Blood Tears

by JD Nixon

  My heart sank when I noticed the breakfast I’d left him this morning still sitting in the fridge. He hadn’t eaten a bite of it. Without saying anything, I scraped it into the bin.

  The two men sat at the table chatting while I bustled around making egg salad sandwiches and cutting up some fruit. Staring into the fridge, I realised we had no juice, so I placed a jug of chilled water on the table instead. I really needed to go to the supermarket some time soon. But thinking of that only reminded me about the Land Rover. I told Dad about that new disaster as the Sarge and I ate and he picked at his food.

  “Maybe if we put off the electricity bill until the final reminder, we’ll be able to afford the mechanic?” he suggested, struggling to finish even a few mouthfuls of his sandwich.

  “Dad, can we talk about it later?” I asked, conscious of the Sarge listening in, and embarrassed to discuss our dire financial affairs in front of him.

  We ate in silence for a while.

  “What’s this I hear about Dave?” Dad asked, putting down his sandwich and taking a few sips of water.

  It was no surprise to me that most of the townsfolk had probably found out about what had happened to Dave by now, though I was never quite sure how they did. We certainly hadn’t breathed a word about it to anyone.

  “Yes, it’s true. It was . . . distressing. Especially for Mrs Gatton,” I told him.

  “It’s a damn shame he felt like that,” Dad said. “Remember that awful summer about twelve years ago when it stormed and hailed almost every day for weeks? And how, even though his own crops were ruined, Dave worked so hard to help me save most of mine?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” I’d had to drop everything to pitch in before and after school in the fields to protect that precious source of money for us.

  “I don’t know what I would have done without his help that year.”

  “He’s a decent person,” I said.

  “I suppose that whole sordid event last year was responsible for . . . what he tried to do.”

  “Yep. He’s never lived it down. A lot of the townsfolk have blanked him since then. He feels like a pariah.”

  Dad shook his head sadly. “Damn shame. Some people in this town are so narrow-minded. And all because the guy took a piss in the wrong park at the wrong time. He’s lived in this town his whole life. People should know him better than that.”

  Once more, I felt terrible about arresting Dave that day. “I didn’t have a choice, Dad.”

  He patted my forearm. “I’m not blaming you, love. You were just doing your job. But I might give him a ring in the next few days, and let him know if he ever wants to talk about anything, I’m just a phone call away.”

  “That’s very decent of you, Trev,” said the Sarge.

  “Like I said, he helped me when I needed it. And if I hadn’t managed to save those crops, I don’t know how I would have been able to look after Tessie and my mother. And Mrs Gatton and my mother were very good friends.”

  Him speaking of Nana Fuller made me realise I’d never known that Dad had financially assisted her as well. I’d always assumed that she lived on a pension and what she earned from giving piano and singing lessons. I could see now why that year had been so stressful for Dad, and why he’d worked himself to the bone to save his crops.

  “Something that’s always made me curious, Dad. Why didn’t Nana Fuller just sell her house and come to live with us? It would have been cheaper for all of us, wouldn’t it?”

  He smiled tiredly. “I tried to convince her to do that, Tessie, believe me. But she was a very stubborn and independent person.”

  I smiled back at him, patting his hand. “Sounds like someone I know.”

  “Sounds like someone I know,” said the Sarge sotto voce, looking pointedly at me.

  “Guess it must run in the family,” I said lightly. I took our plates to the sink and quickly washed them, not willing to engage him in any kind of discussion about my alleged character flaws.

  The Sarge checked his watch. “Time to get back to the station, Tessie. You have those reports to write, remember?”

  “How could I forget with you reminding me every five minutes?”

  “They should keep you out of trouble for the rest of the day.”

  “Good luck with that, Finn,” chuckled Dad.

  “I resent the implication that I’m bound to end up in some kind of trouble this afternoon,” I huffed. “And to prove my point, I will return to my desk and complete my paperwork like the obedient and dutiful police officer that I always strive to be.”

  Dad laughed harder. “Even better luck with that, Finn.”

  “That’s enough sass from you, sir,” I said affectionately, ruffling what was left of his hair and dropping a kiss on the top of his head. “I’ll see you at dinnertime.”

  “Do you want me to make something?” he asked.

  “No,” I said immediately. “I’ll make something when I get home. You rest for a while.”

  “Okay, love. That sounds like a good idea,” he said. His instant acquiescence made me worry about him even more.

  On our way back to the station, the Sarge said, “I hate to say it, Tessie, but your father seems much worse than he was when I left. Is he okay?”

  “No, he’s not okay. He gets more disabled every day. I used to be able to ignore the fact that he’s so sick because he was still mobile and active. But now . . . I can’t run from it anymore.”

  “Tessie . . . I’m sorry.”

  “One day, maybe even much sooner than I dread, I’m going to be the last Fuller left in town. The last Fuller from this line of the family left at all.”

  “You won’t be a Fuller forever.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll get married one day and change your name.”

  “Maybe I won’t ever get married. And even if I did, I might keep my own name. I’m not ashamed of being a Fuller. I often wish I hadn’t been born a Fuller here in Little Town, but I’m not ashamed of being one. And even if I did change my name, I would still consider myself a Fuller.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you’d change it for that reason. I was just talking about tradition.”

