The Dry (Aaron Falk #1)(22)

Rabbits, Sullivan told them. That was the problem. One of them, at least. Hard enough to get through the drought without them attacking everything worth eating. He’d been complaining in the Fleece the night before, and Luke had offered to give him a hand.

“Anyone hear you making the arrangements?” Falk said.

“Probably. I don’t remember specifically. But it was pretty busy. Anyone could’ve heard if they’d bothered listening.”

Luke Hadler pulled up at the entrance to the field and climbed out of his truck. He was five minutes early, but Jamie Sullivan was already there. They each raised a hand in greeting. Luke reached into the cargo tray for his shotgun and took the ammunition Sullivan handed him.

“Come on, let’s get these bastard bunnies of yours,” Luke said, flashing his teeth.

“You supplied the ammo?” Raco asked. “What kind?”

“Winchester. Why?”

Raco caught Falk’s eye. Not the missing Remingtons, then.

“Did Luke bring any of his own?”

“I don’t think so. My bunnies, my bullets, was my way of thinking. Why?”

“Just checking. How did Luke seem to you?”

“I don’t know really. I’ve gone over that in my head a lot since then. But I suppose I’d have to say that he seemed fine. Normal.” Sullivan thought for a minute. “By the time he left, at least.”

Luke’s first few shots were poor, and Sullivan glanced over. Luke was chewing on the skin around his thumb. Sullivan said nothing. Luke shot again. Missed.

“All right, mate?” Sullivan said reluctantly. He and Luke tended to confide in each other as much as Sullivan did with any of his friends, which was to say hardly at all. On the other hand, he didn’t have all day to get these rabbits dealt with. The sun bored down on their backs.

“Fine.” Luke shook his head, distracted. “You?”

“Yeah, same.” Sullivan hesitated. He could easily leave it there. Luke shot and missed again. Sullivan decided to try to meet the man halfway.

“My gran’s getting a bit on the frail side these days,” Sullivan said. “Can be a handful.”

“She OK?” Luke said without taking his eyes off the rabbit warren.

“Yeah. It’s just a bit tricky looking after her sometimes.”

Luke nodded vaguely, and Sullivan realized he was only half listening.

“That’s bloody women for you,” Luke said. “At least yours can’t run around carrying on about God knows what anymore.”

Sullivan, who had never once in his life considered his gran to be in the same category as “women,” struggled to think of a response.

“No. I suppose not,” he said. He felt they had somehow strayed into uncharted waters. “Everything OK with Karen?”

“Oh. Yeah. No worries.” Luke leveled his gun, pulled the trigger. Better this time. “You know. Karen’s Karen. Always something happening.” He took a breath as if to say something else, then stopped. Changed his mind.

Sullivan fidgeted. Definitely uncharted waters. “Right.”

He tried to think of something else to add, but his mind was blank. He glanced over at Luke, who had lowered his gun and was watching him. Their eyes met for a moment. The atmosphere had become decidedly uncomfortable. Both men turned back to the warren.

“‘Always something happening’?” Raco said. “What did he mean by that?”

Sullivan looked at the table miserably. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I should’ve asked, shouldn’t I?”

Yes, Falk thought. “No,” he said. “It probably wouldn’t have made a difference.” He didn’t know whether that was true. “Did Luke say anything else about it?”

Sullivan shook his head. “No. We got back onto the weather. Like always.”

An hour later, Luke stretched.

“I think that’s made a dent in them.” He checked his watch. “Better make a move.” He handed the spare ammunition back to Sullivan. They walked together back to the truck, any earlier tension now dissolved.

“Quick beer?” Sullivan took off his hat and wiped his face with his forearm.

“No, I should get home. Things to do, you know.”

“Right. Thanks for your help.”

“No worries.” Luke shrugged. “Finally got my eye in, at least.”

He put his unloaded gun in the footwell of the passenger seat and climbed in. Now that he’d made up his mind to go, he seemed in a hurry to leave. He rolled down the window and gave a short wave as he pulled away.

Sullivan stood alone in the empty field and watched the silver truck disappear.

They mulled the scenario over in silence. By the window, Mrs. Sullivan’s teacup rattled against the saucer as she placed it down on a pile of novels. She glared at it.

“What happened then?” Raco said.

“A while later the Clyde police rang, looking for Luke,” Sullivan said. “I told them he’d left a couple of hours earlier. The news was everywhere about five minutes after that, though.”

“What time was that?”

“Probably about six thirty, I reckon.”

“You were here?”

“Yeah.”

“And before that, when Luke left, you did what?”