Blood Feud (3 page)

“Isn’t that . . . I mean . . . Are you allowed to . . . Sergeant Maguire warned me . . . They told us . . .”

I waited patiently for him to finish. Or to start. I wasn’t sure which.

“I mean . . . I was just asking . . .” He sputtered to a halt and promptly blushed again.

After a few more ticks where Kevin remained silent and rosily glowing, I figured that comprised the entirety of his conversation and resumed answering my phone. It was Jake, lovingly apologetic for his temper this morning and immediately asking for a favour. He’d just turned up to work after his swim and couldn’t find his security swipe card, which he needed to access the prison. He thought he’d left his wallet behind at my place after hurrying off in such a snit.

Glad that he wasn’t angry with me anymore, I readily agreed to help him out. So instead of walking the beat, Kevin and I made the quick trip south down the highway to my house. I left him in the car as I dashed inside, yelling out to Dad not to worry himself about me as I was only home for a second. I grabbed Jake’s wallet and his watch from my dresser and bolted back down the stairs.

Kevin spoke as soon as I threw myself back into the driver’s seat. “I thought . . . You know . . . We’re not supposed to . . . Private use? They told us at the academy . . .”

He petered out again, furiously reddening. Even his earlobes turned scarlet. Pondering the physical plausibility of that, I drove back out to the highway and set off towards town, heading for the prison. Jake ducked out to the entrance to meet me, still dressed in sea-dampened clothes, looking a little sheepish. Even though they knew him well and he was one of the live-in staff, the officers at the front wouldn’t give him access to the prison without his security card.

He took a few precious moments to apologise again and to thank me with some sweet kisses that were probably just this side of being unprofessional, me dressed in my uniform as I was. His workmates cheered, catcalled and wolf-whistled as we smooched. Being an all-male prison, they didn’t see a lot of women outside of visiting times.

“Hey, keep your eyes off her, fellas! She’s all mine,” Jake yelled back at them, grinning as he held my hand and walked me over to the patrol car. Kevin sat in the passenger seat burning with colour. Jake opened the door and settled me in the driver’s seat, fastening my seatbelt for me while I smiled up at him like the gooey-eyed besotted fool that I was. I introduced the two men and Jake politely enquired of Kevin if he was enjoying his placement.

“Oh . . . It’s very . . . Sergeant Maguire . . . And of course, Senior Constable Fuller . . . They . . . You know . . . Well, they both have.”

And he sat there gazing at Jake as if that explained everything, leaving Jake staring back at him, at a loss as to what to say in response. His amber eyes cut to me for a second before returning to Kevin’s blazing face.

“Oh,” he said finally. “That’s . . . just great.” And Kevin emphatically nodded in agreement.

Jake leaned through the window to kiss me once more, causing Kevin’s face to change from cerise to crimson. I drove off, waving cheerily from the window. I wouldn’t see Jake again for days as he was working a week-long block and also pulling a couple of double-shifts.

“Righto, Kevin,” I said. “Let’s go back to town and walk the beat for a while.”

“That would be . . . I’d like . . . Yeah.”

But we weren’t destined to. At that precise moment I noticed a gang of teenaged Bycrafts screeching around the T-junction of the Coastal Range Highway and the road to Big Town, in what could only be a stolen car.

Chapter 2

Crammed into an unfamiliar late-model red Commodore, the Bycraft juniors zoomed off towards town at least fifty kilometres over the speed limit, the stereo blasting out horrible
doof doof
music. That was bad enough, but what made it worse was the identity of the driver – Chad Bycraft, a notorious car thief but not yet old enough to even hold a licence. The Commodore was definitely
not
one of the Bycraft family’s fleet of ancient rust-buckets, meaning that Chad had probably ‘liberated’ it from its owner in a shopping centre carpark back in Big Town.

Not people naturally attracted to early rising, the fact they were driving around at this time of the morning meant a couple of things to me. They obviously didn’t plan on going to school today, and were probably returning home after spending an entire night rampaging around Big Town, a spree most likely started the previous afternoon.

