Chapter Eight
When Aaron Falk was eleven he’d seen Mal Deacon turn his own flock into a staggering, bleeding mess using shearing clippers and a brutal hand. Aaron had felt an ache swell in his chest as he, Luke and Ellie had watched one sheep after another brawled to the ground of the Deacons’ shed with a sharp twist and sliced too close to the skin.
Aaron was a farm kid, they all were, but this was something else. A pitiful cry from the smallest ewe made him open his mouth and draw breath, but he was cut short as Ellie pulled him away by his sleeve. She looked up at him and gave a single shake of her head.
She’d been a slight, intense child at that age, prone to long bouts of silence. Aaron, who leaned towards the quiet side himself, found that suited him fine. They usually let Luke do the talking.
Ellie had barely raised her head when the noises from the barn had floated over to where the three of them had been sitting on the sagging porch. Aaron had been curious, but it had been Luke who insisted they abandon their homework to investigate. Now, with the wails of the ewes in their ears and Ellie’s face fixed into an expression he hadn’t seen before, Aaron knew he wasn’t the only one wishing they hadn’t.
They turned to leave and Aaron jumped as he saw Ellie’s mother watching silently from the barn’s doorway. She was jammed up against the frame, wearing an ill-fitting brown jumper with a single greasy stain on it. She took a sip of amber liquid from a glass without taking her eyes off the shearing. Her facial features were shared by her daughter. They had the same deep-set eyes, sallow skin and wide mouth. But to Aaron, Ellie’s mother looked a hundred years old. It was years before he realised on that day she would not even have been forty.
As he watched, Ellie’s mother closed her eyes and tilted her head back sharply. She took a deep breath, her features creasing. When she opened her eyes again, they fixed on her husband, staring at him with a look so pure and undiluted Aaron was terrified Deacon would turn and see it for himself. Regret.
The weather that year had made the work harder for everyone, and a month later Deacon’s nephew Grant had moved into their farmhouse to lend a hand. Ellie’s mother left two days after that. Perhaps it had been the final straw. One man to resent was plenty enough for anyone.
Throwing two suitcases and a clinking bag of bottles into an old car, she had tried half-heartedly to stem her daughter’s tears with weightless vows that she would be back soon. Falk wasn’t sure how many years it had been until Ellie had stopped believing it. He wondered if part of her might have believed it until the day she died.
Falk now stood on the porch of the Fleece with Raco while the sergeant lit a cigarette. He offered the packet and Falk shook his head. He’d spent enough time down memory lane for one night.
‘Smart choice,’ Raco said. ‘I’m trying to quit. For the baby.’
‘Right. Good on you.’
Raco smoked slowly, blowing the vapour into the hot night sky. The pub noise had ratcheted up a notch. Deacon and Dow had taken their time leaving and the hint of aggression still hung in the air.
‘You should’ve told me earlier.’ Raco took a drag. Suppressed a cough.
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘You have anything to do with it? That girl’s death?’
‘No. But I wasn’t with Luke when it happened. Not like we said.’
Raco paused.
‘So you lied about your alibi. Where was Luke?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You never asked?’
‘Of course I did, but he –’ Falk paused, remembering. ‘He always insisted on sticking to our story. Always. Even when it was only the two of us. He said it was safer to be consistent. I didn’t push it. I was grateful to him, you know? I thought it was for my benefit.’
‘Who else knew it was a lie?’
‘A few people suspected. Mal Deacon, obviously. Some others. But no-one knew for certain. At least that’s what I always thought. But now I’m not sure. It turns out Gerry Hadler knew all along. Maybe he’s not the only one.’
‘Do you think Luke killed Ellie?’
‘I don’t know.’ He stared out at the empty street. ‘I want to know.’
‘You think all this is connected?’
‘I really hope not.’
Raco sighed. He stubbed the cigarette out carefully, then doused the butt with a splash of beer.
‘All right, mate,’ he said. ‘Your secret’s safe with me. For now. Unless it needs to come out, in which case you sing like a canary and I knew nothing about any of it, right?’
