by Jane Harper
‘Let me go!’ She was lashing out, dragging them both under water. Falk was blinded, his face plunging below the surface before he had a chance to draw breath. Lauren sent an arm flailing backwards, slamming into him and sending his head under again.
Everything was muffled, then he resurfaced, water in his mouth, half a breath, not enough, and he was under again, his grip loosening as the woman struggled against him. He held on, fighting against the animal instinct to let her go. He felt a shift in the water and another arm reach out, not Lauren’s, not struggling. It hooked under his armpit and pulled. His face broke through the surface and something else looped under his arm, a rope, and suddenly he didn’t have to fight to stay afloat. His head was above water and he gasped, sucking in air. He realised he was no longer holding Lauren and panicked.
‘It’s okay, we’ve got her,’ a voice said in his ear. Carmen. He tried to turn, but couldn’t. ‘You’ve done the hard bit, we’re nearly at the shore.’
‘Thank you,’ he tried to say, but could only gasp.
‘Just focus on breathing,’ she said as the rope tugged painfully under his arm. His back scraped across the rocks as he was hauled out by two officers. As he lay on the muddy bank he turned his head to see Lauren being dragged out. She was shaking, but she had stopped fighting, for now.
Falk’s lungs ached and his head pounded, but he didn’t care. He felt nothing but relief. He was shivering so hard his shoulderblades were knocking against the ground. A blanket was thrown on him, then another one. He felt a weight on his chest and opened his eyes.
‘You saved her.’ Carmen was leaning over him, her face in silhouette.
‘You did too,’ he tried to say, but his face was frozen and he struggled to form the words.
He lay back, trying to catch his breath. The bushland parted around the falls and for once, he could see no trees. Just Carmen leaning over him and the night sky above her. She was shivering hard and he pulled part of his blanket over her. She moved closer and all of a sudden her lips were on his, cold against cold, and he closed his eyes. Everything was numb except for the singular warm rush inside his chest.
Too soon it was over and he blinked. Carmen was looking at him, not embarrassed, not regretful, her face still close, but not as close.
‘Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m still getting married. And you’re a bloody idiot, you shouldn’t have jumped.’ She smiled. ‘But I’m happy you’re okay.’
They lay quietly, breathing in unison until a ranger approached with another space blanket and she rolled away.
Falk stared at the sky. Out of sight, he could hear the treetops swaying, but he didn’t turn to see. Instead, he watched the faint stars above, looking for the Southern Cross, like he had all those years ago with his dad. He couldn’t see it, but it didn’t matter. It was up there somewhere, he knew.
His body was cold where Carmen had been, but a warmth in his core had begun to spread through him. As he lay there, watching the stars and listening to the rustle of the trees, he realised his hand didn’t hurt at all anymore.
Chapter 35
Falk sat back to admire his handiwork on the wall. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. The early afternoon sun was streaming through the windows, illuminating his flat with a warm glow. In the distance, the Melbourne skyline was shining.
It had been two weeks since he and Carmen had left the ranges for the last time. Falk hoped it was the last time, at least. He felt he could go a long while before needing to walk among those trees again.
He had been home for three days when the anonymous brown envelope had arrived. Posted to the office for his attention, it contained a memory stick and nothing more. Falk had opened the contents and stared at the screen. He’d felt his blood quicken.
Get the contracts. Get the contracts.
He had stared and scrolled for more than an hour. Then he’d picked up the phone and dialled a number.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
On the other end of the line, he heard Beth McKenzie take a breath.
‘Did you hear BaileyTennants has done the dirty on Bree?’ she said. ‘They’re all distancing themselves, trying to wash their hands of her.’
‘I had heard that.’
‘I’m not working there anymore either.’
‘No. I heard that too. What will you do now?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Maybe something with that computer science degree,’ Falk said. ‘You were wasted in that data room.’
He heard Beth hesitate. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Yes.’
It was an understatement. He scrolled through the files as they spoke. They were all there. Copies of the documents Alice had requested and sourced through the BaileyTennants archives. Some things she had already passed to them. Some she had not. The contracts stared back at him in black and white, and he felt a rush of relief and adrenaline. He could imagine Carmen’s face when he told her. Falk scrolled back to the start of the files.
‘How did you –?’
‘I just never trusted Alice. She was always rude to me. And she and Bree worked too closely, it would have been easy for her to blame Bree if she was doing something wrong. So I made copies of her requests.’
‘Thank you. Sincerely.’
He heard her sigh. ‘What will happen now?’
‘To Bree?’
‘And Lauren.’
‘I don’t know,’ Falk said truthfully.
An autopsy had confirmed Alice had died from a bleed on the brain, most likely from hitting her head on the rock near where her body was found. Both Lauren and Bree would face charges, but Falk privately hoped the final count wouldn’t be too severe. Whichever way he looked at it, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for them.
The Baileys were already embroiled in a very public investigation into indecent images allegedly circulated by Daniel’s son Joel. The media had got wind of the scandal, publishing double-page analysis pieces complete with photos of Joel’s leafy private school. He had been expelled, according to reports. Margot Russell’s name had been kept out of it, for now at least.