  “Was Melissa going to change hers?”

  “I believe so. That was always my assumption, but we never really talked about it.”

  “Then why did you assume that she would?”

  “Don’t know. I suppose that most married women I know have. Harry’s wife did when they were married. And my mum changed her name when she married my father, and then again when she married my step-father.” He shrugged. “I never really thought about it before.”

  “What’s your mother’s surname now?” I asked out of sheer curiosity.

  “Er . . .” His phone rang. “Can you get that for me?”

  I picked it up from the console, frowning at him, sure that it was a very convenient interruption for him.

  “Sergeant Maguire’s phone.”

  I listened before agreeing to be in attendance as quickly as possible.

  “Trouble in town,” I told the Sarge.

  “Don’t tell me. It’s Bycraft badness, right?”

  “You should go into partnership with Lavinia, seeing you’re so psychic,” I smiled.

  “You don’t have to be psychic to guess that,” he said dryly. “God, there’s never a dull moment in this place.”

  “Bet you miss lazing around on the Mediterranean now.”

  “Not really. That was a particularly unhappy part of the trip.”

  “Were you fighting with Melissa?”

  “Day and night. And then, just for something different, we’d fight night and day.”

  “Oh, sorry. It was supposed to be a joke. Didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

  “Don’t sweat it, kid.”

  I let the kid comment slide as I studied his serious profile, remembering the continuing generosity and support he’d shown me since he’d arrived in Little Town, even th
ough I hadn’t always been grateful for it. I’d spent the last few months being so angry with him, but from what he said, he’d had as miserable a time as me during his absence, albeit in much more glamorous surroundings. Melissa was nothing but a fool to let their relationship deteriorate to the extent of breaking up. There was no doubt in my mind that she held primary responsibility for the ending of their engagement. I’d witnessed firsthand her immaturity and petulant self-absorption.

  Oh well, I thought. Her loss would be some other woman’s gain one day.

  And just like that, any residual anger I still harboured against him dissipated entirely, and I was suddenly glad that he had returned to town.

  I kept my eyes on his unmoving profile. “You told me your friend, Harry, is a good man. Well, I think you are too, and you deserve to be happy.”

  “Are you angling for a spin in my car or something?”

  “No!” I said indignantly. “I really meant it.”

  He spared me a surprised glance, one eyebrow arching. “That sounds suspiciously like a welcome back to me.”

  “Hey, settle down,” I protested. “I never said that.”

  He smiled to himself as he turned into Gum Street.

  Chapter 20

  The first thing we saw was a group of the teen Bycrafts lolling around under the big fig tree that dominated the small park at the corner of the highway and Gum Street. It was not a place I ever cared to visit – sometimes even averting my eyes as I drove past – as it was beneath that very tree that I’d discovered the murdered body of one of my good friends, Marcelle.

  “God, they’re drunk again,” spat the Sarge in disgust.

  “I said they haven’t been going to school lately. I guess we know what they’ve been doing instead.”

  “How any of them expect to have futures if they don’t bother getting an education is beyond me.”

  “They’re not really the future-focused kind of people, Sarge. This is exactly what they envisage their future will be.”

  “Who rang about them?”

  “Grimmell. Apparently, two of the boys raided his shop, running in and grabbing everything they could get their hands on, before running off.”

  “They’re so unbelievably blatant. Which two?”

  “He couldn’t say.”

  The Sarge groaned. “Don’t tell me – I don’t know who it was. All those little bastards look the same to me.”

  “Wow. Your psychic skills really are impressive, right down to the ‘little bastards’ comment he made,” I said. “Lavinia should watch out for the competition.”

  “Who do you think would be most likely?”

  “Hard to say. Could be Chad, Timmy, Sean, or Mikey. Hang on,” I said, peering out the window at the group. “Looks like Jade and Kristy have cut their hair shorter. Great. Depending on what they’re wearing, that means it will now be pretty much impossible to even tell the girls from the boys.”

  “That has to be a deliberate move.”

  “You betcha. Looking the same is how they all get away with so much.”

  He must have been watching out for our arrival, because Mr Grimmell came puffing up, his unattractive, lecherous face red with rage. He angrily thrust his head through the window, his nose just inches from mine. I reeled back at the sour smell of his breath.

  “I am fed up to the back teeth with that gang of hooligans robbing me,” he hissed. “What do you plan to do about it?”

  “Please remove your head from the vehicle, so that we can get out,” the Sarge snapped.

  Mr Grimmell did as he was requested, and the Sarge came around to my side of the car, taking out his notebook. We didn’t try to hide our presence from the Bycraft teens, and neither did they take off when they saw us. Instead they remained where they were, laughing and jeering with supreme confidence, arrogantly assured of their invincibility.

  The Sarge questioned Mr Grimmell at length, but his story was much as he’d told me – a couple of the young Bycrafts had committed a run-raid of his supermarket. Again, he said he couldn’t identify which two had committed the crime, but told us they’d been wearing a dark t-shirt covered with an unbuttoned long-sleeved dark shirt, blue jeans and runners. When I glanced over at the six teens though, the first thing I noticed was that they were all dressed in a similar fashion.

