Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(8)

Charlie seemed tempted to press her, but didn’t. Instead, he nodded and passed her a plate.

Even before Kim went missing, Zara had been living at the vineyard with her dad. Continuity of schooling and friends, Falk had heard someone explain last year, but he would have been surprised if the fresh dynamics of her mother’s new marriage and baby hadn’t had something to do with things.

Charlie and Kim had never been married, Raco had told him, even after Zara came along in their early twenties. Looking at Charlie now, Falk wondered if the two decades he and Kim had spent together in some form or another would have lasted that long if they hadn’t had a daughter together. Falk didn’t know him well enough to guess.

Either way, Kim, Charlie, and their daughter had lived together as a family on the vineyard until Zara was twelve, but from what Raco had said, the deterioration of their relationship had been slow but steady. Eventually they’d concluded they’d be happier if the off-again status became permanent. Kim had taken a job in Adelaide and married Rohan a couple of years later. Zara had been a bridesmaid and Charlie had not only attended but supplied the wine for the reception as a wedding gift.

Now, Charlie and Zara mirrored each other’s miserable expressions at the kitchen table, heads bowed as they pushed their forks around their plates.

It had barely been possible to get a word in edgewise over that same table on Falk’s first night last year. Music had been playing from a speaker on the counter, and Falk remembered that Rita had been sitting next to him, her mobile tucked between her shoulder and chin, arranging a catch-up with someone as she breastfed newborn Henry and popped olives into her mouth with her free hand. Charlie had been circling the kitchen, refilling glasses as he and Raco engaged in an animated sledging of their oldest brother, Ben, who was a detective sergeant up in Brisbane.

“—and then tries to make out he’s offended by the suggestion, the way he does, like: ‘I am an officer of the court, I would never tow a trailer without the appropriate registration.’ And I’m—”

“Bullshit.” Raco had laughed and torn off a hunk of bread from the bowl beside the pasta. “It is bloody registered, because he was moaning about the hassle a few months ago, so why’s he pretending—”

“I know! I said, ‘Ben, mate, look. Greg reckons it’s legit. I mean, you might not want to lend out your trailer, but don’t pretend you don’t have a trailer—’”

Charlie had broken off from the argument suddenly, Falk remembered, turning as Zara had wandered into the kitchen. She had been different last year, her expression light and soft and a half smile curling as she read a message on her phone.

“Hey,” Charlie had called across the room. “What did your mum say about tonight? Did you fix another time?”

Zara had looked up at her dad in genuine surprise. “I don’t know. I thought you called her.”

“What? Why—?”

“I told you. She didn’t answer. And you said, ‘Okay.’”

Charlie blinked at his daughter. “Because I assumed you’d try again.”

“Oh. I thought you were going to.”

“No, hey.” Charlie was already fishing out his phone. “You were supposed to get back to her, as you bloody well know.”

“Yeah. I tried. She didn’t pick up. I’ll text—”

“Yeah, well, that might have to do at this rate.”

Rita had finished her own call and was patting Henry’s back. His eyes were closed in satisfaction and his tiny milk-drunk head lolled on her shoulder as she reached for another olive. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah.” A note of frustration had crept into Charlie’s voice. “Just Kim. She messaged Zara last night. Wants to come over tonight to drop off her birthday present, but she’ll be turning up to an empty house.”

Zara had at least appeared shamefaced. “I tried, okay? She hardly ever answers since she had the baby.”

Charlie had ignored her, tapping the screen. They’d all fallen quiet and Falk had been able to hear the faint ringing from the other end of the phone. Eventually it had stopped.

“See?” Zara had looked mildly triumphant. “She never picks up.”

Charlie said nothing as he tried a second time. Again, they’d all listened to the ringtone for what felt like a long time. On the verge of cutting out once more, there had suddenly been a moment or two of nothing and then a rustle. A woman’s face had appeared on the screen.

“Kim. Hey.” Charlie himself had sounded a little surprised. He’d propped up his phone on the table against the wine bottle. “How’re you doing?”

“Hi, Charlie.” Kim Gillespie said, her voice instantly softening as her daughter had moved closer to see the screen. “Hello, Zara, sweetheart.”

It was the first and only time Falk ever heard Kim speak. The sound was clear, but the phone line lent her voice a flattened, distant quality.

“Where are you?” Charlie had reached out to adjust the angle of the phone, and Falk had caught his first real glimpse of the woman. Kim’s features had been distorted by the shaky upward tilt of the camera, but he could see her dark hair. “Still in the car?”

“Yeah. We’re—ah—near the eastern bridge now,” Kim had said, and Falk had been able to picture that stretch of road, about thirty minutes from town. “Listen, Charlie, what’s up? It’s not a great time, Zoe’s asleep in the back.”