Blood Ties

by JD Nixon

  “If they’re given bail, they’ll come for me.” I watched the chickens for a moment as they squabbled over the feed. “I don’t know how I’ll manage them in the state I’m in.” I took in a deep breath. “I don’t know how I’ll protect Dad.”

  He was offended by that, judging by his clenched fists and tightened mouth. But his response was gentle enough. “There are two cops in Little Town now, Tess.”

  I flashed him a fake brittle smile. “There’s always been two cops in Little Town. Never made a difference to me.”

  His eyes swept over me, his face sombre. “You’re not alone anymore.”

  I shrugged noncommittally. I hadn’t forgotten how he’d left me alone at the station when the Bycrafts came looking for Lola. Nor his promise not to let me down again. I guess I’d soon see which one represented the real Finn Maguire.

  He pushed me gently towards the house. “Go have some breakfast. You’ll need it.”

  Romi poked her head out the back door. “Tess, your phone’s ringing!”

  “Thanks, Romi,” I said, glad for the distraction and jogging slowly and painfully back inside. She thrust it into my hands as I stepped through the door.

  It was Pinky Kowalski, letting me know that the Bycraft hearings had been pushed back until after lunch to fit in an urgent committal hearing of a murder case that had been cracked overnight by the Big Town detective team. When I told the Sarge, he wanted to rev right into action.

  “Let’s go catch Stanley Murchison before he heads off to work.”

  “We have to take Miss G to identify the suitcase as well.”

  “Murchison first. We have to get going, Tess. I’ll be back here in twenty minutes. Can you be ready by then?”

  “Sure,” I said, wondering if I’d be able to fit in breakfast and a shower.

  As they gathered their things and left, I blended a banana, milk, yoghurt and strawberries with my stab-mixer and quickly drank it, then jumped in the shower and dressed at warp speed. I was twisting my hair into a damp bun when, true to his word, the Sarge was honking the horn barely twenty minutes after he’d left.

  I flung myself into the passenger seat and we zoomed off, well over the speed limit the whole way to Big Town. My phone rang and I answered. It was Jake, wishing me the best for the hearings. I told him that they’d been delayed, so I would now have to wait until after lunch.

  “I wish I could be there with you, babe,” he said sadly.

  “I know.”

  “I’ll be thinking about you all day. I’ll give you a ring when it’s all over. Uh-oh, here comes the boss. Better go. I love you, Tessie darling.”

  “I love you too, Jakey. Bye.”

  We drove in silence for a while, negotiating the unusually heavy traffic.

  “A question about each other again?” suggested the Sarge.

  I shrugged. Why not? We had some time to kill, after all. “You first,” I offered.

  “Why does the mention of Bobby and Craig Bycraft upset you so much?”

  God, he hit hard, I thought bitterly. I was silent for so long, he thought I wasn’t going to answer. “Tess?”

  “That’s actually two questions, Sarge. Pick one of them.”

  He shot me a puzzled look. “Okay. Bobby Bycraft?”

  I took a deep breath. It didn’t matter if he knew – someone in town was bound to blab to him eventually. But I hated telling people because they never looked at me the same way again afterwards.

  “Twenty-five years ago, Bobby Bycraft murdered my mother in our house. And tried to murder me as well. I was only two at the time. My mother saved my life by pushing me under her bed, away from him. Poor Dad found us later that afternoon when he came home from the fields. I was critically injured. For a while, it was touch and go about whether I was going to pull through.”

  “I’m sorry.” He was genuinely shocked, as were most people when I told them. And then they began avoiding me.

  “Bobby Bycraft is Jake’s uncle; Al and Grae’s father. Well, he was, he’s dead now. He was beaten to death in jail about ten years ago. Apparently he doublecrossed someone even worse than himself in a drug deal. I laughed until I cried when I heard that news.” I shot him a quick look. “That’s the kind of person I am, Sarge. I’m no better than them in the end. I’m just a monster too.”

  “That’s not true at all,” he said straight away. I smiled at him weakly, grateful for that little kindness. “Is that how you got those scars?”

