The Dry (Aaron Falk #1)(61)

“At least we have some idea where he was now,” Falk said. “He could have gotten from here to the Hadlers’ place in the time frame, couldn’t he?”

“Yeah, no problem at all.”

Falk leaned against the wall and tilted his head back. The bricks had soaked in the heat of the day. He felt exhausted. His eyes were gritty when he closed them.

“So we’ve got Jamie Sullivan, who claims to be Luke’s great mate, lying about where he was and caught sneaking around on camera an hour before his friend was shot dead,” Raco said. “Then we’ve got Grant Dow, who admits he couldn’t stand Luke, alibied to the back teeth while at the same time his name is in a dead woman’s handwriting.”

Falk opened an eye and looked at Raco.

“Don’t forget the driver of the mysterious white truck who may or may not have seen Luke Hadler cycling away from the river at the crossroads twenty years ago,” he said.

“And that.”

They stood in silence for a long while, staring up the alleyway as though the answer might be graffitied there.

“Stuff it,” Falk said, pushing himself away from the wall and standing straight. It was an effort. “Let’s work through methodically. First we drag Sullivan in again and ask him what the hell he was doing on camera in a back alleyway. I’ve had it up to here with that bloke messing us around.”

“Now?” Raco’s eyes were red-rimmed. He looked as tired as Falk felt.

“Tomorrow.”




As they cut through a narrow passageway back to the main road, Raco’s phone rang. He paused on the pavement and dug it out.

“It’s my wife. Sorry, I’d better take it.” He put it to his ear. “Hello, my beauty.” They’d stopped outside the convenience store. Falk jerked his head toward the shop and mimed a drinking gesture. Raco nodded gratefully.

Inside, the shop was cool and quiet. It was technically the same store Ellie had worked in, spending her evenings punching the price of milk and cigarettes into the register. They’d put up posters of her face in the window after her body was found, collecting for a funeral wreath.

The layout had changed so much since then it was almost unrecognizable. But Falk still remembered coming to chat with her behind the counter, as often as he could find an excuse to. Spending his money on things he didn’t want or need.

The shop’s ancient fridges had been replaced at some point by open chillers, and Falk now lingered beside them, feeling some of the fieriness evaporate from his skin. His core remained uncomfortably high, like the hint of a lingering fever. Eventually, he picked up two bottles of water and selected a slightly curled ham-and-cheese sandwich and a plastic-sealed muffin for dinner.

Falk turned to take his purchases to the counter and groaned silently when he realized he once again recognized the face behind the register. He hadn’t seen the shopkeeper since they were both stuck behind desks in the same sweltering classrooms.

The guy had less hair now, but his heavy features were still familiar. He’d been one of those kids who was slow on the uptake and quick to anger, Falk remembered as he cast about desperately for his name. He suspected, with a flash of guilt, he’d been the punchline of Luke’s jokes from time to time, and Falk had never troubled himself to intervene. He forced a smile onto his face now as he walked up and put his goods on the counter.

“How are you going these days, Ian?” he said, managing at the last moment to pluck the guy’s name from the ether as he pulled out his wallet. Ian something. Willis.

Willis stared at the items as though he’d forgotten what to do.

“Just these, thanks, mate,” Falk said.

The other man said nothing but instead lifted his head and looked past Falk’s shoulder.

“Next,” he called in a clear voice.

Falk looked around. There was no one else in the shop. He turned back. Willis was still staring determinedly into the middle distance. Falk felt a hot flash of irritation. And something else. Shame, almost.

“All right, mate. I’m not trying to cause you any grief. I’ll buy these, and I’ll be out of your hair,” Falk tried again, pushing his dinner closer over the counter. “And I won’t tell anyone you served me—Scout’s honor.”

The man continued to stare past him. “Next.”

“Really?” Falk could hear the anger in his voice. “This town’s dying on its feet, and you can afford to turn down a sale, can you?”

The shopkeeper looked away and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Falk was considering taking the items and leaving the money on the counter, when Willis opened his mouth.

“I heard you were back. Mandy Vaser reckons you’ve been bothering kiddies in the park.” He tried to sound disgusted but couldn’t disguise the malicious glee in his voice.

“You are joking,” Falk said.

His old classmate shook his head, resuming his stare into the middle distance. “So I’m not interested in serving you. Not today, not ever.”

Falk stared at him. The guy had probably been waiting twenty years to feel superior to someone and wasn’t about to waste his chance, Falk realized. He opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. It was the very definition of wasted energy.

“Forget it.” Falk left the items on the counter. “Good luck to you, Ian. You’ll need it round here.” The door chime rang behind him as he pushed out into the heat.