Blood Tears

by JD Nixon

  “Congratulations, though. That’s very exciting for you both.”

  “Is it?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  He sighed heavily again and leaned against the doorjamb. “I don’t know, Tess.” He beseeched me with his eyes. “I don’t know if I’m ready to be a father. The thought of it is scaring the crap out of me.”

  “I take it you haven’t discussed all the available options in regards to the pregnancy?” I asked, hesitantly tiptoeing around that very delicate subject.

  “No, no, no,” he said strongly. “That’s not an option for either of us. We’ll be having the baby. And besides, Blondie’s over the moon about being pregnant. She wants to tell everyone. I’ve managed to convince her to keep it a secret for now until I can get my head around it.”

  “What worries you the most?”

  “The commitment. It’s not just the baby, but also now everyone will expect us to get married. She expects us to get married.”

  “You don’t want to get married?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t feel like I have a choice. I have to do the right thing. I’m the one who knocked her up before she even had a chance to start her career, and I feel terrible about that. I’m responsible for her and our baby.”

  “You wouldn’t be the man I thought you were if you felt differently.” I looked at him. “You do have feelings for her, don’t you? I mean, you’re still together after all this time, and you’ve moved in together. And you’re obviously being intimate with each other.”

  “Of course I have feelings for her, but perhaps I would have preferred to explore them more before having this responsibility handed to me without warning.”

  “I think you’ll make a great father,” I said sincerely.

  “Do you really?”

  “Definitely. And you’ll make a wonderful husband too, if you do decide to get married. Blondie’s a lucky woman, and I hope she knows it.”

  “Thanks, Tessie.” He leaned down and kissed me quickly on the cheek. “I guess I needed a pep talk.”

  “Well, you know my number if you ever need to talk some more. And I promise I won’t breathe a word about it to anybody.”

  “I know you wouldn’t, and I appreciate that.” He smiled briefly before joining Zelda in the car.

  I watched them drive away, lost in thought. I wondered how I’d feel if I found myself accidently pregnant. Considering that Jake would be the father, I was pretty sure my feelings would be fairly negative. I refused to even consider the possibility of being responsible for bringing yet another Bycraft brat into the world. It was unthinkable to me. I made a mental note to myself to check how many repeats I had left on my current pill prescription. There was no point in tempting fate.

  In the back office, Baz was tidying his desk while his computer shut down. I glanced at my watch. “You’re packing up a bit early today, aren’t you? It’s not knocking-off time yet.”

  “Be a love, and lock up the station tonight for me. I have a dinner date with Foxy that I’m expecting to turn into a pretty raunchy night.”

  I screwed up my nose. “Blech. Spare me the sordid details, please.” I gazed at him expectantly. “Does this mean I get an early pass too?”

  “When you’ve tidied up your desk a bit.” I groaned loudly. “You can’t even see your keyboard under all that paper. I don’t know how you work there. Remember, messy desk, messy mind.”

  “That’s better than clean desk, empty mind,” I spat back, uselessly moving paper from one side of my desk to the other.

  Baz laughed. “Oh, Tezza. What am I going to do with you?” He grew thoughtful. “Mmm, maybe I should stay behind for a bit longer until it’s time for you to leave, if you’re going to be in a mood.”

  “No, no,” I assured hastily, seeing an hour or two free of him slipping away from my grasp. “I’m not in a mood. I’ll clean it, I promise. You run along and get ready for your date. You don’t want to keep Foxy waiting.”

  At the doorway, he paused and turned. “Stay out of trouble.”

  Oh brother! “Cut me some slack, will you? What possible trouble can I get into tidying my desk? It would be nice for once if you treated me like an experienced officer, and not some green academy graduate who doesn’t know her arse from her elbow.”

  He judiciously ignored my rant, picking up the keys to the patrol car. “Almost forgot these. Enjoy your filing, Tezza.”

  “Are you taking the car?” I complained. “What happens if I get a call-out?”