  “Yes. I was being honest with you when I said I didn’t remember what happened when I got them.”

  “You were only a little kid.”

  “Yeah,” I said sadly. “I don’t remember my mother at all. But I know everything about her murder and the trial. I often dream about trying to save Mum, but I always get there too late to help her.” I was quiet for a moment. “I hate those dreams.”

  We drove in silence again for another long time, both lost in thought.

  “Tess, it’s your turn,” he reminded gently, but insistently.

  Oh boy, I thought. I wasn’t prepared. I couldn’t think of anything to ask him. “Can I take a raincheck?” I asked. “I’m a bit edgy this morning and can’t concentrate on much, so want to focus all my attention on work.”

  “No. Ask me your question.”

  I thought for a moment before speaking. “What makes you so sure you can get us more resources? I mean, no other cop working in Little Town has ever had any luck before.”

  He stared straight ahead, his hands clenching the steering wheel. “I’m not going to answer that. Ask me another question.”

  “What the hell?” I demanded with instant fury. “A minute ago, I bared my soul to you about one of the most traumatic and emotional things that has ever happened to me in my life and you don’t reciprocate?”

  He was resolute. “I know it seems unfair, Tess, but I have a good reason for not answering. Ask me another question.”

  “There’s no veto on the question!”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not answering. Another question, please.”

  I had absolutely nothing further to say to him. I was burning with rage. I felt tricked and I felt used. I would never trust him about anything again.

  “You’re angry with me,” he observed mildly. “I can understand that.”

  I couldn’t answer. Anger didn’t even come close to describing how I was feeling right now. We drove in silence the rest of the way to Murchison’s house. When he parked, he tried again.

  “Tess?”

  I opened the door of the car and slammed it hard, stalking to the front door of Murchison’s house, just in time to catch Graham leaving for work. He panicked when he came face-to-face with me and tried to duck back inside to shut the door on my face. I grabbed a handful of his shirt and forcefully pushed him backwards before he got the chance, until I ended up inside the house with him pressed up against a wall.

  “This is unlawful entry!” he screeched. “I know my rights.”

  “You invited me in, Graham. Don’t you remember, because I sure do,” I snapped at him. “The Sergeant and I want to talk to your uncle and we want to talk to him now. So tell me where he is and I’ll let you go to work. Don’t tell me and I can’t vouch for the consequences. I’m real cranky today.”

  He flinched as if I’d hit him. “Don’t hurt me please.”

  I stared relentlessly into his eyes. “Tell me where your uncle is.”

  He stared back at me with scared defiance, repulsed by my facial injuries. I wasn’t in the mood for any shallow judgements on my appearance today. I pushed him harder into the wall, my arm across his throat. He moaned softly in squirming discomfort.

  “Stop being so cruel,” he choked out, sounding as if he was going to start crying.

  “Tell me where he is!” I shouted in his face. Graham flinched again.

  “He’s in his study, doing some work. He’s not going into the office today.”

  I let him go and said nicely, “Thanks, Graham. Ha
ve a great day.”

  “You’re crazy! I hate you,” he muttered, glaring at me with loathing. I smiled at him and he almost ran out of the front door, dodging the Sarge who was coming in.

  I moved towards Murchison’s office when the Sarge grabbed my arm. I was getting mighty sick of him doing that and shook him off violently.

  “No matter what just happened before, this is a work situation and I don’t want emotions getting in the way of us being professional. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” I replied frigidly, silently enraged. How dare he question my professionalism yet again? I made up my mind at that moment that he was a monumental prick of a man and I would be counting down the days until he achieved his senior sergeant promotion and got the hell out of my town and my life.

  “Good,” he said, equally cold. “I’ll ask the questions. Understood?”

  “Understood,” I snapped back.

  He pushed past me to Murchison’s study and knocked perfunctorily on the door before entering, startling the man in the wheelchair. He was sitting behind his desk busily tapping on a laptop keyboard.

  “Sergeant! Goodness, you frightened me. Did Graham let you in?” His eyes widened when he noticed me. “Good God, Senior Constable! What on earth happened to you?”

