The image on screen was completely static, although the footage was still rolling. There was the thud of an invisible car door again, then nothing for an agonising twenty seconds. Suddenly a dull boom crashed in Falk’s ears and he flinched. Karen. He felt his heart thumping in his chest.
The scene was still again as the timer continued to tick over. Sixty seconds gone, then ninety. Falk realised he was holding his breath, willing there to be a different ending. He was both frustrated and grateful at that moment for the poor sound. Billy Hadler’s screams would be the haunting kind. When the second boom came it was almost a relief. Falk blinked once.
There was no movement. Then, three minutes and forty-seven seconds after the ute had first appeared, it rattled away through the corner of the screen. The back wheels, the bottom of the tray and the number plate of Luke Hadler’s vehicle were all perfectly visible.
‘No-one else comes or goes until the courier thirty-five minutes later,’ Raco said. Falk handed the tablet back to him. He could still hear the muffled booms ringing in his ears.
‘You seriously think there’s doubt after seeing that?’ Falk said.
‘It’s Luke’s ute, but you can’t see who’s driving it,’ Raco said. ‘Plus the other stuff. The ammunition. Killing Karen on the doorstep. The search in Billy’s room.’
Falk stared at him.
‘I don’t get it. Why are you so convinced it wasn’t Luke? You didn’t even know him.’
Raco shrugged. ‘I found the kids,’ he said. ‘I had to see what Billy Hadler looked like after some monster killed him, and I’ll never be able to unsee that. I want to make sure the right thing’s been done by him. I know it seems crazy, and look, odds are Luke probably did do it. I admit that. But if there’s a tiny chance that someone else has done this and got away with it –’
Raco shook his head and took a long drink.
‘You know, I look at Luke Hadler and on the surface he had it all – great wife, two kids, decent enough farm, respect in his community. Why would a man like that turn around one day and destroy his family? It makes no sense. I just can’t understand how someone like him could do something like that.’
Falk rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. It felt gritty. He needed a shave.
Luke lied. You lied.
‘Raco,’ he said. ‘There’s something about Luke you need to know.’
Chapter Seven
‘Back when Luke and I were kids,’ Falk said. ‘Well, not exactly kids. Older than that, sixteen actually –’
He broke off as he sensed a swell of movement at the other end of the bar. The place had filled up without Falk noticing, and when he looked up now more than one familiar face glanced away. Falk felt the ripple of disruption a moment before he saw it. Drinkers lowered their eyes and shuffled aside without complaint as a group moved through the crowd. At the head was a meaty bloke with sludge-brown hair topped by sunglasses. Falk felt a cold trickle seep through his guts. He may not have recognised Grant Dow at the Hadlers’ funeral, but there was no mistaking him now.
Ellie’s cousin. They had the same eyes, but Falk knew there was absolutely nothing of her in him. Dow stopped in front of their table, his flabby frame blocking their view. His t-shirt advertised a Balinese beer brand. His features were piggy, small and cramped together in the middle of his face, while his beard straggled across a thick chin. He was wearing the same look of defiance he’d used to stare down the mourners at the wake. Dow raised his glass towards Falk in a mock salute and flashed a smile that went nowhere near his eyes.
‘You’ve got balls turning up here,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you that much. Don’t you reckon, Uncle Mal? Give him that much, eh?’
Dow turned. An older man hidden behind him took a shaky step forward and Falk came face to face with Ellie’s father for the first time in twenty years. He felt something lodge in his chest and caught himself swallowing.
Mal Deacon had a curve to his spine now but was still a tall man, with ropey arms leading to large hands. His fingers were knotted and swollen with age and were almost white as he gripped the back of a chair for support. His forehead furrowed deep into a scowl, and his exposed scalp was angry pink between strands of grey hair.
Falk braced himself for an outburst but instead a look of confusion flashed across Deacon’s face. He shook his head slightly, the loose chicken flesh on his neck rubbing against a dirty collar.
‘Why are you back?’ Deacon’s voice was slow and raspy. Deep grooves appeared on either side of his mouth as he spoke. Every single person in the pub was determinedly looking elsewhere, Falk noted. Only the barman was following the exchange with interest. He had put down his crossword.
‘Eh?’ Deacon slammed a gnarled hand against the back of the chair and everyone jumped. ‘Why are you back? I thought you’d got the message clear enough. You brought the kid with you as well?’
It was Falk’s turn to look confused. ‘What?’
‘That bloody son of yours. Don’t act dumb with me, dickhead. He back too? Your boy?’
Falk blinked. Deacon had mistaken him for his late father. He stared at the old man’s face. Deacon scowled back but there was something sluggish about his anger.
Grant Dow stepped forward and put a hand on his uncle’s shoulder. For a moment he appeared to consider explaining the mistake, then shook his head in frustration and gently forced his uncle into a chair.
‘Nice one, you prick, you’ve gone and upset him now,’ Dow said to Falk. ‘I’ve gotta ask you, mate. You think this is the best place for you to be?’
Raco pulled his Victoria Police badge out of his jeans pocket and slapped it face up on the table.
