The Dry (4 page)

“You shouldn't really be drinking this stuff around the baby, Gerry,” she said.

“Crying out loud, love, the kid doesn't care. She's dead to the bloody world,” Gerry said, and there was a horrible pause. Somewhere in the inky garden the nocturnal insects rattled like white noise. Falk cleared his throat.

“How are you coping, Barb?”

She looked down and stroked Charlotte's cheek. Shook her head, and a tear dropped onto the little girl's face. “Obviously,” Barb began, then stopped. She blinked hard. “I mean,
obviously
Luke didn't do it. He would never have done this. You know that. Not to himself. And certainly not to his beautiful family.”

Falk glanced at Gerry. He was still standing in the doorway, glaring down into his half-empty drink.

Barb went on. “I spoke to Luke a few days before it happened. And he was completely fine. Honestly, he was normal.”

Falk couldn't think of anything to say, so he nodded. Barb took it as a sign of encouragement.

“See, you understand, because you really knew him. But other people round here. They're not like that. They just accept what they're told.”

Falk stopped himself from pointing out that he hadn't seen Luke in five years. They both looked up at Gerry, who continued to examine his drink. No help to be found there.

“That's why we were hoping”—Barb looked back, hesitating—“
I
was hoping you'd help us.”

Falk stared at her.

“Help you how exactly, Barb?”

“Well, find out what really happened. To clear Luke's name. And for Karen and Billy. And Charlotte.”

At that she started rocking Charlotte in her arms, stroking her back, and making soothing noises. The baby still hadn't moved.

“Barb.” Falk leaned forward in his chair and placed his palm on her free hand. It felt clammy and feverish. “I am so sorry for what's happened. To you all. Luke was like a brother back then, you know that. But I am not the right person for this. If you've got concerns you've got to go to the police.”

“We've come to you.” She removed her hand. “You're the police.”

“The police who are equipped to deal with this sort of thing. I don't do that anymore. You know that. I'm with the financial side now. Accounts, money.”

“Exactly.” Barb nodded.

Gerry made a small noise in his throat. “Barb thinks money troubles may have played a part.” He'd aimed for a neutral tone, fallen well shy.

“Yes. Of course I do,” she snapped. “Why is that so unbelievable to you, Gerry? Talk about burning a hole. If Luke had a dollar, he'd spend two to make sure it was gone.”

Was that true? Falk wondered. He'd never known Luke to be too keen to put his hand in his pocket.

Barb turned back to face him. “Look, for ten years I thought we'd done the right thing selling the farm to Luke. But these past two weeks I've done nothing but worry we saddled him with a burden that was too much. With the drought, who knows? Everyone is so desperate. He might well have borrowed money from someone. Or had bad debts he couldn't pay. Maybe someone he owed came looking for him.”

A silence stretched out. Falk found his glass of whiskey and took a decent swallow. It was warm.

“Barb,” he said finally. “It might not feel like it, but the officers in charge really will have considered all these possibilities.”

“Not very bloody well,” Barb snapped. “They didn't want to know. They drove over from Clyde and took one look and said, ‘Yep, another farmer gone off the rails,' and that was that. Open and shut. I could see what they were thinking. Nothing but sheep and fields. You'd have to be half off your nut to live here in the first place. I could see it in their faces.”

“They sent a team down from Clyde?” Falk asked, slightly surprised. Clyde was the nearest big town with a fully stocked cop shop. “It wasn't the local guy? What's his name?”

“Sergeant Raco. No. He'd only been here a week or so. They sent someone over.”

“You've told this Raco bloke you've got concerns?”

Her defiant look answered his question.

“We're telling you,” she said.

Gerry put his glass down on the deck with a thud, and they both jumped.

“All right, I think we've said our piece,” he said. “It's been a long day. Let's give Aaron a chance to think things through. See what makes sense to him. Come on, mate, I'll see you out.”

Barb opened her mouth like she wanted to protest but closed it after a look from Gerry. She laid Charlotte down on a spare chair and pulled Falk into a damp embrace.

