The Dry (Aaron Falk #1)(59)

“If you were there, Grant, we’ll prove it.”

He smirked. “See you bloody try.”





24


“You’re lucky we still have the footage. It usually gets deleted after a month.”

Scott Whitlam scrolled through the files on his computer until he found what he was looking for. The principal leaned back so Falk and Raco could see the screen. They were in his office, the sounds of the Monday afternoon school bustle drifting through the door.

“OK, here we are. This is the view from the camera at the main entrance,” Whitlam said. He clicked the mouse, and CCTV footage started to play on-screen. The camera appeared to be mounted above the large school doors, trained down on the steps to capture any approaching visitor. “Sorry, it’s not great quality.”

“No worries. It’s better than what we got from the Hadlers’ place,” Raco said.

“Cameras are only as much use as what they capture, anyway,” Falk said. “What else have you got here?”

Whitlam clicked again, and the view changed. “The other camera’s over the staff parking lot.” Again taken from a high vantage point, this footage showed a fuzzy row of cars.

“Those are the only two cameras in the school?” Raco asked.

“Yeah, I’m afraid so.” Whitlam rubbed his thumb and index finger together in the universal symbol for money. “We’d have more if we could afford more.”

“Can we find Karen on her last day?” Falk said, although it wasn’t primarily Karen they were looking for. It was Grant Dow. True to their word, Falk and Raco had spent several hours grilling Dow’s mates over his alibi. They had backed him up to the hilt. It was nothing less than Falk expected, but it still pissed him off.

Whitlam enlarged the parking lot image so it filled the screen. “Karen usually drove in, so she’d probably be on this camera.”

He found the right recording and jumped through the timeline to the end of the school day. They watched the silent footage as pupils walked by in twos and threes, giggling and gossiping, set free for another day. A slim bald man walked into the frame. He went to one of the cars and opened the trunk. He rummaged for a moment before retrieving a bulky bag. He heaved it over his shoulder and walked back off screen in the direction he’d come.

“The caretaker,” Whitlam said.

“What’s in the bag?”

Whitlam shook his head. “I know he has his own set of tools. I’d say it was that, at a guess.”

“He worked here long?” Falk asked.

“About five years, I think. For what it’s worth, he seems like a good guy.”

Falk didn’t reply. They watched for another ten minutes until the trickle of pupils had all but dried up and the parking lot was quiet. Just as Falk was losing hope, Karen appeared.

Falk’s breath caught in his throat. She had been beautiful in life, this dead woman. He watched as she strode across the screen, her pale hair blowing back off her face. The low-quality recording made it impossible to read her expression. She wasn’t tall but had the posture of a dancer as she walked briskly through the parking lot, pushing Charlotte in a stroller from the direction of the day care.

Three steps behind her, Billy came into view. Falk felt a chill at the sight of the stocky dark-haired child who looked so much like his father. Next to him, Raco shifted his weight and cleared his throat. Raco had seen firsthand what horror was waiting for the boy.

Billy was pottering, fully engrossed in some toy clutched in his hand. Karen turned and silently called to him over her shoulder, and he ran to catch up. She bundled both children into her car, fastening them in, shutting the door. She moved fast, efficiently. Was she rushing? Falk wasn’t sure.

On-screen, Karen straightened and stood completely still for a moment, one hand on the car roof, her back to the camera. Her head tilted forward a fraction, and she brought a hand to her face. Made one small movement with her fingers. Then another.

“Jesus, is she crying?” Falk said. “Rewind that bit, quick.”

No one spoke as they watched it again. Then a third time, and a fourth. Head down, two small flicks of her hand.

“I can’t tell,” Raco said. “It looks a bit like she could be. But she could as easily be scratching her nose.”

They let the tape run on this time. Karen lifted her head, took what could have been a deep breath, then opened the driver’s door and climbed in. She reversed out of the space and was gone. The parking lot was empty again. The time stamp on the tape showed she and her son had less than eighty minutes to live.

They stared at the footage, skipping over long stretches during which no one came or went. The school receptionist emerged ten minutes after Karen, then nothing happened for about forty minutes. Eventually, the teachers started heading to their cars one by one. Whitlam identified each as they appeared. The caretaker returned, put his bag back in the trunk, and drove away just after 4:30 P.M.

Eventually, Whitlam’s car was the only one left in the lot. They sped ahead on the tape. Shortly after 7:00 P.M., Whitlam himself appeared on-screen. He was walking slowly, his head down and his broad shoulders slumped forward. In the seat next to Falk, the principal exhaled. His jaw was clenched tight as he watched the footage.

“It’s hard to look at this,” he said. “By then, the Clyde cops had called to tell me Billy and Karen were dead.”