Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(45)

“I thought Joel—” she started, and pulled out her phone.

Falk walked a slow lap, overcome with the distinct sensation of having been there before. He wondered for a moment if it was a throwback memory to when he and his three closest friends used to go to a clearing a bit like this, at the top of a lookout in a different town and another time. But no, he realized as quickly as the thought arrived, he simply recognized the surroundings from the photos he’d seen in Raco’s file. The space looked different in daylight and the colors were much brighter than they’d been on the faded prints, but this was the place. Things obviously hadn’t changed much over a couple of decades, but Falk wasn’t really surprised. A good drinking spot was a good drinking spot.

Zara frowned and slipped her phone into her jeans pocket. “He’ll be down at the water.”

She walked to the edge of the clearing and eased an armful of overgrown shrubbery aside, revealing an unexpected natural gap in the bushland. Falk looked beyond her. A tree had fallen at some point in the distant past, creating a window effect through the trunks and scrub. Zara motioned for Falk to follow, and they took a handful of steps before she stopped, the view spread wide in front of them. Below, Falk could see down to the reservoir. The broad dirt track was some distance below them but clearly visible. As was the Drop. A tall, lean figure was standing there, right by the safety railing, his hands on the barrier and his head down. A dog lay docile at his feet. The water pooled out in front of him, vast and still.

“Joel! Hey!” Zara’s voice echoed out, and a flock of startled lorikeets took off from a nearby tree.

The young guy turned. Unlike Raco yesterday, he seemed to know exactly where to look to spot the source of the voice. He raised a hand. Zara pulled out her phone and texted something, and a moment later the boy looked at his own screen, then nodded. He raised an arm and pointed. I’m coming up.

Satisfied, Zara put her phone away and watched as he called his dog and stepped away from the railing. Only part of the track was visible, Falk realized now as the boy vanished from sight. It curved close to the bushland, hiding sections to the right and left. Falk took half a step forward.

“Careful.” Zara put out a hand. “It’s a bit loose around here.”

“Right. Thanks.” Falk stepped back, and they stood side by side, looking out.

“You can actually see really clearly at night. The bushland’s so dark that the moon kind of bounces off the water and lights everything up down there.”

Zara glanced at Falk with her mouth set and her eyebrows raised, as though her point were self-evident. “So someone would have seen Mum,” she explained when he didn’t immediately respond, a note of exasperation creeping in. “There was a whole group of us up here. Some people were here all night. Every year it happens. It’s like, a tradition. This spot right here—” She tapped her heel into the ground to indicate where they were standing. A small circle of ground was worn bald. “People are always standing around here. Because it’s nice to look down on the water while you chat.”

Falk looked pointedly behind them to the crushed beer cans dumped in the clearing.

“Yeah, okay,” she conceded. “And obviously have a few drinks. But what I’m saying is, you can see.” Her voice caught. “If my mum had gone down there and climbed over that railing, someone would have—”

Zara stopped and they both turned at the sound of footsteps crunching through the bushland. Two sets, light and heavy. The overgrown branch lifted, and Joel appeared in the clearing, his dog following.

“Hey,” Zara called. “We’re over here.”

Joel walked across the clearing to join them as Falk watched, a little surprised. The young bloke had gotten up there faster than he’d expected; it couldn’t have taken him much more than a minute. A combination of youth and familiarity, he guessed. It was the first time Falk had seen him up close, and he found himself looking at Joel with curiosity. Gemma Tozer’s stepson. He had that odd teenage ability to look both older and younger than his eighteen years, depending on the way his face fell. Joel’s angular frame and dark hair didn’t bear much resemblance to the few photos Falk had seen of his father at the same age. Dean Tozer had been sturdy and grinning, his sandy complexion a little pink from the beer in his hand.

“This is my uncle’s friend, Aaron,” Zara was saying. “He’s a cop, too.”

Joel simply nodded. “Hi.”

He showed some interest but no recognition. So Gemma had not mentioned Falk, not that he would have expected her to. The dog, a bundle of energy and mystery pedigree, lavished Falk with friendly attention.

“I was showing Aaron how much you can see from up here,” Zara said, and Falk glanced at Joel to gauge his reaction. The boy’s eyes had settled on Zara but moved away quickly as she turned. Other than that, he gave nothing away, just squinted a little into the glare, his arms folded.

Falk looked down again. The view to the reservoir was clear, that was true, but it was not broad. He could see the track at the point where it swelled out to form the Drop, where Joel had been a moment earlier, but on either side it was hidden by bushland. He couldn’t make out the path beyond that for more than a dozen meters in either direction. Falk took a couple of careful steps to the side. Even at the best vantage point, he could see only a little more toward the festival side. The other way was now completely obscured.