Blood Tears

by JD Nixon

  I smiled at him sweetly, sensing a few minutes of freedom from his velvety iron grip. “No need to lock up, Baz. I’ll keep an eye on the place while you’re gone.”

  “No can do. You’re coming with me.”

  I groaned, my smile instantly evaporating. “I’m getting really tired of this stick-together-all-the-time business.”

  He dropped his joviality. “I’m here to supervise you, and to do that I need to know where you are, and what you’re doing. You’re coming with me. Lock up.”

  He took the key to the patrol car from its hook, swinging it around his finger, whistling nonchalantly as he ushered the guys to the carpark.

  With a temper hovering somewhere in the volcanic region, I shut windows with such force it was a miracle they didn’t shatter. With both doors to the station locked, I jammed on my sunglasses, and stomped down the front stairs to the patrol car. Trig sat in the passenger seat with all the enthusiasm of a five-year-old getting a ride in a fire engine.

  “Get out,” I ordered.

  His face fell. “Aw, but Baz said I could sit up front.”

  “Get out. Sergeant Chives should know better than to let civilians in the front seat of a patrol car.” I stuck my head through the doorway to glare at Baz. “I’ll let the Super know about this. I can report on you too.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, Tezza, you’re such an ordeal for a man. Let the lad have his ride.”

  “No. Get out.”

  A sullen Trig slunk from the front seat to join Harley in the back.

  “You’re not good at making friends,” he sulked.

  “I don’t want friends,” I said, adjusting the seat from his long legs.

  “No shit,” he muttered, doing up his seatbelt.

  I moved the rear view mirror so it reflected him. We locked eyes. He smiled, a sardonic half lift of his mouth. He was cute. In different circumstances, he seemed like someone I could like. But I stared back at him, unsmiling, before I adjusted the mirror.

  We drove around for ages showing ‘the lads’ all points of the town, until there was nothing much left to show them.

  “Where are you staying?” I asked our visitors politely.

  They looked at each other.

  “I guess we’ll just stay at the pub,” said Harley.

  “Have you booked?”

  “No. A place like this, there’s bound to be a free room.”

  Baz whistled under his breath. “Lads, there’re only three rooms at the pub. I have one of them. And it’s bushwalking season.”

  “Do you know the number of the pub?” asked Trig, his brow lowering. I rattled it off. He dialled and we listened in on his half of an unhappy conversation. Finished, he slumped against the seat. “Shit.”

  “All sorted?” I enquired.

  “No. The pub’s full,” he snapped. “Where the hell are we going to stay? It’s a seven hour drive here from the city.”

  I checked my watch. “You could be back there this evening if you left right now,” I suggested helpfully.

  “We just spent all morning driving here to check on a grouchy woman as a favour for a good mate,” Trig said through clenched teeth. “The last thing we want to do is drive back home today.”

  I twisted the mirror to pin him with my eyes again. “I’m not grouchy.”

  “Well, I’m glad we caught you on a good day, because I wouldn’t want to see you when you were feeling grouchy.”

  “It’s not pleasant, lads. Trust me.”

  “Who asked you?” I grumped.

  “Tezza doesn’t have any good days.”

  “I do so,” I lied. “And stop calling me Tezza.”

  Baz sat up in his seat, struck with a good idea. “I know, lads. You can stay at the police house. I’m staying at the pub, so it’s vacant right now. Tezza’s got the keys for it.”

  “Awesome,” smiled Harley in relief.

  “I don’t have them on me at the moment,” I delayed, unhappy at the thought of the two guys staying so close to the station. I didn’t need even more men keeping an eye on me. Baz was enough.

  The keys lay in the top drawer of my dresser at home –the Sarge handing them to me before he’d gone. I hadn’t used them for a while, no longer wanting to wander aimlessly around the possessions he’d left behind. I couldn’t say why, but expunging every hint of him made my life easier to live.

