Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(46)

“What was it like up here?” He turned to Zara. “On opening night?”

She shrugged. “Just the usual thing, I guess. A bunch of us get together to catch up.”

“I mean, last year specifically. How many people were up here?”

“Maybe forty. Fifty? I’m not sure.”

Falk looked around the clearing. It wasn’t huge. “So it gets pretty packed?”

“Yeah.”

“Noisy?”

“I suppose.”

“Music playing?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Got the fire going?”

“Yeah. If there’s not a fire ban.”

“Was there last year?”

“No. So, yeah. There was a fire.”

Falk didn’t even bother asking how much they’d all been drinking. He looked down to the reservoir again. It didn’t really matter how many people had been up here that night. He knew how sessions like this got and, view or no view, there was no way this gap was being watched at all times, let alone by someone still sober enough to see and remember.

His eyes moved along the part of the track that was hidden, one side and then the other. He thought for a long moment. He couldn’t imagine this vantage point had been well monitored, but was it naturally good enough to rule out a struggle taking place down below? Falk weighed up the scenario silently, imagining it playing out. The sudden flash of a forced movement, the oddity of a cry for help in the night. That probably would have been enough to draw the eye, maybe. Or maybe not. It depended on how noisy the party was and how violent the struggle.

A lone woman in the dark, though. That, Falk could picture. Even standing in the broad light of day, he could imagine the music, the flickering lights of the fire, the booze, the hormones. Raco was right. Kim Gillespie could have slipped herself over the edge and plunged into the silent water below without anyone even glancing up from their beer.

“I saw Naomi,” Zara said suddenly, as though reading his mind. That desperate note was back again. “Her property borders the reserve, a bit farther up.” She pointed away from the festival. “She walked home this way. I was standing here, and I noticed her myself.”

Falk didn’t reply. He heard Joel shift his weight.

“So if you’re thinking someone down there wouldn’t necessarily be seen,” Zara said, “I’m telling you they would have.”

“Zara’s mum didn’t come this way, anyway.” It was the most Joel had said since arriving and he shrugged when they both looked over at him. “I was working near the east exit. I would’ve seen Kim. I didn’t.”

“So I hear.” Falk watched him. “Tell me about that.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Joel’s voice was quiet, but his eye contact was solid. “I was stationed at the first-aid tent. I was there for two and a half hours, no break. Kim didn’t come past. That’s it.”

Falk waited, but Joel said no more. As if that really were it. “You would have seen a few people come through, though?” he asked, finally. “On their way out.”

“Not many. That exit’s hardly used. Naomi came through, like Zara said. That was around 9:30 p.m. She said bye to me as she passed. That she was heading home. Viv and Graham Marsh, they live on the property next to Naomi’s. They left pretty early, after the kids’ fireworks. They had their grandsons with them. The little one was having a meltdown.”

“Who else?” Falk said.

“Like I said. No one. No adults, anyway.” Joel glanced at Zara. “Just kids heading here.”

Falk nodded. “You didn’t want to join them?”

“No.” The answer came fast. Joel looked faintly troubled by the suggestion. Falk just waited and eventually the boy took a breath.

“The festival week’s a bit—” Joel stopped. No eye contact now; instead he frowned out toward the water. “It doesn’t matter. I just don’t get involved in it. But Gemma—she’s my stepmum—she’s the director and a couple of first aiders had called in sick and legally they need a certain ratio. I’ve done the training, and she was stuck, so I said I’d help her out. She got them to put me in an easy spot, just to make up the numbers.”

Falk still said nothing, and Joel shrugged, his shoulders tight and hunched.

“Look, my dad was killed by a car.” Joel didn’t bother trying to hide the edge in his voice. “Six years ago, during festival week. So I don’t know what to tell you. When I say Kim didn’t come past me, it’s not some stupid bloody joke to make things harder for everyone.” He jerked his head in the direction of the Drop, a tiny controlled movement. “I mean, my dad died right there. I know what that feels like.”

Joel’s face was dark, and Falk followed his gaze out through the bushland to the water glinting below.

“I’m sorry, mate.” Falk looked down at the Drop. The danger spot, Raco had said. Everyone knew it. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

Joel shrugged. “Dad used to come down here most days to walk Luna—” The dog perked up at her name, and he reached down to rub her head. “Early, like six thirty in the morning. But on that day, Gemma and I were having breakfast and it was nearly 8:00 a.m. and he wasn’t back, which was”—he swallowed, frowned—“weird. So Gemma was texting him, to see if he’d gone into town or something, and then Shane called—Shane McAfee, he works with Zara’s dad,” Joel clarified, and Falk nodded. “Anyway, Shane had been jogging around the reservoir and said he’d found Luna on her own, barking and stuff. The safety railings around the Drop were smashed, and so he’d tried to call my dad and couldn’t get through.”