‘This has bugger all to do with you.’
‘A family shot dead in a small town like this? I’d say that has something to do with everyone. And you seem to have some strong thoughts on the matter, so maybe we start with you. Make this thing official. What do you reckon?’
Falk reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook and pencil. He wroteHadler Inquiryacross the top of the page. Directly underneath he wrote Dow’s name in large capitals so the man could see it.
‘All right, calm down, dickhead.’ He was rattled, as Falk knew he would be. There was something about seeing a name on paper that said ‘on the record’.
‘Confirm your address?’
‘I’m not giving you my address.’
‘No problem.’ Falk didn’t miss a beat. ‘Luckily, I know it.’ He wrote down the details of Deacon’s farmhouse. He looked past Dow to his group of followers. They had taken a step away from the exchange. ‘I’ll take your mates’ names as well. If they’re so keen to weigh in?’
Grant looked around. His gang had lost their vacuousexpressions and were glaring at him.
‘You trying to stitch me up?’ Dow said. ‘Trying to find yourself a scapegoat?’
‘Grant,’ Falk said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. ‘You’re the one who came over to our table.’
Dow looked him up and down, his expression thunderous. He’d closed his right fist. Seemed to be deciding whether it was worth it. He glanced over his shoulder. The barman was still watching them, his hands braced on the countertop. He gave Dow a stern look and nodded towards the door. There’d be no more drinks for them tonight.
Dow loosened his fist and took a casual step away. Like it was hardly worth his effort.
‘You’re as full of lies and bullshit as ever,’ he said to Falk. ‘Well. You’ll need to be. Might give you a fighting chance here.’
With a jerk of his head his mates followed him out ofthe pub. The general noise level, which had dimmed during theexchange, gradually swelled to normal.
Falk sat back down. Gretchen was watching him, mouth open a fraction. He grinned, but as he put his notebook away he kept his hand in his pocket until he was sure it had stopped shaking.
Gretchen shook her head in disbelief. ‘Jesus. Some welcome back. Well done.’ She gave him a wink. ‘I told you you were the only one with any sense.’ She went up and got the next round.
Later, when the pub was closing, Falk walked her to her car. The street was quiet. Under the streetlights Gretchen’s hair glowed like a halo. They stood there, a foot apart, looking at each other, every move awkward and overthought until eventually she laughed and put both hands on his shoulders. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, catching the very corner of his mouth. He slipped his arms around her and they held each other close for a moment, heat on heat in the warm night air.
Finally with a small sigh, she pulled herself away, got into her car and with a smile and a wave was gone. Falk stood alone under the swathe of stars thinking, of all things, about Grant Dow. The man talked a lot of shit, that was certain. But he’d said one thing that Falk had caught and kept, and now took out and examined in his mind, turning it over like a find.
That dress must be all for you, you dickhead.
He grinned the whole way back to the pub.
Falk had one foot on the staircase leading to his room when the barman’s voice called out.
‘In here a minute, mate. If you don’t mind.’
Falk sighed, hand on the bannister. He looked longingly up the stairs. A badly framed portrait of the Queen gazed down unsympathetically from the landing. He turned and trudged back through to the bar. The place was empty now. There was the acid lemon scent of cleaning fluid as the barman ran a cloth over the countertop.
‘Drink?’
‘I thought you were closed.’ Falk pulled up a stool and sat down.
‘I am. This one’s on the house.’ The barman set a beer in front of Falk then poured one for himself. ‘Call it a thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘I’ve seen Grant Dow have a go at a lot of people, and more often than not it ends with me cleaning up someone’s blood. Because that’s not the case tonight, I can kick back and have a cold one with you.’ He held out a hand. ‘David McMurdo.’
‘Cheers.’ Falk took a swallow of beer, surprised by how easily it went down. He’d had more to drink that week than he normally had in a month. ‘Sorry about all that. I know I said there’d be no trouble.’
‘My friend, if all the trouble round here was handled like that, I’d be a happy man,’ McMurdo said, stroking his beard. ‘Unfortunately it’s weighted a wee bit too much towards the hands-on kind in this place.’
