“Hey. Gemma’s on her way.” Joel stepped back to let Falk into the hall. He had his thumb wedged between the pages of a novel. “She texted to say you might get here first. You want a drink or something?”
“No, you’re all right. Thanks, mate.”
Falk followed him through to the kitchen, where Joel filled a glass of water from the tap. He drank deeply, downing half of it in one go, then swallowed. “You and Gemma heading out somewhere?”
“Yeah.” Falk hesitated. “What are you up to?”
“I’m covering a first-aid shift at the festival, so don’t worry.” Joel gulped the rest of his water and flashed a grin. “You don’t have to invite me along.”
Falk smiled back. “Our loss.” He was glad, though. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world, but he hadn’t really planned for a three-person event.
“Even if I wasn’t working, I should probably be studying, anyway.” Joel sighed and tossed the book he’d been reading faceup on the counter. On the cover was a pale watercolor picture of a girl in a long dress and a bonnet.
“When do exams start?”
“First one’s in a few weeks.”
“Then off to uni?” Falk said as Joel nodded. “And then what, eventually?”
“Law, I think.” The boy didn’t sound entirely enthused. “Something that gets me a job somewhere else, anyway.”
“You don’t like it here?”
“It’s not that, it’s just boring.”
“Find it a bit quiet?”
“Yeah.” Joel looked at Falk like nothing could be more obvious. “Because it is.”
“That’s not always a bad thing, though.” Falk looked out through the kitchen doors to the veranda, where he’d sat with Gemma the first night he’d been there. The bushland was deep and still and he could hear the lorikeets calling to each other. “Sometimes that can actually be a good thing.”
Joel was staring at him with a slight frown, unsure whether or not he was meant to respond. Falk didn’t blame him. He cleared his throat.
“Listen, I had a closer look at your video. Of the accident.”
“Yeah?” Joel straightened immediately against the kitchen counter.
“Don’t get excited, though. It was small stuff in the end.” Falk pulled out his phone. “It’s a bit hard to see on this screen, but—”
“I’ve got it on the computer.” Joel put down his empty glass with a clatter and motioned for Falk to follow. Joel’s bedroom was marginally neater than Falk might have expected, but that wasn’t saying a lot. The boy swept an armload of assorted junk aside so Falk could lean in to see the screen on the desk.
“Yeah, there.” Falk pointed as Joel pulled up the video and paused it. He explained about the glass, and told him what both Shane and Sergeant Dwyer had said. “So it doesn’t really take things forward. I’m sorry.”
The boy was silent for a long time, trawling back and forth through the footage.
“Someone was trying to hide what they’d done,” he said finally. “While Dad was still down there in the water?”
“It’s possible, yeah.”
“Who would do that?”
“People do all kinds of things when they’re scared or desperate,” Falk said. “I’m not excusing it. It doesn’t make it right, but it happens.”
“Unbelievable.”
Joel shook his head, his eyes still on the screen. He had one hand on the mouse, and with the other he absently reached across his desk and picked up a slender plastic jar. The container had been kept separate from the rest of the clutter, tucked in carefully at the end of a stack of books. It was a cheap screw-top thing, small enough to fit in Joel’s palm, and the boy rolled it between his fingers as he scrolled with his other hand. Something was rattling around inside that Falk couldn’t make out. Then Joel sighed and put it down, and the contents suddenly became clear. Falk blinked.
“What’ve you got in there, mate?” he asked, but he had guessed now. Inside were a few small shards of wood, raw brown on one side, blue on the other.
“Paint samples from the broken barrier,” Joel said, without looking up from the screen.
“Seriously? Can I see?”
“Sure.” Joel pushed the jar toward him. It was an ordinary container, nothing official about it. Falk held it up and peered at the contents. The wooden shards inside were rough and uneven. He looked at the boy, who was still staring at the screen.
“Did you get these yourself? From the accident scene?”
“Yeah. A couple of days later. Scraped off a few bits with a penknife.” Joel sensed Falk’s surprise and looked up. “What can I say? I watch a lot of movies. And he was my dad, and he was gone, and no one seemed to be able to tell me what was going on.” He shrugged, his voice quieter. “I dunno. Just felt weird to leave it all to be cleared away, like it had never happened.”
Falk could understand that. But still. He imagined Joel, twelve years old, down there alone, penknife chipping against the wood. “Does Gemma know?”
“Yeah. She didn’t like having it in the house at first, but—” Joel’s expression softened a little. “I really wanted to keep it, so she let me.”
Falk turned the jar over in his hand, then stepped closer to the window to get a better look. He moved aside a dusty collection of Star Wars figurines and held the container up to the light.
“Can I open this?”
“Yeah,” Joel said. “I do all the time. It’s not a scientific sample or anything.”
In Falk’s palm, the wood fragments were long and thin. He turned each one carefully to see the painted side. When he’d heard the car involved in the accident was blue, Falk had been picturing something different, he realized now. Something brighter, sportier. This was a dull, flat tone. Falk turned the splinters back and forth, watching the color change a little as it caught the light. He closed his eyes briefly and visualized a whole car painted this shade. The side panels, the doors. Around the headlights. He ran through makes and models in his head, picturing something large and then compact, old and then new, in motion and still and—Falk opened his eyes and stared at the wood chips. Deep in his consciousness, something twitched in recognition.
What was it? Had he seen this car before?
Falk closed his eyes again and tried to tease it out. He thought about the parking lot at the festival, and the rows and rows of vehicles with their paintwork glinting under the sun or reflecting the lights at night. There? He could easily imagine a car that would fit the bill, but could he remember one?
From down the hall came the sound of the front door squeaking open and then clicking shut. Both Falk and Joel turned at the noise.
“Hello?” Gemma called. “I’m back.”
Joel quickly touched the mouse to close the video on the computer screen and glanced at the jar in Falk’s hand.
“She’s not sad the way she used to be.” Joel’s voice was low. “But she doesn’t like to be reminded of it.”
“Right.” Falk slipped the wood chips back into the container, screwed the lid on, and placed it carefully on the desk. He turned away, then immediately back again. He picked up the jar and held it to the light, then pulled out his phone and snapped a photo. He made sure to capture the paint color on the wood. Just in case he ever saw it again.