Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(22)

“Accident. Few years ago now.” Raco guessed his question. “Back when the track used to be open to cars as well as walkers, and—”

He broke off as behind them the music abruptly spiked, bass booming from the tree line in a new, faster tempo. It stayed earsplittingly loud for half a minute before someone more responsible presumably stepped in, the volume dropping a few notches and the song changing from something Falk didn’t recognize to something else he didn’t recognize. He scanned the bushland again. He still couldn’t see anyone, but even without the music this time he had a definite feeling of movement somewhere in there.

“Sounds like they’re all arriving now,” Raco said.

“How do they get up there?” Falk asked.

“The clearing? There’s a turnoff a minute or two back along there.” Raco pointed down the track toward the festival grounds. “Nothing official, just a little trail through the bush.”

Falk peered into the dark. The track was empty, as far as he could make out. He hadn’t heard or sensed anyone coming at all. He turned back to the reservoir. At odds with the hidden activity in the bushland, the water remained eerily still. He leaned over the railing again.

“It’s so calm. You feel like she’d still be right there, below the surface.”

Raco nodded. “Zara really can’t get her head around the fact that she’s not.”

“I can see why.”

“Me, too. I’d look at this water and think the same. In the end, Charlie and I found a local waterways expert, got her to meet Zara out here and talk to her about the currents and things.”

“What did she say?”

“She explained things like how the dam was partially open this time last year. And we’d had good rainfall, so there were a couple of feeder streams that had water coming in. The filters create movement, too.” He sighed. “Would have been quite interesting, actually, in any other scenario. But basically, once Kim hit the water and plunged below a certain depth, the underwater currents could have pulled her literally anywhere.”

“Right.”

“Yeah, so we’re talking like fifty stadiums’ worth of liquid, plus there’s a natural gully in the center, so it’s sixty meters deep in places. I don’t care what Zara’s seen in the movies or online, the divers can’t search that deep. Just can’t do it. You need sonar equipment on a boat.”

“Didn’t you try something like that?”

“Yeah, of course, we’ve tried everything realistic. But to do it indefinitely you need unlimited cash or a lot of luck.”

Falk nodded. Neither spoke for a long moment.

“Is this”—How to phrase it? Falk could think of no subtle way—“the town’s drinking water supply?”

It actually didn’t really bother him. He’d grown up in the country; he knew what ended up in dams and rivers. Every drop on Earth was recycled water, when it came down to it.

But Raco was shaking his head. “No.” He flashed a wry smile. “Probably get more people lining up to fund an underwater search if it was. We get ours from farther upstream. This is privately owned, some agribusiness consortium. Livestock and vineyard use, maintaining river levels.”

“A few wineries in that consortium, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, definitely. Want to keep the growers in business, protect their investments.”

Behind them, the music had ratcheted up another notch, and Raco checked his phone.

“Time for the appeal?” Falk said.

“Soon. We’d better head back. Be interesting to see what comes of it.”

Falk looked over. It was hard to see Raco’s face now in the dark.

“Zara’s not here,” Falk prompted.

“No.”

“Just us talking.”

“Okay.”

“So what are you thinking about all this? Something still to find?”

Raco didn’t answer immediately. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his back to the reservoir, listening to the noise from the party.

“Hard to say,” he said finally, and they started to walk. “Maybe. Whether it makes a difference to what happened here or not, I dunno. But there’s usually someone who’s sitting on something useful, isn’t there?”

Yes, Falk thought as they fell into step together back down the trail, leaving behind the vast spread of water and the laughter ringing from the trees. That was true. But Falk knew Raco well now, or well enough, at least, to be pretty sure that wasn’t all that he’d been thinking.





8


“Shit.” Raco’s eyes were heavy with guilt as they dropped to the handful of missing person flyers still clutched in his fist.

Falk had managed to give out the last of his by the time they approached the vineyard stall, but Raco had mostly seemed to forget he even had them. He’d been unusually subdued as they’d made their way up from the reservoir, battling back through the festival crowd along paths that were lit up now that night had fallen. As they saw Charlie’s stall ahead, Raco frowned at the remaining flyers in his hand.

“Here.” Falk beckoned and Raco gratefully passed him half the sheets, and over the next few minutes they worked together to press them onto every person who passed. Most barely glanced down before shoving one in their pocket or bag.