Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(31)

“I’m an engineer, by profession,” Rohan was saying now, and Falk focused again. “I’ve done that my whole career, so there are some things I feel I know how to do well. I know how to make sure buildings don’t topple and bridges don’t fall down. And part of the reason I know how to do that is because it’s very logical. If you do one thing after another, you get the result you expect. But over this past year—”

Rohan faltered for the first time, his face flickering with something like disbelief. His wife was missing. He looked like he was learning it for the first time. His wife was missing. He exhaled. It echoed loudly in the microphone.

“Kim was really creative,” he said at last. “She worked in marketing with design and branding, so she could always think outside the box. We saw the world in a different way, and I wish I could ask her what I should do now, because she’d have ideas that I can’t seem to come up with.”

Rohan’s expression was darkening with every word.

“But Kim’s not here, and she hasn’t been for a year. And all I can think to do for me and Zoe is fall back on logic. Because that logic tells me that someone here tonight has information that could tell us what happened to my wife last year.”

The crowd was still, and those watching had fallen quiet in a way they hadn’t for Dwyer or even Zara.

“There’ll be people listening to me now who saw Kim here. We’re about to have a minute of silence to think about Kim, but while we do that, I’ll ask you to keep something else in mind.” Rohan was slowly scanning the faces turned toward him. “If you were one of the people who flagged a sighting with the police, thank you. But think again now; look around. Is there anything else you can remember about that moment?” There was no hiding the edge in his voice. “And if you saw Kim last year and didn’t tell anyone—for any reason at all—now’s the time. Okay? Don’t leave it another day. We’re not interested in why, but we need to know what you know. So think back. Please. What did you see?”

In the wings, Falk saw the tech guy give a signal, and Rohan nodded.

“So on behalf of Kim and her family, I’ll ask you to please join us now for a minute’s silence.”

Rohan lowered the microphone and walked across the stage to stand beside Zara. A soft chime of an electronic bell rang out, and most of the crowd bowed their heads, at least a little, and many shut their eyes.

Falk had settled his weight when he felt Raco shift beside him. He glanced over. Raco’s head was up, and at first Falk thought he was looking at Zara, but no. Raco’s focus was instead off to the side, where Sergeant Dwyer stood at the very top of the stairs leading down from the stage.

“All right, mate?” Falk said under his breath.

Raco didn’t reply, just gave a tiny nod in the direction of the other officer. Falk followed his gaze. Dwyer had a good view from the top of those stairs. And his head was not bowed, either. Instead—Falk could suddenly see what Raco had already spotted—Dwyer was making the most of his vantage point. His face was lifted and his eyes were wide open, sliding slowly and methodically, one by one, over the gathered friends, supporters, and members of Kim Gillespie’s family.





11


“Hey, you two,” Rita said softly as Falk and Raco came out onto the veranda.

The vineyard had been still and quiet and the cottage lights low when they’d pulled up. They’d found Rita sitting outside, Henry dozing against her chest. She had a book in one hand and was patting his back with the other. Just beyond the veranda, a small metal firepit glowed against the dark of the night.

Rita put down her book and reached out to her husband. “How was it?”

Raco took his wife’s hand. “Okay, I think.”

“That bad?”

He smiled at her. “Just a hard couple of hours.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Zara’s still there—”

After the appeal, Zara had simply taken another handful of flyers and shrugged off Charlie’s suggestion that she call it a night and come home.

“I’ve got my key. I’ll be back before eleven,” she’d said and disappeared into the crowd with Joel. Falk was glad no one else seemed to have had an appetite to do the same. It hadn’t even been 9:00 p.m., but he’d felt drained.

“And Charlie’s inside.” Raco glanced toward the kitchen. “He’ll be out in a minute.”

“No worries.” Rita shifted Henry’s weight. “I might try putting this one down.”

“Here. Let me have him for a minute.” Raco took his son and nestled him against his shoulder.

Rita stretched, her back clicking. She noticed Falk’s eye on the firepit below, and her expression softened. “It’s okay, they’re just lights.”

Falk craned his head to see. She was right. Instead of glowing embers, there was a nest of solar-powered bulbs.

“Charlie gave in after I wouldn’t let him light it for, like, three years. Used to piss him off in winter, but tough shit.” Raco smiled and pointed to his neck. The skin where his son rested, breathing heavily, had an odd, puckered quality to it. “Couldn’t really argue with this, made him look like an arsehole.”

Falk turned his own left hand over. The skin there had improved a lot, but he could still see the scars.