Blood Ties (2 page)

My dream always ends the same way. Somehow I have finished running and find myself standing on the veranda of my family home. The front door is ajar and I cautiously push it fully open, creeping down the central hallway into the silent house. The bloody handprints on the walls and splatters on the pastel apricot carpet fill me with apprehension. I ignore the overturned furniture in the lounge room and step over the broken remnants of my mother’s favourite lamp. My stomach is a tight ball of fear as I slowly make my way to the kitchen at the back of the house.

My mother is lying huddled up against the blood-smeared back door as if she had been trying to escape through it when she finally fell. A broken knife protrudes from her back, its handle tossed carelessly to the floor. Her face is turned away from me, covered by her long dark-blonde hair, now sticky and matted. Her pretty yellow dress is stained orange with all the red. She is barefoot, her blood-sprayed legs arched gracefully, feet pointed, her toenails painted a bright magenta that clashes with the dark crimson of her spilled blood.

I drop to my knees in a lake of her blood. Tenderly, I sweep her bloodied hair from her forehead, looking down at her young, beautiful face, my mouth stretched in a silent wail of anguished denial. Tears flood my eyes and flow down my cheeks, dripping to the floor. I am too late to save her.

I’m always too late to save her.

Chapter 1

It was chilling to hear. From the open front windows of the house an unnerving symphony of suffering ruptured the night-time peace. Frantic screaming clashed brutally with guttural grunts, loud deep thuds and what sounded alarmingly like a chainsaw. Goosebumps bristled down my arms and I paused a moment to double check my equipment, reassuringly patting each piece as I went through my mental stocktake – gun, OC spray, baton, handcuffs. Steeling myself with a deep breath, I climbed the spongy, rotting timber stairs to the veranda. Despite the lingering heat of the late summer night, the neighbours had prudently slammed their windows and doors shut. The street was deserted, but prying eyes stared out at me from behind every curtain.

I banged on the front door, dislodging peeling flakes of ugly mud-brown paint. There was no response. But then the screaming stopped suddenly with a last spine-tingling yowl, the instant silence that replaced it welcome, but eerie. I took advantage of the unexpected lull to thump harder on the door with my fist. The screaming recommenced, even louder than before, but I’d finally been heard and it was cut off abruptly mid-cry.
Thank the heavens
, I thought with relief. Two o’clock in the morning was no time to be playing death metal music. Especially when it was blasted so loudly that it made your bones vibrate and your ears feel like they were bleeding.

The veranda light switched on and Red Bycraft flung open the door, his eyes widening in delight when he saw it was me standing at his threshold. He was bare-chested and barefoot, dressed only in faded low-slung jeans that showcased his honey-brown skin, tattoos, muscled arms and six-pack. Like all the Bycrafts, he was tall, well-built and beautiful, with the golden colouring common in his family. He was also trouble. Big time.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the lovely Tessie Fuller standing right before me in the flesh,” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms and ankles, snake-like yellow eyes roaming my body. “And what mouth-watering flesh it is too.” He flicked out his tongue and ran it slowly around his lips with offensive intent.

I didn’t react.

He took a step closer to me, leaning down until his face was mere centimetres away and his eyes drilled into mine. His voice dropped to an intimate whisper, almost caressing. “I can’t wait for the day I get to taste it. To bruise it. To bite it. Get to force myself inside it.”

The alcohol fumes on his breath made my nose twitch. I resisted the sudden strong urge to step backwards, instead returning his stare steadily and making every effort not to show just how much he made my skin crawl. He wasn’t going to intimidate me – not now, not ever. Before answering, I deliberately, conspicuously, trailed my eyes down the jagged ten centimetre scar running down his neck that I’d given him when I was fifteen.

“We both know that day’s never going to happen, don’t we, Red?” I reminded him coldly.

He smiled with lazy menace and shifted even closer. I caught the masculine scent of his underarm sweat, not entirely masked by the musky deodorant he wore. The day had been stifling; the evening not much cooler.