  “Let’s go get them,” said Baz, throwing a cautious u-turn on the main stretch of road through the town.

  At my house, I jogged up the stairs. “It’s only me, Dad,” I called out as my father rolled his wheelchair to the door to see who was there.

  Dad and Baz exchanged a wave. “Who’s in the patrol car with Baz?”

  “Some nobodies. Just a couple of Maguire’s friends.”

  “Have they come to visit you?”

  “Who gives a stuff why they’ve come here?”

  “Oh now, love. Don’t be like that. It’s not going to hurt you to show them some hospitality.”

  “I’ll leave that for the gentler, less-disillusioned people of the world.” I dropped a kiss on the top of his head and jumped down the stairs. When I slid back into the car, I threw the keys over the back of the seat, hitting Trig in the arm.

  “Ow,” he complained, rubbing the sore spot. “You could have just handed them to me.”

  “I could have.”

  “Somehow I don’t think the next three days are going to be much fun.”

  “Three days? Oh, God,” I moaned.

  “Don’t worry, lads. I’ll keep her away from you as much as possible so you can enjoy your break,” Baz said, pulling out on to the road as I waved goodbye to Dad.

  “But we promised Finn we’d check on her and make sure she was okay. See if she needed help with anything. I suppose that means we’re going to have to interact with her at some point,” lamented Trig.

  I angled the mirror to look at him again. “I’m as thrilled with the prospect as you are. And what on earth do you possibly think you could help me with?”

  “Manners?”

  I scathed him with my eyes at that suggestion, while secretly giving him a point. It was well played.

  “We kind of hoped we could be friends,” said Harley. “We’re all friends with Finn.” He shrugged. “We just thought you’d want to be friends with us too.”

  “Maguire’s not on my friend list.”

  “Is anyone?” asked Trig.

  “No.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me at all.”

  Baz laughed. “Tezza, there you are, at it again. Winning over the public one person at a time.”

  “I wasn’t hired to be congenial.”

  “Don’t take any notice of her, lads,” Baz boomed heartily. “She’s just ticked off about being disciplined. Haven’t seen her crack a smile since I got here.”

  “You haven’t given me any reason to smile.”

  “Some days I wonder which of us is the one actually being punished,” Baz laughed. “I really do.”

  “Finn wanted to know how you’ve been coping,” Harley said tentatively.

  “I don’t care what he wants to know. He’s not my supervisor anymore, and my career is none of his business.”

  “It’s going to be a long three days,” muttered Trig.

  My snarky reply died on my tongue. A young man brandishing a knife ran from the grocery store, frantically shoving cash into his jeans pocket.

  “Baz,” I alerted, sitting up.

  “I see him.” He screeched around the corner, braked hard, pulling over to the curb, and parking the car askew.

  We flung open our doors and hared off after the man. He looked around in panic, speeding up. We chased him down the street, people jumping out of our way.

  I began to gain on him, Baz falling behind, his breathing laboured and harsh. The man threw a desperate glance over his shoulder and sprinted across the road, doubling back on himself, heading for the main road. I cut across the road at an ang
le that helped close the distance between us. We both pounded down the street.

  The next few minutes were a blur of nightmare. We never really knew what the man was thinking at that moment. Maybe he thought he could dodge around the traffic to lose me but misjudged, or maybe he just didn’t look properly.

  “Stop!” I remember yelling at him. “Stop!”

  But he didn’t. He ran right out on to the highway, forcing a semi-trailer to slam on its brakes, locking them up. The driver struggled, battling to keep his rig on the road.

  “Out of the way! Get out of the damn way!” Baz shouted loudly, pushing the pedestrians standing around watching in horror away from the road.

  The man froze in fear in the middle of the highway, and that was the last I saw of him as the semi-trailer smashed into him.

  Chapter 2

  It was a traumatic scene. After the impact, it took the truck driver a few tense and uncertain moments to bring his rig safely to a halt, the trailer jackknifed across the highway, the smell of burning tyres rancid in the air. The remains of the young man lay scattered across the road in a sickening tableau.

