By the time Falk had walked back from the Racos’ place he’d felt an urgent need to cleanse himself. The past coated him like a layer of grime. It had been a long day and the evening felt later than it was. The bar had still been in full swing as he slunk past and up the stairs.
In the shower, his body bore the marks of exposure to the Kiewarra sun. The skin of his forearms, his neck, the V of his collar. What had been pale was now an angry red.
The first thumps on the door were almost inaudible over the running water. Falk shut off the taps and stood naked, listening. Another flurry of knocking sounded, louder this time.
‘Falk! Quick!’ The muffled voice was accompanied by another round of bangs. ‘Are you in there?’
He grabbed a towel and nearly skidded on the wet floor. He flung open the door to find a breathless McMurdo with his fist raised to knock again.
‘Downstairs.’ The barman was panting. ‘Hurry.’ He was off, taking the stairs two at a time. Falk pulled on shorts, a t-shirt and trainers without bothering to dry himself and slammed the door behind him.
The bar was in chaos. Chairs were overturned and the floor glittered with broken glass. Someone was hunched in a corner, his hands over his nose slick with blood. McMurdo was on his knees trying to pry apart two men grappling on the floor. Around them, a semicircle of drinkers slowly wiped the smirks off their faces and stepped away as Falk took two strides into the centre of the room.
The abrupt drop in volume distracted the two men on the floor and McMurdo was able to get an arm in. He pulled them apart and they lay sprawled in their respective corners, breathing heavily.
Jamie Sullivan’s eye was already swelling up, distorted into a bulbous shape. His bottom lip had split and he had scratch marks across his cheek.
Opposite him, Grant Dow grinned then winced, feeling his jaw tenderly. He seemed to have come off best, and he knew it.
‘Right. You and you.’ Falk pointed to two of the least drunk onlookers. ‘Take Sullivan into the bathroom and help him wipe that blood off his face. Then bring him back here. Understand?’
They helped Sullivan up. Falk turned to Dow.
‘You. Take a seat over there and wait and – no. Shut it. It’s very much in your own interest that you keep that trap of yours closed for once. You hear?’
Falk turned to McMurdo. ‘Clean cloth please and large glasses of water all round. Plastic cups.’
Falk took the cloth to the man in the corner who was doubled over, clutching his nose.
‘Sit up straight, mate,’ Falk said. ‘That’s the way. Here. Hold this.’
The man straightened and took his hands away. Falk blinked as Scott Whitlam’s bloodied face appeared.
‘Jesus, how’d you get mixed up in this?’
Whitlam tried to shrug and winced.
‘Wrog place, wrog tibe,’ he said, pressing the cloth to his nose.
Falk turned and looked pointedly at the onlookers.
‘I suggest the rest of you make yourselves pretty bloody scarce,’ he said.
Raco forced his way in as the room was emptying. He was wearing the same t-shirt he’d had on at dinner but his curly hair was sticking up on one side and his eyes were bloodshot.
‘McMurdo rang. I was asleep. We need an ambulance? I’ve got Dr Leigh on standby.’
Falk looked around. Sullivan was back from the bathroom and glanced up, a concerned expression on his face, at the mention of the doctor. The other two were hunched over in their chairs.
‘No. I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Unless you’re worried about two of them being brain dead. What’s the story?’ He turned to McMurdo.
The barman rolled his eyes. ‘Our friend Mr Dow over there seems to believe the only reason he’s in the frame for the Hadlers’ deaths is because Jamie Sullivan doesn’t have the balls to confess. He decided now was an opportunity to encourage him to do so.’
Falk strode over to Dow. ‘What happened here?’
‘Misunderstanding.’
Falk leaned in close, so his mouth was right by Dow’s ear. He could smell the booze several layers deep in his pores.
‘If we’re bothering you, Grant, all you need to do is give us a decent reason why she wrote down your name.’
Dow gave a bitter laugh. His breath stank.
‘That’s bloody rich, coming from you. You mean, like the decent reason you never gave for that note Ellie left? No.’ He shook his head. ‘I could give you a thousand reasons, mate, and you still wouldn’t go away. You won’t be happy until you pin the Hadlers on me or my uncle.’
Falk pulled back. ‘Watch yourself. Keep talking like that and you’ll be formally questioned and processed and find yourself in a whole heap of aggro, understand?’ Falk held out his hand. ‘Keys.’
Grant looked up in disbelief. ‘No chance.’
‘You can pick them up at the station tomorrow.’
‘It’s over five kilometres to my place,’ Grant protested, cradling them in his palm.
