“So what did Sergeant Dwyer have to say earlier?”
Falk frowned as he rubbed the corner of his cloth over a particularly tough gray mark that seemed baked on. “He thinks you and Zara are on the wrong track.”
A short laugh. “No surprise there. What does he reckon the right track is, then?”
“Well, yeah,” Falk said. “Be interesting to know.”
“He didn’t say?”
“Not to me.”
“Because he doesn’t know himself. Not what happened to Kim. Not who killed my dad. I mean, Jesus, how hard is it to find a car with that much damage?”
Falk said nothing, but stopped scrubbing for a minute and looked around, more closely this time, at the surroundings. The track, the bushland, the Drop, the barrier. Falk didn’t know anything especiallyuseful about resolving traffic accidents. It was a world away from his day-to-day operations, but even applying basic investigation techniques he could appreciate that this scenario could be a tricky one. No witnesses, early morning, quiet roads in and out, hundreds if not thousands of agricultural sheds big enough to hide a damaged vehicle. Assuming it was a local vehicle at all, which felt like a pretty big assumption to make. Falk could hear the faint pulse of the festival music through the trees, and he pictured the size of the crowd. A lot of people, with a lot of vehicles. Jump on the highway, head home. A car could be across the border and into Victoria or New South Wales in a matter of hours. Falk looked at Joel, whose face was hard as he wrung out his cloth.
“Does Dwyer know what kind of car it was?”
“Blue Toyota. Or possibly Holden. And yes,” he said as Falk took a breath, “before you ask, I do know how common that type of vehicle is. Sergeant Dwyer’s made that point a few hundred times.”
“Right.” Falk nodded. To be fair, Dwyer wasn’t wrong about that. “But I was actually going to ask how he knows. CCTV somewhere or—?”
“Oh. No, there was nothing like that.” Joel examined the barrier in front of him. “From paint scratches left on the wood.”
“And they checked all the locally registered vehicles, I’m guessing?”
“Apparently.”
Falk was still thinking about that when Joel spoke again.
“Hey.” The boy’s tone was overly casual. “Was Zara okay when she got home? She was a bit down when she left this afternoon.”
Falk blinked, catching up with the change in subject. He pictured Zara at dinner. She had said very little, concentrating on her plate, seemingly miles away.
“She seemed no worse,” he said truthfully.
“That’s good.”
Falk looked over at Joel in the growing darkness. He took personal and professional pride in not jumping to conclusions, but at the same time some things were clear without having to ask. For example, it was as obvious as if it were written in the night sky above them that thiskid had a serious thing for Zara and she did not feel the same way. Falk watched Joel for a moment, tipping clean water onto his cloth. He could remember that feeling, at that age. Pining after a girl. The acute, sharp pang of longing that was both pleasant and painful.
Gemma, can I grab your number?
I think… no.
The memory flared without warning and, almost amused, Falk pushed it straight back down.
“So what’s the situation with you and Zara? Are you two together, or—?” Falk knew the answer but was interested in Joel’s take. The kid was already shaking his head.
“No. We’re just friends.” He was quiet for a minute. “But we’re pretty good friends, I guess. Now, obviously, but even before this. Our parents were close, so we’ve known each other a long time. Zara was really good when my dad died. And then all this with her mum…” Joel shrugged, and an edge crept into his voice. “So we kind of look out for each other, I suppose. Which is why I wouldn’t make things harder for her by lying about not seeing Kim that night. For the record. Again.”
“I don’t get the impression people think you’re lying, mate.” Falk had nearly reached the end of the barrier he was working on. “I reckon honestly it’s because they remember themselves at your age. How reliable they were. Or weren’t, more likely. Most people probably look back and think they wouldn’t have trusted themselves to be sure, at your age and in that position.”
“What about you?” Joel looked over. “Would you have trusted yourself?”
“No.” Falk’s answer came so quickly even Joel smiled. “I did a couple of pretty stupid things as a kid, like everyone. I wouldn’t have taken my word for it.”
The boy nodded. He doused a scrawl of graffiti with cleaning fluid and lifted his cloth but didn’t move, paused mid-thought. He seemed to be debating something. Finally, he started to clean, but more slowly now. He glanced sideways at Falk.
“So, that night last year—” Joel was hard to hear. His head wasdown, and he was focused on the railing. “I was already stationed at that first-aid post when I saw Zara go out of the east exit. She was with a couple of other girls from our school, but she saw me and came over and said hi. Asked if I was sure I didn’t want to come, because a lot of our friends were going. But I really didn’t want to because—” Joel tossed his cloth on the barrier and reached down to stroke Luna’s head instead. “Because I couldn’t face it, or whatever. Being here, at this time of year, drinking and having to pretend like it’s all fine.” He frowned in a way that made him look suddenly younger. “And anyway, I was already working by then. I’d told Gemma I’d do the whole shift, so I couldn’t just leave.”
