‘How long have you been in town?’
‘Coming up to ten years. A lot of them still see me as fresh off the boat, though. Born and bred here, or forever an outsider, seems to be the Kiewarra way.’
‘Born and bred isn’t a free pass either,’ Falk said with a grim smile. ‘How’d you end up all the way out here anyway?’
McMurdo paused. Rolled his tongue over his teeth. ‘What reason do you give for leaving Kiewarra?’
‘Career opportunities,’ Falk said drily.
‘Well. Think I’ll say the same and leave it at that.’ McMurdo gestured around the empty bar with a wink. ‘Still. Seems to have served you well. Your pal Luke could’ve used some pointers from you on dealing with Dow, to be honest. Too late now, of course.’
‘They had run-ins?’
‘Like clockwork,’ McMurdo said. ‘Used to make my heart sink when one would be here and the other would walk in. They were like–I don’t know, a pair of magnets. Siamese twins. Jealous ex-lovers. Something. Neither of them could ever leave the other one alone.’
‘What did they fall out about?’
McMurdo rolled his eyes. ‘What wasn’t it about? You name it. The weather, the cricket, the bloody colour of their socks. Always picking at each other. Any excuse.’
‘What are we talking? Fist fights?’
‘Occasionally,’ McMurdo said. ‘It got vicious a few times, but not so much recently. Last few years it was more scuffles, heated rows. Don’t get me wrong, there was no love lost. But I think they both enjoyed it in a way. Have a barney. Blow off some steam.’
‘I’ve never understood that.’
‘Me neither. I’d rather have a nice drink myself. But it must work for some blokes.’ He wiped the counter like a man who knew the health inspectors weren’t watching. ‘To be fair to Dow, it can’t be easy looking after that uncle of his.’
Falk remembered how Mal Deacon had mistaken him for his father.
‘Do you know what’s wrong with him?’
‘A wee bit touched in the head these days. Whether it’s the drink or something more medical, I couldn’t say. But it tends to keep him quiet, whatever it is. He wanders in and sits here with a drink sometimes, or potters around town scowling at folks with that dog of his, but that’s about it.’
‘Grant Dow’s never seemed the Florence Nightingale type. Does he care for his uncle full time?’
McMurdo grinned. ‘God, no. He’s a labourer. Does odd jobs, plumbing, bit of building. Whatever keeps him in beer money. But it’s amazing what the promise of a windfall does, eh? Deacon’s leaving the farm to him, or that’s the story anyway. It could be worth a fair bit with those Asian investment groups always sniffing round for land. The drought won’t last forever. Apparently.’
Falk took a sip. Interesting. The Hadlers’ land backed onto Deacon’s property. He had no idea what the market price would be but two parcels together were always more valuable to the right buyer. Provided the Hadlers’ place came up for sale, of course.A scenario far less likely when Luke was alive and at the helm thanit was now. Falk filed the thought away for future consideration.
‘So is the grapevine accurate about you looking into the Hadlers’ deaths?’ McMurdo was saying.
‘It’s not official,’ Falk said, for the second time that night.
‘Gotcha,’ McMurdo said with a knowing smile. ‘Probably the best way to get anything done round here anyway.’
‘That said, anything happened that I should know about?’
‘You mean did Luke have a massive bust-up the night before he died? Did Grant Dow declare in front of the entire pub that he was going to shoot the family in cold blood?’
‘That would be helpful.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, mate.’ McMurdo flashed a mouthful of yellowing teeth.
‘Jamie Sullivan said he was in here with Luke the night before the killings,’ Falk said. ‘Making plans to shoot rabbits.’
‘That sounds about right.’
‘Was Dow in here too?’
