Falk had spotted Gemma only twice during his brief visit to Marralee twelve months earlier. The first, perhaps not surprisingly, had been at the festival. It had been just after 8:00 p.m. on the night Kim Gillespie would later disappear, and the sky was dark. Falk had been walking back from the HQ caravan, having tried and failed to deliver Charlie’s safety reports into Gemma’s hands personally, when suddenly there she was. Just beyond the ferris wheel, a little farther along the path.
She’d been deep in conversation with a blond woman Falk hadn’t recognized at the time, but now knew to be Naomi Kerr. Falk had paused, considering what to do. Above him, the ferris wheel had circled slowly on its axis.
His impulse had been to walk straight up to Gemma and say hello, but instinctively he’d been able to tell this wasn’t a great time. Both women were talking fast, standing close to hear each other over the noise. Naomi had seemed agitated, her hands moving in quick, tight gestures. She’d made a point emphatically, and in response both women suddenly lifted their heads and looked in Falk’s direction.
He had thought—hoped—for a second that Gemma would see him, but she and Naomi had been focused on something else, theirgaze settling beyond him. Gemma had nodded, firm but calm—Okay, I understand—and Naomi had looked slightly mollified.
It had been that same moment that a feedback loop had screeched from the ride’s speakers behind Falk and he’d automatically turned; the moment he’d caught Rohan Gillespie’s eye, vaguely registered him talking to the Queensland tourist family, seen him waving up to the top carriage. And that—as Falk would have explained to the interviewing officer later if the guy had pressed him at all—was why two and a half hours before Kim was reported missing, his own focus had not been on her at all. It was instead on Gemma, who had beenright thereon the path before he’d glanced away, and was maddeningly, frustratingly gone by the time he’d looked back.
He did see her once more after that: the following day, in those strange black hours when the urgent question of Kim’s whereabouts was taking on a surreal nightmarish quality. Falk had spotted Gemma leaving the police station as he’d been arriving to make his own statement. From the pavement on the other side of the road, the main street traffic moving between them, he’d watched her come quickly down the station steps. She’d gotten into her car, started the engine, and driven away. If she’d seen him standing there, she hadn’t acknowledged it.
Falk had kept the diary, though. The pages were crinkled with pen marks and crossings-out. The days had been crammed full of meetings and reminders and corrections and calls to return and questions to check and reports due. But it still didn’t have her number.
Falk and Raco sat outside the guesthouse, drinking coffee in the morning sun while five-year-old Eva attempted to thread dandelions into a crown. Falk had woken up naturally before his alarm, which was somewhat unusual, and he’d lain in bed for several seconds, bathed in the light from the window and trying to remember where he was. Now, he and Raco watched in silence as the back door to the house opened and Zara wandered out. She crossed the veranda and walked down tothe grounds, absorbed in her phone. She was hunched too far over to properly see her face.
“She told me she thought yesterday went quite well,” Raco said.
“That’s something, at least.”
Raco swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Hopefully she won’t get her hopes up too high, but there’s not a lot that can be done about that.”
Falk thought he was probably right. “I got through some of your file last night.”
“Yeah?” Raco drained his mug. “Anything?” He stopped as the door opened again and this time Rita appeared on the back veranda, shielding her eyes. She spotted them outside the guesthouse and waved for them to join her.
“Naomi must be here.” Raco pulled himself out of the chair. “Come on, Eva. So, yeah,” he said to Falk as they began to walk, “any thoughts?”
“It’s pretty thorough, mate,” Falk said. “No stone unturned.”
“Or clutching at straws.”
“What was the significance of the AGM minutes?”
“Which ones?”
“The festival committee. Last year.”
“Oh, them. There was a plan to do a safety audit. I put the minutes in so I remembered to follow up, but nothing new came out of it.”
“And the algae report? With the spring and summer bacteria levels?”
Raco frowned. “Dunno, might have to remind myself. Think it was something to do with indicating water movement.”
“There were some old photos, too,” Falk said. “Numbered, names listed. Taken at a party.”
“Yep.” Falk caught the change in Raco’s voice. “I know the ones.”
Raco looked like he wanted to say more but instead lifted his hand to greet the second woman now waiting for them on the veranda. “G’day, Naomi.”
Naomi Kerr stood next to Rita, holding baby Henry on her hip.
“Hi, Greg. And Aaron. Hello. At last.” Naomi smiled, bright andwarm. Her sunglasses were not quite dark enough to hide her swift look of appraisal, up and down. “Good to finally meet you.”
“You, too,” he said.
Naomi was small, her head barely reaching Falk’s shoulder. She was wearing leggings today and they were skintight and glossy black, ending mid-calf to show a smooth, tanned ankle. Beneath her lightweight fleece, a fitted T-shirt hugged her body.
“Thank you both again for doing this.” Rita took Henry back as he started to whine, and motioned vaguely for them all to sit down. “And Father Connor has another appointment after this, Naomi, so you should be back at the clinic for—”