  I was confused because he was, if not exactly friendly and welcoming, then certainly not unfriendly and unwelcoming. I’d been sure that he’d bolt for it the minute he set eyes on us, particularly as he’d spent so much time and effort avoiding us over the last few days.

  “Bycrafts, Mr Murchison,” I explained. “They –”

  The Sarge butted in, fuming. “Mr Murchison, we’ve been trying to talk to you all week, but you’ve led us on quite a chase.”

  Murchison seemed puzzled by that, his brows knitting together.

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant, I’m not sure what you mean,” he said in response. “I haven’t been well this week and have spent a lot of time in bed, sleeping. I’m sorry if I’ve missed you calling on me. I’m a very heavy sleeper, especially when I take some of my painkillers.”

  No doubt about it, I thought, giving him kudos. He was smooth. I almost believed him.

  “Traumleben Pty Ltd,” said the Sarge flatly, sitting down on the hard lounge without an invitation. I chose to remain standing rather than join him. In fact I stayed next to the door, as far away from him as I could get and still be in the same room. I was making a point but I wasn’t sure that he even noticed, his attention all on Murchison. “Tell us what you know about it.”

  The puzzled look intensified. “Can you spell that for me please, Sergeant?”

  Sighing at the man’s delaying tactics, the Sarge spelt it out slowly.

  “Never heard of it,” Murchison declared, sitting back in his wheelchair, eyes moving from the Sarge to me and back to the Sarge. Perhaps he could pick up the tension in the air between us? “Why are you asking me about it?”

  He was doing a fantastic job of appearing ignorant. He was quite the actor, I marvelled. No wonder Miss G had trusted him so much.

  “Because, Mr Murchison, Traumleben has been buying huge tracts of land from Miss Greville for peanuts and then selling them to the government for buckets of money.”

  “I don’t understand, Sergeant,” he said simply, frowning faintly, eyes flicking back and forth between the Sarge and me again. He suddenly reached into a drawer on his desk, and the Sarge jumped up in alarm, his gun half out of its holster. Murchison pulled a box of tissues from the drawer, took one and proceeded to blow his nose, staring at the Sarge with composed surprise. The Sarge sat back down again, embarrassed. I smothered a smirk. “You seem a bit jumpy today, Sergeant. Do you have any evidence to back up this allegation?”

  “Yes, we do. Quite a lot,” said the Sarge irritably and moved to sit across the desk from Murchison, pushing across the paperwork from our investigations.

  Stanley Murchison took the next fifteen minutes to look it over carefully and thoroughly without making any comment, flipping back and forth between the pages to re-read something or to check a fact, jotting down his own notes. When he had finished, he had a thoughtful expression on his face and wheeled himself over to the huge picture window to stare out at the lovely bay. I would have wagered my next fortnight’s pay though, that he wasn’t registering the view at all.

  “The evidence is quite conclusive, Sergeant,” he eventually said in a quiet voice. “There’s no point denying it. Miss Greville is being cheated by my law firm.”

  The Sarge was taken aback. He clearly hadn’t been anticipating a confession as easy as this. Perhaps Murchison’s guilt at ripping off Miss G was overwhelming him?

  “Her touching faith in me has been sadly misplaced,” he said sorrowfully, almost to himself. A genuine moment of remorse or more fine acting?

  “Yes, it has,” the Sarge agreed.

  “I’m sure you can see this is a troubling day for me,” Murchison mused and wheeled himself back to his desk. “This evidence you’ve shown me has come like a sledgehammer blow to me. It was very clever of you both to figure it out.”

  “Personally I find it extremely gratifying when a person’s crimes are exposed, not troubling,” said the Sarge, unsympathetic.

  Murchison tapped on the folder holding the paperwork with his finger. “Lionel Mundy wasn’t the director of this company, Traumleben Pty Ltd. He passed away three years ago and was non compos mentis for at least five years before that.”

  “We know that,” Sarge dismissed impatiently. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “And I appreciate you warning me first, Sergeant, before you make your arrest. Otherwise it would have come as quite a shock to me, I can tell you. Especially at my age and in my condition.”