  Yet another deliberate move by the teens, only proving that they’d intended on a spot of shoplifting today. And committing crime was probably the most planning any Bycraft ever bothered exerting themselves over during the course of their pointless and idle lives.

  I ambled on over to the teens, letting the Sarge finish with upset grocer. They sat in a loose circle, Chad quickly hiding something behind his back, while Timmy hastily extinguished something on the grass. My nostrils twitched at the unmistakable smell of marijuana.

  I held out one hand. “Hand it over, Chad.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, piglet,” he said with a sneering smile.

  “Fuck off, piglet. Stop spoiling our fun with your horrible piggy smell,” said Kristy, looking around at her siblings and cousins for approval of her incredible wit. And of course, she received it in bucket loads.

  “Something sure smells around here, and it’s not me,” I said. “You kids been smoking some joints?”

  “Nope,” said Timmy, and before I could say another word, he jumped up and sprinted to the small amenities block at the end of the park.

  “Hey!” I yelled, giving chase.

  He outran me into the men’s bathroom, and though I had no hesitation in bursting in there, my only reward for my lack of etiquette was the sound of a toilet flushing.

  Timmy came out of one of the stalls, deliberately and provocatively washing his hands with great care. “What are you – some kind of fucking perv, piglet? Can’t even let a kid take a slash in private? I should report you.”

  “What did you flush, Timmy?”

  He walked past me on his way to the exit, eyeballing me the whole way with derision. “I flushed my piss, piglet. Remind me next time to keep it for you in a jar since it makes you so horny.”

  I strode over to the stall and peered in the bowl while the cistern refilled with a soft hissing. Nothing. It was clean – well, as clean as a public toilet can ever be.

  Annoyed, I stalked back to the kids just as the Sarge finished with Grimmell and joined me.

  “What’s up? Saw you haring off after that one.”

  “This little shit just flushed something away. I think it was a joint.”

  “Prove it, piglet,” dared Timmy. “She’s just a sicko who wants to watch kids piss.” The others openly snickered.

  The Sarge stepped over, grabbed Timmy by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. “I warned you kids not to call Senior Constable Fuller that ever again. Maybe you got away with it when I was gone, but guess what? I’m back again.” He looked around at all of them, his eyes darkening a stormy blue, as they always did when he was angry. “Do you delinquents understand?”

  He was met with six sullen, silent expressions.

  He shook Timmy viciously. “Do you understand?” he bellowed right into Timmy’s face.

  Grimmell edged closer as other shop owners and townsfolk stood watching on the footpath, drawn by the racket. There wouldn’t be anyone stepping in to defend these particular kids from any police roughness we showed. Not in this town.

  Timmy nodded with reluctant churlishness.

  “Good,” said the Sarge, giving him a small push that sent him tumbling back on to his butt.

  “Chad’s got a bottle of something behind his back,” I informed the Sarge.

  “Hand it over now,” he barked.

  With great sullenness, Chad handed over a three-quarters empty bottle of vodka.

  “You kids are supposed to be at school,” I lectured.

  “So?” asked Mikey.

  “So, you’re supposed to be at school,” repeated the Sarge. “Why aren’t you?”

 
“We’re helping Mum get the funeral ready for Denny, aren’t we? Got a problem with that?” sneered Mikey.

  “Bullshit,” I muttered.

  “Sure looks like it,” said the Sarge snidely. “In between smoking pot, drinking, and shoplifting, right? Big help you’re being to her.”

  “Which ones of you hit Mr Grimmell’s shop?” I asked.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, pig –” started Jade, before catching the Sarge’s dangerously flashing eyes.

  “Look at those sweet and chip wrappers everywhere,” burst out Mr Grimmell. “They’re all around them. They came from my store.”

  “Prove it, old man,” sniggered a very drunken Chad. “We bought them in Big Town.”

  “There are witnesses,” insisted Mr Grimmell.

  The Sarge and I looked at each other. Despite knowing the utter futility of the exercise, I wearily walked up and down the street interviewing anyone who’d seen anything – all with the same result. Nobody could positively identify which two of the six had committed the crime.

  In the meanwhile, the Sarge took on the thankless job of trying to corral all six intoxicated teens and walk them to their homes, only a few blocks away. But before that happened, he did his part for the tidy town movement, and forced the six, not without much under-the-breath swearing and insolent slowness, to clean up their mess.

  “It’s hopeless,” I said to him on his return from marching the kids home. “Lots of people saw them running away, and some were even inside the store when they hit, but nobody can give me a positive identification.”

  “I’m sick and tired of having to just let things go around here all the time,” he fumed. “Maybe we should just charge all six of them? Even if they didn’t actually do it, they’re all at least complicit for eating the evidence.”

  “We can’t drag them all to Big Town for a spot of shoplifting, especially with how busy they are there. We haven’t got room in the patrol car for them all, and besides, the Super would turn our guts into guitar strings if we tried that on.”

  He stood with his hands on his hips, staring down the street. “It pisses me off so much.”