by JD Nixon
“Miss G . . .” I just didn’t know what to say to her. She sounded heartbroken over the whole matter.
“Never mind, dear,” she rallied with a little bitterness. “Life is made up of such challenges and troubles and if we fall at the first hurdle, we either give up or we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and finish the race with pride and determination. Even if we come last.”
“Well said, Miss G. You’re a brave and inspirational woman,” I complimented sincerely and we said farewell to each other. I slumped in my seat afterwards. When a few minutes had passed, I turned to the Sarge. “You know, there’s no such thing as a victimless crime.”
“No, there isn’t, Tess. Even if a person gets away with a crime and nobody notices what they’ve done, they become a lesser person with each crime they commit. Getting away with it only increases their confidence and makes them more prone to offending again. And that makes them even less redeemable, which eventually has an impact on society and all of us in general.”
“Well said, Sarge,” I said quietly, echoing what I’d said to Miss G. Maybe that was why I cared so much about the younger Bycrafts. Surely there had to be some point where that family decided to stop the hating and the violence and could become reconciled to Fullers living in the same town as them? The Fullers had all suffered so much over the years because of the Bycrafts, especially the Fuller women.
“You’re very subdued,” the Sarge commented, as we turned left onto the highway, heading into Little Town.
“Miss G was devastated at being taken for a fool. It broke my heart. She’s a good person who’s never harmed anyone in her whole, long life. It’s cruel. Life’s so unfair sometimes.”
“It is, Tess, and there’s no point trying to pretend otherwise. And as cops we know that better than anybody.” He paused for a moment, glancing at me slumped in my seat. “Last year I had to go to a man’s workplace and tell him some terrible news. The worst kind of news. He was a good, honest man, working hard, doing nothing wrong in life. He’d lost his wife to breast cancer only six months before and I had to tell him that his only children, twin daughters, had both been killed in a terrible car crash.”
We drove in silence for a few minutes while he overtook a road train, before he continued.
“They were on their way to classes at university one morning. Both were studying to be pharmacists. Bright, kind girls, lots of friends, very social. They were slammed into by a drugged-up, unlicensed truckie who’d been driving all night, speeding and running red lights. When I told their father, he broke down completely, collapsed to the floor and started . . . ” He cleared his throat. “Not crying, kind of wailing, I guess you’d call it. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say. What can you possibly say to a poor man like that?”
He took a deep breath, remembering. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. I stayed with him for the rest of the day until his family arrived from interstate, but I’ve never forgotten.” He stared straight ahead at the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
“Oh Sarge, how awful!” I sympathised immediately, one hand automatically reaching out to gently pat his tense forearm in support. As a cop, I’d never had to break any news that terrible. Yet.
He glanced at me, an unreadable expression on his face. “I’ve never told anybody about that before.”
I was shocked by his confession. Where the hell was the support base in his life? You can’t survive as a cop without one. I was lucky to have a loving father and boyfriend and loyal friends, including other cops, to turn to when I needed to vent. Not to mention my chickens as well. They’d heard a lot of bad stuff in their short lives.
“Why haven’t you ever told anyone that before?” I asked without thinking. “You should have talked about it with someone when it happened. Maybe your mother or your friends. Or Melissa. Why didn’t you?”
“I think that you’re very nosy,” he rebuked, “and that you’ve just asked me another question.” His eyes were directed straight ahead, not even the glimpse of a smile on his face. I withdrew my hand and sunk back into my seat. He was good at pushing people away. I knew that folk like that sometimes hoped deep down that others would persist and force them to share. So I tried again.
“Sarge, if you ever want to talk about anything, then I want you to know that I’m here for you. I’m a good listener. Quite a few people have told me so,” I said hesitantly, not sure how he’d take that, but feeling compelled to offer. For some strange reason, I felt as though he had desperately needed to unload that story to somebody, but hadn’t been given the opportunity before. Maybe he was too busy being the strong, tough guy? Maybe he didn’t want to share the ugly side of his job with his loved ones? Lots of cops were like that. Who knew, but I’d heard enough stories about cops falling to pieces to ignore any hint of strong emotions being bottled up.
