Sergeant Raco Character Analysis

Raco sighed, and flipped open Luke’s aged pack of cigarettes. He put one between his lips and offered the pack to Falk, who surprised himself by taking one. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smoked. It might easily have been in this very same spot with his late best friend next to him.

He’d always assumed Luke had been found in the ute’s driver’s seat, but the images showed his body flat on its back in the cargo tray. The lip of the tray was open and Luke’s legs dangled over as though he’d been sitting on the edge. A shotgun by his side pointed towards the mess where his head would have been. His face was completely missing.

It would have been easy to miss, but when Falk thought about it afterwards, he felt sure. In the corner of his vision, Mrs. Sullivan had jerked her pale gaze up in surprise. She’d stared at her grandson for barely half a moment before casting her eyes back down. Falk had watched closely, but she didn’t look up again once.

“Scott,” she began, then stopped. He waited. She took a deep breath. “Scott, to be honest, I wasn’t sure about coming to you with this. My husband—” Karen held his gaze, but Whitlam felt she was forcing herself. “Luke, well. Look, he wouldn’t be happy.”

“I’m trying to keep Kiewarra safe for our kids. Is that too much to ask? Haven’t things been bad enough? I know you didn’t have much time for Karen, but you could at least show some respect, Gretchen.”

“I’m not judging you for being gay, mate. I’m judging you for wasting our time when a family’s lying dead.”

Falk leaned over him, ignoring the dog as it bared its teeth. He stood over an ill man lying on the ground. Later he would hate himself for it. At that moment, he didn’t care.

“It was never about Luke.”

“Stay back,” he said, rotating his hand. Falk caught a first glint of metal and his brain screamed gun, while a deeper part flitted frantically, trying to process what he was seeing. Raco tensed next to him. Whitlam unfolded his hand finger by finger, and Falk’s breath left his chest. He heard Raco groan long and deep. A thousand times worse than a gun.

It was a lighter.

Raco sighed, and flipped open Luke’s aged pack of cigarettes. He put one between his lips and offered the pack to Falk, who surprised himself by taking one. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smoked. It might easily have been in this very same spot with his late best friend next to him.

He’d always assumed Luke had been found in the ute’s driver’s seat, but the images showed his body flat on its back in the cargo tray. The lip of the tray was open and Luke’s legs dangled over as though he’d been sitting on the edge. A shotgun by his side pointed towards the mess where his head would have been. His face was completely missing.

It would have been easy to miss, but when Falk thought about it afterwards, he felt sure. In the corner of his vision, Mrs. Sullivan had jerked her pale gaze up in surprise. She’d stared at her grandson for barely half a moment before casting her eyes back down. Falk had watched closely, but she didn’t look up again once.

“Scott,” she began, then stopped. He waited. She took a deep breath. “Scott, to be honest, I wasn’t sure about coming to you with this. My husband—” Karen held his gaze, but Whitlam felt she was forcing herself. “Luke, well. Look, he wouldn’t be happy.”

“I’m trying to keep Kiewarra safe for our kids. Is that too much to ask? Haven’t things been bad enough? I know you didn’t have much time for Karen, but you could at least show some respect, Gretchen.”

“I’m not judging you for being gay, mate. I’m judging you for wasting our time when a family’s lying dead.”

Falk leaned over him, ignoring the dog as it bared its teeth. He stood over an ill man lying on the ground. Later he would hate himself for it. At that moment, he didn’t care.

“It was never about Luke.”

“Stay back,” he said, rotating his hand. Falk caught a first glint of metal and his brain screamed gun, while a deeper part flitted frantically, trying to process what he was seeing. Raco tensed next to him. Whitlam unfolded his hand finger by finger, and Falk’s breath left his chest. He heard Raco groan long and deep. A thousand times worse than a gun.

It was a lighter.