Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(16)

“I can grab those forms off you, mate.”

Falk had turned to see an older man in an official festival fleece appear from around the side of the caravan, wiping oil from a small wrench with a rag.

“What’ve you got there?” The man had nodded at the paperwork. “Safety check all signed off? Great. Leave it with me.”

“I—” Falk had looked back up at the caravan. Was that movement in the windows? Or a reflection of the light? In front of him, the man had his oil-stained hand out.

“I’m just giving the generator a once-over,” the bloke had said, misreading Falk’s hesitation. He’d twisted his head to read the signature on the paperwork, and smiled reassuringly. “But tell Charlie that Kev’s got them. I’ll file ’em straight after.”

Falk had paused. He was here now. The headquarters caravan was right in front of him. He should at least try. “I’m supposed to give them directly to—”

“She’s not in there.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Out on-site.”

Falk had glanced once more toward the windows. All was still. The light moved on the glass, and suddenly he could sense rather than see that the man was telling the truth. There was no one in there. In front of him, the guy had still been waiting, his friendly expression undercut with a touch of something else now. Falk had got a second sense then, strongly along the lines that this man thought he was a time-waster and was debating whether or not to say as much.

“The kids’ fireworks are starting soon,” the man had settled on instead. “So she’ll be out for a while. At least until they’re done.”

“Right. Okay.” There hadn’t been much else Falk could see to do but hand over the papers. “Thanks. I’ll tell Charlie.”

The man had smiled, clearly relieved the exchange had at last reached its sensible and satisfactory conclusion. He’d returned to his generator and Falk had stepped back from the empty caravan and walked away, carrying nothing but a deep sense of disappointment.

A full year on, and Falk realized that he was once again slowing his pace as they neared the caravan. He frowned and picked up speed to keep in step with Raco. The caravan door was open, though—he looked over, he couldn’t stop himself—and there was definitely a light in the small window this time. He thought he could detect movement inside. He slowed again, but no one came in or out.

“I heard they’d stepped up the security this year,” Raco said, and Falk’s attention was dragged back to the present and the path ahead. Raco was squinting up at a camera on a temporary pole near the boundary fence, its red light blinking.

“There was another one near the entrance as well,” Falk said, pulling his focus and thoughts in line.

“I get it, I suppose,” Raco said. “But it’s a bit of a shame. I’ve been coming to the festival since I was born, and it never felt like something that needed a lot of surveillance. It was always about families and celebrating what we produced here, looking forward to the seasons ahead. It’s gotten a lot bigger, though. Guess you move with the times.” Raco’s face hardened. They’d reached the very edge of the site. “And respond to events.”

They both stopped. Ahead lay the east exit, although Falk wouldn’t even necessarily call it an exit, not compared with the main one at the west of the site. This was simply a break in the otherwise solid chain-link fence, with a single rope running across it at waist height. The rope could be unclipped at either end, Falk could see, or easily ducked under.

“Do many people come to the festival this way?”

“No one really. Or next to no one. Maybe one or two locals, but no tourists. There’s nothing to stop them, but it’s a pain in the arse to get in around this side. There’s no festival parking. You could stop in the reservoir parking lot, but then you’ve got to trek along the hiking path, and back again in the dark with a few drinks under your belt. And it’s free entry, anyway, so there’s no good reason not to come in the west entrance.”

“Why have it at all?” Falk said. “Safety reasons?”

“Yeah, legally there’s got to be an alternate exit.” Raco stepped forward and ran a hand along the rope. He sounded tired. “In case of overcrowding or an emergency or whatever. Same with where they position the first-aid stations.”

Falk followed his gaze along the fence to where a small first-aid tent had been set up with a chair out the front. A middle-aged volunteer was sitting alone, scrolling through her phone, a radio and clipboard on the ground beside her.

“That’s where the boy was working last year?” Falk asked.

“Joel? Yeah.”

Falk looked around. This area was very quiet compared with the rest of the grounds. The tent had an unobstructed view of the exit. “So he would have been able to see who was coming and going.”

“Yeah. I’m not saying he couldn’t. But cameras at the front show Kim didn’t go out the main exit and there are no real alternatives. So—” Raco shrugged.

“You’re pretty sure she came out this way?”

“As sure as I can be.”

Falk nodded. If Raco was satisfied, that was good enough for him. “How long was the kid’s shift?”

“Two and a half hours—7:45 p.m. to 10:15 p.m.”