He continued to whisper. “I disagree, Tessie. I think we both know that day will definitely happen. We have unfinished business, you and me. And I have such a hard-on for you.”

He gripped his crotch and bared his teeth with a hiss.

I refused to entertain him by reacting to his crude taunting, maintaining my professionally stony demeanour. He pouted at me for spoiling his fun and ran his hands through his longish wavy golden hair, his chest muscles tensing enticingly as he did. He was a mean bastard of a man but he sure did come in a good-looking package.

“What can I do for you tonight, lovely piglet?” Piglet was the ‘pet’ name the Bycraft family had for me. I hated it, which of course only ensured that they used it as often as possible. “Because I can think of a hundred things you could do for me.”

All of them sadistically carnal too, I bet
, I thought.

His hand shot out to glide his index finger along my jawline to my chin, then upwards to my mouth, trying to thrust his finger between my lips. I flinched at his touch, immediately batting his hand away and reaching for my OC spray, eyes fixed on his. He laughed with malicious satisfaction at finally prising a response from me. I relaxed my right hand, but kept it in close access to the spray. He knew I wouldn’t hesitate to use it if I felt threatened enough. I’d already sprayed him once since he’d returned home from jail. Drugged up and off his face one steaming hot January afternoon, he’d come at me with a cricket bat in his front yard when I’d turned up to investigate yet another complaint. I’d loved every second of watching him crash to the ground, writhing in agony in the dirt, howling and rubbing his tear-drenched eyes. In fact, it had been the highlight of my week.

“I’ve had a report of a disturbance here tonight,” I told him in my impassive cop voice.

He shrugged easily, indifferent. “I was just chilling to some music in my own home. No need to get you involved.” He smiled with deceptive friendliness.

I didn’t smile back.

“Who rang you?” he asked casually, as if he wouldn’t seek immediate and violent retribution on that brave neighbour.

Again I remained silent, unblinking.

He sighed dramatically and said with insincere contrition, “All right. I promise I’ll turn the stereo down.”

“It’s not about the music, Red. It’s about the shouting earlier in the night. Is everything okay here?”

“Everything’s just peachy, thanks for asking, Officer Tess,” he mocked.

I persisted. “I want to check on Sharnee.”

“Was it her old bitch of a mother who rang you?” he demanded, losing some of his cool, his mouth tightening unattractively. His eyes shifted from my face, past my shoulder into the darkness of the night. Sharnee’s mother and two sisters lived directly across the road.

I didn’t answer.

“Sharnee’s asleep.” He moved to slam the door in my face. I stuck my boot out to prevent him.

It was my turn to look over his shoulder. “No, she isn’t. I can see her moving around in the kitchen behind you.”

Anger swept across his face as he turned around to shout into the house, “I told you to get off to bed, you stupid fucking slag! You better fucking well do what I tell you to next time if you know what’s good for you.”

“No need for that kind of language. Ask Sharnee to come to the door. When I’m satisfied she’s all right, I’ll be on my way. And make it snappy. I’m very busy tonight.”

We faced off for a moment before he backed down. “
Sharnee!
Get your fat, ugly arse out here so that piglet can see you’re okay.”

She scuttled to the door and poked her head around timidly, looking up at Red with an equal mixture of fear and devotion in her soft brown eyes. Sharnee Lebutt was only thirty and had once been a pretty woman, but hard years of life with Red as his on-again, off-again girlfriend, casual punching bag and the mother of three of his five children, had marred her prettiness with premature wrinkles and a permanent expression of anxious despair. Why she let him return to her again and again was beyond me. He was an uncaring father to their kids and an unfaithful sponger who treated her like dirt. What sane woman would want
that
in her life? Perhaps she had never given up her dream that he would marry her? Everyone in town knew that’s all it would ever be for her though – a dream. Red, like most of the Bycrafts, was not the settling down type. And he’d proven that to Sharnee thoroughly by also knocking up two of her three sisters.

