rick?”
His mocking snicker almost spat from him. “I understand all right.” He looked back over his shoulder at his loafing family. “She thinks she’s going to take us all on. The dumbarse bitch never learns.”
They all laughed at me.
Burning with anger, I ducked under tape again. I cast a quick glance up to the verandah, but the Sarge had since disappeared inside with Dr Fenn. I was on my own.
A sudden commotion rippled around the gathered crowd. Joanna thrust her way through, hugely upset, tears streaking her face, making her eyes and nose red and puffy, her mascara running.
“Which one of you bastards did this?” she demanded of the Bycrafts. “Which one of you has her blood on your hands? She was ninety-three, for God’s sake! Are you people complete animals?”
And without giving them a second to respond, she began laying into them, her meaty fists swinging left and right.
Everyone was stunned for a moment, including the Bycrafts. That proved costly for Rick and his cousin, Garth, who were each knocked to the ground with a neat hook to the chin. And though inwardly applauding her actions, I decided this was no time to be starting a bust-up.
“Hey!” I yelled, pulling out my baton. “Hey! Joanna! What the hell are you doing?”
She didn’t hear me, intent on her own course of destruction. I glanced up at the verandah again. Nobody.
“Sarge!” I called out at the top of my lungs.
No response.
Joanna cut a swathe through the Bycrafts. There would surely be unpleasant repercussions for her with them in the future if I didn’t stop her soon. Rick and Garth staggered to their feet, Rick with his fists up and Garth picking up a fallen branch from the ground.
“Kevin,” I instructed of that stupefied young man. “Go get the Sarge. Now.”
He stood there, as still as a statue, not quite believing what he was seeing.
“Now!” I insisted hotly. He turned and ran towards the verandah with the awkward, fearful lope of a hunted gazelle.
“Listen up!” I shouted in my loudest cop voice. Nobody listened. “Everybody calm down.” But it was no use – I was merely wasting my brea
th. No one was in the mood to be receptive.
As with many public disorder incidents, events then escalated with frightening swiftness. One minute it was just Joanna taking on the Bycrafts, and the next another half-dozen townsfolk, including Gerry Kilroy still aggravated by Kristy’s rude response, advanced into the crowd to support her. Long-term resentment towards the Bycrafts simmered throughout town and I only hoped that today, of all days, wasn’t going to bring it to the boil.
But that hope soon proved to be in vain.
What started as jostling and taunting between the townsfolk and the Bycrafts, rapidly turned into shoving, angry words, and clenched fists. Joanna wasn’t the only person who’d decided that a Bycraft had to be guilty of this horrendous crime, because who else in town would be depraved enough?
Makeshift weapons suddenly appeared in people’s hands, running the gamut from Garth’s branch to one of the townsfolk’s pocketknife. And seeing the sun glinting off that small, but not harmless, bit of blade spurred me into action. The Sarge and I did not need a second murder to deal with today.
I moved into the fray, one palm out in front of me, the other raising my baton with threatening menace.
“Can’t we just be dignified for once in this stinking town?” I screeched in frustration as I brought my baton down on Joanna’s upraised fist, then spun to deflect Garth’s descending branch with a whack on his arm. More Bycrafts joined in at that point, drawing in more townsfolk and only adding to the confusion. I dodged as someone swung a paling ripped from Miss G’s fence at my head.
“Back the hell off, everyone! Settle down!” I shouted with futility.
Never one to miss an opportunity to debase me, Jake’s mother, Lola, a mere scrap of a woman but a ferocious shrew, rushed forward, trying to spit on me. I pushed her away with a hand on her chest. She tumbled to the ground, landing hard on her butt, the impact bumping her ever-present cigarette out of her mouth. Though not at all sorry for what I’d done, I’d be the first to admit that it wasn’t a particularly smart move from me. With most of the older Bycraft men (including her own husband, Ritchie) either dead or in jail, Lola had taken up the mantle of matriarch of the whole rotten family. Consequently, they were very protective of her. Lola’s daughters, Rosie and Larissa, both now pregnant but not afraid to be in the middle of it all, helped her to her feet.
“Get away from my mother, bitch!” screamed Rosie, jabbing out at me with a pointy stick.
“Keep her away from me,” I warned, brandishing my baton. “You all keep away from me or I’ll crack your heads open.”
Without any warning, someone rammed me in the back and I lurched forward, falling to my knees and dropping my baton. As I scrabbled for it on the ground, the Bycrafts took advantage of my momentary helplessness and ganged up closer, aiming a few kicks in my direction. I battled to find my feet in the middle of a crowd determined to keep me down. Every time I attempted to stand, somebody shoved me back to the ground again. My hand closed over my baton and I swung it around, indiscriminately connecting with shins and ankles, trying to give myself some space to struggle to my feet.
Joanna pushed through the Bycrafts and hauled me upwards with a constrictive hand around my upper arm. I’d have a bruise there tonight.
“Get away from her,” she snarled, elbowing one of them in the face. “I’ve had a gutful of you bastards ruining this town for everyone.”
“Nobody cares what you think, you drag queen freak,” growled Mark Bycraft.
“Oh yeah? You know what? I’ve had a gutful of your smart mouths too.”
“So what?”
“So bring it on, shitheads,” she invited.
“You want a piece of me?”
“No, I don’t want a piece of just you. I want a piece of the whole fucking bunch of you.”
