The Dry (Aaron Falk #1)(15)

“I thought you told the Hadlers you would.”

Falk rubbed the bridge of his nose. The slot machines behind him clanged more loudly. He felt like the noise was inside his head.

“For a couple of days. That means one or two. Not for the duration of an investigation. An unofficial one at that. I’ve got a job to get back to.”

“Fine.” Raco spoke like it was obvious. “Stay for the couple of days, then. It doesn’t have to be anything on the books. Do what you said you’d do on the money side. As soon as we get something solid, I’ll go to Clyde.”

Falk said nothing. He thought about the two boxes of bank statements and documents he’d taken from the Hadlers’ place that were now sitting upstairs on his bed.

Luke lied. You lied.

He picked up their empty glasses and took them back to the bar.

“Same again?” The barman hauled his bulk off a stool and put his newspaper down. He was the only person Falk had seen working in the place since yesterday.

“Listen,” Falk said as he watched a clean glass put under the tap. “That room I’m in. Likely to be available a bit longer?”

“Depends.” The barman set one beer on the counter. “I’ve been hearing one or two whispers about you, my friend.”

“Have you.”

“I have. And while I welcome the business, I don’t welcome trouble, see? Tricky enough running this place as is.”

“The trouble won’t come from me.”

“Just comes with you?”

“Not much I can do about that. You know I’m police, though?”

“I did hear that, indeed. But out here in the sticks at midnight with a few boozed-up fellas looking for trouble, those badges mean less than they should, you get me?”

“Fine. Well. Up to you.” He wasn’t going to beg.

The barman put the second glass on the counter with a half smile.

“It’s all right, mate. You can untwist your knickers. Your money’s as good as the next man’s, and that’s good enough for me.”

He gave Falk his change and picked up the newspaper. He appeared to be doing the cryptic crossword. “Take it as a friendly warning, though. They can be a funny lot around here. You find yourself in hot water, there’s not always a lot of help at hand.” He eyeballed Falk. “Although from what I hear, you don’t need telling about that.”

Falk took both glasses back to the table. Raco was staring moodily at a soggy beer mat.

“You can lose the look,” Falk said. “You’d better fill me in on the rest.”

Raco sat up straighter and slid the folder across the table.

“I’ve pulled this together from all the stuff I’ve got access to,” he said.

Falk glanced around the pub. It was still half-empty. No one nearby. He flipped it open. The first page had a photo of Luke’s truck taken from a distance. A pool of blood had collected by the back wheels. He closed the file.

“Just give me the highlights for now. What do we know about the courier who found them?”

“He’s looking as clean as you’d want to be. Works for an established delivery firm. Has been for two years. He was delivering recipe books Karen had ordered online—that checks out. He was running late, last delivery of the day. First time he’d made a delivery to Kiewarra. Says he rocked up, saw Karen lying in the doorway, chucked up his lunch into the flower bed, and jumped back in his van. Made the emergency call from the main road.”

“He left Charlotte in the house?”

“Reckons he didn’t hear her.” Raco shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t. She’d been alone for a while. Might have cried herself out by then.”

Falk turned to the first page of the file. Kept it open this time. He’d always assumed Luke had been found in the truck’s driver’s seat, but the images showed his body flat on its back in the cargo tray. The tailgate was open, and Luke’s legs dangled over as though he’d been sitting on the edge. A shotgun by his side pointed toward the mess where his head would have been. His face was completely missing.

“You right?” Raco was watching him closely.

“Yeah.” Falk took a long drink from his beer. The blood had spread across the bottom of the cargo tray, settling in the metal ridges.

“Forensics find anything useful in the tray?” Falk asked.

Raco checked his notes.

“Other than lots of blood—all Luke’s—nothing particular noted,” he said. “I’m not sure how well they looked, though. They had the weapon. It was a working vehicle. He had all sorts of stuff in the back.”

Falk looked again at the photo, concentrating on the area around the body. Barely visible along the left interior side of the tray were four faint horizontal streaks. They looked fresh. Light brown against the dusty white paintwork, the longest was maybe thirty centimeters, the shortest about half that. They were in pairs of two, each pair about a meter apart horizontally. The placement wasn’t particularly uniform. The right-hand streaks were dead straight; those on the left had a slight angle.

“What are these?” Falk pointed, and Raco leaned in.

“I’m not sure. Like I said, truck would’ve carried all sorts.”

“The truck still here?”