Falk and Raco sat together and listened to the hum of the night as they looked out over the long rows of vines. Rita had taken Henry inside, and Falk could hear her now moving around the kitchen.
“You going to wait up for Zara?” Falk asked as Raco yawned.
“I don’t think I’ll make it. I hope she’s feeling okay, though.”
“It’s bloody hard when someone’s not found,” Falk said. “I can see why she’s hung up on things.”
“I know. But a lot of these theories she grabs on to just go nowhere. I mean, Kim being out there still?” Raco rubbed the corners of his eyes. “Think that through realistically for one second. Where’s she supposed to have been living for an entire year? What’s she doing for money? I mean, Kim was my family, too. So I’ll follow these things up, for her as much as Zara, but…” He waved a hand in futility. “Things lead where they lead, you know? I can’t change that because Zara wants it to be something different.”
“No.” Falk thought back over the evening, and the appeals for answers. Not just from Zara and Rohan but from the sergeant, too, with his unexpected—to Falk, at least—scrutiny of the gathered supporters. “What are your thoughts on Dwyer, out of interest? He seems the curious type.”
Raco looked faintly amused. “He is, isn’t he? Which is what you want, I suppose. But yeah, look, he’s solid. Good with the locals, good at the job, I would say. My dad trained him up, actually, back when this was one of his early postings, so you’d hope so.”
“The way he was watching all of you tonight, at the end,” Falk said, and Raco nodded. “You worried?”
“No.”
“Not at all?”
Raco seemed to weigh something up for a moment, then hauled himself out of his chair and disappeared inside the house. He returned a moment later with a large bound folder in his hands and passed it to Falk.
“Been keeping a few notes of my own about all this.”
“Yeah, mate. So I see.”
It was a thick file, and Falk ran his thumb over the edge. He wasn’t surprised Raco had his own resources, but this was even more comprehensive than he’d expected. He glanced over, and Raco shrugged.
“Yeah, I know. Look, it’s for peace of mind, mostly. So when Zara asks something, I can give her a decent answer. Anyway, feel free to flick through. Maybe you’ll see something I haven’t.”
“I doubt that,” Falk said, meaning it.
“At this point, I’d be happy if you did, honestly.” Raco gathered up their empty glasses. “And you never know, fresh pair of eyes.”
“Well.” Falk was less convinced. “Maybe.”
After they’d said good night, Falk walked back to the guesthouse on his own. It was very peaceful, he thought. Away from the lights of the cottage, the vineyard took shape under the silvery moon. The perfect rows gleamed in the pale light, and the distant hills rose around the valley in their tones of black and gray. Above, the night sky was huge. The stars glowed. He stood for a minute, drinking it in.
Finally, the mosquitos biting, he unlocked the guesthouse and let himself in. He flicked on a couple of lamps, bathing the room in awarm, low light, and put Raco’s file on the bedside table. Opening the fridge, he poured himself a glass of water, then went to the bathroom, turned on the taps, and took a long, hot shower.
He emerged feeling better, more relaxed and his head clearer. He put on the T-shirt and shorts he usually slept in and stood at the window, rubbing a towel over his hair. Through the blinds, Falk could see the edge of the house. It was all in darkness except for a soft glow from one window. He mentally tracked the internal layout and decided it was Zara’s room. There was some movement of shadow behind the curtains. So the girl was home, but she wasn’t sleeping, he thought as he hung up his towel. Or at least not yet.
Falk brushed his teeth and sat on the bed. He settled back against the headboard, his hand reaching toward the light on the bedside table but his eyes on Raco’s file. Five minutes, he decided. He was ready for sleep, but also curious what exactly his mate had found to fill a folder quite so thick.
The answer, Falk could see immediately when he opened the cover, was a robust and practical job typical of Raco’s policing style these days. Maps—of the town, the festival site, the reservoir, the bushland—had been cataloged and annotated with notes and times and helpful lists of key points. Raco had summarized some witness statements, including Falk’s own, and had managed to get his hands on photocopies of the originals of others. The bartender in the ale tent. The couple who had seen a woman arguing with a man in the parking lot.
—she had on dark jeans or pants. I could not see her top clearly because she was leaning into the car on the driver’s side, but it was white or light colored. The woman sounded annoyed and said to the driver something like: “If you are lying to me, I will find out.” I did not hear his response because we were walking away and—
Falk turned the page. Another one, this time from a woman in the ladies’ toilets.
—waiting in line and I could hear crying from inside a cubicle. It was the second or third cubicle on the left. It was a woman and she was upset and I considered asking if she was okay, but there were a lot of people in the line and I felt like it wasn’t any of my business. I go to the festival every year and you do get people who have overdone it and are emotional. I heard a mobile phone ring from inside the cubicle and the woman stopped crying. She answered it and she said: “Hello.” And then: “I’m still here. Where are you?” I was at the front of the line by then so went to use the toilet myself and did not hear any more. I knew Kim Gillespie between the ages of approximately sixteen and twenty. I was friends with her mother, Deborah, before she and her husband moved to Canada and since then I have run into Kim from time to time when she came back to Marralee to visit. I believe it was Kim’s voice I heard—
Falk moved on, marking spots to return to when he felt more alert. It was an interesting collection of material. Raco had said he’d compiled this to help Zara’s understanding, but there was information in there that Falk highly doubted he’d ever show her. Studies of body decomposition rates in South Australian waters, for one. Several times, Falk found himself staring blankly at a page for several minutes, trying to work out its significance. An algae report, or the minutes of the previous year’s festival committee’s annual meeting.
Falk yawned and half-heartedly opened a worn envelope to find a packet of grainy nighttime photos. They had the familiar blurred quality that instantly dated them as having been taken before smartphones and instant edits. He recognized Kim in the first photo, no more than sixteen or seventeen at the time, but a beer bottle in her hand. It was dark, and her face was lit by something out of shot. A campfire, Falk guessed from the glow. She was sitting on a blanket with her legs tucked under her and was making a face at the camera.
Falk could feel exhaustion creeping over him, and he’d seen plentyof photos of Kim that evening. He started to replace them in the envelope, then stopped as something on the back of a picture caught his eye. He turned it over. It was a number in Raco’s handwriting:11.Falk flicked through the rest of the shots. Each had been numbered, from one to thirty-six. Recently, too, he guessed. The ink looked far fresher than the photos.
Falk checked inside the envelope again and found what he’d been hoping for: a folded sheet of paper, also with the numbers one through thirty-six in Raco’s writing. Falk scanned the list.
