The Dry (Aaron Falk #1)(83)

“Was I?”

“I did have tunnel vision. But we both did. We’ve been backing the wrong horse the whole time.”

“Looks like you’ve got some trouble here.” Luke leaned out. He nodded at the object lying at the person’s feet.

“Thanks. I think so. Have you got any tools on you?”

Luke killed the engine and climbed out. He crouched down to look more closely.

“What’s gone wrong?”

They were the last words Luke Hadler spoke as a heavy weight smashed into the back of his skull. There was a wet thud and a sudden stunned silence as all around the birds in their trees were shocked mute.

Breathing raggedly as he towered over Luke Hadler’s slumped form, Scott Whitlam looked down at what he had done.

Falk rummaged through the file and pulled out a photocopy of Karen Hadler’s library receipt. The word Grant?? stood out above Falk’s own phone number. He pushed the page across Raco’s desk and stabbed it with a finger.

“Grant. For God’s sake. It’s not a bloody name.”

Karen shut the door to the principal’s office behind her, muffling the everyday sounds of the Wednesday afternoon bustle. She was wearing a red-and-white apple-print dress, and she looked worried. She chose the seat closest to Scott Whitlam’s desk and sat straight-backed with her feet neatly crossed at the ankles.

“Scott,” she began. “I wasn’t sure about coming to speak to you about this. But there is a problem. And I can’t turn a blind eye to it.”

She leaned in, cautious, embarrassed even, and handed over a piece of paper. On the letterhead, the Crossley Educational Trust logo stood out against the white background. Karen peered up from under her blond fringe, her eyes looking for one thing. Reassurance.

Somewhere in the deepest fight-or-flight part of Scott Whitlam’s brain, a hidden door cracked open and offered the briefest glimpse of just how far he was prepared to go to stop her.

“Grant,” Falk said, pointing at the diary. “Also known as a bursary, a fund, a windfall, a financial gift. Like the kind Kiewarra Primary applied for from the Crossley Educational Trust last year. And their claim was rejected. Except guess what?”

Raco blinked in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. I was on the phone this morning to the head of the trust, and Kiewarra Primary was successfully awarded a financial grant of $50,000 this year.”

In hindsight, Whitlam could pinpoint the singular moment when he blew it. He had picked up the page, branded with its telltale letterhead, and examined it. It was a form survey, sent automatically to successful grant recipients to gather feedback on the submissions process.

It wasn’t much of a smoking gun, which meant there was probably more paperwork, he guessed. Other things that she’d kept back. Karen was giving him a chance to explain or confess. Whitlam could tell by the way she looked at him, with those blue eyes begging for a reasonable answer.

He should have said, “Yes, strange. I’ll look into it. Perhaps we’ve been lucky after all.” Jesus, he should have thanked her. That’s what he should have done. Instead he’d panicked. He didn’t take enough time to read the letter before dismissing it.

It was never going to be an easy game for him to win, but it was at that moment that he lost. Snake eyes. All over, red rover.

“It’ll be nothing,” Whitlam had said. Sealing his fate with those words. “A mistake. Ignore it.”

But the mistake was his. He could tell by the way her back stiffened and she cast her eyes down. Distancing herself. If she hadn’t known for sure when she walked in, she knew it as she walked out.

Karen Hadler’s good-bye as she left was as dry as the fields.

“Scott Whitlam,” Raco said. “Shit. Shit. Does that work?”

“Yeah. It works. He’s got a gambling problem. I found out last night.” Falk told him what McMurdo had said. “That’s what tipped me off. Something McMurdo said made me realize we’d been looking in the wrong direction the whole time.”

“So what are we talking? Stealing funds from the school for what? Bad debts?” Raco said.

“Could well be. Whitlam turns up last year from the city. No connection to the place. Sticks around even though he clearly hates it. He told me some story about a mugging gone wrong back in Melbourne, a stranger got stabbed. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was more to that than he says.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Jesus. Poor Karen,” Raco said.

“We’re idiots,” Falk said. “We discounted her far too quickly. Her and Billy. We thought they were collateral damage. Luke was always the main player, he always attracted the attention. Ever since we were kids. He was the perfect cover. How could anything ever be about his boring wife when it could be about Luke?”

“Christ.” Raco closed his eyes, running through the case as they knew it. Shaking his head as pieces dropped into place. “Karen wasn’t being stalked by Grant Dow. She wasn’t afraid of her husband.”

“If anything, Luke was probably worried about what she thought she’d discovered at the school.”

“You think she told him?”

“I think she must have,” Falk said. “Why else would she have my phone number?”

Karen went straight from Whitlam’s office to the girls’ toilets. She locked herself in a stall and put her forehead against the door before she let the angry tears come. Right up until that meeting there had been a glimmer of hope. She’d wanted Whitlam to look at the letter and laugh. “I see exactly what’s happened,” he’d say before explaining it in a way that made perfect sense.