The yellow police tape was still hanging in strips around the door of Luke Hadler’s farmhouse. It caught the morning light as Falk parked next to the police car on a patch of dead grass out the front. The sun was still some way from its peak position, but Falk’s skin was already tingling from the heat as he got out of the car. He put his hat on and surveyed the house. He hadn’t needed directions. He’d spent almost as much time at that house growing up as he had at his own.
Luke hadn’t changed much about the place since he’d taken it over from his parents, Falk thought as he rang the bell. The chime echoed deep inside, and he was struck by the feeling of having travelled back in time. He felt such an uneasy certainty that a cocky sixteen-year-old would swing open the door that he almost took a step back.
Nothing moved. Windows shrouded by closed curtains gazed out like a pair of blinded eyes.
Falk had lain awake for most of the night thinking about what Gerry had said. In the morning he’d rung and told Gerry he could stay in town a day or two. Only until the weekend. It was Thursday. He was expected back at work on Monday. But in the meantime, he would go to Luke’s property. He would look at the financials for Barb. It was the least he could do. Gerry’s tone made it clear he agreed. It was almost literally the least Falk could do.
Falk waited for a moment, then made his way around the side of the building. The sky loomed huge and blue over yellow paddocks. In the distance, a wire fence kept a shadowy tangle of bushland at bay. The property was very isolated, Falk noticed properly for the first time. It had always felt full of life when he was young. His own childhood home may only have been a short bike ride away, but it was completely invisible somewhere over the horizon. Looking around now, only one other house was in sight: a sprawling grey building hunched on the side of a distant hill.
Ellie’s house.
Falk wondered if her father and cousin still lived up there, and instinctively turned his head away. He wandered through the yard until he found Sergeant Greg Raco in the biggest of three barns.
The officer was on his hands and knees in the corner, rummaging through a pile of old boxes. A redback, nestled still and shiny in her web, was ignoring the activity two metres away from her. Falk rapped on the metal door and Raco twisted around, his face streaked with dust and sweat.
‘Jesus, you gave me a start. Didn’t hear anyone coming.’
‘Sorry. Aaron Falk. I’m a friend of the Hadlers’. Your receptionist said you were here.’ He pointed to the redback. ‘You seen that, by the way?’
‘Yeah. Thanks. There are a couple around.’
Raco stood and pulled off his work gloves. He attempted to brush the grime off his navy uniform trousers but gave up as it made things worse. His neatly pressed shirt had sweat rings under the arms. He was shorter than Falk and built like a boxer, with curls cut close to his scalp. His skin was Mediterranean olive, but his accent was pure country Australia. He had a lift to his eyes that made him look like he was smiling even when he wasn’t. Falk knew, because he wasn’t smiling now.
‘Gerry Hadler called and said something about you stopping by,’ Raco said. ‘Sorry to do this, mate, but you got some ID? Had a few nut jobs prowling around. Sightseeing or something, I don’t know.’
Up close he was older than Falk had first thought. Maybe thirty. Falk noticed the sergeant discreetly check him over. Open yet cautious. Fair enough. Falk handed over his driver’s licence. Raco took it like he’d been expecting something else.
‘I thought Gerry said you were a cop?’
‘Just here in a personal capacity,’ Falk said.
‘So not officially.’
‘Not at all.’ Something flashed across Raco’s face that Falk couldn’t read. He truly hoped this wasn’t going to descend into a pissing contest. ‘I’m an old mate of Luke’s. Back when we were teenagers.’
Raco looked at the licence carefully before handing it back.
‘Gerry said you needed access to the bank statements. Account books, stuff like that?’
‘Sounds about right.’
‘Something going on there I should know about?’
‘Barb asked me to have a look,’ Falk said. ‘As a favour.’
‘Right.’ Despite being several centimetres shorter, Raco almost managed to look Falk straight in the eye. ‘Look, if Gerry and Barb say you’re good, I’m not going to stuff you around for the sake of it. But they’re pretty vulnerable right now, so you come across anything I need to hear, you make sure I hear it. Yeah?’
‘No worries. Just here to help them out.’
Falk couldn’t help glancing over Raco’s shoulder. The cavernous barn was swelteringly hot, and plastic skylights gave everything a sickly yellow tinge. A tractor stood idle in the middle of the concrete floor and various bits of machinery Falk couldn’t identify lined the walls. A hose attachment snaked out of the nearest one near his feet. He thought it might be for milking, but wasn’t sure. He would have known once. Now it all looked vaguely like instruments of torture to his city eye. Falk nodded towards the boxes in the corner.
‘What are you looking for in there?’
‘Nice try, mate, but you said it yourself, you’re here in a personal capacity,’ Raco said. ‘Bank statements’ll be in the house. Come on. I’ll show you the study.’
‘It’s all right.’ Falk took a step back. ‘I know where it is. Thanks.’
