by JD Nixon
“Tess,” he said in the voice that told me he meant it.
“Oh, all right,” I conceded ungracefully.
He felt my forehead, mock surprise on his face. “Are you feeling okay? You just agreed to do something I told you to without me having to wrestle you to the ground over it.”
“That’s only because I can’t be bothered arguing with a blatant rank-puller.”
He smiled. “Sometimes it’s the only advantage I have over you, kid.”
Chapter 32
We had lunch at his place, sitting on his front verandah to keep an eye on the station. When we finished eating, I rang Annabel to check on her. She told me the hospital would release her in a few days and her Community Services case officer had organised some temporary accommodation for her.
“I think I’ve done everything I can for her,” I said to the Sarge when I’d hung up and relayed her information to him.
“Yep. You need to leave it to other professionals to help her now. You have other things to worry about at the moment.”
“Speaking of which, maybe it would be a good idea for us to be at the pub when the Corrective Services officers bring in the Bycrafts. Just in case.”
He poked me in the arm. “You want to see Red again that badly?”
I poked him back harder. “No, I want to see Red rot in hell, wise guy. But it would be good to let them know we’re not taking their presence in town lightly. And maybe introduce ourselves to the Corrective Services officers?”
He checked his watch. “Why not? They’re supposed to turn up in about fifteen minutes.”
“Can’t wait.”
We cleaned and locked up his house and walked down to the patrol car.
“How are you feeling, Tessie?”
“On edge. How about you?”
“Same. But I’m not sure if that’s just your edginess rubbing off on me.”
“I just wish the Super had given us some more uniforms.”
“It was her call. And if anything goes arse-up today, I’m not going to let her get away with blaming us for it.”
“Ooh, I love it when you talk tough.”
He smiled. “Face it – there’s a lot to love about me.”
“Is that what your mum tells you?”
“Always the smartarse, Fuller.”
“It’s my most attractive personality trait.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m personally quite fond of your incredible insubordination. That’s quite fun to work with, especially with the Super riding my arse about it every five minutes.”
That made me laugh. “Hey, I can’t be that bad to work with. You came back to me, after all.”
His eyes rested on me for what seemed like a long moment. “That I did. I must be a glutton for punishment.”
“See, and that’s one of your most attractive personality traits.”
He didn’t answer, because as we pulled into the pub carpark, so did the transport van carrying our four visiting prisoners.
“They’re early,” the Sarge noted.
“Must have had good traffic.”
I was pleased to see that they weren’t taking any chances this time, particularly with Red being a previous escapee. The van was one of the newer fleet, with segregated compartments for each prisoner, usually used for transporting them between the city prison and the courthouse complex.
The van parked and we parked next to it, stepping out. Two armed burly Corrective Services officers stepped from the cabin of the van.
“Are there only two of you?” I asked in dismay. Red alone needed two officers to secure him.
One of the burly men, a dark-skinned man who’d suffered terrible acne in his youth judging by the pocked scarring on his cheeks, shrugged.
“Budget cutbacks. You know how it is.”
We introduced ourselves and learnt that our shrugger’s name was Arapeta; the other, a light-brown haired, freckled giant with a surprisingly high voice, Quentin.
Abe, alerted by one of his staff, came out to meet the two officers, shaking hands.
“So what’s the deal?” asked Quentin.
“You have two rooms, both upstairs, both with their own bathrooms and capable of sleeping three each. I’ve set them up for three single beds in each room.”
“Good,” said Arapeta. “How are the locks?”
Abe shrugged. “You know. Normal hotel room locks – swipe card access.”
The two officers looked at each other.
“We’ll discuss that later,” Arapeta said to Quentin. “Let’s get these peeps out and upstairs.”
“Glad you guys are here,” Quentin said to us. “We can take one each.” He looked me up and down disparagingly, immediately dismissing my physical ability with a scrunch of his face. “You can take the old one. He’s not much trouble.”
