Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(13)

Rohan glanced at Zara, who blinked. She wavered a moment, and when she shook her head, he cleared his throat. “Look, we’d like to thank everyone for being here. We—”

“Actually,” Zara cut him off. “Sorry. Sorry, Rohan. I think I do want to say something.”

“Yeah? Okay. Of course.”

Zara still seemed uncertain as all eyes turned to her, but took a breath.

“I know most of you were here last year and know what happened. So you’ll probably have heard that my mum had postnatal depression. And that’s true. You’ve probably also heard how she abandoned my sister in her stroller, and went down to the reservoir drop and—” Zara stumbled over the words and stopped. She took a second to gather herself. “That bit is not true.”

Falk saw a few among the crowd shift their weight and throw a glance to the person next to them. No one seemed quite sure how to best react to that, and the atmosphere took on an awkward undercurrent. Raco and Charlie exchanged a look, a silent communication passing between them. They both slid their eyes back to Zara, who had also sensed the ripple in the crowd.

Rohan had felt it, too, Falk could tell. The man had been listening to Zara with his head bowed, staring at a spot on the ground, but now he glanced up. The professional face had faded, and he simply looked disappointed. He ran his gaze lightly over the gathered group, sending several pairs of eyes skittering away, then took a small but distinct half step toward Zara. It barely closed any distance, but the instant effect was one of solidarity. He gave Zara a little nod of encouragement, and she looked relieved. Charlie, Falk noticed, looked like he wished he’d done the same, but the moment had passed. It was too late now, and he knew it.

“Yes. So,” Zara recovered her train of thought and her momentum, “what I’m saying is, my mum would never have left Zoe. Or me. She loved us, and she would hate to see what we’ve all been through this past year.”

A subtle movement at the back of the crowd caught Falk’s eye, and he tilted his head to see better. A lone teenage boy was standing a little apart from the group, his arms folded across his chest as he watched Zara speak. He had a flyer in one hand and was listening with a hint of a frown on his face.

Falk felt a faint stirring of recognition. He didn’t know the kid, though. He didn’t really know anyone here other than the Racos. The boy had close-cropped hair and looked about eighteen. He was all angles, with the lean coat-hanger look of a growing body trying to keep up with itself.

“I know what everyone believes happened.” A note of urgency had crept into Zara’s voice. “And actually, I can understand why. But my mum did not go down to the reservoir. Someone—a witness—who was working nearby all night has told police that she never went through the reservoir exit.”

The teenage boy barely reacted. He kept his gaze firmly on Zara as several heads turned his way, but everything about his stance morphed into something instantly defensive.

So that was him. Falk felt the pieces click together now. The one who’d been stuck out at the first-aid post near the back end of the site. Who’d given his statement and—Falk guessed from the mutinous look on his face—presumably stuck to it over the past twelve months.

“Something else happened to my mum that night,” Zara went on. “Either someone made her leave the festival, or her mental health was so bad that she agreed to go, or got tricked, or, I don’t know—”

Raco and Charlie exchanged another look. Zara caught it this time.

“But Mum should still be considered out there somewhere, until we know for certain otherwise.” Her words turned sharp. “So here are the things we need to know: the timeline of what she did that night—”

Falk glanced at Sergeant Dwyer. He was yet to meet a cop who enjoyed being told how to do their own job, but rather than seeming skeptical or annoyed, the officer’s face was determinedly neutral.

“—we need to know who she spoke to and when—”

As Falk watched, Dwyer’s head inclined in a near-imperceptible nod, almost to himself. That was interesting. Sergeant Dwyer had been on leave last year when Kim left her daughter in the stroller bay underneath the ferris wheel. Falk wasn’t sure he’d ever known exactly why Dwyer was away—some family reason, maybe?—but he did remember being surprised that the sergeant had been granted time off during what had to be one of the town’s busiest weeks. Whatever the reason, Sergeant Dwyer hadn’t been around to deal with what happened. Falk wondered if he felt the need to make up for that now.

“I miss my mum and I love her and—” Zara sighed. She suddenly sounded very tired. “And look, the fact is, someone knows something. That person might be here tonight. We need to find that person, so we can find Mum. So if everyone could please take some flyers, that would be great. Thank you.”

Sergeant Dwyer saw his opening and stepped in. “Thanks, Zara. Everyone, let’s make a move. Get yourselves into pairs, groups, whatever, and we’ll head out. See what we can get back.”

A buzz of chatter rose as loose groups formed and began to drift away, flyers in hands and varying degrees of enthusiasm on their faces. Falk looked over to Raco, who was still in the same spot, watching Zara as she shook the journalist’s hand.

“You want me to grab some flyers?” Falk said, and Raco nodded slowly.