Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(53)

“No. Me, neither.” Shane’s soft voice dropped even further. “It was me who found Dean. I mean, the scene, really. Dean wasn’t there.”

“Rita said something about that,” Falk said as Shane studied his own hands, frowning.

“Yeah. I’d sometimes jog around the reservoir track, try to keep the fitness up, you know. Not that often—or not as often as I should—but every few days or so. Dean used to walk his dog down there most mornings, but earlier, so I’d usually miss him.” The creases in Shane’s face deepened. “Then on that day I saw Luna—Dean’s dog—and I remember thinking he must have been running pretty late. But I knew straightaway something was wrong because Luna was in the middle of the bloody track, making this”—he cringed at the memory—“howling noise. I’ve never heard her do that. I thought she was hurt, but she wasn’t, just shaking. Circling and yapping.” Shane shook his head. “The safety railings were a mess. Posts all broken and the middle section gone. Like it had been completely torn out. When I looked over the side there was a big chunk of wood hanging down, all splintered. And Luna was there on her own, and Dean was nowhere. No sign of any car.”

“You could tell that’s what had happened?” Falk said.

“I guessed. From the damage to the barrier.” Shane was quiet for a long moment. “I had a smash myself once. Years ago, not long after I retired, back when I was still drinking. Hit a fence. No one else was involved, but…” He shook away the thought, didn’t look at Falk. “And down at the reservoir it had that same feel about it. Hard to describe.”

Falk knew the one. He’d felt it at accident scenes himself, years ago. As though the air itself absorbed the moment of impact, pulsing with it like an echo.

“I actually tried to call Dean. While I was standing there.” Shane seemed faintly mystified by that. “God knows why. Maybe in case he’d been thrown clear or something and was injured. He didn’t answer. Of course. I couldn’t even hear his phone ring, but Luna was bloody howling and barking, so who knows? I remember looking down into the water again. Couldn’t see anything. Didn’t know how long it had been since the crash. So then—”

Shane drained his water glass, put it on the desk with a sharp tap.

“I called Gemma. I called her instead of Sergeant Dwyer because—” Shane’s usual soft-spoken rhythm was undercut by a streak of anger. “Jesus, I really don’t know. Because I was hoping she’d say Dean was at home, or at the hospital, but that doesn’t make any bloody sense because Gemma and Joel never would’ve left Luna like that. So I can’t even remember exactly what I said, but that was how they found out that Dean was gone. Which wasn’t great.” Shane exhaled and rubbed a hand over his face. His voice steadied, returning to something closer to normal. “I mean, I used to think I did some bloody stupid things back when I was playing, but sometimes I wonder. I wish Gemma and Joel had found out in a better way.”

“Sometimes there is no good way to hear something.”

“Maybe. There’re bad ways and worse ways, though, aren’t there?” Shane managed a small smile, then nodded at the computer. “Anyway, so that’s the story of why I’m sitting here now stuffing up spreadsheets requested by some accountant who thinks I’m an idiot.” He paused, his mood lifting a notch as something occurred to him. “He’ll be absolutely shocked I’m not calling asking for help this time. I reckon he enjoys it, actually, the way he talks to me. People like to pigeonhole, you know?”

“That’s very true.” Falk nodded.

“Do it to ourselves even, hey?” Shane picked up his empty glass and tilted it at the computer. “Like how you’re good at this stuff, but reckon you can’t play footy.”

Falk smiled. “Well, that’s a fact, mate, not an opinion.”

“You don’t play; that’s not the same thing as can’t play.” Shane cast an appraising eye over him. “What are you, around my age? You look fit enough. And height like that? I spent years looking at blokes on the field and working out how good they were, and I reckon you could be okay.” He considered. “Or okay for around here, anyway.”

Falk had to laugh. “Which is saying what exactly?”

“Not a huge amount, true.” Shane grinned as a shadow passed outside and Charlie appeared in the doorway. “But not nothing.”

“They’ll be in the drawer, here. I’ll just—” Charlie was saying to Raco as they came in, five-year-old Eva clattering behind them. They stopped when they saw Falk and Shane.

“Hey, you’re back.” Raco smiled as Charlie squeezed past to rummage through the desk. “How was the festival?”

“Yeah, okay,” Falk said. “I—”

“Guess what we’re doing?” Eva interrupted. She held up Duffy, the doll Falk had sent her when she was born. Its features had partly worn away through love and handling, giving the doll a slightly grotesque appearance, but Eva didn’t seem to mind. “We’re taking the tractor for a ride.”

“Oh, great. Sounds like fun.”

“You can come, too,” she said, with beaming benevolence.

“I don’t know, mate, I should probably—” Falk’s phone was feeling very heavy again in his pocket. What he should do was go to the guesthouse, dig out his laptop, and blast through the most pressing of the messages. But Eva had already taken both him and Raco by the hand and was leading them outside.