Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(50)

Dwyer’s gaze dropped back to the railing and a dirty boot print near his hand.

“Thing is—” He was silent for a long minute. “I don’t think she and Joel are wrong about everything.”

Falk hadn’t expected that. “In what way?” he asked.

Dwyer’s gray eyes narrowed. He seemed to be considering his answer, then he nodded back in the direction of the festival. “You headed up?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

They pushed away from the safety rail and started along the track. Dwyer waited until they were past the hidden turnoff to the drinking site, the small trail naturally concealed once more by the overgrown shrubbery, before he spoke again.

“Tell me this.” He glanced at Falk as they walked. “When it comes to Kim, I reckon something is bothering your mate Greg. What do you think?”

Falk thought about the thick file back at the Racos’ guesthouse. He had agreed when Zara had suggested the same, and he privately agreed now. But Raco’s reasons were usually sound, so Falk just shrugged. “What makes you say that?”

“Yeah, fair question,” Dwyer said as Falk fell into step behind him. They’d left the wide reservoir track and begun making their way up the thinner trail leading to the grounds. Falk had been right, the sergeant was fit and the pace was fast.

“Greg and Charlie’s dad trained me, did they tell you that?” Dwyer continued. “Good bloke, Les Raco. Great bloke. Excellent officer. My first real posting was here in Marralee, working under him back in my early twenties. I went elsewhere for a while, then came back ten years ago or so when Les retired. So I’ve known Greg since before he was Zara’s age. Kept half an eye on his career out of interest. What happened with the two of you over in Victoria a few years ago—” Dwyer gave Falk a tight nod of understanding. “Tough business, that. So knowing Greg as I reckon I do, he’s not the type to waste a lot of time raking over old ground and gathering documents and such without good reason.”

Dwyer looked back to get Falk’s reaction. Falk shrugged, then nodded. That was demonstrably true. Raco was practical and reliable. He didn’t create problems where there were none. Satisfied, Dwyer turned and kept walking. Up ahead lay the fence and the festival’s deserted east exit. The sound of the crowds and the music beyond was growing louder.

“So, you may not know Greg’s wider family and mates well,” Dwyer said. “But I do. And the thing about them—the thing about a lot of people around here—is that those circles are close-knit. Once you’re in, you’re in. They care about each other, they look out for each other. And I’ll tell you, what’s bugging me is the same question that’s keeping your good friend and mine awake at night, I reckon.”

“And what’s that?”

“Kim had come back home for the first time in more than two years. She’s here, surrounded by heaps of people she knew—this tight extended family, friendships that go back decades. And yet not one of them admits to having a conversation with her all evening.” Dwyer stopped as they reached the top of the track. He lifted the rope so Falk could duck under, watching his face as he did so. “What are the odds of that, do you think?”

Falk considered this as he stepped back onto the festival grounds. A different first aider was in the chair now. She was engrossed in a novel and did not look their way.

“It’s not impossible,” he said.

“No, not impossible. But it doesn’t smell right, either,” Dwyer said. “So when I look at our Sergeant Raco having a dig around, I can’t help wondering if he’s maybe heard something in that inner circle of his. Knows something more than he’s shared.”

Falk stared at the officer. “I really couldn’t say.”

“Would he tell you?”

Would he? Falk thought of Raco. The way their friendship had evolved over the past few years, growing from the vulnerability of initial trauma into something steadfast and solid. “Yeah. He would.”

Dwyer gave a knowing smile. “And what are the chances you’d tell me?”

“Well, exactly.” Falk flashed a knowing smile of his own. “I trust the bloke. Completely. So I’d obviously be having a good long one-on-one chat with him before I did anything like that. But honestly, if it were something relevant, I think he’d already have told you himself.”

“Even about—? Sorry.” Dwyer broke off as his phone buzzed from his pocket. He checked the screen, lifted it to his ear, and listened for a moment. “Yep, be right there.” He hung up and turned back to Falk. “Sorry about that. So you reckon Greg would speak up, do you? Even about his own family and friends?”

Falk didn’t really need to think about it. “Even then. If he really felt it was the right thing to do, yeah.” He was preaching to the converted, he suspected. “As I think you already know, mate. Greg Raco’s moral compass points true north. He’s not the kind who keeps secrets easily. Not about something as serious as this. It’s not in his nature.”

“Perhaps not, but—” Dwyer’s phone buzzed again. He glanced down and exhaled something close to a sigh. “All right, look, I’d better keep moving. We’ll talk again.” He didn’t move immediately, though, instead squinting across the grounds at something Falk couldn’t identify. “For the record, I happen to agree with you about Greg Raco. Whether I can necessarily say the same for the rest of them, though…”