“Right. Thanks.” Falk stepped back, and they stood side by side, looking out.
“You can actually see really clearly at night. The bushland’s so dark that the moon kind of bounces off the water and lights everything up down there.”
Zara glanced at Falk with her mouth set and her eyebrows raised, as though her point were self-evident. “So someone would have seen Mum,” she explained when he didn’t immediately respond, a note of exasperation creeping in. “There was a whole group of us up here. Some people were here all night. Every year it happens. It’s like, a tradition. This spot right here—” She tapped her heel into the ground to indicate where they were standing. A small circle of ground was worn bald.“People are always standing around here. Because it’s nice to look down on the water while you chat.”
Falk looked pointedly behind them to the crushed beer cans dumped in the clearing.
“Yeah, okay,” she conceded. “And obviously have a few drinks. But what I’m saying is, you cansee.” Her voice caught. “If my mum had gone down there and climbed over that railing, someone would have—”
Zara stopped and they both turned at the sound of footsteps crunching through the bushland. Two sets, light and heavy. The overgrown branch lifted, and Joel appeared in the clearing, his dog following.
“Hey,” Zara called. “We’re over here.”
Joel walked across the clearing to join them as Falk watched, a little surprised. The young bloke had gotten up there faster than he’d expected; it couldn’t have taken him much more than a minute. A combination of youth and familiarity, he guessed. It was the first time Falk had seen him up close, and he found himself looking at Joel with curiosity. Gemma Tozer’s stepson. He had that odd teenage ability to look both older and younger than his eighteen years, depending on the way his face fell. Joel’s angular frame and dark hair didn’t bear much resemblance to the few photos Falk had seen of his father at the same age. Dean Tozer had been sturdy and grinning, his sandy complexion a little pink from the beer in his hand.
“This is my uncle’s friend, Aaron,” Zara was saying. “He’s a cop, too.”
Joel simply nodded. “Hi.”
He showed some interest but no recognition. So Gemma had not mentioned Falk, not that he would have expected her to. The dog, a bundle of energy and mystery pedigree, lavished Falk with friendly attention.
“I was showing Aaron how much you can see from up here,” Zara said, and Falk glanced at Joel to gauge his reaction. The boy’s eyes had settled on Zara but moved away quickly as she turned. Other than that, he gave nothing away, just squinted a little into the glare, his arms folded.
Falk looked down again. The view to the reservoir was clear, that was true, but it was not broad. He could see the track at the point where it swelled out to form the Drop, where Joel had been a moment earlier, but on either side it was hidden by bushland. He couldn’t make out the path beyond that for more than a dozen meters in either direction. Falk took a couple of careful steps to the side. Even at the best vantage point, he could see only a little more toward the festival side. The other way was now completely obscured.
“What was it like up here?” He turned to Zara. “On opening night?”
She shrugged. “Just the usual thing, I guess. A bunch of us get together to catch up.”
“I mean, last year specifically. How many people were up here?”
“Maybe forty. Fifty? I’m not sure.”
Falk looked around the clearing. It wasn’t huge. “So it gets pretty packed?”
“Yeah.”
“Noisy?”
“I suppose.”
“Music playing?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Got the fire going?”
“Yeah. If there’s not a fire ban.”
“Was there last year?”
“No. So, yeah. There was a fire.”
Falk didn’t even bother asking how much they’d all been drinking. He looked down to the reservoir again. It didn’t really matter how many people had been up here that night. He knew how sessions like this got and, view or no view, there was no way this gap was being watched at all times, let alone by someone still sober enough to see and remember.
His eyes moved along the part of the track that was hidden, one side and then the other. He thought for a long moment. He couldn’t imagine this vantage point had been well monitored, but was it naturally good enough to rule out a struggle taking place down below? Falk weighed up the scenario silently, imagining it playing out. The sudden flash of a forced movement, the oddity of a cry for help in the night. That probably would have been enough to draw the eye, maybe. Or maybe not. It depended on how noisy the party was and how violent the struggle.
A lone woman in the dark, though. That, Falk could picture. Even standing in the broad light of day, he could imagine the music, the flickering lights of the fire, the booze, the hormones. Raco was right. Kim Gillespie could have slipped herself over the edge and plunged into the silent water below without anyone even glancing up from their beer.