  “It can wait until tomorrow.”

  “What if it’s urgent?”

  “Then you’ll ring me, and I’ll make a judgement call on it.” He smiled. “But I won’t be rushing away from the delectable Foxy in any hurry, so make sure it’s not urgent.” And with that, he sauntered off whistling.

  Muttering under my breath about stupid sergeants and the selfish way they hogged the patrol car, I reapplied myself to sorting out my desk. I’d barely had a chance to read a half-dozen pieces of paper, screwing them up and chucking them in the bin, when the bell to the front door sounded.

  Always expecting a Bycraft to be at the counter, yet again, I wasn’t disappointed. But at least this time it wasn’t trouble – I hoped.

  “Jakey,” I said. We each leaned across the counter to share a brief kiss. There was a time I would have almost vaulted the counter to let myself be wrapped tightly in his arms, latching my mouth on to his luscious lips. But I stayed on my side, and he stayed on his. And whether it was the natural cooling of wild passion that happened to most relationships over time, or a sign of the invisible barrier Denny’s death had created between us, I couldn’t say. But I knew I wasn’t imagining it by the hint of tension in Jake’s shoulders, and by the way we were less easy with each other than we used to be.

  “You all alone, baby doll?” he asked, propping himself up with a hand on the counter and peering around the doorway into the back room.

  “Yep. Baz has a date with Foxy tonight.”

  He smiled. He had a beautiful smile. “Poor him.”

  I smiled back. “He doesn’t think so. Have you come to town to visit your mother?”

  “Partly. But I came to see you too. I’m off duty tonight, and thought you might like a sleeping buddy.”

  “I might,” I smiled again, knowing there would be little sleeping involved if he stayed over.

  We’d both been working a lot, and hadn’t spent much time together lately. An evening of blissful, physical pleasure with this gorgeous man sounded about the most perfect thing I could think of at that moment. It wouldn’t just be Baz who’d be getting lucky tonight. The police station should be a pretty contented place tomorrow.

  “Great! You done here for the day?”

  “Nah. Still have some things to do before I knock-off. Why don’t you come over about six-thirty or so? I’ll make you dinner.”

  “Deal,” he agreed, clasping my hand and bringing it to his lips. “I’ll bring the dessert.”

  Desire rippled through me at his touch. Sex was still good between us; maybe not as dynamite as it had been at first, but still very, very good. I had no complaints about that. “You always bring the dessert.”

  “Hey, what can I say? I’m good at dessert.”

  “That’s lucky, because I really, really love dessert.”

  “I know. Sometimes you need two or three helpings before you’re satisfied.”

  “I’ve always been greedy.”

  He laughed and kissed his fingers, reaching across to press them against my lips. “Okay, babe. You better get back to work if you’re ever going to finish. I’ll see you later tonight.”

  “Bye, honey-boy. Looking forward to it already.” I watched him leave before returning to my desk, which sadly hadn’t improved since I’d left it.

  This time I managed five minutes of desultory work before the front door bell rang, followed by the counter bell.

  “I heard you. I heard you,” I muttered, finding a stranger standing at t
he counter, looking around him with a small amount of interest.

  “Oh, hello,” he said when he noticed me.

  “May I help you?” I asked politely, giving him the once-over.

  An unattractive man by any measure, he stood about five-seven at most, gaunt but wiry, with thin, wispy red-brown hair hanging to his shoulders. A scraggly moustache and goatee beard surrounded a mouth with barely existent lips. A long, strong nose hung over the lot. It was his eyes that caught my attention though – an intense, pale blue. Almost hypnotic.

  His dress sense was eccentric, to be kind. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, a scruffy thick long jacket despite the warm weather, and a scarf tied jauntily around his neck – all of which had seen much better days.

  It was hard to determine his age. His face was weathered and wrinkled, either from age, or from suffering through a very hard life. He could have been in his sixties; he could have been in his forties. I couldn’t tell.

  “I hope I’m not wasting your time, Officer.”