“Just think about it. Please.” Her breath was hot against his ear. He could smell alcohol on her breath. Barb sat back down and picked up Charlotte. She rocked briskly until the child finally opened her eyes with an irritated wail. Barb smiled for the first time as she smoothed Charlotte's hair and patted her back. Falk could hear her singing tunelessly as he followed Gerry down the hallway.

Gerry walked Falk right to his car.

“Barb's clutching at straws,” Gerry said. “She's got it into her head that this is all the work of some mythical debt enforcer. It's rubbish. Luke wasn't a fool with money. Having a tough time, like everyone else, yes. And he took the odd risk, but he was sensible enough. He'd never have got mixed up in that sort of thing. Anyway, Karen did all the accounts for the farm. She would've said. Would've told us if things were that bad.”

“So what do you think?”

“I think … I think he was under a lot of pressure. And as much as it hurts me, and I tell you, it kills me, I think what happened was exactly what it looks like. What I want to know is whether I share the blame.”

Falk leaned against his car. His head was pounding.

“How long have you known?” Falk said.

“That Luke was lying when he gave you an alibi? The whole time. So what's that, twenty-odd years? I saw Luke riding his bike alone on the day it happened. Nowhere near where you boys said you were. I know you weren't together.” He paused. “I've never told anyone that.”

“I didn't kill Ellie Deacon.”

Hidden somewhere in the dark, the cicadas screeched.

Gerry nodded, looking down at his feet. “Aaron, if I'd thought for a second that you had, I wouldn't have kept quiet. Why do you think I didn't say anything? It would have ruined your life. The suspicion would have followed you for
years
. Would they have let you join the police? Luke would have had the book thrown at him for lying. All that for what? The girl was still dead. Killed herself, realistically, and I know a fair few others thought so too. You boys had nothing to do with it.” Gerry struck the toe of his boot against the ground. “At least that's what I thought.”

“And now?”

“Now? Jesus. I don't know what to believe. I always thought Luke was lying to protect you. But now I've got a murdered daughter-in-law and grandchild, and my own dead son with his fingerprints all over his shotgun.”

Gerry ran a hand over his face.

“I loved Luke. I would defend him to the end. But I loved Karen and Billy as well. And Charlotte. I would have gone to my grave saying my son was incapable of something like this. But this voice keeps whispering,
Is that true? Are you sure?
So I'm asking you. Here. Now. Did Luke give that alibi to protect you, Aaron? Or was he lying to protect himself?”

“There was never any suggestion Luke was responsible for what happened to Ellie,” Falk said carefully.

“No,” Gerry said. “Not least because you alibied each other, though, eh? You and I both knew he was lying about that, and neither of us said anything. So my question is whether that puts the blood of my daughter-in-law and grandson on my hands.”

Gerry tilted his face, and his expression was lost in shadow.

“It's something to ask yourself before you go scurrying back to Melbourne. You and I both hid the truth. If I'm guilty, so are you.”

 

 

The country roads seemed even longer on the drive back to the pub. Falk flicked on his high beams, and they carved a cone of white light in the gloom. He felt like the only person for miles. Nothing ahead, nothing behind.

He felt the sickening thud under the wheels almost before he registered the small blur streaking across the road. A rabbit. There, then instantly gone. His heart was pounding. He tapped the brake automatically but was a thousand kilos and eighty kilometers an hour too late. No contest. The impact had come like a blow to the chest, and it nudged something loose in Falk's mind. A memory he hadn't thought of in years slid to the surface.

The rabbit was only a baby, shivering in Luke's hands. His fingernails were thick with grime. They often were. For Kiewarra's eight-year-olds, weekend entertainment was limited. They'd been running fast through the overgrown grass, racing to nowhere, when Luke had stopped dead. He bent down among the long stalks and a moment later stood, holding the tiny creature aloft. Aaron ran over to see. They'd stroked it, each telling the other not to press so hard.

“He likes me. He's mine,” Luke said. They argued about names all the way back to Luke's house.

They found a cardboard box to put it in and loomed over to examine their new pet. The rabbit quivered a little under their scrutiny but mainly lay still. Fear masquerading as acceptance.

