The Dry (14 page)

He fought the sudden urge to pick it up and find a rubbish bin. To paint the wood. Fix the steps. Instead, he stayed where he was. The windows were all unlit but one, which glowed with a television blue.

Falk felt a sharp pang of longing for what might have been. He could see his father standing at the screen door in the evenings, a tall figure framed with the glow of light from the house. Calling him to leave his games and come in. Time for dinner, Aaron. Bath, bed. In you come, son. Time to come home. His dad rarely spoke of Aaron's mother, but when Aaron was younger he'd like to pretend he could feel her in the house. He had run his fingers over things he knew she would have touched—the kitchen taps, the bathroom fittings, the curtains—and imagined her in the same spot.

They'd been happy there once, Falk knew. He and his father, at least. Looking at the house now, it was like a line in his life. A marker at the cusp of before and after. A surge of anger fizzed, directed at least partly at himself. He didn't know why he'd come. He took a step back. It was just another building in need of repair. There was nothing of him or his dad left there.

He was turning to leave when the screen door screeched open. A woman stepped out, her squashy figure backlit by the television glow. Dull chestnut hair was scraped back in a limp ponytail, and her hips spilled over the top of her waistband. Her face was the purple-red of a woman whose drinking was crossing the line from social to serious. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, staring at Falk in cold-eyed silence.

“Help you, mate?” She exhaled, her eyes narrowing into slits as the smoke drifted across her face.

“No, I—” He stopped, mentally kicking himself. He should have thought of something. Some excuse for lurking outside a stranger's door as night fell. He studied her expression. There was suspicion, but not recognition. She didn't know who he was. That helped. He considered and rejected telling her the truth in a single moment. He could always flash the badge. He would if he had to. But Falk the cop was embarrassed to find himself there.

“Sorry,” he said. “I used to know the people who lived here.”

The woman said nothing, took another drag from the cigarette. With her spare hand she reached behind and thoughtfully plucked the seat of her shorts from between her buttocks. She never took her narrowed eyes off Falk.

“Me and my hubby are the only ones here. Been here five years. And the place was his mum's for fifteen or so before that.”

“It's been about that long,” Falk said. “The people before her.”

“They're gone,” she said, with the tone of someone forced to state the obvious. She dabbed her index finger and thumb to her tongue and removed a piece of tobacco.

“I know.”

“So?”

It was a good question. Falk wasn't sure of the answer himself. The woman twisted around at a noise from inside the house. She opened the screen door wide enough to poke her head back indoors.

“Yeah, love,” Falk heard her say. “I'm sorting it. It's fine. No one. Go back in. No, just—go back in, will you?” The woman waited a moment then reemerged, red-faced and scowling. She turned back to Falk and stepped off the porch toward him. Stopped a few meters away.

“You'd better leave right now, if you know what's good for you.” Her voice was quiet but hostile. “He's had a few, and he's not going to be happy if he has to come out here, right? We've got bugger all to do with any of that stuff that happened back then. Understand? Never have. His mum neither. So you can take your bloody press pass or spray paint or bag of dog shit or whatever you're here for and piss off, all right?”

“Look, I'm sorry.” Falk took a big step back, showed her his palms. Unthreatening. “I didn't mean to upset you. Either of you.”

“Yeah, well, you have. This is our home, right? Bought and paid for. And I'm buggered if we're going to be harassed. It's been twenty years. Aren't you dickheads bored of it by now?”

“Look, fair enough. I'll go—”

She took a single step forward, pointed to the house with one hand and held out her cell phone with the other.

“Too right you will. Or it won't be the cops I'll be calling. It'll be him inside and some of his mates who'll be all too happy to get the message across. You hear me? Get. Lost.” She took a deep breath, her voice louder now. “And you can share that with whoever needs to know. We've got nothing to do with them that lived here. Nothing to do with those freaks.”

The word seemed to echo across the fields. Falk stood frozen for a moment. Then without a reply, he turned and walked away.

He didn't look back once.