“Joanna,” I implored helplessly, my arm still uncomfortably clamped in her grip. “Stop egging them on. You’re not helping the situation at all. What’s the matter with you today?”
She stopped then and released her iron hold on my arm. Her manly face crumpled, her mascara running more, streaking her cheeks. “I should have checked on her, Tess. I saw the mail piling up, but I was too busy to take five minutes out of my day to stop and check. She’s probably been lying there for days, all by herself with nobody caring.”
I was about to tell her she shouldn’t blame herself for that when Garth ran forward and crashed his branch down on her head, buckling her knees. She immediately sprang back and launched into him with a fury that was terrifying to witness. She pummelled him with her fists, a thin trickle of blood wending its way down the side of her face.
And that attack unleashed chaos.
I was caught in the middle of the writhing crowd, whacking people with my baton, trying to defend myself from a fierce rain of fists and feet. I was shoved and bumped, squashed up against people and dodging punches, someone even biting me at one point. All the while, sneaky hands tried to grab hold of the weapons from my belt.
“Get out of it!” I grunted, bringing my baton down hard on Chad’s hand as he reached for my spray.
He squealed in pain, before giving up on the fight. “Screw this. I’m going in. Mikey! Sean! Let’s go in and get some photos. We’ll probably be able to sell them to the newspaper.”
And the three teens pushed through the crowd, ducked under the tape and ran towards the house.
Chapter 7
“Hey! That’s a crime scene, you idiots! Get out of there!” I yelled, aghast. If the Super found anyone tramping around the house, potentially compromising the integrity of any evidence, she would personally skin the Sarge and me and turn us into matching lampshades.
I desperately fought through the battling townsfolk, ramming a few of them to encourage them to move out of my way. But I had barely broken free by the time the teens reached the stairs, surprising Kevin who rushed from the house, the Sarge in tow.
“Get off this property now!” the Sarge bellowed, pushing Kevin aside and charging out to confront them. He had the advantage of bulk and height in addition to his loud voice and weapons. The Bycrafts, particularly the younger ones, were much more inclined to pay attention to him, where in the same situation they would simply scorn me. When he noticed the fracas at the front and my dishevelled, dusty appearance, my baton still dangling from my hand, I could almost hear the sound of impatience he made. “I’ve just about had it with this town.”
He strode down the stairs, glaring at the teens.
“I said to get off this property and you have five seconds to do it before I pull out my capsicum spray. And if I find that you’ve destroyed any evidence by trespassing in this crime scene, I’ll be handing you over to Superintendent Midden to deal with personally.” And he virtually bulldozed them backwards down the stairs. They turned tail and legged it. Any threat of personal involvement with the Super usually had that effect on most people.
But as the Sarge headed towards the brawling crowd with the clear and firm intent to impose some serious order, I noticed Greg Bycraft hurdling over the tape and sprinting up around the back of the house.
“I have him,” I assured the Sarge, taking off. I threw over my shoulder, “You sort that bunch out. They’re not listening to me.”
And to the sound of his voice barking out staccato instructions directing everyone to put their weapons down and move away from each other, I ran to the back of the house. I rounded the corner to spy Greg slipping inside the back door. Infuriated, I jumped up the back stairs and flung the door open, only to find him wild-eyed and moving swiftly around the house, pressing his fingertips on every surface he came across.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I shouted, startling him, even though I knew immediately what he was up to. I could almost see the rusty cogs cranking in his overheating brain. My earlier instinct was correct – he’d been inside this house since Miss G was murdered, probably breaking in under the cover of darkness. And he obviously hadn’t been as careful as he sh
ould have. The Sarge’s comment about evidence must have flicked some switch in his head. He was suddenly afraid he’d left fingerprints behind.
He panicked at my voice and ran down the hall, touching the walls, light switches, doorjambs and handles. I chased after him to Miss G’s bedroom, where I found him handling her jewellery case. I pulled out my spray.
“Don’t move one muscle, Greg Bycraft. You are in so much trouble right now.”
His eyes shifted left and right, seeking an escape. Abruptly, he bolted towards me, attempting to reach the door.
So I sprayed him.
He instantly dropped to the ground, howling in agony and rubbing his eyes. I flipped him over and knelt on his back while I cuffed him.
“Get up!” I demanded, hauling him upwards. “Congratulations, champ, you are now a prime suspect.”
He stumbled to his feet and I propelled him out of the room and into the bathroom, splashing water into his eyes, a surprised Dr Fenn stepping in to assist. When the pain had abated slightly for him, I pushed him out to the front and released one of his handcuffs to cuff him to the verandah railing. He could sit on the steps and wait to answer some very interesting questions from the dees when they arrived.
After double-checking that his cuffs were secure, I ran down the stairs to help the Sarge who wasn’t having much more luck than me in quelling the rabble. Tempers were flying too high and resentments running too deep for anyone to let it go easily.
“What kind of example are you setting your children?” he growled in exasperation, pulling Mark Bycraft off one of the farmers. But no sooner had he separated them, they threw themselves on each other again, snarling enough to show teeth.
It seemed hopeless – two cops against fifty-something feuding townsfolk. And as I fended off Garth Bycraft’s branch again, I wondered how this was ever going to end. An image flashed through my mind of the Sarge and me still here at midnight trying to stop the madness.