  I ran over to help the driver climb out of the truck. He collapsed at the side of the road, shaking uncontrollably, his face stripped of all colour.

  “I tried to stop. I tried,” he kept repeating. “He came out of nowhere – right in front of me. I tried to stop.”

  “We know you did,” I soothed absently, my mind racing through all the things Baz and I needed to do.

  I didn’t need a coroner to tell me there was no saving the young man, so traffic control was our first priority. Although the Coastal Range Highway wasn’t busy compared to many others, it was still an important route with a regular flow of traffic.

  “Shit, Tezza,” Baz said grimly, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “What a mess. I’ve rung the Super. It’s going to be hard for us to manage this by ourselves.”

  “Let’s rope in some of the townsfolk for traffic duty. I’ll look after that. The semi is completely blocking the highway, so I’ll detour it through the back streets here.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll go talk to the supermarket owner and find out what happened.”

  I blocked off the highway at either end of the accident scene with bollards and crime scene tape, before rounding up the more sensible and less shocked people amongst those standing around. I set them to work directing traffic off the main stretch to wind through the back streets before safely rejoining the highway again. When that activity was operating to my satisfaction, I took out my notebook, and commenced interviewing.

  In between collecting initial statements, Baz came over to me, reading through his notes.

  “Mr Grimmell told me the guy came into the store and loitered for a while, arousing his suspicions. It seems he was waiting for the other customers to leave, before pulling out his knife, and threatening Grimmell. He handed over the cash and the guy ran out.”

  I glanced over to the highway at the horrific sight. “He’s paid a heavy price for that petty crime.”

  Baz held my eyes, his face serious. “There will be an investigation, Tezza. There’s no way around it.”

  I closed my eyes. “I’m screwed. I’m going to be fired this time.”

  “Don’t say that. You didn’t do anything wrong. I heard you yelling at him to stop.”

  “I tried to warn him. I honestly did, Baz.”

  He patted my shoulder in consolation. “I know, so don’t automatically assume the worst. I was chasing him too.”

  “Why didn’t he look before he ran out on to the road? He would have seen that semi bearing down on him.”

  “Can’t really ask him now, can we? Maybe he panicked.” He scanned his notes again. “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “Not really.”

  “He looked young to me. Mr Grimmell didn’t think he was more than sixteen.”

  “Oh, geez.”

  He patted my shoulder again. “Come on, let’s get back to talking to witnesses.” He checked his watch. “It’s going to be ages before the Wattling Bay team gets here.” He walked off towards the truck driver. “I’m going to see if I can get anything out of him.”

  “He’s in shock. I hope they’re bringing an ambulance with them.”

  “Yep. You go talk to the lads. I’m not sure what they witnessed.”

  The two men stood near the patrol car, subdued, distress showing in their faces.

  “That was the most awful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I don’t know how you can be so calm,” Trig said quietly, his hands trembling a little.

  “I have a job to do, and a town to look after,” I replied, probably a tad harsher than I ought to have been in the circumstances.

  Harley looked at me with unhappy eyes. “Is Finn also as . . . stoic at a scene like this?”

  “Yes. Probably more than me. He’s mostly a very composed man.”

  The two men exchanged glances, as if learning a new character facet to their long-time friend.

  “Did you both witness the accident?” I asked, and they nodded.

  I spent ten minutes with each, jotting down notes. When I finished, I told them to stay where they were, and jogged over to Baz to let him know I was taking them to the police house.

  We joined the traffic snaking through the back streets, and drove to the Sarge’s house in silence. I went into the house with them to ensure everything was in order, as it had been a while since I’d last been inside.