At thirty-five, he was the oldest of the Bycraft generation I’d grown up with, and in my opinion he was the worst of a very bad bunch. He had only been released on parole a few months ago after serving four years for the aggravated sexual assault of a fifteen-year-old girl. It was his fourth stint in the slammer for similar crimes and you could tell from just looking at him that he was already planning his next attack on some unsuspecting vulnerable young woman he’d pick up at a nightclub. Most of his assaults were never reported, and any woman courageous enough to make a complaint against him usually withdrew it soon after, in fear of her life after being personally threatened by him. The only reason he hadn’t gone down for longer after his last attack was because his poor little traumatised victim had flatly refused to give evidence against him in court.

“You okay, Sharnee? What happened here tonight?” I asked her with concern.

“What happened, lovely piglet,” butted in Red, not giving her a chance to speak, “is that we had a tiny disagreement over the fact that the useless bitch didn’t have enough rum and smokes in the house for me tonight. I might have raised my voice a little and given her a light slap on the wrist to remind her of her duties to me, but that’s all. Nothing more.”

More like a fist in the face than a slap on the wrist
, I thought, turning to the silent woman. “Sharnee?"

“That’s right, Officer Tess. Just like Red said,” she confirmed softly, watching him with wary eyes.

“Let me see you properly.”

Her eyes still fixed on Red, she unwillingly stepped out from behind him into the veranda light.

“Is that bruising around your right eye?”

“N-no, Officer Tess."

“Yes it is, you stupid cow,” hissed Red impatiently, prodding her ungently with his elbow. “Don’t you remember? One of the kids opened the bathroom door suddenly and the doorknob hit you in the face.”

“That’s right. I forgot. Thanks Red.” She looked up at him again, clearly afraid.

“Which kid?” I asked, glancing from one to the other, not believing a word I was hearing.

“Kyle,” Sharnee said.

Simultaneously, Red said, “Teagan."

“I meant Teagan,” Sharnee corrected instantly, flustered. “I
meant
Teagan. Silly, stupid me! I can’t get anything right these days.” She smiled weakly at me, not quite meeting my eyes. “Everything here’s fine, Officer Tess. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to do what Red told me to and go to bed. It’s very late and I have to get up for the kids in the morning.”

She hurriedly darted back inside, leaving Red smiling at me, slyly triumphant.

“I don’t want to hear of any more disturbances here tonight, understand? And that includes the music,” I warned him and reluctantly headed back to the patrol car.

I hated leaving Sharnee with him because he would probably rough her up again the second I left. But there was nothing I could do if she refused to complain about him. And she was inexplicably loyal to him, despite everything he did to her, so I had no real hope that she would ever complain. Especially to me.

“Bye for now, lovely.” Red stood on the veranda and watched me get into the patrol car, kissing the air in my direction and grabbing his crotch again when I looked up at him, an arrogant smirk creasing his features.

I muttered to myself about him I switched on the ignition and nosed away from the curb.

But as I did, music blared out at ear-shattering volume from his house again. I jerked the steering wheel and pulled the patrol car back to the curb, switching on its rooftop flashing red and blue lights to warn him that my patience was wearing wafer thin. I hadn’t been joking when I’d said I was busy tonight. I waited for a minute. His silhouette filled the front window, checking that I’d noticed his defiance, and when he saw I had, the music abruptly stopped once more. Red was only delivering his usual “fuck you” in farewell, but being on parole he couldn’t afford to provoke me too far. I waited for another minute of blissful silence to make sure that he’d behave himself, watching as the lights in his house were extinguished one by one, before driving off again.

I hadn’t even drawn a breath though when I received a phone call from Abe Stormley, owner of the town’s only pub, The Flying Pigs. He wanted to know when I was returning, because “we have a situation with Des”. Five minutes later, back at the pub, I was confronted with an unpleasant spectacle.