Framed baby photos stood on top of a chest of drawers that looked of good quality but was probably second-or even thirdhand. Any money for decorating had clearly been channeled toward the children’s rooms. Through a gap in the wardrobe, Falk could see rows of clothes suspended on plastic hangers. On the left, women’s plain fitted tops hung next to blouses, work trousers, the odd summer dress. Luke’s jeans and T-shirts were crammed with less thought on the right.
Both sides of the bed appeared to have been slept in regularly. Karen’s bedside table had a toy robot, a tub of night cream, and a pair of reading glasses on top of a pile of books. A phone charger was plugged in on Luke’s side, next to a dirty coffee cup, hand painted, with the word Daddy spelled out in spidery letters. The pillowcases still had the shadows of dents in them. Whatever Luke Hadler had been doing in the days before he and his family died, Falk thought, it hadn’t been sleeping on the couch. This was definitely a room for two.
An image of Falk’s own bedroom flashed into his mind. He mostly slept in the middle of the bed these days. His bedspread was the same navy blue he’d had as a teenager. No one who had seen it in the past couple of years had gotten comfortable enough to suggest something more gender neutral. The cleaning service that came to his flat twice a month often struggled to find enough to do, he knew. He didn’t hoard, he didn’t keep much for sentimental reasons, and he’d made do with whatever furniture he’d been left with three years earlier, when his two-person flat had become home to just one.
“You’re a closed book,” she’d said one final time before she’d left. She’d said it a lot over the two years they’d been together. First intrigued, then concerned, finally accusing. Why couldn’t he let her in? Why wouldn’t he let her in? Did he not trust her? Or did he not love her enough? His response to that question hadn’t come fast enough, he’d realized too late. A fraction of a moment’s silence had been long enough for both of them to hear the death knell. Since then, Falk’s own bedside table traditionally held nothing more than books, an alarm clock, and, occasionally, an aging box of condoms.
Barb sniffed loudly, bringing him back into the room. Falk took the Father’s Day card from her lap and looked around in vain for somewhere suitable to put it.
“See. That’s exactly the problem,” Barb said, her red eyes watching him. “What on earth am I supposed to do with all their things? There’s so much, and there’s nowhere to put anything. I can’t fit it all in our house, but I can hardly give everything away like none of it matters—”
Her voice was high-pitched as she started snatching up odd items within reach and clutching them to her chest. Underpants from the bed, the toy robot, Karen’s glasses. She picked up the books from the bedside table and swore loudly. “Oh, for God’s sake, and these are bloody library books. How overdue are these going to be?” She turned to Falk, red-faced and angry.
“No one tells you this is how it’s going to be, do they? Oh yes, they’re all so sorry for your loss, all so keen to pop round and get the gossip when it happens, but no one mentions having to go through your dead son’s drawers and return his library books, do they? No one tells you how to cope with that.”
With a flash of guilt, Falk pictured the extra box of Karen’s and Billy’s belongings he’d left outside the bedroom door. He plucked the books from Barb’s hands, put them under his arm, and steered her firmly out of the bedroom.
“I can look after that for you. Let’s just…” He ushered her straight past Billy’s room and emerged with some relief into the bright kitchen. He guided Barb to a stool. “Let’s get you a cup of tea,” he finished, pulling open the nearest cupboards. He hadn’t the slightest idea what he might find there, but even crime scene kitchens usually had mugs.
Barb watched him for a minute, then blew her nose and climbed off the stool. She patted his arm.
“Let me. I know where everything is.”
In the end they had to settle for instant coffee, black. The fridge hadn’t been emptied in over two weeks.
“I never thanked you, Aaron,” Barb said as they waited for the kettle to boil. “For helping us. Opening an investigation into what happened.”
“Barb, I haven’t done anything like that,” Falk said. “You understand that what I’m doing with Sergeant Raco is off the record, don’t you? We’re just asking a couple of questions. Nothing official.”
“Oh yes. Of course, I completely understand that,” she said in such a way that he could tell she didn’t. “But you’ve got people wondering. That makes all the difference. It’s stirred things up.”
An image of Ellie flashed through Falk’s mind, and he hoped Barb wouldn’t come to regret that.
“Luke was always so grateful to have you as a friend,” she said as she poured boiling water into three mugs.
“Thank you,” he said simply, but Barb looked up at something in his tone.
“He was,” she insisted. “I know he wasn’t good at saying it, but he needed someone like you in his life. Someone calm, with a sensible head on their shoulders. I always thought that’s partly what attracted Luke to Karen. He saw the same sort of qualities in her.” She automatically opened the right drawer and found a spoon. “Did you ever meet Karen in the end?”
Falk shook his head.
“It’s a shame. I think you really would have liked her. She reminds—reminded—me of you in a lot of ways. I think sometimes she worried that she was a tiny bit … I don’t know, dull, maybe. That she was the only thing standing between Luke and his big ideas. But she wasn’t. She was steady and really bright, that girl. And she was exactly what he needed. She kept my son grounded. You both did.” Barb looked at Falk for a long moment, her head cocked to the side a little sadly. “You should have come back for their wedding. Or anytime. We missed you.”
“I—” He started to say he’d had to work, but something in her expression stopped the words on his lips. “Honestly, I didn’t feel like I’d be welcome.”
Barb Hadler took two large steps across the kitchen that had once been hers, reached out her hands, and pulled Falk into her arms. She held him firmly until he felt a tension buried deep inside him start to waver.
“You, Aaron, are always welcome in my family,” Barb said. “Don’t ever let yourself think otherwise.” She pulled away, and for a moment she was the Barb Hadler of old. She placed two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands, tucked the library books under his arm, and nodded to the back door with a matriarchal glint in her eye.
“Let’s take these out to my husband so I can tell him that if he wants this house cleared he can stop hiding in the barn and do it himself.”