Thanks to Beth, the Baileys now had more trouble coming their way. Falk couldn’t muster any sympathy for them. The family had profited from others’ misery for two generations. Jill included. Whether she’d felt she had a choice or not, when it came to the family business, she was very much a Bailey.
Since leaving the ranges, Falk had spent a lot of time thinking. About relationships and how little it took for one to turn sour. About holding grudges. About forgiveness.
He and Carmen had attempted to visit both Margot and Rebecca. Margot was refusing to see anyone, her father told them. Refusing to speak, refusing to come out of her room. He had looked terrified.
Rebecca had at least consented to leave the house and sit silently across from them at a café table. Carmen ordered sandwiches for all of them without asking, and the girl watched while they ate.
‘What happened on the waterfall?’ she asked eventually. Falk gave her an edited version. As truthful as he could make it. Heavy on love, low on regret.
The girl looked at her untouched plate. ‘My mum hasn’t said much.’
‘What has she said?’
‘That she loves me and she’s sorry.’
‘That’s the bit you should pay attention to,’ Falk said.
Rebecca fiddled with her napkin. ‘Was it my fault? Because I wouldn’t eat?’
‘No. I really think it ran a lot deeper than that.’
The girl looked unconvinced, but when she got up to leave, she took her sandwich wrapped in a napkin. Falk and Carmen watched her through the window. At the end of the street, she stopped by a bin. She held the sandwich over the lid for a long while, then with what looked like physical effort, put it in her bag and disappeared around a corner.
‘It’s a start, I suppose,’ Falk said. He thought of the hundreds of little things that had added up to go so wrong. Maybe hundreds of little things c
ould add up to go right.
After a few days thinking at home, Falk had then spent a few more acting. He’d gone to a furniture shop to buy a couple of things, then bought a couple more while he was there.
Now, he sat in his new armchair in the corner of his flat as a patch of sunlight moved across the carpet. It was comfortable and had been a good decision. It made the place look different. Busier and fuller, but he thought he liked it. And from his new vantage point he could see his latest change clearly.
The two photographs of him with his father hung on the wall, framed and polished. It changed the feel of the room, but he thought he liked that as well. He had meant what he had said to Lauren at the waterfall. Families can forgive. But it wasn’t enough to mean it, you had to live it.
Falk looked up now, checking the clock. It was a beautiful Friday afternoon. Carmen was getting married the next day in Sydney. He wished her well. They had never spoken about what had passed between them on the bank of the falls. He sensed for her it was an encounter that was best kept fleeting. He understood. His suit jacket and a wrapped wedding gift were waiting with his bag. Ready for his flight to Sydney.
It was nearly time to leave, but he thought he had just long enough for a quick call.
He heard the dial tone down the line and could imagine the phone ringing at the other end in Kiewarra. His hometown. A familiar voice answered.
‘Greg Raco speaking.’
‘It’s Aaron. Are you busy?’
A laugh down the phone. ‘No.’
‘Still skiving off work?’ Falk said. He pictured the police sergeant at his home. Not back in uniform just yet.
‘It’s called convalescence, thanks, mate. And it takes a while.’
‘I know,’ Falk said, turning over his own burned hand and examining the skin. He did know. He had been lucky.
They talked for a while. Things were a little better since the drought had broken. Falk asked after Raco’s daughter. After the Hadler family. All doing okay. And everyone else?
Raco laughed. ‘Mate, if you’re that curious, maybe you should come and see for yourself.’
Maybe he should. Eventually, Falk glanced at the clock. He had to get moving. Catch his plane.
‘Listen, are you bored with this convalescence of yours yet?’
‘Very.’
‘I’m thinking of going for a hike. One weekend. If you feel up to it. Something gentle.’
‘Yeah. Definitely. That’d be really good,’ Raco said. ‘Where?’
Falk looked at his dad’s maps spread out on the coffee table in the warmth of the afternoon light. The sun glancing off the picture frames on the wall.
‘Anywhere you like. I know some good places.’
The careful pencil marks showing him the way. There was plenty to explore.
Acknowledgements
Once again I am lucky enough to have been surrounded by a wonderful group of people who have helped me in so many different ways.
A sincere thank you to my editors Cate Paterson at Pan Macmillan, Christine Kopprasch and Amy Einhorn at Flatiron Books, and Clare Smith at Little, Brown, for your faith and unwavering support. Your insight and advice has been invaluable and I am truly grateful for the many extraordinary opportunities you have created for my writing.
Thank you to Ross Gibb, Mathilda Imlah, Charlotte Ree and Brianne Collins at Pan Macmillan, and to all the talented designers, marketing and sales teams who have worked so hard to bring this book to life.
I would be lost without the help of my incredible agents Clare Forster at Curtis Brown Australia, Alice Lutyens and Kate Cooper at Curtis Brown UK, Daniel Lazar at Writers House and Jerry Kalajian at the Intellectual Property Group.
Thank you to Mike Taylor, senior reptile keeper at Healesville Sanctuary, Senior Sergeant Clint Wilson from Victoria Police, and Grampians Gariwerd National Park visitors and community team leader Tammy Schoo, for kindly sharing their knowledge and expertise of native wildlife, search and rescue procedures and camping and hiking techniques. Any mistakes or artistic liberties are my own.