Aaron ran inside to fetch a towel to line the cardboard. It took him longer than expected, and when he reemerged into the bright sun, Luke was still. He had one hand in the box. Luke's head snapped up as Aaron approached, and he snatched his hand out. Aaron walked over, uncertain of what he was seeing, but feeling the urge to delay the moment when he would look inside.

“It died,” Luke said. His mouth was a tight line. He didn't meet Aaron's gaze.

“How?”

“I don't know. It just did.”

Aaron asked a few more times but never got a different answer. The rabbit lay on its side, perfect but unmoving, its eyes black and vacant.

“Just think about it,” Barb had said as Falk had left their home. Instead, as he drove down those long country roads, the dead animal still fresh under his wheels, Falk couldn't stop thinking about Ellie Deacon and their teenage gang of four. And whether Ellie's dark eyes had looked as vacant after the water had finished filling her lungs.

4

The yellow police tape was still hanging in strips around the door of Luke Hadler's farmhouse. It caught the morning light as Falk parked next to the police car on a patch of dead grass out front. The sun was still some way from its peak position, but Falk's skin was already tingling from the heat as he got out of the car. He put his hat on and surveyed the house. He hadn't needed directions. He'd spent almost as much time at that house growing up as he had at his own.

Luke hadn't changed much about the place since he'd taken it over from his parents, Falk thought as he rang the bell. The chime echoed deep inside, and he was struck by the feeling of having traveled back in time. He felt such an uneasy certainty that a cocky sixteen-year-old would swing open the door that he almost took a step back.

Nothing moved. Windows shrouded by closed curtains gazed out like a pair of blinded eyes.

Falk had lain awake for most of the night thinking about what Gerry had said. In the morning he'd rung and told Gerry he could stay in town a day or two. Only until the weekend. It was Thursday. He was expected back at work on Monday. But in the meantime, he would go to Luke's farm. He would look at the financials for Barb. It was the least he could do. Gerry's tone made it clear he agreed. It was almost literally the least Falk could do.

Falk waited for a moment, then made his way around the side of the building. The sky loomed huge and blue over yellow fields. In the distance, a wire fence kept a shadowy tangle of bushland at bay. The property was very isolated, Falk noticed properly for the first time. It had always felt full of life when he was young. His own childhood home may only have been a short bike ride away, but it was completely invisible somewhere over the horizon. Looking around now, only one other house was in sight: a sprawling gray building hunched on the side of a distant hill.

Ellie's house.

Falk wondered if her father and cousin still lived up there, and instinctively turned his head away. He wandered through the yard until he found Sergeant Greg Raco in the biggest of three barns.

The officer was on his hands and knees in the corner, rummaging through a pile of old boxes. A redback, nestled still and shiny in her web, was ignoring the activity two meters away from her. Falk rapped on the metal door, and Raco twisted around, his face streaked with dust and sweat.

“Jesus, you gave me a start. Didn't hear anyone coming.”

“Sorry. Aaron Falk. I'm a friend of the Hadlers'. Your receptionist said you were here.” He pointed to the redback. “You see that, by the way?”

“Yeah. Thanks. There are a couple around.”

Raco stood and pulled off his work gloves. He attempted to brush the grime off his navy uniform trousers but gave up, as it made things worse. His neatly pressed shirt had sweat rings under the arms. He was shorter than Falk and built like a boxer, with curls cut close to his scalp. His skin was Mediterranean olive, but his accent was pure country Australian. He had a lift to his eyes that made him look like he was smiling even when he wasn't. Falk knew, because he wasn't smiling now.

“Gerry Hadler called and said something about you stopping by,” Raco said. “Sorry to do this, mate, but you got some ID? Had a few nut jobs prowling around. Sight-seeing or something, I don't know.”

Up close, he was older than Falk had first thought. Maybe thirty. Falk noticed the sergeant discreetly check him over. Open yet cautious. Fair enough. Falk handed over his driver's license. Raco took it like he'd been expecting something else.