Falk scanned the playground and spotted an elderly couple he thought might once have been friends of his father’s. They were chatting to a young police officer who, suited and booted in full dress uniform, was sweating under the afternoon sun. His forehead glistened as he nodded politely.
‘Hey,’ Falk said. ‘Is that Barberis’s replacement?’
Gretchen followed his gaze. ‘Yeah. You heard about Barberis?’
‘Of course. Sad loss. Remember how he used to scare us all to death with horror stories about kids who mucked about with farm equipment?’
‘Yeah. He’d had that heart attack coming for twenty years.’
‘Still. It’s a real shame,’ Falk said, meaning it. ‘So who’s the new guy?’
‘Sergeant Raco, and if it looks like he’s stepped straight into the deep end, it’s because he has.’
‘No good? Seems like he’s handling the crowd OK.’
‘I don’t know really. He’d only been here about five minutes when all this happened.’
‘Hell of a situation to land in in your first five minutes.’
Gretchen’s reply was cut short by a flurry of movement by the French doors. The crowd parted respectfully as Barb and Gerry Hadler emerged, blinking in the sunlight. Holding hands tightly they made their way around the groups of mourners. A few words, a hug, a brave nod, move on.
‘How long since you last spoke to them?’ Gretchen whispered.
‘Twenty years, until last week,’ Falk said. He waited. Gerry was still on the other side of the playground when he spotted them. He pulled away from a rotund woman mid-hug, leaving her arms embracing fresh air.
Be at the funeral.
Falk was there, as instructed. Now he watched as Luke’s father approached.
Gretchen got in first, intercepting Gerry with a hug. His eyes met Falk’s over her shoulder, his pupils huge and shining. Falk wondered if some form of medication was helping him through the day. When Gerry was released, he held out his hand, enclosing Falk’s palm in a hot, tight grip.
‘You made it then,’ he said neutrally as Gretchen hovered by their side.
‘I did,’ said Falk. ‘I got your letter.’
Gerry held his gaze.
‘Right. Well, I thought it was important you be here. For Luke. And I wasn’t sure you were going to make it, mate.’ The final sentence hung heavily in the air.
‘Absolutely, Gerry.’ Falk nodded. ‘Important to be here.’
Gerry’s doubts hadn’t been unfounded. Falk had been at his desk in Melbourne a week earlier, staring blankly at a newspaper photo of Luke when the phone rang. In a halting voice Falk hadn’t heard for two decades, Gerry had told him the funeral details. ‘We’ll see you there,’ he’d said, without a question mark at the end. Falk had avoided Luke’s pixelated gaze as he mumbled something about work commitments. In truth, he’d still been undecided. Two days later, the letter arrived. Gerry must have posted it as soon as he’d hung up the phone.
You lied. Be at the funeral.
Falk hadn’t slept well that night.
They both now glanced awkwardly at Gretchen. She was frowning off into the middle distance where her son was clambering shakily over the monkey bars.
‘You’re staying in town tonight,’ Gerry said. No question mark that time either, Falk noted.
‘Above the pub.’
A wail went up from the playground and Gretchen made a noise of frustration.
‘Shit. I could see that coming. Excuse me.’ She jogged off. Gerry grabbed Falk’s elbow and angled him away from the mourners. His hand was shaking.
‘We need to talk. Before she comes back.’
