The Dry (Aaron Falk #1)(11)

“What are you looking for in there?”

“Nice try, mate, but you said it yourself—you’re here in a personal capacity,” Raco said. “Bank statements’ll be in the house. Come on. I’ll show you the study.”

“It’s all right.” Falk took a step back. “I know where it is. Thanks.”

As he turned to leave, he saw Raco’s eyebrows lift. If the guy had been expecting a fight over territory, Falk thought, he wasn’t going to find one here. Still, he had to admire the man’s dedication. It was early, but it looked like Raco had been up to his elbows for hours.

Falk started toward the house. Stopped. Thought for a moment. Barb Hadler may have her doubts, but Raco seemed like a cop who took things seriously. Falk turned back.

“Listen,” he said. “I don’t know how much Gerry told you, but I know when I’m in charge, it’s a hell of a lot easier when I know what’s going on. Less margin for a stuff-up.”

Raco listened in silence as Falk told him Barb’s theory of money troubles and debts being called in.

“You think there’s anything in it?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure there’ll be money problems. You can tell that by looking around. Whether that means someone other than Luke pulled the trigger is another question.”

Raco nodded slowly.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No worries. I’ll be in the study.”

Falk was barely halfway across the scorched yard when Raco called out.

“Hey. Wait a sec.” The sergeant wiped his face with his forearm and squinted against the sun. “You were good friends with Luke, yeah?”

“Long time ago.”

“Say Luke wanted to hide something. Smallish. Any idea where he’d stash it?”

Falk thought for a moment—realized he didn’t really need to think about it.

“Maybe. What sort of thing?”

“We find it, I’ll show you.”




The last time Falk had lain on that particular patch of ground, the grass had been fresh and green. Now he could feel the yellow scrub scratching his stomach through his shirt.

He’d led Raco around to the far side of the house, testing the weatherboards with his foot. When he found the one he was looking for, he lay down and slid a stick under the bottom of the panel. It creaked a little under the strain, then gave way easily, coming loose in his hand.

Falk looked up at Raco standing over him.

“In there?” Raco asked, pulling on his heavy-duty gloves. “What did he used to hide?”

“Anything really. Toys and junk food when we were kids. Booze a bit later. Nothing too exciting. The usual stuff kids don’t want parents to see.”

Raco knelt down. He thrust his arm into the gap up to the elbow and scrabbled around, feeling blindly. He withdrew it, clutching a handful of dried leaves and an old packet of cigarettes. He dumped them on the ground by his knees and went back in. This time he pulled out the remains of a soft porn magazine. It was curled and yellowed at the edges, and something had eaten holes through the important bits. He tossed it aside in irritation and tried again, pushing his arm in as far as it would go. Reluctantly, he came out empty-handed. Nothing.

“Here.” Falk gestured for the gloves. “I’ll have a go.”

He and Luke had never used to use gloves, Falk thought, as he thrust his hand into the dead space. Anything lurking under a house was no match for the immortality of kids and teenagers. He fumbled around, feeling nothing but flat earth.

“Give me a clue what I’m looking for,” he grunted.

“A box probably. Or some sort of packaging.”

Falk groped about, pushing his arm in as far as it would go. The hiding spot was empty. He pulled his hand out.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s been a while.”

Raco’s knees clicked as he stood from his crouched position. He opened the battered cigarette packet. Took one out, looked at it longingly, then slowly slid it back in. Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

“It’s the shots,” Raco said finally. “From the shotgun that killed the Hadlers. They don’t match.”

“Don’t match what?”

“The brand Luke Hadler used. Used for years as far as I can tell. The three shots fired that killed him and his family were Remington. The only ammunition I can find on this entire property is Winchester.”

“Winchester.”

“Yep. I noticed when the inventory came through from Clyde, and it’s been picking at me ever since,” Raco said. “So that’s it. A box of Remington shots, and I’d be a happier man.”

Falk pulled off the gloves. His hands were clammy.

“Clyde couldn’t send over a couple of bodies to help you do a property search?”

Raco looked away, fiddled with the cigarette packet in his hands. “Yeah. I don’t know. Probably could.”

“Right.” Falk suppressed a smile. Raco may be sporting the uniform and talking the talk, but Falk had been around long enough to know off-the-books probing when he saw it.

“Maybe Luke picked up a few odd spares somewhere,” Falk suggested.

“Yeah, definitely could have,” Raco said.

“Or the shots were the last in the box and he threw away the package.”