Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(44)

“Yeah, I get that. And I know Mum wasn’t the easiest person to get hold of. Over in Adelaide. New husband. New baby. But everyone acting like it was so out of character that they hadn’t made the effort to catch up with her—” Zara fiddled with her seat belt. “It just annoys me, that’s all.”

Falk looked at Zara and remembered that call in the Racos’ kitchen last year. Kim on the phone screen, Zara leaning forward to tap her finger against the glass, cutting off her mum as she spoke. Falk doubted, as he drew the car to a stop, that Kim’s dwindling friendship circle was the whole issue here.

“So.” Zara was staring out of her window as Falk killed the engine. “Do you want me to show you why none of this stuff about Mum makes any sense?”

When he didn’t answer, she twisted in her seat toward him.

“My uncle’s probably shown you his notes, hasn’t he? The ones he thinks I haven’t seen.” She frowned when he didn’t respond. “I mean, you’re a cop, too, right? So? What did you think?”

Falk shook his head. “Zara, I honestly don’t know enough to even—”

“My uncle says you’re good at working stuff out, though.”

“He’s good at that himself. Excellent, actually. So I’d be inclined to trust his judgment—”

“But he thinks there’s something wrong, too.”

There was a silence, broken only by the distant lilt of music and the chatter of families passing by the car.

“You’ve seen his notes,” Zara said. “All those notes. You know it’s true. How many hours have gone into that huge file?”

Falk pictured Raco’s folder. Heavy. Exhaustive. “He says he did that for you.”

“No.” She gave Falk a look. “It’s not for me.”

He didn’t reply, and they stared at each other for a minute.

“So.” Zara unclicked her seat belt. “You want me to show you or not?”

Falk paused, then reached for the door handle. “Yeah. I do.”



* * *



They walked across the festival site together, stopping only to drop off the box of flyers at Charlie’s stall. The same two young women from the night before were back again, still pouring samples and cheerfully answering all the same questions. Falk followed Zara through the crowd, past the rides and admin tents to the east exit, where they paused only to duck under the rope. It was as quiet as ever. A different first-aid volunteer was sitting on the chair nearby. He lifted his eyes briefly before dropping them back to his phone.

Falk and Zara walked in single file along the bushland trail, the sounds of the festival fading behind them as the path flattened out and broadened.

“There was this theory going around for a while,” Zara said as they hit the broad dirt track that circled the reservoir. “People didn’t tell me directly, but I knew, anyway. That my mum came looking for me because she was upset, about me canceling my birthday thing to go drinking, or whatever. And then—” Zara focused on her feet. “I don’t know, they said she was so depressed that she changed her mind and went to the Drop instead.”

“I see,” Falk said.

“I don’t think that makes sense, though.” Zara’s voice was firm. She had thought it through, Falk could tell. “I mean, if Mum was seriously so pissed off that she’d leave her six-week-old child to find her teenage one—which she literally never would, by the way—then why didn’t she actually come and get me? She knew I was right up here.”

Zara slowed and indicated for them to step off the main track and onto a thin side trail. Not even a trail, more of a subtle fracture through the bushland. Falk wouldn’t even have noticed it, but now something deep inside him instantly recognized it, plain as day, as the route to a teenage drinking spot. He followed Zara through the trees and could briefly see the official reservoir track continue the other way, the water wide and silent beside it, before the branches closed in again and it was lost from sight.

“If Mum wanted to find me, she would have found me,” Zara said as she picked her way up the small trail. The bushland was thick on both sides, and Falk could no longer hear the faint hum from the festival. “Why would she just walk past?”

“I don’t know,” Falk said.

“No.” Zara shrugged. “Well, it’s a hypothetical question, anyway, because she didn’t come down this way.”

Falk said nothing to that, and Zara glanced back, disappointed. You, too? She turned away and he felt a bit bad. They continued on. The uphill path was uneven and wildly overgrown and suddenly took a steep turn. Falk could see where the slope fell away. He wouldn’t want to navigate his way down here after a few too many. What had Naomi said? It was only a matter of time before some kid fell and broke their neck. Beloved teenage tradition or not, Falk was tempted to agree.

Ahead, Zara pushed a large overhanging branch aside, and all at once the path gave way to a clearing. It was unofficial, but Falk could see that years of use had left it as established as any campsite. A charred metal firepit in the middle was surrounded by a circle of fallen trees, the trunks worn almost smooth from being sat on over the years. A few bottles and empty wrappers lay scattered about, and a handful of dirty crushed cans had been shoved under one log. This space had clearly held dozens of people—recently—but it was deserted now. Zara looked around, a little perplexed to find it empty.