  “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here, and I might be able to let you know if you are or not.” I didn’t want to hurry him up, but I had a desk to clean, and a bed buddy to seduce.

  “It’s my son. I’ve been looking for him for ages. Jamie.” He stopped, scratched his beard, and took a deep breath. “I’m not doing this right. Let me start from the beginning. My name’s Bill Mansfield, and I’ve been trying to track down my son, Jamie. He’s sixteen, and ran away with his girlfriend about a month ago. You can only imagine how upset my wife and I are about that. We told him she wasn’t a good influence, but young guys these days . . .” He shrugged. “They think they know everything about relationships. My wife has been telling me I need to come here after we read about that boy who . . .” He turned away, his head buried into his shoulder. “I hope I’m just being fanciful, and that it wasn’t Jamie.”

  “Ah, that boy. Do you have a photo of Jamie, Mr Mansfield?” I asked, scrabbling under the counter for an incident report form and a pen. “Or even his girlfriend?”

  He didn’t look like a time-waster, and seemed genuinely distraught. And there was that missing teenaged girl we’d yet to find, after all.

  “I do,” he said, after first clearing his throat of emotion. He reached into his jacket, and pulled out a dog-eared photo of himself with his arm slung around the shoulders of a teenaged boy – a teenaged boy wearing a red checked flannel shirt.

  He rummaged around some more in his pockets. “I also found this in his bedroom,” he said, sliding another photo across the counter, and there was no mistaking his disapproval as he did.

  A picture of the young boy with an equally young girl, arms around each, love shining from their happy faces. She was extremely pretty, with a huge smile, holding her body with an awkwardness that made my heart pang for her – I remembered only too well that exquisitely painful mix of pride and embarrassment at my developing body.

  I couldn’t be one hundred per cent sure, but the boy looked like the kid I chased out on to the highway. I guess my thoughts showed on my face, because Mr Mansfield honed in on me like an eagle.

  “You think my Jamie was the boy who died?” he demanded, his voice cracking.

  “I honestly can’t say, Mr Mansfield. I only saw him briefly before . . . Well, you know.”

  “I do know . . .” He leaned forward to read my nametag. “Senior Constable Fuller. I’m extremely worried about my son’s welfare. Please, any information you have about him is so important to me.”

  “I know that, Mr Mansfield,” I tried to soothe. “But there’s nothing I can really tell you at the moment.”

  “But you know about them? Where is he? Where is he?” he asked, increasingly upset.

  “I don’t know anything at this stage –”

  “Tell me where he is. Tell me where he’s been staying.”

  I had to put on my cop voice. “Mr Mansfield, I understand your distress, but at this point there is nothing I can tell you.” Or would dare to tell him, especially with Fiona on my back.

  “At least tell me where they were staying. I’m worried about his girlfriend. She’s not a country person. She wouldn’t know how to survive on her own. I need to find her.”

  “Could I please have these photos to give to the detective team investigating the death of that, as yet, unidentified boy?” I hoped by emphasising that, it would draw his attention to how much he might be able to help us in this investigation.

  But he moved to slap his hand down over the two photos. I beat him, pulling both back towards me.

  “They’re my only copies.”

  “I’ll just scan these if you don’t want to give me the originals. I’ll send them to the detectives working on the case.”

  “I’ll contact the detectives myself,” he said. “I’m not sure you’re being that helpful, Senior Constable. Can you give me their names and phone numbers?”

  “I can,” I said, a little frosty to be honest, though assuming my most bland cop face. “As long as you give me your contact details. I’ll need your address and phone number.”

  And with that hanging in the air, I diligently wrote down his name, address, and home and mobile phone numbers on the incident report form, swapping Mr X and Zelda’s work numbers with him. I then took two minutes to scan both photos.

  “The detectives will be in contact with you as soon as possible,” I informed him when I returned his photos to him. I’d make sure of that by ringing them myself the minute he left.