He didn’t glance my way. “I didn’t mean to tell you that at all. I just blurted it out for some reason.”
“It’s important to share sometimes. Especially with someone you trust. I’m probably not that person for you, seeing we virtually just met, but I want you to know that I will never pass on anything you ever tell me.”
“Thanks, Tess,” he said unemotionally. “I don’t doubt that and I appreciate the offer.” He stared ahead solidly as he drove, an impenetrable barrier around him.
I felt as though I’d been put back in my box, subtly but surely. He obviously didn’t think that I could ever be of any support to him. I shrugged to myself. He didn’t like me. I couldn’t help that, but I could still try to be a good work partner.
My phone rang. It was Jake. I brightened up immediately.
“Honey-boy, how you doing?” I asked, and then listened to how he would be doing so much better if I was there with him. I smiled broadly at that. “You are the world’s number one charmer, Jacob Bycraft.”
“Who wouldn’t want to charm you, Teresa Fuller?” I could hear the matching smile in his voice.
“You’d be surprised,” I replied enigmatically, eyes sliding over to the Sarge.
“What have you been up to, babe?”
“Fiona gave me a great idea about you, me, and my kitchen table. I can’t wait to talk to you about it, or better still, maybe I should just show you when I see you next,” I teased, turning to the side in the futile hope that the Sarge couldn’t overhear every word I was saying.
“Tessie darling, you are a very naughty girl. How am I supposed to concentrate on work now?” he complained. “All the prisoners will escape while I’m day-dreaming about you, me, and that kitchen table.”
“But that’s why you love me, isn’t it, because I’m such a naughty girl?”
“You betcha, baby doll, but I’m warning you that kitchen table better have strong legs,” he joked and we laughed together conspiratorially. It was incredible how easily he could lift my spirits.
I didn’t want to spoil his playful mood, but I had to tell him. “I’ll be in court tomorrow morning, Jakey. For the Bycraft committal hearings. They’re being done as a bunch.”
“Oh,” he said, quietening. “I guess Red will go down for more time again.”
“I hope so. He deserves it. He’s a menace to women everywhere and to me especially. You know I haven’t relaxed since he got out on parole.”
“I know, but I don’t think he’d ever really do anything to you.” He didn’t sound as if he was even convincing himself with that statement.
“He already has, Jake. He recently beat the crap out of me, remember? And do you know what he said to me when he did it? He said he wanted to finish the job that Bobby and Craig Bycraft left undone. His exact words! How do you think that makes me feel?” I was becoming agitated as I did every time I thought about that particular threat.
“Calm down, babe,” Jake soothed, smart enough to know that he was treading on dangerous ground. “He was just being a tool. He knows how to press your buttons.”
“That’s n
ot pressing my buttons, Jake!” I hissed into the phone angrily. “That’s threatening me with rape and a brutally violent death.”
How dare he try to brush off that kind of threat? I hung up on him. I just could not be reasonable about something so personal.
“What was that all about, Tess?” asked the Sarge, curious.
“I think that you’re very nosy,” I replied furiously, mimicking what he’d said to me only minutes before, “and that you’ve just asked me another question, Sergeant.”
He gave me a wry glance. “Ouch! Did I really sound as much of a pompous prick as that?”
“Yes, you did.” I was raging from Jake’s badly chosen words. My phone rang. It was him, but I didn’t answer. I was still too heated to talk to him. He knew the topic of Bobby and Craig Bycraft affected me strongly. And I would never talk to a Bycraft about it anyway, not even him.
“Your phone’s ringing.”
“I know,” I bit back irritably. “I can hear it.”