I immediately threw on the siren and lights and sped up after them, dodging around the other cars and semi-trailers travelling in both directions on the highway.

“Hold on,” I warned Kevin tersely. He clutched the arm rest, his eyes round with fearful anticipation.

I checked the mirrors carefully before I pulled out onto the other side of the road to overtake another law-abiding vehicle travelling at the speed limit.

After a few more kilometres, it became obvious the young Bycrafts had no intention of stopping in response to our siren and lights. That conviction became a certainty when two of them stood on the back seat to press their bare butts against the rear window in a blatant show of disrespect. Kevin gasped a sharp intake of breath, shocked at the audacity, but I didn’t react, by now rather immune to their insolence.

“I’d say Mikey’s and Sean’s butts judging from the shape,” I decided after a moment’s consideration.

Kevin stared at me. “How . . . How . . .?” He probably wondered if we kept a database of butt shots as well as mug shots in this town.

“God knows I’ve seen them enough,” I explained. “Bycraft boys aren’t shy about showing off their bodies.” I waited for a semi-trailer to zoom past us before pulling out to overtake a slow moving van. “Actually, come to think of it, neither are the Bycraft girls.”

Chad performed a reckless overtake, forcing the car in front of him to slow down and drive half off the road to avoid a side collision with him.

“They’re going to drive through town at that speed,” I noted through clenched teeth. “They’ll kill someone. It’s nearly time for the primary school to start for the day.”

All I could think about was that my good friend’s darling little daughter, Toni, was one of those children at risk. And with that dream about Nana Fuller fresh in my memory, red rage swamped me as I imagined Toni’s tiny body being struck and broken by Chad Bycraft’s speeding car.

“Shouldn’t you . . . You know . . . I just thought . . . We’re told . . .”

“What, Kevin?” I snapped impatiently. “
What?
”

An ugly burgundy flush blossomed over his neck and up to his face. “To call it in,” he managed to spurt, a little upset by my tone.

“Nope, I’m not doing that. There’s no point. They’ll just tell us to abort.”

“But . . . I mean . . . High speed chases . . . Sergeant Maguire said . . .”

“I’m not calling it in, Kevin,” I said firmly. “We’ll deal with this ourselves. It’s our town and our problem.”

Technically, we were meant to confer with the district communication centre in Big Town about a range of policing activities before we proceeded. But in reality the cops there inevitably proved patronising towards us ‘country cousins’ and our small town troubles. When assistance was offered, it was always done reluctantly and slowly. Learning that bitter lesson soon after taking up the junior police position in town, I’d fallen into the habit of never calling in anything before the Sarge arrived. But now, at his insistence, we called in about half the times we ought. Regrettably though, with red hot anger consuming my mind, today wasn’t one of those times.
Especially
as I didn’t have the Sarge sitting next to me demanding that I consult with Big Town.

As I feared, the Bycrafts shot through town, nothing more than a red blur to the startled townsfolk out and about on the main road this morning. I followed at an equally risky speed, siren wailing, lights flashing red and blue. I should have set a good example and slowed down when we hit the town’s sixty zone, where the highway briefly wended its way through our small patch of civilization. But I didn’t, because I was concentrating so hard on driving safely. Or at least that’s what I’d tell the Sarge when this was all over.

“
Senior Constable!
” Kevin yelled out in panic as a blue Volvo pulled out on the highway directly in front of us.

Its driver, the town’s representative on the district’s super-Council, pompous Mrs Villiers, was talking on her mobile phone and made only a cursory check to the right for oncoming traffic. I’d already clocked her though and smoothly swerved around her. I narrowly missed potato farmer Brett Cusack driving in his ute in the opposite direction, before falling back to my side of the road. Brett screeched to a halt, his face a shocked smudge as I flew past. Mrs Villiers received the fright of her life and unwisely jerked her steering wheel in response, mounting the curb and pranging into one of the town’s two street-bins.

