The last time Falk had lain 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 truck. 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.”
5
They’d sat for a while by the side of the house, backs up against the wall beside the loose panel and grass prickling the backs of their legs. Making the most of the thin slice of shade while Raco ran through the facts. He started with the slightly detached air of someone who’d said it all before.
“It was two weeks ago today,” he said, fanning himself loosely with the crinkled porn mag. “A courier with a delivery found Karen and made the emergency call. That came in at about 5:40 P.M.”
“To you?”
“And Clyde and the local GP. The dispatcher notifies us all. GP was closest, so he was first on the scene. Dr. Patrick Leigh. You know him?”
Falk shook his head.
“Anyway, he was first, then I turn up a couple of minutes later. I pull up and the door’s open, and the doc’s crouched over Karen in the hall, checking her vitals or whatever.” Raco paused for a long moment, staring out at the tree line with an unfocused gaze. “I’d never met her, didn’t even know who she was then, but he knew her. Had her blood all over his hands. And he’s yelling, kind of screaming at me, you know: ‘She’s got kids! There might be kids!’ So—”
Raco sighed and flipped opened Luke’s aged pack of cigarettes. He put one between his lips and offered the pack to Falk, who surprised himself by taking one. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smoked. It might easily have been in that very same spot with his late best friend next to him. For whatever reason, taking one now felt right. He leaned in as Raco lit the ends. Falk took a drag and immediately remembered why he’d kicked the habit easily. But as he breathed deep and the smell of the tobacco mingled with the tang of the eucalyptus trees, the heady sensation of being sixteen again hit him like the rush of nicotine.
“So anyway,” Raco picked up. His voice was quieter now. “The doc’s yelling, and I bolt off through the house. No idea who’s in there, what I’m going to find. If there’s someone about to step round a door with a shotgun. I want to call out to the kids, but I realize I don’t even know their names. So I’m yelling, ‘Police! It’s OK! Come out, you’re safe!’ or something, but I don’t even know if it’s true.” He took a long drag, remembering.
“And then I hear this crying—this sort of wailing—so I follow it, not knowing what’s waiting for me. And I go into the nursery, and I see that little girl in her cot, screaming blue murder, and honestly, I’ve never been so glad to see a kid bawling her eyes out in all my life.”
Raco blew a plume of smoke into the air.