I am indebted to the many dedicated booksellers who have championed my books with such enthusiasm and, of course, to all the readers who have embraced the stories.
Thank you to the Elwood mums and their beautiful babies for your warmth and friendship. You have been a beacon of light through it all.
As always, love and thanks to my wonderful family who have supported me at every step: Mike and Helen Harper, Ellie Harper, Michael Harper, Susan Davenport and Ivy Harper, Peter and Annette Strachan.
Above all, my deep gratitude to my remarkable husband Peter Strachan – the help you have given me spans years and would fill pages – and to our daughter Charlotte Strachan, our love, who has made us so much more.
About Jane Harper
Jane Harper is the author of The Dry, winner of various awards including the 2015 Victorian Premier’s Literary Award for an Unpublished Manuscript, the 2017 Indie Award Book of the Year and the 2017 Australian Book Industry Awards Book of the Year. Rights have been sold in 27 territories worldwide, and film rights optioned to Reese Witherspoon and Bruna Papandrea. Jane worked as a print journalist for thirteen years both in Australia and the UK and lives in Melbourne with her husband and daughter.
Jane Harper
The Dry
WHO REALLY KILLED THE HADLER FAMILY?
It hasn’t rained in Kiewarra for two years. Tensions in the farming community become unbearable when three members of the Hadler family are discovered shot to death on their property. Everyone assumes Luke Hadler committed suicide after slaughtering his wife and six-year-old son.
Federal Police investigator Aaron Falk returns to his hometown for the funerals and is unwillingly drawn into the investigation. As suspicion spreads through the town, Falk is forced to confront the community that rejected him twenty years earlier. Because Falk and his childhood friend Luke Hadler shared a secret, one which Luke’s death threatens to unearth . . .
‘Every now and then an Australian crime novel comes along to stop your breath and haunt your dreams.’
SYDNEY MORNING HERALD
‘One of the most stunning debuts I’ve ever read.’
David Baldacci
‘This is a story about heroism, the sins of the past, and the struggle to atone. But let’s not forget the redbacks, the huntsmen, the rabbit scourge and all that makes this a quintessential Australian story beautifully told.’
THE AGE
Accolades and Awards for Jane Harper
‘The disruptive revenant has sparked fine Australian fiction, from Patrick White’s The Twyborn Affair to Chris Womersley’s Bereft. In this exhilarating debut (which won the Victorian Premier’s Literary Award for an Unpublished Manuscript), Falk goes back to a town ravaged by feelings of resentment and distrust that are exacerbated by drought . . . A community psychologically and socially damaged, Kiewarra resembles Henry Lawson’s bush. Australian novelists such as Harper, in a small and select company, are exploring disquieting imaginative territory, far from the littoral or metropolis.’
Weekend Australian
‘A firecracker debut . . . Journalist Jane Harper proves literary is often mysterious, with her thriller The Dry capturing readers’ attention both for its final twist and its depiction of a hostile small Australian town beset by drought.’
West Australian
‘Every now and then an Australian crime novel comes along to stop your breath and haunt your dreams. The Broken Shore by Peter Temple was one, Bitter Wash Road by Garry Disher another. Both are books that capture something profound about the Australian landscape and the people who inhabit it. Both are not just great crime fiction, but great Australian novels. The Dry, by Jane Harper, is another.’
Sydney Morning Herald
‘This is a story about heroism, the sins of the past, and the struggle to atone. But let’s not forget the redbacks, the huntsmen, the rabbit scourge and all that makes this a quintessential Australian story
beautifully told.’
The Age
‘There is about The Dry something mythic and valiant.’
Canberra Times
‘Try to set aside one sitting to indulge in journalist Jane Harper’s page-turning debut novel. The pace never falters . . .’
Daily Telegraph
‘The Dry is Melbourne journalist Jane Harper’s first book, and sees her heading into the Peter Temple class of Australian crime fiction . . . in Aaron Falk we’ve been given a compelling and gritty new detective.’
The Saturday Paper
‘In Jane Harper’s debut, The Dry, long-held grudges are thrown into the mix to make for an absolute tinderbox – and a cracking read. Harper has delivered a tense, evocative thriller that paints a stark picture of what desperate times can do to a community. She slowly reveals the deep-worn tensions between characters in the small town, and it’s this that makes The Dry such a good read . . . tension crackles . . . It’s not surprising that Reese Witherspoon’s production company, Pacific Standard, has already snapped up film rights for The Dry. It has some decidedly Australian aspects but Harper’s basic point – about the desperate things people will do in desperate times – is universal.’
Adelaide Advertiser
‘The Dry is a tightly plotted page-turner that kept me reading well into the night. Her characters are achingly real . . . shines a light on the highs and lows of rural life . . . In this cracker of a book Harper maintains the suspense, with the momentum picking up as it draws to its nerve-wracking conclusion.’
Australian Financial Review
‘The book’s prologue is powerful and shockingly addictive . . . wonderful debut . . . a worthy recipient of its pre-release hype.’
Queensland Times