16

Gretchen's blond hair bobbed through the pub crowd, and Falk felt a swift stab of gratitude that he hadn't given in to his urge to cancel.

Leaving his old house behind the night before, he'd walked straight to his car and stood there for a long time, fighting the temptation to drive all the way back to Melbourne. After a restless night, he'd spent the day holed up in his room, poring over the stack of documents he'd taken from the Hadlers' farm. It had been a fairly fruitless search, but he'd continued to work through methodically, making the odd note when something caught his eye. Head down, get the job done. Emerging briefly only to get food, he'd ignored the weekend bustle on the street and, after a moment's guilt, turned his phone to silent when Gerry had called. Falk would do what he'd promised. That didn't mean he wanted to talk about it.

Now, downstairs in the pub, for the first time all day he didn't feel in quite such a hurry to get away. Gretchen found him sitting at a table tucked into the back corner, his hat pulled forward. She was back in black, but a dress this time. It was short with a hem that skimmed her bare legs as she walked. It suited her far better than her funeral clothes. A few heads among the Saturday night crowd turned as she passed. Not as many as in high school, Falk noted, but some.

“You look nice,” he said.

Gretchen seemed pleased and gave him a peck on the cheek as he stood up to get the drinks. She smelled good. Something flowery.

“Thanks. So do you. I like the shirt. Very cutting-edge Kiewarra.” She nodded at his recent purchase, and he grinned. She edged into the corner seat. “Was this the only table left, or are you hiding?”

“Hiding. Sort of.” Falk smiled despite himself. “I went back to my old house last night.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And?”

“It wasn't quite what I expected.”

“It never is.”

He went to the counter and let the bearded barman pour him an overpriced beer and slightly suspect white wine. When he returned, Gretchen lifted her glass.

“Cheers. Remember when we couldn't wait to be able to get served in here? All those nights in the park downing whatever we could get our hands on.” She widened her blue eyes in mock disbelief as she gestured at their surroundings. “Now look at us. Living the dream.”

Falk laughed, and their eyes met as they thought back. Falk knew Gretchen's glossy-lipped, long-limbed teenage years gave her a deeper well of youthful joy to draw on than most. But looking at her now in her dress, he was struck by the thought that those years, before Ellie died and before everything changed, may have been her happiest. He hoped not. He hoped she'd had more. He frowned involuntarily, and the moment was lost.

Gretchen leaned in. “Listen, you should know. The cat's definitely out of the bag. It's all round town that you're nosing around what happened to the Hadlers. You and the sergeant.”

“It's nothing official.”

“And you think that matters?”

Falk nodded. Fair point. “What's the general feeling?”

“It depends who you ask. Some people think it couldn't come soon enough. Others are pretty sure you of all people should be minding your own business.” She lowered her voice. “And everyone's shitting themselves about what it means if someone else killed them.”

Falk felt a pang of guilt at the string of missed calls from Gerry Hadler on his phone. He resolved to call him first thing in the morning.

“What do you think about it?” Falk asked, curious.

“I think you should be careful.” She fiddled with the stem of her wineglass. “Don't get me wrong, I'd love to know Luke didn't do it.”

“You think he did?”

She frowned. Thought before answering. “I don't know. I couldn't believe it when I heard the news. But it was more disbelief that something like that had happened at all. From what we were all hearing, it seemed pretty clear-cut. I didn't really stop to think whether or not Luke had actually been responsible, you know?”

“Neither did most people. Neither did I.”

She gave a twisted little smile. “I wouldn't say this to anyone but you, but that's partly Luke's own fault for being such an arsehole.”

The fields below them glowed silver in the moonlight, the occasional farmhouse standing out like a smudge on the land. The foursome sat on the edge of the rocky outcrop, dangling their feet over the edge. Luke had been the first one to climb over the fence, kicking the Keep Out sign with his foot as he did. He deliberately hadn't shaved for a few days, Aaron noted with annoyance, and had a dusting of stubble shading his chin. It was more visible in the moonlight as he stood near the rocky edge and stretched his arms out wide, surveying the view.