  “Thank you, Officer. But I’ll be in contact with them myself as you’re not able to help me,” he said, departing with a faint air of indignation.

  I watched him climb into an elderly mud-brown car, and chug off out of the carpark with a fume of exhaust that should have seen me raking over his vehicle’s roadworthiness.

  The instant the last thread of exhaust smoke evaporated into the air, I rang both Mr X and Zelda, not being able to contact either, but leaving messages. Finally free again, and only too aware of how time was ticking by, I returned to my filing. I ended up throwing some papers in the bin, hurriedly pressing on the keyboard to turn off my computer. I was done with today, and my still messy desk would just have to wait until tomorrow.

  Or so I thought.

  Just as I reached for the keys to the Land Rover, the front door bell rang again.

  Oh great! I thought, giving myself time to wait for my computer to fully shut down.

  The counter bell dinged.

  “Okay! I’ll be there in a second,” I yelled out, perhaps a touch unprofessionally, but rather fed up with people bothering me when I was trying to leave.

  I stomped out to the counter, ready to tell whoever was there that the station was closed for the night, only to come to a screeching halt.

  A man stood at the counter waiting patiently for me to show my face.

  Maguire.

  Chapter 7

  “Oh, it’s you,” I said, not able to think of a wittier or more sophisticated comment to make.

  A million emotions swirled through me at the unexpected sight of him – so many that I didn’t know which one to choose. I decided that disinterest was the safest, so although my heart pounded hard enough that I could feel it pulsing in my ears, and my mouth felt suddenly parched, I casually leaned against the doorjamb, crossing my arms, regarding him with steady eyes.

  “Yep, it’s me,” he replied, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The air almost crackled around us, the situation was so tense, yet also awkward. His eyebrows pursed together in faint disapproval as he looked at me. “You cut your hair. I don’t like it.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t realise I had to ask your permission first,” I said. As if I cared what he liked.

  “You could have,” he smiled, obviously trying to defuse the situation. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t in a pushback mood.

  He seemed to fill the small reception area with his presence. I’d almost forgotten how tall and big he was, and what an
imposing figure he could be. He was dressed casually in jeans, a pale blue button-up shirt that he’d left untucked, and some classy casual shoes. His hair was longer, and curlier, than when he’d driven away all those months ago, now brushing the collar of his shirt. He was tanned, and carried the relaxed demeanour of a man who’d spent a while living it up. And even bitter old me had to secretly admit that he looked good.

  Well, he almost looked good.

  “What’s that horrible thing on your face?” I asked, staring at it.

  He smoothed down the hair above his lips that formed a handlebar, a strip running down either side of his mouth to his chin. “It’s my moustache. Don’t you like it?”

  “No, it looks ridiculous.”

  “Don’t spare me. Tell me what you really think.”

  “It’s ugly. It makes you look stupid.”

  He stroked it again. “I grew it for Movember. Which you’d know, if you’d read any of my emails or friended me on Facebook.”

  “I don’t do Facebook,” I replied, avoiding the question of the emails. I hadn’t realised he’d noticed I’d stopped reading them. “And besides, it’s December. You should have shaved it off by now.”

  “I like it. I think it gives me a certain je ne sais quoi.”

  “I can supply you with a few adjectives to describe ‘quoi’, if you like.”

  He smiled. “You didn’t donate any money. It was for a good cause.”

  “I don’t have any money to donate to anything.”

  “Some things never change.” He grew serious, his eyes darkening. “How have you been, Tessie?” I shrugged an apathetic shoulder. If he’d cared about how I’d be, he’d never have left in the first place. “I would have liked for you to have kept in contact with me, so I knew how you were coping.”

  “Is that why you sent your spies here?”

  “They’re not spies. Harry and Trig are very good friends of mine, and I asked them to check on you as a favour for me. I wanted to know firsthand how you were bearing up.”

  “What does that mean? That you’ve been told things about me second hand?” I demanded, immediately peeved at the thought of someone discussing me with him.