Blood Sport (19 page)

Despite my misgivings, I approached Red carefully, making sure I was well out of striking reach.

I turned my head to look at Lindsey. “He’s been searched?”

“Of course he bloody has! He has nothing on him except the clothes he’s wearing, which are prison issue. The prison officers did a full cavity, believe me.”

“That wouldn’t have bothered
him
,” remarked the Super snidely. “Bycraft’s used to having things shoved up his clacker by men behind bars. It’s what a pretty prison bitch like him does best, after all.”

“Shut the fuck up! You wouldn’t know what that’s like, you old twat,” Red snarled.

“Those poor young women you rape do though, don’t they? You don’t mind forcing some rough backdoor action on them, do you? So don’t shed your fucking crocodile tears around me, arsewipe.”

Red ignored her and looked at me imploringly. “Tessie, please.”

“Tessie, don’t listen to that fucking snake,” warned the Super.

“What do you want?” I asked him warily, keeping my distance.

He blinked groggily at me, clenching his eyes shut, then opening them again, trying to focus. “Tessie, are you still there?”

“I’m right in front of you.”

“Will you hold my hand for a second?”

“Not a chance.”

“Can you come a bit closer at least? I can’t see you and there’s something I need to tell you.” His voice was weakening.

I looked back at the Super, but she was no longer paying us any attention, busy with her emails. I didn’t know what to do. He looked up at me pleadingly.

“Please, it’s important. It’s about Jakey. There’s something you need to know about him.”

I was lost for words, not able to forget the sight of Miss Chooky and not trusting him one bit.

“
Please
,” he beseeched, whispering. Maybe the thought of going to jail again was weighing on him heavily. “Nobody will tell you if I don’t tell you now while I’m almost knocked out.”

“How could I possibly trust you for a second?”

“I mean it more than anything. Please.” He was demonstrably languishing, giving into the painkillers. “You need to know.”

Completely against my better judgement, I relented and moved to stand near him, leaning down slightly to hear what he had to say next. He suddenly grabbed my hand and yanked it towards his mouth, licking it from wrist to fingertip and then tried to rub it against his crotch, grinning at me all the while.

“Or maybe I was just bullshitting you all along, you gorgeous, stupid slut,” he laughed.

I pulled my hand back in disgust and slapped him hard across the face, making the Super look up in surprise.

Red laughed again. “See you when I get out, Tessie. First thing I’ll do is come looking for you, I promise.”

Nursing my stinging hand and with his mocking laughter ringing in my ears, I flew out of the room, slamming the door behind me. I didn’t even thank the Doc and Lindsey for their help. Riled, I charged out of the waiting room, past the two check points to the sheltered part of the car park, where I stood fuming at my own stupidity. Red had scored the last point and I felt the humiliation of that burning me with white hot anger.
The bastard!

Both Jake and the Sarge came haring outside after me. They tried to comfort me with hands on my shoulders, but I was so angry, I shook both of them off, pacing back and forth.

“What happened in there, Tessie?” asked the Sarge, trying again to slide his arm around my shoulder. I shrugged him off impatiently.

“Babe,” Jake soothed, pulling me into his arms.

I resisted at first, trying to push him away, but he persisted and his hold was strong. Eventually, shocked at how easily I tired, I gave up and leaned against his comforting chest and let him hug me back into an even temper. I
hated
the thought of Red getting one up on me.

“Jakey, I can’t wait for this weekend,” I whispered after a while.

“Me either. I’ve been dreaming about it for ages. You’ll make me a beautiful dinner and a delicious birthday cake and I just know you’ve bought me a ridiculously expensive present you can’t afford,” he smiled.

“You deserve it,” I smiled back at him. I was thrilled that he had no idea what I’d planned.

“And then you’re going to set off some fireworks in your bed afterwards in honour of my birthday.”

I giggled loudly. “Jakey!”

He kissed me. “You will, won’t you?”

I giggled again. “You better believe it, buddy.”

