Luke Hadler leaned out.
Whitlam’s elbow jarred painfully as he brought the sock packed with stones crashing down on the back of Luke’s skull. It connected with the top of his neck with a gritty crunch and Luke crumpled face first into the dirt and settled with a dead weight.
Whitlam pulled on rubber gloves pocketed from the school science lab and opened the ute’s cargo tray. With the speed of an athlete he shoved his hands under Luke’s armpits and hauled him clumsily into the back.
He listened. Luke’s breathing was shallow and ragged. Whitlam raised the sock and brought it crashing down twice more. Felt the skull crunch. There was blood now. Whitlam ignored it. He covered Luke loosely with a tarpaulin he found in the tray and flung his bike on top. The dirt-caked wheels came to rest against the side panel.
Luke’s shotgun was in the passenger seat. Whitlam felt dizzy with relief and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel for a full minute while the sensation passed. The weapon was unloaded. Fine. Whitlam took the school’s Remington ammunition from his pockets and loaded Luke’s gun.
The die was cast.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Morning break time had been over for thirty minutes and all was still. The playground in the distance was deserted and Falk was stifling a yawn when his mobile rang. Raco and Barnes jumped as it trilled loudly in the silence of the car.
‘Federal Agent Falk?’ a voice said as he answered. ‘It’s Peter Dunn here, Crossley Educational Trust director. We spoke this morning?’
‘Yes,’ Falk said, sitting up a little straighter. ‘What is it?’
‘Look, it’s a bit awkward, but that claim you asked about, for Kiewarra Primary?’
‘Yes.’ Falk wished the man would get to the point.
‘I know you said it needed to be hush-hush, but I’ve discovered that my assistant – she’s new, still trying to find her feet – it seems she passed it on to another team member who didn’t quite grasp the confidential nature and –’
‘And what?’
‘And she appears to have contacted the school in question about twenty minutes ago to check –’
‘No.’ Falk reached over and buckled his seatbelt, frantically gesturing for Raco and Barnes to do the same.
‘Yes, I know. I’m sor–’
‘Who did she speak to?’
‘As it was rather a large sum she went straight to the top. The principal, Mr Whitlam.’
Falk hung up the phone.
‘School. Now.’
Raco slammed his foot on the accelerator.
Luke’s body juddered a little under the tarpaulin as Whitlam trundled along the short distance to the Hadlers’ farm. Whitlam dragged his eyes away from the rear-view mirror and gripped the wheel tight, his hands sweating inside the plastic gloves. At the farmhouse, he pulled Luke’s ute to a stop and jumped out before he had time to think what was ahead. Only at the front door did he hesitate.
Whitlam didn’t know the layout of the Hadlers’ house and grounds well at all. Certainly not enough to go searching for Karen. Struck by the sudden madness of it, he saw his hand reach out and press the doorbell. He would bring her to him. The shotgun hung by his side, snug against his thigh.
Karen Hadler opened the door, blinking once in recognition and surprise. She drew a breath, her tongue curling behind her teeth for the sibilant ‘s’, the hard ‘c’ forming in her throat, then his name was cut short as he raised the gun in a swift movement and pulled the trigger. He closed his eyes as he did it and when he opened them she was falling backwards, her stomach red and raw. Whitlam winced as her elbow caught the tiled floor with a loud crack and her head snapped back. Her eyes flickered eerily and a long alto moan sounded from deep in her chest.
Whitlam’s ears were ringing and he could hear nothing.
‘Mummy?’
No. No. He could hear nothing else.
‘Mummy?’
Nothing but the breath in his chest and the ringing in his ears, and definitely not Billy Hadler shrieking like a bird from the shadow of the hallway, a toy dangling from one hand and his mouth stretched wide in horror.
