The Dry (Aaron Falk #1)(8)

Gerry, leaning against the doorframe, opened his mouth for the first time since Falk arrived.

“I tried to keep in touch after you left, you know.” His casual tone failed to hide the note of defensiveness. “Wrote to your dad, tried calling a couple of times. Never heard anything back, though. Had to give up in the end.”

“It’s OK,” Falk said. “He didn’t really encourage contact from Kiewarra.”

An understatement. They all pretended not to notice.

“Drink?” Gerry disappeared into the house without waiting for an answer and came out a moment later with three tumblers of whiskey. Falk took his in astonishment. He had never known Gerry to drink anything much harder than a light beer. The ice was already melting by the time the glass was in his hand.

“Cheers.” Gerry tilted his head back and took a deep swallow. Falk waited for him to wince. He didn’t. Falk took a polite sip and set the glass down. Barb looked at hers in distaste.

“You shouldn’t really be drinking this stuff around the baby, Gerry,” she said.

“Crying out loud, love, the kid doesn’t care. She’s dead to the bloody world,” Gerry said, and there was a horrible pause. Somewhere in the inky garden the nocturnal insects rattled like white noise. Falk cleared his throat.

“How are you coping, Barb?”

She looked down and stroked Charlotte’s cheek. Shook her head, and a tear dropped onto the little girl’s face. “Obviously,” Barb began, then stopped. She blinked hard. “I mean, obviously Luke didn’t do it. He would never have done this. You know that. Not to himself. And certainly not to his beautiful family.”

Falk glanced at Gerry. He was still standing in the doorway, glaring down into his half-empty drink.

Barb went on. “I spoke to Luke a few days before it happened. And he was completely fine. Honestly, he was normal.”

Falk couldn’t think of anything to say, so he nodded. Barb took it as a sign of encouragement.

“See, you understand, because you really knew him. But other people round here. They’re not like that. They just accept what they’re told.”

Falk stopped himself from pointing out that he hadn’t seen Luke in five years. They both looked up at Gerry, who continued to examine his drink. No help to be found there.

“That’s why we were hoping”—Barb looked back, hesitating—“I was hoping you’d help us.”

Falk stared at her.

“Help you how exactly, Barb?”

“Well, find out what really happened. To clear Luke’s name. And for Karen and Billy. And Charlotte.”

At that she started rocking Charlotte in her arms, stroking her back, and making soothing noises. The baby still hadn’t moved.

“Barb.” Falk leaned forward in his chair and placed his palm on her free hand. It felt clammy and feverish. “I am so sorry for what’s happened. To you all. Luke was like a brother back then, you know that. But I am not the right person for this. If you’ve got concerns you’ve got to go to the police.”

“We’ve come to you.” She removed her hand. “You’re the police.”

“The police who are equipped to deal with this sort of thing. I don’t do that anymore. You know that. I’m with the financial side now. Accounts, money.”

“Exactly.” Barb nodded.

Gerry made a small noise in his throat. “Barb thinks money troubles may have played a part.” He’d aimed for a neutral tone, fallen well shy.

“Yes. Of course I do,” she snapped. “Why is that so unbelievable to you, Gerry? Talk about burning a hole. If Luke had a dollar, he’d spend two to make sure it was gone.”

Was that true? Falk wondered. He’d never known Luke to be too keen to put his hand in his pocket.

Barb turned back to face him. “Look, for ten years I thought we’d done the right thing selling the farm to Luke. But these past two weeks I’ve done nothing but worry we saddled him with a burden that was too much. With the drought, who knows? Everyone is so desperate. He might well have borrowed money from someone. Or had bad debts he couldn’t pay. Maybe someone he owed came looking for him.”

A silence stretched out. Falk found his glass of whiskey and took a decent swallow. It was warm.

“Barb,” he said finally. “It might not feel like it, but the officers in charge really will have considered all these possibilities.”

“Not very bloody well,” Barb snapped. “They didn’t want to know. They drove over from Clyde and took one look and said, ‘Yep, another farmer gone off the rails,’ and that was that. Open and shut. I could see what they were thinking. Nothing but sheep and fields. You’d have to be half off your nut to live here in the first place. I could see it in their faces.”

“They sent a team down from Clyde?” Falk asked, slightly surprised. Clyde was the nearest big town with a fully stocked cop shop. “It wasn’t the local guy? What’s his name?”

“Sergeant Raco. No. He’d only been here a week or so. They sent someone over.”

“You’ve told this Raco bloke you’ve got concerns?”

Her defiant look answered his question.

“We’re telling you,” she said.

Gerry put his glass down on the deck with a thud, and they both jumped.