Dwyer’s eyes had fallen on the photo of his wife and daughter, but Falk suspected he was seeing something else.
“She called me first. Afterward. I was already at the station, about to head out to the test site. She was a mess. The scene at the reservoir was—” He shook his head. “Well, you saw it on that video. There was broken glass, by the way. As much as you’d expect. I swept it into the water so we couldn’t test the fragments later.”
Falk looked at him. “What color was her car?”
“Black.” Dwyer shook his head. “Left streaks all over that barrier.”
“So you covered it up?”
A tiny pause, and then Dwyer nodded. “I already had the leftovers of a can from the station in my own trunk. I was going to paint our dog kennel. So I splashed it on. Blue over black. Wasn’t a great fix, to be honest, but it was my job to look closer than anyone else so…” He gave a heavy shrug. “Caitlin’s car was still drivable. I told her to get it home, hide it in the back garage. Told her not to let Cathy catch her.” Dwyer slumped a little at the mention of his wife.
“Does Cathy know?” Falk asked.
“No.” Dwyer was emphatic. “She doesn’t. I couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t do it. Still haven’t. I never told anyone, told Caitlin she couldn’t, either.” He shook his head at the memory. “After I did as much as I could do at the reservoir, I came back to the station. Waited for someone else to find it and the call to come in.”
Falk nodded. Dwyer attempted to meet his gaze but gave up. He rested his elbows on the desk, his head down and his face buried in his palms. Falk watched him silently, noticing with some surprise that the anger and disappointment he’d dragged in with him was beginning to soften. It was diluted with an understanding that felt almost new to him as he sat there and thought about Gemma and Joel. Raco, Rita, Eva. His godson, Henry. How far would he go for these people he loved? Falk wondered. He hoped he never had to find out.
“I know how hard the last six years have been for Gemma and Joel.” Dwyer lifted his head now. “The questions, the pain, all of it. You wouldn’t be telling me anything that doesn’t already keep me awake at night.”
Falk sensed that was probably true. There had been a lot he’d planned to say, but the urgency wasn’t there now. Instead, he listened.
“Caitlin wanted to tell them. She argued with me, said that we should.” Dwyer met his eyes now, steady and direct. It seemed crucial to him that Falk understood that. “I scared her out of it. Told her not to, told her what she might be facing if she did. Jesus, she was seventeen. She was a confused kid and it was a stupid, unlucky accident. I did what I honestly believed was best for her.”
Misguided, Falk thought. A decision warped by love. But also probably true. Dwyer leaned back in his chair. His face was gray and his shoulders sagged. He looked ten years older.
“Guilt, though. I’ll tell you, it’s a dreadful thing. It eats you up. You’ve got no idea until…” Dwyer didn’t finish the thought as his eyes locked on his daughter’s photo. Caitlin Dwyer gazed back at them, with a smile that had been captured briefly years ago and was gone forever now. “Some people can find a way to live with it. Some just can’t.”
40
Raco and Rita had brought Falk a rosemary-and-olive sourdough loaf from Kiewarra.
“It’s this new thing McMurdo’s trialing in The Fleece,” Raco said, unbuckling his children from their car seats. Eva and Henry greeted Falk with delight as Rita reached up and kissed his cheek. “He read something about regional gastropubs luring out the cashed-up day-trippers from Melbourne, so he’s got a new chef stocking all this local-artisan gourmet stuff.”
“I bought a tub of honest-to-God tahini in there the other day.” Rita stretched her shoulders and looked out over the vineyard, raising her face to the late-afternoon light before turning back to Falk. “I know we’re always saying it, but you really should come and see this for yourself.”
“You know what?” Falk said. “I think I actually do need to see this. Let me check with Gemma. We’ll put something in the diary.”
And so they had done, then they all sat down together at the outside table, looking out over the vineyard and tearing off hunks of sourdough to pass between them as Charlie fired up the barbecue beside the barn. He and Shane fussed over the meat, while the others refilled their glasses and swapped stories as the orange sun sank lower in the sky. Eva ran through the harvested rows with Naomi’s kids, chasing and hiding from each other, while Luna lay patiently nearby and let Henry stroke her ears. Falk could see Joel and Molly up on the veranda, laughing at some elaborate story Zara and the vet were telling that seemed to require a lot of mimed actions. Possibly involving a cow, he guessed.
Falk sat beside Gemma, and they held hands under the table. They had both been a little quiet, but Falk thought so far only Rita had noticed.
Gemma had listened, her back straight and her eyes dry and hard, as he’d told her about Dwyer. Falk had come straight home from the police station, taken Gemma to their bedroom, shut the door, and explained the conversation he had just had. She had remained very still as he’d spoken, the frozen rigidity of the initial shock slowly beginning to pulse with a silent, controlled fury. She had said nothing for a long time and then finally: “What happens next?”
Falk had looked her in the eye. “What do you want to happen next?”
Gemma had sat for a long moment, then covered her face with her hands. Falk had handed her a tissue, put his arms around her, and held her, quiet and close.
“Hey.” Naomi was frowning at her phone as she came out of the vineyard house, a cold bottle of sparkling tucked under one arm and a chilled water for Shane in her other hand. “What’s going on with Rob Dwyer? Are you guys hearing about this, too?”
“I dunno. What?” Charlie said, turning over a steak.
“There’s been something going on at the station all afternoon. Apparently, he’s out.”
“Out how? He’s leaving Marralee?”
“No, out of the police completely.” Naomi’s frown deepened as she flicked through her messages. “That’s what they’re saying. Some senior people came up from Adelaide today. He’s gone back with them. Not in a good way, by the sound of it.”
“Seriously?” Charlie checked his own phone. “Can’t see that staying under wraps for too long.”
Falk ran his fingers over Gemma’s hand and felt the gentle pressure returned.
They had talked about it at length, together in the bedroom, Gemma swinging from rage and betrayal to something approaching compassion, and then back again.
“We need to tell Joel,” she’d insisted at one point, leaping to her feet. “Right now.”
“We do.” Falk had put out a steadying hand. He could hear Joel and Molly outside, their relaxed words and hushed laughter floating across the garden. “But not right now. Very soon, yes. Listen to them, though. He’s happy, she’s happy. We could let them have the weekend.”
Gemma had wavered, then eventually sat back down. “What would you do?” she’d asked quietly. “About Dwyer?”