‘Tough. Enjoy your walk,’ Falk said, plucking the keys from his paw and pocketing them. ‘Now bugger off.’
He turned his attention to Sullivan and Whitlam, who were being inexpertly tended by McMurdo and Raco.
‘You want to tell us what happened, Jamie?’ Falk asked.
Sullivan stared at the floor out of his one good eye.
‘Like he said. Misunderstanding.’
‘I don’t mean tonight.’
There was no reply. Falk let the silence stretch out.
‘This is only going to get worse the further you let yourself sink.’
Nothing.
‘Right,’ Falk said. He was clammy, wet from the shower, and had had enough. ‘Be at the station at ten tomorrow. We need to talk to you anyway. And fair warning, mate, I would have a good hard think overnight about where you were that day.’
Sullivan’s features crumpled. He looked like he was about to cry. Falk exchanged a look with Raco.
‘I’ll drive you home, Jamie,’ Raco said. ‘Come on, let’s get you up.’
Sullivan let himself be helped out of the bar. He didn’t look at anyone. Finally Falk turned to Whitlam, who looked embarrassed behind his cloth in the corner.
‘I think the bleeding’s stopped,’ Whitlam said, gingerly testing his nose.
‘Let’s see.’ Falk peered at it and tried to recall his first aid training. ‘Well, as long as it’s not school photo day any time soon, you’ll probably survive.’
‘Cheers.’
‘We don’t need to get you down to the station tomorrow as well, do we?’
‘Not me, guv.’ Whitlam held up his hands. ‘I’m an innocent bystander. I was coming out of the toilets and they barrelled into me. Didn’t even see it coming. I lost my balance and whacked my face on a chair.’
‘All right,’ Falk said, helping Whitlam up. The man was a little unsteady. ‘I’m not sure you should drive, though.’
‘I’m on my bike.’
‘Motor?’
‘Jesus. I’m a schoolteacher. Pedal.’
‘Right. Come on.’
It was tight but they squeezed the bike in the boot of Falk’s car with some twisting of the handlebars. They drove mostly in silence through the deserted streets.
‘Any luck with the CCTV?’ Whitlam said finally, coughing as he tried to breathe through his nose.
‘We’re still working through it,’ Falk said. ‘Thanks for your help with that.’
‘No worries.’ His swollen face was a distorted reflection as he stared out of the window at the emptiness. ‘Jesus, I hope this is all over soon. This place is like a nightmare.’
‘Things will get better,’ Falk lied automatically.
‘Will they?’ Whitlam said. He was slumped back down in his seat, touching his nose gingerly. ‘I’m not sure. I remember when I used to worry about normal things. Footy scores and reality TV. Seems unbelievable. Now it’s the school, and the funding gaps, always trying to find the money. Little kids turning up dead, for God’s sake.’
Whitlam stared out of the window until they pulled up outside his house. A welcoming light glowed over the porch. Relief passed across his busted features. Home.
Falk, exhausted and uncomfortable in his sticky clothes, was hit with a fierce longing for his own flat.
‘Thanks for this. You want to come in for a drink?’ Whitlam asked as they got out of the car, but Falk shook his head.
‘I’ll take a raincheck, thanks. It’s been enough for one day.’
Falk opened the boot and jostled the bike, twisting the handlebars until it came free.
‘Sorry if it’s made a mess,’ Whitlam said, peering at the upholstery in the dark.
‘Don’t worry about it. You’ll be OK from here? With the nose. And everything else?’
Whitlam swung his bike around. He attempted a smile. ‘Yeah, I’ll live. Sorry for being morose. It’s the over-the-counter paracetamol talking.’
‘It won’t always be like this. You’re just unlucky to be caught up in it.’
‘That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? No-one can control the ripple effect of something like this.’ Whitlam’s voice sounded heavy. Falk wasn’t sure if it was just the nose. ‘It’s almost funny. I’m standing here feeling sorry for myself, but then I think about poor Billy. Talk about being caught in the wake. I tell you, whatever went on in that house – with Luke, the drought, the farm – whatever the reason, that little boy should never have been touched by it.’
At the top of the driveway, the front door opened and Sandra stood framed in the glow. She waved. Whitlam said goodbye and Falk watched as he wheeled his bike up the path. He still looked a little shaky. As Falk clambered back into the car, his phone beeped once. It was a text from Raco. Falk read the words and thumped the steering wheel in delight.
Want to know why Jamie Sullivan was in the laneway? Call me ASAP.