  The Sarge stood up, ready to take Stanley Murchison into custody.

  “Do you know what Traumleben means?” he asked, out of the blue.

  “No,” said the Sarge frowning, momentarily distracted by the question. “What?”

  “It’s German for ‘dream life’. I guess all that money would have funded a nice dream life.” His voice turned hard. “That dream life’s come to an end though.”

  Their whole conversation was tweaking my antennae. It felt as though they were talking at cross-purposes. Then it struck me with a jolt – they were.

  “You’re not the one who did this, are you, Mr Murchison?” I blurted out, just as the Sarge reached the other side of the desk, handcuffs out. He looked over at me appalled, as if I’d tipped his hand.

  “What?” Murchison spluttered, his face a study in sheer, honest astonishment. “Me? How dare you even suggest that I would commit fraud against my own client? How dare you?” His face turned dangerously red and I feared he was going to give himself a massive stroke with his incredible anger.

  “Senior Constable, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” barked the Sarge at me, colouring up red himself in fury. He thought I was ruining his arrest. I suddenly feared that I’d just made an enormous mistake in front of the two men, but pressed on regardless. I’d gone too far to retreat now.

  “You’ve been talking about Graham, haven’t you, Mr Murchison? Graham’s the one who’s been ripping off Miss G?”

  “Of course that’s whom I’ve been talking about,” he said emphatically, as if I was a cretin of the highest magnitude. “He’s always been a weak lad, looking for the easy way in life. I only wish I’d been firmer with him about –”

  I didn’t hear any more of what he said, a scuffling noise in the hall outside the study attracting my attention. I poked my head out and saw Graham edging backwards, not as quiet as he thought he was being. He must have been eavesdropping on us. His rabbity features were distorted with fury. He no longer looked like a harmless little furry animal, his big teeth and huge glowing eyes reminding me instead of a predator. He had really fooled the Sarge and me with his gullible nephew act.

  “Hey! Stop!” I yelled, and then it all happened so fast.

  H
e pirouetted and ran off down the hall. I sprinted after him, ignoring the screaming pain from my hip. I caught him before he escaped through the front door by grabbing hold of the collar of his work shirt and hauling him backwards. He twisted around and threw a punch at my head, my grip on his shirt loosening as I ducked.

  I attempted to get my handcuffs out of my belt with my left hand, my right still straining on his shirt when he threw another punch my way. I dodged and his fist merely slighted off my chin. He shoved his palm in my face to push me away causing me a great deal of agony as his hand pressed against my bruised nose and busted lip.

  “That’s not very nice, Graham!” I protested, my voice muffled by his hand.

  I tried to bite his hand as I pulled him closer to me by his work shirt. He responded by ramming my face even harder with his palm and I was thrust backwards, losing my grip on his shirt. I floundered and managed to take hold of his upper arms instead, pushing back at him. But he was stronger than he looked, and the week’s injuries had taken their toll on my strength and endurance.

  And on my mental processes as well evidently, because he hooked his foot around the back of my ankles and tripped me, making me fall heavily on my back. He turned to run again but I twisted over on the floor and wriggled to reach out to grasp one of his ankles, causing him to stumble and fall to his hands and knees. I let go of him and struggled to my feet but he was faster and dragged himself upright, racing to the door again.

  “Don’t move!” shouted the Sarge in his loud voice, his gun out covering Graham. I shifted out of his way, up against the entry wall, fumbling for my own weapon, somewhat dishevelled from the preceding scuffle.

  Graham turned to glance back at us, his face twisted with ugly rage. He kept moving.

  “Don’t do this, Graham,” implored Mr Murchison in a shaky voice, shock on his face. He’d wheeled himself up behind the Sarge. “Please hand yourself over to these officers. You’ll only make things worse for yourself if you don’t.”

  “Shut up, Uncle Stanley!” Graham hissed with unconcealed hatred. “You talk too much. Especially to cops.” But instead of going through the front door as I expected, he slipped through a door to its left, slamming it behind him. We heard the lock click into place.