“Still.” Falk thought about Naomi, the visits to the vineyard, the way her eyes had sought out Shane at the church. She’d looked like a woman who could be convinced to forgive. “Twenty years is a long time to stay upset about something.”
“I dunno. Depends.” A ghost of a smile flitted across Shane’s face. “Found myself in Perth a few times. Back in those days.”
He ran over to get the ball, and they kicked it back and forth for a while longer until eventually a group of small boys making the most of the school holidays gathered around the goals at the other end. It was clear from the baffled look on their judgmental little faces that it was high time for these old blokes to make way. Shane checked his watch.
“Probably better head back, anyway. Do some work.”
“Where do you live?” Falk asked as they started walking.
“Over by the reservoir, not far from Naomi. I keep some clothes and stuff at the vineyard, though. I’ll shower and change there.”
Falk glanced over his shoulder. The turnoff to the reservoir lay somewhere behind them along the empty road, well out of sight. Next to him, Shane was twirling the ball in his hands as they walked, whistling softly through his teeth.
“I saw Joel again the other day,” Falk said. “He was talking about his dad’s accident.”
“Oh yeah?” Shane stopped messing with the ball. “Has there been some news?”
“Not as far as I know. But can I ask you something about that? About finding the scene?”
There was a pause. “Sure.”
“I know it was a few years ago now, but can you remember approaching it?”
“Yeah, mate.” A tiny, hard smile. “I remember that day pretty well.”
“What did you see?” Falk hoped Shane would go down the path he wanted without having to be led.
“I dunno. I mean, it was bad. Luna was howling. Is that what you mean?”
“Yeah, that kind of thing. I mean, going on your own gut feeling, did you have a sense someone had left in a hurry? Or had it been quiet for a while?”
Shane’s face creased. “I think—” His eyes were on the road, but his gaze was far away. “I remember I was surprised when I realized I was the only one there. Took me a while to get my head around that, you know?” He looked over, and Falk nodded. “Maybe because Luna was making such a bloody racket, it felt like Dean should be around. Or because you’d never really expect to be the first one to find something like that. But it couldn’t have been too long after it happened, I reckon. Dean walked Luna around six thirty most mornings, and I probably got there before eight.” He said nothing for a few paces. “Long enough, I suppose. For something like that.”
“So, the first thing you noticed was Luna,” Falk said, and Shane nodded. They had reached the vineyard and turned up the driveway together. “What next?”
“Probably that the barrier was broken. That was hard to miss. And there were tracks on the road, where the car had skidded.”
“Staying with the ground for a moment, what did that look like?”
“There were the marks, from the tires. They’d gouged the dirt where the car braked.” Shane looked over. “Is that what you’re asking?”
“Anything else?”
“Like what?”
They were nearly back at Charlie’s house, where Falk could sense the conversation would end. Shane hadn’t remembered what Falk had hoped he would, which was perhaps useful in one way, but less useful in another. He’d have to ask.
“Was there broken glass on the ground?”
“Broken glass?” Shane’s face was still. “I’m not sure.”
“No rush, mate. Just think for a minute.” Falk waited, but no answer came. “Can’t say either way?”
“No.” Shane frowned. “Why? Is it important?”
Falk shook his head. “I don’t know.”
29
Marralee Valley’s police station was nestled in the heart of the town. Falk had been there only once before, a year earlier, when he’d been invited in to give his statement the day after Kim’s disappearance.
He parked now in the afternoon sun and went inside. The reception area was dim, painted the same dull industrial blue that he remembered finding a little oppressive last time. Falk had been kept waiting for a while that day and could remember sitting there, silently running through what he’d seen at the festival, while wondering vaguely if the color was a deliberate choice to make visitors feel immediately institutionalized.
Possibly, he’d decided, last year. Probably, he felt certain now, having since met and spent a little time with Sergeant Dwyer. Institutionalized people tended to be more cooperative, and these walls looked like they’d been recoated in the past few years. Dwyer was the type to insist that even the décor pull its weight, Falk thought as he went up to the reception desk and asked for the sergeant.
Out, came the reply. Due back shortly.
Falk left his name and a brief message, then pushed through the doors and back outside into the daylight. At the bottom of the steps he paused and pulled out his phone to call Gemma. He took a moment to enjoy the novelty of having her number right there, and felt a warm rush of exhilaration as she answered.
“Hey,” he said. “Are we still on for later?”
“Yes.” He could hear that she was smiling. “I’ve got cover for around two hours. What do you want to do?”
“I’ll have a think,” he said, and so he did, standing outside the police station in the sun, watching the locals pass by on their daily business. After a few minutes, he straightened and joined the flow of foot traffic on the pavement, heading deeper into town in search of a few things.
Dwyer was back by the time he returned. Falk was loading his shopping bags into his car when he spotted the officer climbing the steps to the station. He slammed the trunk and followed him in.
“Here to see me?” Dwyer said when he noticed Falk behind him. He didn’t look too surprised. He unlocked a security door and motioned for Falk to follow. “Come through.”
Dwyer’s office was painted the same industrial blue as the reception area, but in here it felt calm and, if not quite tranquil, then orderly. The space was tidy and highly functional, with neatly labeled filing cabinets squared away against the far wall and a window overlooking the main street. Falk took the visitor’s seat across from Dwyer. Like the rest of the room, his desk was clean and as sparse as it was possible for a sergeant’s desk to be. It held the only personal items Falk could see—a washed coffee mug and a framed photo of Dwyer, his wife, and his daughter. They had their arms around each other and were smiling, but Falk could tell from the girl’s age that the photo must have been taken years before she died. Caitlin Dwyer was still a child in the happy moment her father had chosen to remember.
“The Racos’ christening went well, I hear,” Dwyer said, his eyes following Falk’s to the photo.
“It did, thanks.”
“Good. I was hoping to stop in, but I was on duty. Got tied up with something.”
His voice was neutral, but something in it made Falk look up. “Anything new from Kim’s appeal?”