Aaron had felt his stomach flip at the sight of the unguarded drop but hoisted himself over the fence without a glance at the others. Ellie was right behind him. Luke made a big show of putting his arm out to help Gretchen. She didn't need it, but she took it with a smile. Now they sat talking and laughing, their insides warm from the half-empty bottle they were passing around. Only Ellie shook her head when the bottle came her way. They took it in turns daring each other to lean forward and stare over the precipice. Full of bluster and bullshit. Scary but not scared.

Falk raised his eyebrows a fraction, but didn't disagree. “There's a big gap between arsehole and murderer,” he said. Gretchen nodded.

“And listen, I'm not saying he did it. But was he capable of it?” Gretchen glanced around the room, as though Luke might materialize and overhear her. “That's a completely different question.”

Luke had his arm around Gretchen's waist, Aaron could see out of the corner of his eye. Luke leaned in to murmur something, and Gretchen glanced down coyly, her eyelashes casting blue shadows on her cheeks.

Aaron could feel Ellie next to him, but didn't move. It was the first time he'd seen her properly since their kiss a week earlier at the rock tree, and he still felt on shaky ground. She'd said she'd been working every night. He'd allowed himself to go to the shop only once. She'd waved from behind the register, but it wasn't a place they could talk.

On the walk up to the lookout he'd hung back, hoping to engineer a few minutes alone with her, but Luke had stuck maddeningly by his side. Ellie gave no sign she was thinking about what had happened at the tree. By the time they'd reached the hill, Aaron was starting to feel he'd imagined the whole thing.

They'd trudged up the trail, Aaron half listening as Luke loudly told some story. Suddenly Ellie looked across and caught his gaze over Luke's head. She rolled her eyes with exaggerated suffering. Then smiled. A pure, knowing, secret smile meant just for him.

Buoyed now by the memory, Aaron shifted, looking to move a little closer. He turned but stopped short, the movement frozen before it had begun. The light was poor, up there on the lookout, but it was bright enough for Aaron to see some things clearly. Among them, Ellie's eyes, and the way they were focused on Luke Hadler as he whispered in Gretchen's ear.

“Luke could be so selfish sometimes,” Gretchen said. She ran a finger through a condensation ring on the table, ruining it. “He would put himself first, second, and third and not even realize it. Didn't he? It wasn't just me?” She looked gratified when Falk nodded.

“Sorry,” she said. “I'm having trouble separating the Luke I knew from what people are saying. The Luke I thought I knew, anyway.”

“I always thought Luke was pretty straightforward when we were younger,” Falk said. “He was very open, said what he thought. You might not have always liked it, but at least you knew where you were with him.”

“And now?”

“I don't know. His bravado drove me nuts, but underneath that I always felt he was one of the good guys.”

“Well. Let's hope so.” Gretchen rolled her eyes. “I'd hate to think he wasn't worth it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing.” She looked embarrassed. “Stupid stuff. I just meant becoming friends with him in the first place. And you and Ellie. It changed a lot for me. Kids I wouldn't give the time of day to started shunning me after Ellie died. Like I was tainted by association. But they were dumb teenage problems compared with everything else. Nothing worth worrying about.”

She couldn't completely disguise the wistful note in her voice. Falk thought about her wide social circles that had seemed to shrink when she'd become a firm member of their ill-fated foursome. It occurred to him for the first time that without him and without Ellie, golden-haired Gretchen may in fact have found herself lonely. He'd never considered the possibility before. He stretched out his hand and touched her arm.

“I'm sorry I wasn't better at keeping in touch. It wasn't that I didn't care; it was just—” He stopped. “I didn't think. I should have made the effort.”

Gretchen gave a small smile. “Forget it. I was no better. I blame age and hormones. We were all stupid back then.”

Luke stood and gave an exaggerated stretch. “Going for a piss,” he announced. His teeth glowed white in the shadows. “Don't get into trouble while I'm gone.”