The Dry (Aaron Falk #1)(71)

“The warren’s over there.” She pointed, squinting in the sun. “Point when you see one.”

Falk put his ear guards on, and everything was muffled, like being underwater. He could see the gum trees moving silently in the wind. The sounds in his head became amplified; the blood pumping through, the slight click of his teeth.

He stared at the area around the warren. Nothing moved for a long while, then there was a twitch on the landscape. He was about to gesture to Gretchen when she steadied the gun against her shoulder, one eye squeezed shut. She centered the gun, tracking the rabbit with a smooth arc. There was a muffled boom, and a flock of galahs rose in unison from a nearby tree.

“Good. I think we got him,” she said, pulling of her ear guards. She strode across the field and bent down, khaki shorts stretching tight for a moment. She stood triumphantly, dangling a limp rabbit carcass.

“Nice shot,” he said.

“You want a go?”

Falk didn’t particularly. He hadn’t shot rabbits since he was a teenager. But she was already holding out the gun, so he shrugged.

“All right.”

The weapon was warm as he took it from her.

“You know the drill,” Gretchen said. Then she reached up and replaced his ear guards for him. Falk’s neck tingled where her fingers brushed it. He squinted down the sights toward the warren. There was blood soaked into the ground. It reminded him of the mark left by Billy Hadler, and the memory made his spine go cold. Suddenly he didn’t want to be doing this. Up ahead, there was a movement.

Gretchen tapped his shoulder and pointed. He didn’t react. She tapped his arm again. “What’s wrong?” he saw rather than heard her say. “It’s right there.”

He lowered the shotgun and pulled off his ear guards.

“Sorry,” he said. “I guess it’s been too long.”

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded.

“Fair enough.” She patted him on the arm as she took the gun off him. “You know I’m going to have to shoot it, anyway, don’t you? I can’t have them on the land.”

She raised the gun, steadied for a brief moment, then fired.

Falk knew before they even walked over that it was a hit.




Back at the house, Gretchen gathered up papers that had been neatly laid out across the kitchen table.

“Make yourself at home. Try to ignore the mess,” she said, putting a jug of ice water in a clear space. “I’ve been filling out applications for the school board to get some more funding. Charities and things. I was thinking about trying the Crossley Trust again, even though Scott reckons they’re a waste of time. See if we get further than the short list this year. The problem is, before anyone’ll give you any cash they want to know everything.”

“Looks like a lot of paperwork.”

“It’s a nightmare, and not my forte, I’m happy to admit. It’s not something the board members have had to do ourselves before.” She paused. “That’s why I shouldn’t complain. It used to be Karen’s job, actually. So, you know…” She didn’t complete the thought.

Falk glanced around Gretchen’s kitchen as he helped her stack the papers on the sideboard. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it was a little more down at heel than he’d imagined. The kitchen was clean, but the units and appliances had clearly seen better days.

A framed photo of Gretchen’s son, Lachie, stood in pride of place among the ornaments. He picked it up and ran a thumb over the kid’s toothy smile. He thought of Billy, ambling through the parking lot behind Karen on the CCTV footage. Just eighty minutes left in his short life. He put the frame down.

“Strange question, but did Karen ever mention me?” he said, and Gretchen looked up in surprise.

“You? I don’t think so. We didn’t really talk, though. Why? Did she even know you?”

Falk shrugged. Wondered for the thousandth time about the phone number in her handwriting.

“No, I don’t think so. I was just wondering if my name had ever come up.”

Gretchen watched him closely, her bright eyes unblinking.

“Not that I know of. But like I said, I didn’t know Karen that well.” She gave a small shrug. A punctuation mark to indicate the end of topic. There was a slightly awkward pause, broken only by the clink of ice as she poured glasses of water.

“Cheers,” she said, raising hers. “Not often, but sometimes, this is better than wine.”

Falk watched the tiny muscles in her throat as she took a long gulp.

“How’s the investigation going, anyway?” Gretchen said when she resurfaced.

“Looks like Jamie Sullivan’s in the clear.”

“Really? That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Good for him. I’m not sure it puts us a whole lot further forward.”

Gretchen cocked her head to one side like a bird.

“But you’ll stay until it’s resolved?”

Falk shrugged. “At this rate, I doubt it. I’ve got to get back to work next week.” He paused. “I ran into Mal Deacon before.” He told her about the encounter in the cemetery.

“Don’t let him get to you. That man is off his head.” Gretchen reached over the table, her fingertips brushing against his left hand. “Twenty years on and he’s still trying to blame you for what happened to Ellie. He’s never been able to accept that you and Luke were together.”