‘That doesn’t mean anything. That’s what gloves are for. How’s his alibi for the murders?’
Raco shook his head.
‘Solid and hollow at the same time. He was digging a ditch in the middle of nowhere with two of his mates. We’ll check, obviously, but they’ll all swear blind he was there.’
‘All right, let’s see what he says.’
Dow was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, staring straight ahead. He barely glanced up as they entered the room.
‘About time,’ he said. ‘Some of us have got a living to make.’
‘You want your lawyer here, Grant?’ Raco said as he pulled his chair out. ‘You can.’
Dow frowned. His lawyer would probably come from the same theoretical firm as Sullivan’s, Falk thought. Property and livestock fifty weeks of the year. Dow shook his head.
‘Got nothing to hide. Get on with it.’
He was angry rather than nervous, Falk was interested to note. Falk laid out his folder on the table and paused for a moment.
‘Describe your relationship with Karen Hadler.’
‘Masturbatory.’
‘Anything else? Bearing in mind she was found murdered.’
Dow shrugged, unfazed. ‘Nup.’
‘But you found her attractive,’ Falk said.
‘You seen her? Before she carked it, of course.’
Falk and Raco said nothing and Dow rolled his eyes.
‘Look. She was all right, I suppose. For round here anyway,’ he said.
‘When was the last time you spoke to her?’
Dow shrugged.
‘Can’t remember.’
‘What about the Monday before she died? Nineteenth of February. Or the following two days?’
‘Seriously couldn’t tell you.’ Dow shifted and his seat creaked under his bulk. ‘Listen, do I have to be here? Legally? I’ve got shitloads to do.’
‘We’ll cut to the chase then,’ Falk broke in. ‘Perhaps you could tell us why your name, Grant, was written by Karen Hadler on a receipt in the week she was murdered?’ He slid a photocopy of the slip of paper across the table.
The only sound in the room was the hum of fluorescent lights as Dow stared at it for a long moment. Without warning he slammed his palm down on the table.
They both jumped.
‘You are not pinning this on me.’ Dow sent a fine mist of spittle across the tabletop.
‘Pinning what on you, Grant?’ Raco’s voice was determinedly neutral.
‘That bloody family. If Luke goes and shoots up his wife and kid, that’s his business.’ He pointed a thick finger at them both. ‘But that has got bugger all to do with me, you hear me?’
‘Where were you the afternoon they were shot?’ Falk asked.