Oh dear
, I thought, glancing in the rear view mirror at her crumpled bumper. There would be hell to pay over that. An absolute dragon of a woman, she would probably immediately be on the phone to the Super to complain about me.

“Senior Constable Fuller . . . Shouldn’t you . . . ? Isn’t this . . .?” Kevin’s strangled voice barely dented my consciousness. I had the scent of a Bycraft hunt in my nostrils and I wasn’t stopping for anything. Not now. And unfortunately, for once the Sarge wasn’t here to moderate my actions. For once, I was in charge.

Poor Kevin.

My radio crackled and the Sarge’s angry voice burst out, ordering me to end the pursuit and get my butt back to the station immediately. I reached down to turn the volume to its lowest setting so I couldn’t hear him.

“Senior Constable Fuller! I don’t think . . .” started Kevin, scandalised by my actions.

“Shush,” I demanded. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

Free of town, the red car sped up so I sped up as well. I reasoned they’d keep driving on the highway, past the mental health clinic, heading for the state border where I’d have to abandon them. I didn’t want to pursue them across the border because of the attendant jurisdictional issues. The two states had a formal agreement covering interstate police pursuits, but it came with ten tons of paperwork and a whole world of pain. I didn’t need that in my life.

And also I’d definitely have to call it in if I crossed the border. I really didn’t need
that
in my life either.

But the Bycrafts surprised me by throwing a hard right into Mountain Road at the crossroads two kilometres out of town. I spun the steering wheel frantically after them, the patrol car screaming around the corner.

“Why the hell are they going up there?” I wondered aloud. “It’s a dead end road. There’s nowhere for them to go.”

“Shouldn’t we . . .? You know . . . Wait?” Kevin spluttered, grasping the arm rest so tightly his knuckles shone white through his skin. “As it’s a dead end and they’ll . . . you know . . . have to come back?”

I paid him no heed as I chased them down the initial straight stretch of Mountain Road before it started its torturous winding ascent up to Mount Big and Lake Big. And that was when we hit a huge dip in the road.

We launched into the air at over one-fifty kilometres an hour. Well, that’s what the speedometer was showing right before we left the road and as air speed indicators weren’t yet a standard feature in a patrol car, I was only guessing. I clutched the steering wheel with a death grip, pretty sure it wasn’t going to make a lick of difference if none of the car’s tyres was actually touching the ground at that moment. The Bycrafts’ car also became airborne, both Chad and I driving way too fast to safely negotiate the large dip.

“
Holy shit!
” shouted Kevin, suddenly articulate, one hand clamped around the arm rest, the other pressed on the dashboard, fingers splayed, his long legs braced against the car’s leg well. His pale blue eyes bulged with an equal mixture of horror and fear, every tint of colour abruptly fleeing his face, leaving his freckles standing out in bold contrast.

Chad hit the road again badly, nearly losing control of the Commodore, the unrestrained occupants thrown around inside. The car’s suspension crunched noisily and the vehicle bounced twice before swerving off the side of the road, the back left tyre dangling for a moment over the steep incline leading down to the surrounding bush. The car fishtailed, repeatedly overshooting the bitumen road onto the gravel verge as Chad struggled desperately to correct his steering.

I lost track of what he was doing then because we made our own hard and unforgiving landing, the patrol car’s tyres compressing as it slammed down onto the road, before rebounding. Kevin and I were flung violently upwards then downwards with a painful thump, both of us thankfully held in place by our seatbelts. I fought for control for a long uncertain minute as the car bounced over the road. My brain screamed at me not to oversteer, but my hands wrenched the steering wheel back and forth like a first-time learner driver. Somehow, eventually, we came to a shuddering halt.

Kevin opened his mouth but nothing came out except a stifled and rather inadequate, “Oh.”

I planted my foot and we sped off again in pursuit of the teenagers up the winding mountainous road.

But that small delay cost us dearly. When we reached the end of the road and screeched to a stop in the public carpark adjacent to Lake Big, the red Commodore was sitting forlornly alone and deserted, all four doors wide open, its engine idling, stereo still blasting.