“No worries,” I said mildly. Sexist arsehole.
The Sarge shot me a warning look, obviously recognising the expression on my face.
The first one they let out was Tommy. He stumbled out, blinking a bit in the bright sunshine. His hands were cuffed, but he was wearing ordinary clothes, a buttoned shirt and jeans.
“Hello, Tessie,” he said softly.
“Tommy,” I replied. Although he’d been responsible for the death of Nana Fuller, we’d reached a rapprochement of sorts after he’d recently sent me a heartfelt apology for it.
“You know him?” asked Arapeta, immediately suspicious.
“Unfortunately, she knows all of them,” said the Sarge on my behalf.
Arapeta swore under his breath. “They never tell us anything. Is this going to be a problem?”
“I don’t know,” I told him honestly.
“No,” assured the Sarge. “As long as they’re secured at all times.”
“We know how to do our job,” Quentin bristled instantly. I decided I didn’t like him much.
“Wasn’t insinuating otherwise,” said the Sarge coolly, though with the distinct undertone of suggesting that Quentin would have trouble tying his shoelaces without his mother’s help. I really liked the way he was able to do that.
“You can take him,” Arapeta said to the Sarge, handing Tommy over.
The Sarge grabbed him by the handcuffs, but there was no need. Tommy was acquiescent, his eyes on the ground, his feet shuffling on the bitumen. He’d changed a lot from the arrogant, angry, substance-riddled young man who’d mown down Nana Fuller and me in his car that horrible day. I was pleased about that.
Next out was Ritchie. And while jail had been a good thing for Tommy, it had worn Ritchie down badly. It had been a while since I’d seen him, not since Mikey was a toddler, a good twelve years ago. A lifelong loser, he’d been in and out of jail so often that they’d almost named their revolving door after him. Hunched over, he didn’t acknowledge any of us, staring at the ground.
I took him by the handcuffs and he shuffled over to me. Though he still carried the great beauty and strong build of all the Bycrafts, there was something beaten about him, as if he’d given up completely on life.
Third out was Karl, almost as repulsive as his brother, Red. He’d been imprisoned for a vicious assault on me and then for attempting escape from the courthouse.
“Bitch,” he said when he set eyes on me.
“Hey!” Arapeta said, whipping out his baton and holding it against Karl’s neck. “You behave yourself, buddy.”
I stood holding Ritchie, trying my best to look unimpressed, but unnerved at seeing him again. He stared at me sullenly and I stared back until, sensing the hostility crackling between us, Arapeta forced Karl to turn away by yanking on his handcuffs.
Then the moment I dreaded, Quentin opened the fourth door. Red, the usual cocky, self-assured grin on his beautiful face, sauntered from the compartment. He didn’t say anything, just stood and contemplated me.
Like the others, he was dressed casually, this time in jeans and a t-shirt. His hair was much shorter, probably in attempt to look respectable enough to co
nvince officials to grant him leave to attend Denny’s funeral.
“Oh, Tessie,” he drawled. “Don’t you just look divine? Almost good enough to eat.”
He bared his teeth and bit them together, licking his lips.
“Don’t talk to her, Bycraft,” warned the Sarge. “You better take him away now.”
“We know our job, Sergeant,” said Quentin, with more than a hint of haughtiness. “These men are our responsibility, and you’d be best to remember that.”
“I can’t wait to tell you the dreams I’ve had about you, Tessie, my lovely,” said Red.
“I can’t wait to tell you the nightmares I’ve had about you, Red,” I replied, stony-faced.
“Heard about you and Jakey. Such a shame,” he taunted. “Guess that means it’s my turn with you now. Oh, the things I plan for you, Tessie Fuller.”
“Shut up, Bycraft,” spat out the Sarge.
Arapeta stepped in. “All right, that’s enough. It’s not a damn social club.” He looked at me meaningfully. “There’s obviously not much love lost between you and these guys. My advice is to stay away from them. We don’t need trouble.”