  Maybe it was just my imagination, but I thought I detected the aroma of the Sarge’s cologne lingering in the air. And even at that tiny reminder of him, my blazing anguish at being abandoned, which I usually brutally suppressed, bubbled over, swamping me. I left the house abruptly, without even saying goodbye to the two men. I sat in the patrol car, gripping the wheel, and breathing in a controlled way until the pain abated.

  Back to work, I reprimanded myself, nosing the car down the driveway.

  *****

  It was a long, exhausting, and emotionally draining night. The only bright point was that we were spared the personal attentions of the Super, Mr X and Zelda turning up instead. That was a double bonus for me, because not only did I think Mr X was pretty cute, but also the Super and I remained largely estranged.

  But not even that small comfort was enough to allay the sheer awfulness of the night. When Baz and I finally handed over to the Big Town force, we left them guiding a team trying to free the truck from its jackknife, a job that would surely take hours. I pitied the townsfolk living near the accident site, as there would be little rest for them tonight.

  Grateful for once that I lived five kilometres out of town, I flopped into bed that night, asleep before my head hit the pillow.

  But the next day was little better. We spent half of the morning on traffic duty again until the semi-trailer was finally able to be driven away. Then we returned to the station to deal with the endless reports to be compiled and statements to be typed up.

  “I hate this job,” I muttered to my computer, carelessly banging out words on my keyboard.

  “No, you don’t. You have the makings of a good cop,” assured Baz, working more quietly at his own computer. “And to prove it, how about making me a cup of tea?”

  Grumbling, though secretly glad for the distraction, I made both of us some tea. I plonked his mug (Young Kenny’s, for the flavour) in front of him, slopping some over the side, while I carried mine carefully back to my desk.

  Baz took a sip and grimaced. “I don’t know what tea you’re using, love, but this is not good.”

  “Sorry,” I said insincerely. “Can’t afford anything better.”

  “Tezza,” he said, with so much sympathy it made me feel bad. For a second. “Just ask. Like I said – you have friends in high places.”

  “And you’re full of it, Baz. I don’t have friends in the police force. And . . .” I looked down at my keyboard for one sad moment. “I just don’t have friends.”


  “You’re not valuing the ones you have much when you say that. It’s not their fault if you keep shutting yourself off from them.” I glared at him, not appreciating the advice. Only the ringing of the bell broke the resultant stare-off.

  For once, he stood to answer the call. After five minutes, he yelled to me, “Trig and Harley want to know if you’re okay today.”

  “Tell them to piss off back to the city,” I shouted in reply.

  “She’s okay,” I heard Baz say. “Though don’t accept a cup of tea from her today.” I could almost hear his full-body shudder. “It’s not good. It’s almost like she dunks her mood into it or something.”

  More chatting, then Baz popped his head around the doorway. “I’m taking the lads to the pub for lunch.”

  “What? It’s only eleven-thirty.”

  He strode over to me and leaned an elbow on my desk, his face uncomfortably close to mine. His breath smelled like Young Kenny’s armpits, though I suspected the tea had something to do with that. “Tezza, the lads are badly shaken about yesterday. They need to debrief. You dumped them and ran.”

  “I had to get back,” I half-lied, not willing to admit to him my visceral reaction to the Sarge’s house.

  “Yeah, I understand that. You’re under disciplinary supervision, so you want to be vigilant in your job, but . . . there’s humanity too. These lads aren’t cops. They’re just normal people who witnessed something terrible yesterday. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t spare them a couple of minutes, and a few drops of sympathy. Especially as they’re Finn’s friends.”

  I felt ashamed of myself for not being more empathetic towards them. “I’m sorry, Baz. Will I lock up?”

  He contemplated me. “Nah. You stay here and mind the fort. I think the lads would be better off without your company today.”

  That stung, but not enough to overwhelm the giddy sensation of momentary freedom I felt at his words.

  “Really? Are you sure?” And I could have kicked myself, not believing those words actually tumbled out of my mouth.

  He nodded. “I’m sure.” He reached the doorway before turning. “I’m trusting you, Tezza. Behave yourself.”