We pulled into the carpark of the station and I jumped out of the car. My phone started ringing again. I yanked it from my pocket and flung it with passion on to the grass lawn that surrounded the carpark. I stalked up the stairs to the station, unlocking the door and throwing it back so hard that it smashed into the wall with a loud bang, loosening flakes of paint and leaving behind a dent. I clambered over the counter, not waiting to unlock the hatch, heading straight for the cupboard in the kitchenette. Opening the door, I snatched a packet of Tim Tams from the shelf, ripped it open carelessly and jammed three of them into my mouth at the same time, munching them greedily and with some difficulty. And when the Sarge cautiously came into the back room with my phone in his hand, he was greeted with the sight of me, my cheeks bulging and crumbs on my chin and shirt, struggling to chew on my enormous mouthful with half the biscuits poking out of my mouth.
The startled expression on his face made me laugh suddenly and pieces of unchewed biscuit flew out of my mouth like missiles. I had to run to the sink to spit out the detritus, taking in a deep breath and unfortunately inhaling a piece of chocolate-coated biscuit as I did. I choked and coughed, my eyes streaming and my face turning lobster red as I gasped for oxygen. He banged me firmly on the back until the caught piece dislodged.
“Thanks, Sarge,” I gasped as I hung onto the sink, turning on the tap to wash the evidence of my greed down the drain.
“How many Tim Tams did you have in your mouth then, Tess?”
“Three,” I confessed, laughing again, my good humour restored. “What was I thinking? They didn’t even fit.”
“You’ll never beat the world record with just three of them, you know,” he said lightly before turning serious again. “You need some lunch.”
“Yes. I guess I do.”
“Do you want your phone back?”
“Is Jake still ringing me?”
“Yes.”
“Then no, thank you.”
“I’ll put it in my pocket for a while, will I?”
“Thanks, Sarge.”
While I cleaned up my mess, he went to the bakery and bought both of us a salad sandwich and a juice. We ate our lunch sitting on the back steps, staring at the rising slopes of Mount Big as we did.
“You’ve really seen me at my worst since you’ve been here, Sarge. I’m not normally this temperamental, I can promise. I have to apologise to you,” I said ruefully, mortified about my immoderate reactions to everything that had happened in the past few days. I suppose I could have blamed PMS, but I was reluctant to talk about something so personal with him. I barely knew him.
He stared at me in amazement. “Tess, are you serious? I’m only surprised you haven’t curled up into a corner yet, a screaming mess, after what you’ve been through since I arrived here.”
“I don’t like being too emotional,” I admitted, not wanting to meet his eyes, suddenly finding something compelling in the ancient iron nails holding down the wide floor boards of the back verandah.
“Neither do I, but sometimes I can’t help it because I’m only human. We can’t be robots, no matter how much we might want to. And no matter how much it would make life simpler for us.”
I glanced up and we met each other’s eyes. There was so much sympathy and understanding in his face that I felt overwhelmed with unwanted emotion again. I began to wonder if he was much warmer and kinder than I’d ever imagined possible, and jumped to my feet in discomfort at the thought. So did he. We faced each other.
“Do you want your phone back now?” he asked, breaking the awkward silence. He fished it from his pocket and held it out.
“Thanks,” I said coolly, taking it from him and moving to the end of the verandah to ring Jake. We made up over the phone, but I could feel his longing to be with me in person as we did. I felt the same with him. I found it difficult to do things like that over the phone or email, because it was never the same. I wanted to touch Jake, to see his face when I talked to him, and to kiss him – which made me think of the Sarge and his fiancee. How did he handle her being on the other side of the world, not being able to see her or touch her? And how on earth did he survive for so long without sex with the woman he loved? Maybe that was why he was always grumpy? Maybe when she returned, he’d become a different person? Maybe happy and relaxed?
I would never dare to ask him those questions though, so instead I took our rubbish to the bin at the side of the station, before joining him in the office.
“Tess, we have to force Stanley Murchison to talk to us tomorrow, no matter what.”
