Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(28)

“Yeah,” Falk said. “Maybe I should get him to invite me, check it out myself. I hear they’ve got a pretty amazing festival.”

“They do.” She smiled at him across the table. “And maybe you should.”

They stayed late, and when their plates were clear and the wine was gone, they stood and edged their way out, stepping onto the cold street. Before he even really thought about it, Falk reached over and took her hand. It was raining again, with all the intensity of a brief passing shower, and they stopped under an awning to wait, watching the cascading water light up white and gold under the streetlights. The rain drummed against the awning, and the hum of the city at night rumbled all around them. It was cold, but Gemma was standing close and her hand was warm in his.

He turned to say something—what, exactly, he wasn’t sure—but stopped as he saw her looking up at him in a way he felt pretty sure he recognized. They smiled at each other in the dark, and Falk thought how some things just seemed right as he stepped in, bent his head, and kissed her. He felt her smile, her fingers tight in his own, as she kissed him back in the cool, quiet night. The rain stopped first.





10


The Marralee Valley Annual Food and Wine Festival offered many things to many people, but fortunately the picnic crowd seemed a happily settled bunch. Even so, some were clearly in two minds about whether to stay or go as they watched the band leave the stage and Sergeant Dwyer climb the steps instead, holding a microphone. A look of anguish crossed Zara’s face as a handful of groups began packing up their blankets and paper plates, but most appeared to take the view that having arrived early enough to grab a prime spot, they’d prefer to keep it, thanks very much. As Sergeant Dwyer waited for his cue, Raco leaned over to Falk.

“Back in a minute, just going to say g’day to Naomi.” Raco paused, considering and rejecting a thought. “It’s probably better to introduce you tomorrow, if that’s okay? When it’s easier to talk.”

“No worries.” Falk hadn’t met baby Henry’s godmother-to-be last year—the scheduled coffee catch-up had been shelved along with so many other things after that opening night—but he watched now as Raco made his way over to a blond woman with skinny jeans and shiny blond hair. Falk recognized her from the vineyard stall earlier, where she’d been talking to Charlie and Shane. So that was Naomi Kerr, was it?

The woman pushed her hair over one shoulder as she reached up to hug Raco, her shirt lifting to reveal a slice of flat torso above her waistband. She said something Falk couldn’t lip-read beyond the word Henry, and Raco promptly whipped out his phone, photo at the ready. At first glance, Naomi wasn’t quite what Falk had expected, but then again, he’d never really considered himself typical godparent material, either.

The stage backdrop suddenly changed, and a hush of sorts fell over the crowd as Kim Gillespie’s face appeared on a large screen.

It was the same photo as on the flyers, but this time with the words Have you seen me? written in bold across the top, with a hotline number below. Sergeant Dwyer waited for the swell of muted chatter to fade. When the crowd was as close to quiet as could reasonably be expected, he raised the microphone.

“Kim Gillespie. Please take a moment now to have a close look at the photo behind me. Kim’s family has not seen or heard from her for twelve months. We are appealing for information from anyone who was at the opening night of this festival last year and may have had any contact with her, however brief.”

Dwyer was pretty good, Falk thought. Most eyes were on him now, half-eaten sausage rolls temporarily forgotten.

“If you were on-site then, particularly between the hours of 7:15 p.m. and 10:30 p.m., and believe you may have seen Kim, please contact me or my fellow officers at the station or via the details here on the screen. We’re particularly keen to hear from anyone who may have noticed Kim around the east exit. That’s the one all the way toward the back of the site.”

As Dwyer pointed east, Falk glanced over at Joel Tozer. The teenage boy had kept his reaction tightly controlled earlier at the stall, but this time he gave a funny reflexive shake of the head in—what? Embarrassment? Frustration? Falk couldn’t tell. The expression on his face as he watched Sergeant Dwyer made Falk wonder if the cop had given him a hard time over his statement. Possibly.

Falk thought back to what Gemma had said about her stepson over dinner in that Melbourne restaurant sixteen months earlier. The boy could be trusted, she had thought. On some things at least, such as being left home alone. Still, Joel insisting Kim had not gone through the east exit complicated things, and complications—in Falk’s experience—were rarely welcomed by even the best cops.

Falk allowed himself another fleeting glance at the stage wings. Gemma was still there, but now with a small frown on her face as she also watched her stepson. Her phone lit up in her hand and she checked the screen, frown deepening, then stepped back and melted into the dark. Falk waited, but she didn’t reappear. Under the bright stage lights, Sergeant Dwyer was running through the facts.

“Kim Gillespie, aged thirty-nine, was last seen wearing—”

The officer wasn’t using any notes, Falk noticed. The bloke had the details of times and descriptions seemingly at his fingertips. He seemed fully across the case for someone who hadn’t been there at the time.

“Where was he last year?” Falk murmured as Raco edged back through the crowd to join him.