Force of Nature (Aaron Falk #2)(45)

When the numbers started to blur a little, Falk rubbed his eyes and closed the file. He went to the window and looked out into the bushland, flexing his damaged hand. The start of the Mirror Falls trail was still visible in the gathering gloom. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his dad’s maps stacked on the bedside table.

He shuffled through the pile until he found the one for the Giralang Ranges, and opened it to the Mirror Falls trailhead. Falk wasn’t entirely surprised to find the start of the route circled – he knew his dad had come up to the region, and this was one of the most popular trails. But as he looked at the page he still felt a jolt. When had his dad made that particular pencil mark? At their home, sitting at the kitchen table? Or perhaps standing at the trailhead, two hundred metres and ten years from where Falk stood now?

Without thinking about it, Falk pulled on his jacket and shoved the map in his pocket. He wavered, then grabbed his torch as well. Through the wall, he could still hear running water. Good. He wanted to do this without explanation. He pulled the cabin door shut and followed the path across the carpark to the trailhead. Behind him, the lodge glowed.

He stopped at the entrance to the Mirror Falls trail, taking in the surroundings. If Erik Falk had walked this path, he would have once stood on this very spot. Falk tried to imagine what his dad would have seen. The trees around him were decades old. It was possible, he thought, that their two viewpoints were close to identical.

He stepped in. At first all he could hear was his breathing, but slowly the evening sounds became more distinct. The thick line of trees gave him the vaguely claustrophobic sense of being under siege. His hand ached in his pocket, but he ignored it. It was psychosomatic, he knew. There had been rainfall, he told himself as he walked, there would be no fire here. He repeated it under his breath until he felt a little better.

Falk wondered how many times his dad had walked along this path. A couple at least, judging by the markings on the map. Far away from the city he hated. And alone, because his son refused to come with him. Although Falk suspected, honestly, that he’d probably enjoyed the solitude. That was one way, at least, in which they’d always been alike.

There was movement somewhere deep in the bushes and Falk jumped, laughing a little at the spike in his heart rate. Had his dad felt unnerved at all by the Kovac history? It was easy to feel isolated out here. And the notoriety would have been much fresher in collective memory then than it was now. Falk doubted it had troubled Erik much. His dad had always been a pretty practical bloke. And he was always more comfortable around trees and trails and outdoor spaces than he ever was around other people.

Falk felt a few spots of rain hit his face and pulled up his jacket hood. Somewhere in the distance, he could make out a low rumble, but wasn’t sure if it was thunder or the falls. He should go back. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing out here, alone in the dark. It was his second time on this trail but he recognised nothing. The landscape seemed to shift and alter when unobserved. He could be anywhere. He turned and started back in the direction of the lodge.

He’d taken only two steps when he stopped dead. He listened hard. Nothing; only the wind and the scurry of invisible paws. The path was empty in both directions. How far away was he from the nearest person? He hadn’t walked a long way, he knew, but he felt like he could be the only one for miles. He stood completely still, looking and listening. Then he heard it again.

Footsteps. The tread was light but made the hairs on his neck stand up. He swivelled, trying to work out which direction it was coming from. He glimpsed the light through the trees a moment before it came around a bend, flashing straight into his eyes. He heard a gasp and the sound of something clattering to the ground. Blinded, Falk groped in his pocket for his torch, his fingers cold and clumsy as he felt for the switch. He turned it on, the beam casting a distorted shadow. The bushland hung on either side like a thick black curtain, and in the middle of the path, a slight figure shielded her eyes.

Falk squinted as his vision adjusted. ‘Police.’ He held out his ID. ‘Are you all right? I didn’t mean to scare you.’

The woman was half-turned away, but he recognised her from her photograph. Lauren. She was trembling as she bent to pick up her torch and when Falk stepped closer, he could see a nasty cut on her forehead. It had tentatively knitted together, but the area was swollen, the stretched skin shining in the glare of the torchlight.

‘You’re with the police?’ Lauren peered at the ID, her voice wary.

‘Yeah. Helping with the Alice Russell search. You’re Lauren Shaw, aren’t you? You were in the BaileyTennants group?’

‘Yes. Sorry, I thought –’ She took a deep breath. ‘For a second there – it’s stupid – when I saw someone alone on the path I thought it might be Alice.’

Falk, for a split second, had thought exactly the same thing. ‘I’m sorry I scared you. Are you okay?’

‘Yes –’ She was still breathing heavily, her thin shoulders rising and falling underneath her jacket. ‘I just got a shock.’

‘What are you doing out here in the dark?’ Falk said. Although she was perfectly entitled to ask him the same thing, Lauren shook her head. She must have been out there for a while. He could feel the chill coming off her clothes.

‘Nothing sensible. I’ve been going out to the falls during the day. I meant to come back earlier, but it gets dark so quickly.’