The Dry (Aaron Falk #1)(46)

Falk nodded. It had felt like Ellie’s picture had stared blank-eyed and pixelated from newspaper pages for days. Some shops had put it up as a makeshift poster, collecting money for the funeral expenses.

“For twenty years I’ve lived in fear of that driver coming out of the woodwork. Knocking on the door of the police station and saying they saw Luke that day,” Gerry said.

“Maybe they really didn’t see him.”

“Maybe.” Gerry looked at his son’s farmhouse. “Or maybe when they finally decided to knock, it wasn’t on the police station door.”





19


Falk sat in his car by the side of the road, thinking about what Gerry had said. White trucks were ten a penny in Kiewarra, both then and now. It could be nothing. If someone saw Luke coming from the direction of the river that day, Falk thought, why wouldn’t they have said so at the time? Who would benefit from keeping the secret for twenty years?

One thought nagged at him like an itch. If the driver of the truck had seen Luke, was it not possible Luke had also seen the driver? Perhaps—the idea grew, demanding attention—perhaps it was the other way around. Maybe it was Luke who had kept someone else’s secret. And maybe, for whatever reason, Luke had finally had enough.

Falk stared unseeingly at the bleak landscape as he turned the idea back and forth in his mind. Eventually, he sighed and pulled out his phone. He heard a rustle of papers down the line when Raco answered.

“Are you at the station?” Falk asked. It was a beautiful Sunday outside. He wondered what Raco’s wife would make of that.

“Yeah.” A sigh. “Going through some of the Hadler paperwork. For all the good it’s doing. You?”

Falk filled him in on what Gerry had said.

“Right.” Raco breathed out. “What do you reckon?”

“I don’t know. It could be something. Could also be nothing. Will you be there for a bit longer?”

“I’m sorry to say I’ll be here for a lot longer.”

“I’ll head in.”

Falk had barely put down his phone when it buzzed again. He opened the text, and his frown morphed into a small smile when he saw who it was.

Busy? Gretchen had written. Hungry? Having lunch with Lachie in Centenary Park.

Falk thought of Raco, flat out trawling through reports at the station, and of the coffee churning in his stomach since leaving the Hadlers’ place. He thought about Gretchen’s smile when she’d left him standing under the stars outside the pub. That dress must be all for you, you dickhead.

On my way, he texted. Thought for a moment. Can’t stay too long, though. It didn’t really assuage the guilt. He didn’t really care.




Centenary Park was the first place Falk had seen in Kiewarra that looked like it had had some dollars thrown behind it. The flower beds were new and had been carefully planted with attractive drought-friendly cacti, giving the park a lushness Falk felt he hadn’t seen in weeks.

The bench they’d spent so many Saturday nights on was gone, he noticed with a pang of regret. Instead, elaborate play equipment shone in glossy primary colors. It was crawling with children, and every one of the picnic tables bordering the edge was taken. Strollers jostled for space with coolers as parents chatted, breaking off only to alternately berate and feed their offspring.

Falk saw Gretchen before she saw him, and he stopped, watching for a moment. She was alone at a table on the fringe, sitting on a picnic bench with her long legs stretched out in front of her and her elbows resting on the tabletop behind. Her fair hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head, topped by sunglasses. She was watching the activity on the play equipment with an amused look on her face. Falk felt the warm bloom of familiarity. In the sunlight, in the distance, she could almost have been sixteen again.

Gretchen must have felt his eyes on her because she suddenly looked up. She smiled and raised a hand, and he headed over. She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and an open Tupperware container.

“Have a sandwich. Lachie’ll never get through them.”

He selected a ham one, and they sat side by side on the bench. She stretched out her legs again, her thigh warm against his. She had thongs on her feet, and her toenails were a shiny pink.

“Well, this is absolutely nothing like I remember. It’s amazing,” Falk said, watching the kids scrambling over the equipment. “Where did the money come from for all this?”

“I know. It was a rural charity thing. We got lucky a couple of years ago from some rich do-gooders’ fund. I shouldn’t make fun. It’s brilliant really. Nicest place in town now. And it’s always packed. The kids love it. Even if I was heartbroken to see our old bench go.” She smiled as they watched a toddler bury his friend in the sandpit. “But it’s great for the little ones. God knows, they haven’t got much else going for them round here.”

Falk pictured the peeling paint and lone basketball hoop in the school playground. “Makes up for the school, I guess. That was more run-down than I remembered.”

“Yeah. Another thing you can thank the drought for.” Gretchen opened a bottle of water and took a sip. She tilted it toward him the same way she used to offer vodka. Easy intimacy. He took it. “There’s no community money,” she said. “Everything this town gets from the government goes toward farming subsidies, so there’s nothing left for the kids. But we’re lucky to have Scott as the principal over there. At least he actually seems to give a toss. But there’s only so much you can do with an empty bank balance. There’s no way we can ask the parents for any more.”