“Agreed.”
“Tomorrow’s going to be a big day for you. Are you going to be okay in court?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I admitted. “It depends on how the Bycrafts behave.”
“I’m sure you can safely assume that they won’t behave, and prepare yourself to be abused and threatened.”
I smiled grimly and busied myself at my desk. I wasn’t looking forward to the following day at all, hoping my worry wouldn’t stop me from getting a good night’s sleep. I had a feeling I was going to need it.
The counter bell and phone rang simultaneously. The Sarge reached for the phone, only to impatiently tell the caller that, no, it wasn’t the Saucy Sirens Gentlemen’s Club, while I headed out to the counter to find an outraged Gwen Singh wanting to report the theft of her son’s expensive bicycle by one of the Bycraft boys.
“Do you know which one of them it was, Gwen?” I asked, jotting down the facts on an incident report form. We were probably the only station in the whole state that still used the forms, not having a computer at the counter.
“Tess, I wish I could tell you, but they all look the same to me. I only caught the barest glimpse of his face as he rode past me on the stolen bicycle, giving me a very rude gesture with his finger as he did! Those Bycrafts are absolute savages, even the young ones.”
“I’m fairly sure it will be Timmy Bycraft we’re after. He has a thing for bikes. He stole my bike tons of times before it went permanently missing, and he’s taken Romi Stormley’s new bike that she got for Christmas six times this year already and it’s only February,” I told her.
“That would be because he’s mad about Romi. She’s a very pretty girl.”
“She certainly is,” I agreed.
“He’s trying to get her to notice him in the only way that Bycrafts know how. She needs to get out of town as soon as she can and never return. Those Bycrafts are obsessive, especially the males, and that’s not a good trait for people with poor impulse control like them to have. It’s just lucky there aren’t any young Fuller girls besides you left in town anymore, Tess,” she said gently, placing a sympathetic hand on mine. We exchanged a glance.
“And I won’t be here forever either, Gwen. Just until . . .”
“I know, love. And let’s hope nothing happens to you until that sad day.” She patted my hand.
“Amen to that!” I agreed again, wholeheartedly. “The Sarge and I will go interrogate
Timmy as soon as we can. I’ll get back to you about Deepak’s bike when we find out anything.”
“Thanks, Tess.”
Chapter 26
In the car, on our way to Timmy’s house, the Sarge turned to me. “You know a lot about the Bycraft family.”
“I’m an unwilling expert,” I admitted coolly.
“Why? And why do they harass you so much? It is personal, isn’t it?”
“So many questions, Sarge. You’re confusing me. I’m only a simple country girl.”
“Tess, just cut the bullshit for once, will you?” he said angrily.
“Why do you care anyway? It’s my problem, not yours.” I was pretty good at getting angry myself.
“It’s my problem now as well. That’s what being part of a team means,” he explained with insulting slowness.
I couldn’t let that go without some sniping. “Well, Sarge, and maybe it’s just because I am a simple country girl, but you seem to switch between telling me we’re a team and telling me that I have to follow your orders because you’re the senior officer, depending on what’s most convenient to you at the time.”
“I do not.”
“Whatever,” I muttered to myself, gazing out the window.
“What did you just say?” he demanded.
I swung around and glared at him. “I said ‘whatever’.”
His voice was cold. “You have a real attitude problem, Fuller.”
“And you, Sergeant Maguire, have a gigantic stick up your –”
I stopped, barely in time to save myself from making a huge career blunder.
“You’ve something you want to say to me?” His voice could have cracked glass it was so frosty.
“Nothing, Sarge. You are the source of all wisdom and I acknowledge that humbly,” I replied evenly, if not sincerely.
He banged his fist on the dashboard, making me jump. “God damn it, Tess!”
As soon as Timmy Bycraft, perched boldly on the stolen bike in his driveway, saw us approaching he pedalled furiously in the opposite direction on the wrong side of the road.