“God, I can’t wait. It feels like forever away.” He let go of me suddenly, looking over my shoulder. “Shit. It’s my boss. My break’s over – I have to get back to work. See you soon, babe. I’m thinking about you every minute of the day.”

“Bye, honey-boy.” We kissed quickly before he hurried away back to his post.

I turned to the Sarge. He had his back to me, arms crossed. Every cell in his body screamed out resentment. I approached him warily, not sure what his problem was this time.

“Sarge?” I wanted to tell him about my retrieval of my family photos, but he wasn’t receptive.

“Where are the others?” he asked coldly. “I want to get back home and clean up.”

“I don’t know,” I said in a small voice. “Do you want me to check?” He shrugged uncaringly, not making any eye contact.

The Super and Bum exited the building, Fiona railing loudly at him for something he’d neglected to do. I wasn’t sure he was even listening to her as he had a sappy smile on his face that made me wonder if he was remembering that puppy from his childhood again.

“Get in my car,” she ordered us. “X and Zelda are escorting Bycraft’s ambulance back to Wattling Bay.”

The Sarge and I piled into the back seat of her car. It was a quiet trip to my house, none of us in the mood to chat. The only sound was my phone conversation with Dad, telling him what had happened and recommending that he stay with Adele another night.

Back at my house, the Sarge and I climbed out of the vehicle and hurried to the veranda. The forensics team had left by then and the house was empty, cold and covered in black fingerprint powder. The little chicken bodies were lying where they’d fallen and my back door was standing wide open, the lock smashed. I was utterly exhausted. I hadn’t had any lunch and it was early afternoon. I looked around and sighed heavily. I didn’t know where to start.

“Okay, see you later,” the Sarge snapped and stalked off through the rain to his car, skidding in haste through the mud in the driveway out my front gates. I stood at the front door watching him leave in bewilderment. I had sort of assumed that he would stay and help me clean up. My mistake.

I felt very low when he left. The house was lonely and silent. Right then, fixing its problems by myself seemed like climbing Mt Everest in high heels.
Better start somewhere
, I sighed to myself. I briefly considered eating first, but I suspected I’d soon just throw it all back up again. Instead, I emptied the containers catching the drips from the ceiling and drank a glass of tap water, but even that seemed tainted by the death surrounding me.

Determinedly, I changed into Dad’s old oilskin jacket and gum boots, tying my hair up and putting on one of Dad’s old Akubras to keep the rain off my face. Then gently, reverently, I picked up the limp body of Miss Chooky and her separated head and took them outside into the rain. I chose a nice spot, under the mango tree at the back, where the soil would never crack in a drought-stricken summer sun.

With the shovel from our garden shed, I dug a hole with one arm. It wasn’t easy and took me a long time to finish, but as my other arm was in a tight sling, I had little choice. One small mercy was that the denseness of the tree’s foliage prevented the heavy rain from turning the hole into a puddle the second I dug it. After a while, the hole was big enough and deep enough for all five chickens. I carefully placed their little bodies in their grave. I said some random prayers I remembered from Sunday School as I covered them with soil, not bothering to wipe away the tears that dripped from my eyes as I did. It felt good and proper to let myself cry for once. I often cried my eyes out at funerals – probably a response to repressing the need so many other times. But if you couldn’t cry at a funeral, then when the hell could you?

I tossed up whether or not to place a cross on the spot, but decided against it. I’d always know where my girls were buried – I didn’t need a marker. I knew where everyone I loved was buried.

That awful task completed, I turned to my back door. If I was going to sleep in the house, I had to know that the entrances were secured. I examined the lock. It had been splintered thoroughly by the axe. There was no fixing it – I’d need a whole new back door. I went to the garden shed to see what Dad had lying around. There were some timber planks that I might be able to use temporarily.

Hefting them under my good arm, the nails and hammer tucked into the armpit of my injured arm, I went back to the kitchen. The door opened inwards, so if I could hammer some planks of timber across the doorway, that would stop anyone coming in. Crude, but effective. Or so I hoped.