“No can do, sorry,” I said. “We’ll be at the funeral. We have our orders too, you know.”
Karl reacted badly to that, trying to spin around to see me.
“You’re not going to Denny’s funeral, you fucking bitch. You murdered him,” he frothed, forcing Arapeta to yank on the handcuffs to turn him around again.
“Watch your mouth, Bycraft.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “Did you kill his brother?”
“No,” the Sarge and I said simultaneously.
“If it wasn’t for you, Denny would never have been up the mountain,” Karl continued to rage.
“He was up there before we even ran into him, dipshit. It’s not my fault you’re too stupid to accept that,” I retorted, not able to help myself, feeling my anger beginning to build.
“Very professional of you,” scorned Quentin.
“Take these men upstairs,” directed the Sarge, trying to head off trouble.
“Come on,” said Arapeta, yanking on Karl’s handcuffs. He was obviously the sensible one of the pair.
“Just wait,” Quentin said, taking the men’s bags from the van, and handing them to each prisoner. I could only hope they’d been searched thoroughly.
The Sarge glared at me, so taking the hint, I followed Arapeta and led Ritchie into the pub, one hand on his cuffs and one on his shoulder. He offered me no resistance.
Abe, who’d been standing by watching, flanked by curious patrons of the pub, looked worried, as if regretting agreeing to allow the prisoners to stay in his accommodation. Corrective Services must have offered him a packet to do so, but perhaps thinking he’d soon have another mouth to feed, he decided he couldn’t say no. He handed out swipe cards to the two officers and advised them which rooms they’d been allocated.
On the top floor of the pub were located three guest suites and Abe’s own flat where he lived with Romi and Toni. It briefly passed through my mind that with Jenny and a baby soon joining them, it would be quite a crush, and I wondered how he’d cope.
“Who’s going where?” asked the Sarge, shaking my attention back to the job.
“I’ll be taking these two in my room,” said Arapeta, nodding to Ritchie and Tommy.
“What?” I asked. “You’re planning on having Red and Karl share a room?”
“That’s what I just said, wasn’t it?” he replied, a little testy.
“That’s not a good idea,” I said. “Those two should be kept apart at all times.”
“Look, Constable,” started Quentin.
“Senior Constable,” I snapped at him.
“Whatever. My colleague and I have discussed this thoroughly. We have a game plan.”
“A game plan?” I snorted. “This isn’t some kind of game. These men can’t be trusted, and they especially can’t be trusted together. They committed a crime together, and they tried to escape from custody together.” I wasn’t about to tell him they’d taken me hostage as they did.
“We know everything about them, so don’t you worry about it,” he said in a tone that indicated he would have dearly liked to add ‘your pretty little head’ into that sentence. If he had, the Sarge would have had to hold me back from kneeing him in the balls.
“Cool it, Quen,” cautioned Arapeta. Then to the Sarge, he said, “We’ll get these guys sorted and then we’ll fill you in.”
We waited by the stairwell for them to return, each closing their door behind them and checking that it was locked. Even if one of the prisoners managed to leave the room, with four of us standing near the stairwell, all of us armed, he wouldn’t have stood a chance of escaping.
“So what’s this brilliant ‘game plan’?” I demanded, earning myself a gentle nudge from the Sarge as a warning.
“We’ve done our risk assessment of the job,” Arapeta said in a placating manner. Not only the smart one, but also the diplomatic one, I thought. “We’re well aware of these men’s backgrounds, and know that Red and Karl have been accomplices in criminal activity. We’ve also judged that Ritchie and Tommy are the lesser risk of the four.”
“So why put Red and Karl in the same room?” asked the Sarge before I could.
“If they both do cause trouble, and that’s a big if – because they’ve been warned of the consequences of that kind of action by the boss himself – then I know I can leave the other two secured in their room while I go assist Quen in subduing them. If we split them up and they both cause trouble, then we can’t help each other and we’re basically stuffed. Our safety is a priority to us and to the prison.”
