‘Hey, you got here fast,’ she called out. Pink ear defenders hung around her neck.
‘I hope that’s OK.’ He’d phoned from outside the cemetery. ‘I felt like I needed to see a friendly face.’
‘It’s fine. It’s good to see you. I’ve got an hour before I need to pick up Lachie from school.’
Falk looked around, buying a moment while his breathing steadied. ‘Nice place you’ve got here.’
‘Thanks. The rabbits seem to think so too.’ She nodded over her shoulder. ‘I need to get a few more before I call it a day. Come on, you can be my spotter.’
He followed her across the paddock to where she’d left her kit bag. She rummaged in it and pulled out another pair of ear defenders. She reached in again, and pulled out a box of ammunition. Winchesters. Not the Remingtons found in the Hadlers’ bodies, Falk thought automatically. He felt relieved, then immediately guilty for noticing. Gretchen opened the barrel of the shotgun and loaded a round.
‘The warren’s over there.’ She pointed, squinting in the sun. ‘Point when you see one.’
Falk put his ear guards on and everything was muffled, like being under water. He could see the gum trees moving silently in the wind. The sounds in his head became amplified; the blood pumping through, the slight click of his teeth.
He stared at the area around the warren. Nothing moved for a long while, then there was a twitch on the landscape. He was about to gesture to Gretchen when she steadied the gun against her shoulder, one eye squeezed shut. She centred the gun, tracking the rabbit with a smooth arc. There was a muffled boom, and a flock of galahs rose in unison from a nearby tree.
‘Good, I think we got him,’ she said, pulling of her ear guards. She strode across the paddock and bent down, khaki shorts stretching tight for a moment. She stood triumphantly, dangling a limp rabbit carcass.
‘Nice shot,’ he said.
‘You want a go?’
Falk didn’t particularly. He hadn’t shot rabbits since he was a teenager. But she was already holding out the gun, so he shrugged.
‘All right.’
The weapon was warm as he took it from her.
‘You know the drill,’ Gretchen said. Then she reached up and replaced his ear guards for him. Falk’s neck tingled where her fingers brushed it. He squinted down the sights towards the warren. There was blood soaked into the ground. It reminded him of the mark left by Billy Hadler and the memory made his spine go cold. Suddenly he didn’t want to be doing this. Up ahead, there was a movement.
Gretchen tapped his shoulder and pointed. He didn’t react. She tapped his arm again. ‘What’s wrong?’ he saw rather than heard her say. ‘It’s right there.’
He lowered the shotgun and pulled off his ear guards.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I guess it’s been too long.’
She stared at him for a moment then nodded.
‘Fair enough.’ She patted him on the arm as she took the gun off him. ‘You know I’m going to have to shoot it anyway, don’t you? I can’t have them on the land.’
She raised the gun, steadied for a brief moment, then fired.
Falk knew before they even walked over that it was a hit.
Back at the house, Gretchen gathered up papers that had been neatly laid out across the kitchen table.
‘Make yourself at home. Try to ignore the mess,’ she said, putting a jug of iced water in a clear space. ‘I’ve been filling out applications for the school board to get some more funding. Charities and things. I was thinking about trying the Crossley Trust again, even though Scott reckons they’re a waste of time. See if we get further than the shortlist this year. The problem is, before anyone’ll give you any cash they want to know everything.’
‘Looks like a lot of paperwork.’
‘It’s a nightmare, and not my forte, I’m happy to admit. It’s not something the board members have had to do ourselves before.’ She paused. ‘That’s why I shouldn’t complain. It used to be Karen’s job actually. So, you know . . .’ She didn’t complete the thought.
Falk glanced around Gretchen’s kitchen as he helped her stack the papers on the sideboard. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it was a little more down at heel than he’d imagined. The kitchen was clean, but the units and appliances had clearly seen better days.
A framed photo of Gretchen’s son Lachie stood in pride of place among the ornaments. He picked it up and ran a thumb over the kid’s toothy smile. He thought of Billy, ambling through the carpark behind Karen on the CCTV footage. Just eighty minutes left in his short life. He put the frame down.
‘Strange question, but did Karen ever mention me?’ he said, and Gretchen looked up in surprise.