But first I had to spend ten minutes mopping up the water from the kitchen floor before tackling the door. Hammering timber with one arm is an exceptionally difficult task. I had to use every part of my body – knees, hips, shoulders, elbows, head – to keep the timber in place while I hammered the other side into the door jambs. But even when I’d finished hammering three planks across the doorway, I wasn’t convinced it would keep a determined house breaker out for more than a minute. On the other hand, that would be long enough for me to find my gun or my knife in the dark.

One last job. The dim daytime light was fading from the gray sky and evening was closing in. It hadn’t stopped raining for three days and I was sick of it. The rain had brought me nothing but pain, injury, heartbreak and misery. I wanted sunshine, love, happiness and laughter. But that seemed like an unachievable dream from where I was standing at this moment.

I gathered a bucket, some cleaning liquid, gloves, bleach and hot water and spent the next fifteen minutes scrubbing down my kitchen wall, washing away those words written in blood. I cried while I did that too, remembering that it was Miss Chooky’s blood that had been used for such an inhumane purpose. Sniffing, I wiped up the pool of her blood on the floor.

I cleaned up, showered again quickly and laid on the lounge for a second, closing my eyes. It had been a hell of a day. I never wanted another one like it. I needed a little rest before I could even think about what to do next.

A hand on my shoulder made me spring to my feet in alarm. The house was in total darkness. I tried to move my left arm across my assailant’s throat while I reached for my knife, but I couldn’t, because it was in the sling. I went to pull out my knife, but a hand clamped onto my wrist. I struggled and fought and bit and kicked.

“Tessie, it’s Finn! Calm down. It’s okay. It’s just me,” soothed the Sarge. The darkness obscured his features.

I drew in huge, jagged breaths, my heart pounding. “Oh God, I must have fallen asleep. How did you get in?” I asked eventually, when I trusted myself to speak again.

“The front door was unlocked. I
did
knock.”

He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights and I was glad for the cloak of the night. I sank onto the lounge, my hand over my face.

“Shit,” I said, stunned at my negligence. “I spent all evening hammering up the back door and I left the front door unlocked. What a total dumbarse!” That struck me as so funny that I started laughing in that unstoppable way that seemed amusing at first, but soon descended into uncomfortable and then into hysterical territory.

The Sarge pulled me upright by my arm and kept a tight hold of my wrist, despite my struggles. He shook my wrist. “Stop it, Tessie!”

I stopped laughing. “What are you doing here? Go away.”

“I shouldn’t have left you alone. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care. Go away.”

“Let me help.”

“By scaring me to death? No thanks. Go away.”

“I want to help you clean up.”

“I’ve done it all myself. Go away.”

“Bloody hell! You don’t make anything easy for me.”

“I didn’t realise I was supposed to. Go away.”

“Have you eaten?”

“No. Go away.”

“Tessie.”

“Go away.”

“Tessie.”

“Just go away, will you? Go. Away. I can’t make it any clearer than that.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

“You already did. Go away.”

“I’m going to stay in your spare room tonight.”

“No, you’re not. Go away.”

“I’m staying.”

“Go away.”

“No.”

“Just go away.”

“No.”

“Go away.

Instead of responding, he spun around and flicked on the light. We faced off for a moment before he deliberately flung himself into an armchair, switched on the TV with the remote and put his feet up on my old battered coffee table.

“
Go away!
” I yelled at him, frustrated. “I don’t want you here!”

“Don’t care,” he responded coolly, returning his attention to the TV.

I deflated instantly, briefly considering forcibly evicting him from my house. But I was weakened by injury, and he was a tall, muscular man who weighed a lot more than me. It was too much of an unequal match to even attempt. Fuming at being so helpless to control the situation, I stormed off into Dad’s room where I collapsed into his bed. I didn’t want to sleep in my room after Red’s visit the previous evening.