“That’s it?” I asked in disbelief. “That’s your game plan?”
“We’ve done a lot of these outside jobs. I’d wager we know more about this than you do, Senior Constable,” said Quentin.
“Well, I’d wager I know much more about the Bycrafts than you will ever know,” I bit back. The Sarge placed a restraining hand on my arm.
“And besides,” hurried on Arapeta, sensing a coming storm. “Red has a deep hatred of his father, and refused to be housed in the same room as him. Said he’d hurt him if we did.”
“Deep hatred of his father, huh? First I’ve ever heard of it. In fact, out of all of Ritchie’s children, I would have said that Red was closest to him,” I said, firing up again.
Quentin made some dismissive noise. “I think that just shows you don’t know as much about them as you think.”
“He is conning you,” I insisted.
“Look, I’m bored of this,” said Quentin. “We’re not country folk where not much happens, we’re from the city. We know how things work. We know about prisoners and all their tricks. This is legit. You didn’t see Red talking about his father. We did.”
“We couldn’t risk them being in the same room,” Arapeta said apologetically. “Like I said, we’ve done our risk assessment.”
“This is bullshit,” I said, turning away. I badly wanted to kick something. And as I’d probably find myself in a load of trouble if that something were Quentin, I had to bottle up my anger.
“Now, if you don’t mind. Our prisoners need to prepare themselves for a funeral,” dismissed Quentin, walking away back to his room.
“I guess we’ll see you there later,” Arapeta said.
“You betcha,” I said, before the Sarge took me by the arm, virtually dragging me down the stairs.
He made a detour over to Abe to exhort him to ring us if anything, even something minor, happened involving his unwanted guests.
I sat in the patrol car fuming.
“You didn’t make any friends there, Tessie,” he rebuked calmly.
“I don’t want to be friends with idiots like them.”
“Look, it’s their problem. They’re armed and they’re experienced. They’ve talked about it, and don’t seem oblivious to the nature of the Bycrafts. I think that’s the best we could hop
e for in the circumstances.”
“Red is lying to them. I know it. It’s just a trick.”
“Do you honestly think you’re going to be able to talk them around?”
“No,” I reluctantly admitted.
“Let it go then.” He checked his watch again. “That took longer than I expected. I think we should head over to the cemetery and get in place. It’s going to be a long afternoon.”
Chapter 33
We parked in a conspicuous spot at the front of the cemetery and waited. A cream-coloured Morris Minor putted down Dead End Street and parked behind us. An elderly man, dressed in priest vestments, stepped out and approached us.
“Uh-oh,” said the Sarge to me. “Your sins have finally caught up with you.”
“Hope he’s got a couple of weeks to hear them all,” I laughed.
“He’d need a couple of years, wouldn’t he?”
I punched him in the arm. “Shut up.”
When the elderly man drew level with the window, we assumed our professional police faces.
“Hello, Father. Can I help you?” asked the Sarge politely.
“Yes, thank you, Officer. Could you tell me if this is the correct cemetery for the Bycraft funeral?”
“It certainly is.”
“Oh, excellent, excellent. I got terribly lost and was worried I would be late. I drove out to a different cemetery.”
“That would be the new one. This old one’s closed now except for family plots,” I informed him.
“No need to worry, Father,” assured the Sarge. “You’re the first one here. Would you like us to show you where it will be held?”
“That’s most kind of you, Officer. Most kind.”
We locked the patrol car and took a leisurely stroll down the main path, giving consideration to his slow pace.
“I didn’t know the Bycrafts were Catholic,” I said, more to make conversation than out of interest. I knew only too well that the whole family were spawns of Satan. A church would probably explode into a ball of flames if one of them set foot inside.
“I’m not quite convinced that they are, Officer,” he confessed. “They didn’t seem to be very informed about the ceremonies of the church.”