As he turned to leave, he saw Raco’s eyebrows lift. If the guy had been expecting a fight over territory, Falk thought, he wasn’t going to find one here. Still, he had to admire the man’s dedication. It was early but it looked like Raco had been up to his elbows for hours.
Falk started towards the house. Stopped. Thought for a moment. Barb Hadler may have her doubts, but Raco seemed like a cop who took things seriously. Falk turned back.
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how much Gerry told you, but I know when I’m in charge, it’s a hell of a lot easier when I know what’s going on. Less margin for a stuff-up.’
Raco listened in silence as Falk told him Barb’s theory of money troubles and debts being called in.
‘You think there’s anything in it?’
‘I don’t know. I’m sure there’ll be money problems. You can tell that by looking around. Whether that means someone other than Luke pulled the trigger is another question.’
Raco nodded slowly.
‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’
‘No worries. I’ll be in the study.’
Falk was barely halfway across the scorched yard when Raco called out.
‘Hey. Wait a sec.’ The sergeant wiped his face with his forearm and squinted against the sun. ‘You were good friends with Luke, yeah?’
‘Long time ago.’
‘Say Luke wanted to hide something. Smallish. Any idea where he’d stash it?’
Falk thought for a moment; realised he didn’t really need to think about it.
‘Maybe. What sort of thing?’
‘We find it, I’ll show you.’
The last time Falk had laid on that particular patch of ground, the grass had been fresh and green. Now he could feel the yellow scrub scratching his stomach through his shirt.
He’d led Raco around to the far side of the house, testing the weatherboards with his foot. When he found the one he was looking for, he lay down and slid a stick under the bottom of the panel. It creaked a little under the strain, then gave way easily, coming loose in his hand.
Falk looked up at Raco standing over him.
‘In there?’ Raco asked, pulling on his heavy-duty gloves. ‘What did he used to hide?’
‘Anything really. Toys and junk food when we were kids. Booze a bit later. Nothing too exciting. The usual stuff kids don’t want parents to see.’
Raco knelt down. He thrust his arm into the gap up to the elbow and scrabbled around, feeling blindly. He withdrew it, clutching a handful of dried leaves and an old packet of cigarettes. He dumped them on the ground by his knees and went back in. This time he pulled out the remains of a soft porn magazine. It was curled and yellowed at the edges and something had eaten holes through the important bits. He tossed it aside in irritation and tried again, pushing his arm in as far as it would go. Reluctantly he came out empty handed. Nothing.
‘Here.’ Falk gestured for the gloves. ‘I’ll have a go.’
He and Luke had never used to use gloves, Falk thought, as he thrust his hand into the dead space. Anything lurking under a house was no match for the immortality of kids and teenagers. He fumbled around, feeling nothing but flat earth.
‘Give me a clue what I’m looking for,’ he grunted.
‘A box probably. Or some sort of packaging.’
Falk groped about, pushing his arm in as far as it would go. The hiding spot was empty. He pulled his hand out.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s been a while.’
Raco’s knees clicked as he stood from his crouched position. He opened the battered cigarette packet. Took one out, looked at it longingly, then slowly slid it back in. Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
‘It’s the shots,’ Raco said finally. ‘From the shotgun that killed the Hadlers. They don’t match.’
‘Don’t match what?’
‘The brand Luke Hadler used. Used for years as far as I can tell. The three shots fired that killed him and his family were Remington. The only ammunition I can find on this entire property is Winchester.’
‘Winchester.’
‘Yep. I noticed when the inventory came through from Clyde and it’s been picking at me ever since,’ Raco said. ‘So that’s it. A box of Remington shots, and I’d be a happier man.’
Falk pulled off the gloves. His hands were clammy.
‘Clyde couldn’t send over a couple of bodies to help you do a property search?’
Raco looked away, fiddled with the cigarette packet in his hands. ‘Yeah. I don’t know. Probably could.’
‘Right.’ Falk suppressed a smile. Raco may be sporting the uniform and talking the talk, but Falk had been around long enough to know off-the-books probing when he saw it.
‘Maybe Luke picked up a few odd spares somewhere,’ Falk suggested.
‘Yeah, definitely could have,’ Raco said.
‘Or the shots were the last in the box and he threw away the package.’
‘Yep. Although there was no sign of that in the household rubbish or his ute. And believe me,’ Raco gave a short laugh, ‘I’ve checked.’
‘Where haven’t you searched yet?’
Raco nodded at the missing weatherboard.
‘On this property? I think this officially makes everywhere.’
Falk frowned. ‘It’s a bit weird.’
‘Yeah. That’s what I thought too.’
Falk said nothing, just stared at him. Raco was sweating hard. His face, arms and clothes were covered in grime and dust from scrabbling around in the baking heat of the sheds.
‘What else?’ Falk said.
There was a silence.
‘What do you mean?’
‘All this effort. Down on your hands and knees all morning in a dead man’s barn, in this heat,’ Falk said. ‘There’s something more. Or at least you think there’s more.’
There was a long pause. Then Raco breathed out.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘There’s more.’