She did sound it, he thought. But the regret seemed matched by resolve.
“I’ve done the whole will-he, won’t-he, wait-by-the-phone thing in the past,” Gemma said. “And it’s not for me anymore. I don’t need snatched weekends and champagne and sunsets. I want help bringing in the supermarket shopping and someone to talk to and watch TV with. The day-to-day stuff, you know?”
They looked at each other, and finally Falk nodded.
“Yeah, look, I do know. And that makes sense,” he said at last. “I just wish—”
She waited, but eventually he had to shrug.
He managed to find a smile, despite himself. “I wish I had an answer, though.”
“I know. Me, too.” Gemma’s phone buzzed again in her hand.
“You’d better go,” Falk said, and she nodded. “But—” He stopped. He wanted to say something more, but couldn’t think what. “Thanks for telling me.”
“No, that’s okay,” she said. “Thanks for understanding. Because it’s really not you, or anything you did. The opposite, if anything. I just know myself too well and when I look down that road—” Gemma shook her head, a small smile on her face as she turned to leave. “Honestly, in the best possible way, I could see myself wasting so much time on you.”
20
Rita and Raco were sitting outside the guesthouse when Falk trudged up the vineyard driveway. They had a bottle of wine open on the small table between them; Rita was reading a novel while Raco had his head tilted back with his forearm across his eyes, possibly asleep. Falk smiled, glad to see them. It had felt like a long walk home, not least because whichever way he turned it, and he’d tried a few different ways, he thought that ultimately Gemma had probably gotten it right.
“That was a long run,” Rita called softly as she saw him. She pulled the third chair closer, and Falk sat down gratefully. “Drink?”
“Why not? Thanks,” he said as Raco stirred and rubbed his eyes, blinking hard. “I haven’t been running the whole time. I bumped into Gemma.”
“Oh yes?” Rita threw her husband a smug look. “And?”
“And we had a drink. Talked a bit.”
“And?”
“And unfortunately, Rita, that’s all there is to report.”
“For now?”
“For good, I think.” Falk kept his voice light. “But for a few very valid reasons. So yeah. It’s fine.”
He braced himself for a string of questions or reassurances or romantic plotting, but instead, Rita simply reached out and rested her hand gently on his. Her palm was warm and comforting against the back of his hand, and Falk suddenly felt his throat constrict. Out of absolutely nowhere, for one very long, very real moment, he actually thought that he might start to cry. He focused hard on the glass in front of him and swallowed twice, three times, until the sensation passed. Neither Rita nor Raco said anything, just sat with him, surrounded by the hushed sounds of night.
“Mate, I have to tell you,” Falk cleared his throat noisily, “Sergeant Dwyer thinks someone in your friends-and-family circle is lying about not seeing Kim that night.” Abrupt, he was aware, but at least it moved the conversation on. “He thinks it’s unlikely no one spoke to her, given how close you all are.”
“That’s what he was saying to you this afternoon?” Raco reached up, cracking his shoulder joints. He exchanged a glance with Rita, but neither seemed shocked nor even surprised. “I thought something new might have come out of the appeal.”
“No. He was asking about you. All of you, I mean.”
“Yeah, fair enough. I would, too, in his shoes. Wouldn’t you?” Raco reached over and splashed the remains of the bottle between their three glasses. “I like Rob Dwyer, but I don’t think he’s right about this. That was a busy night at the festival. Crowds like that? You could be next to someone and still miss them. And we all thought Kim was here for a few days, so the urgency to catch her right then wasn’t really there.” He glanced at Rita, who nodded. “Not for us, anyway. And that’s before you even wonder if Kim was actively avoiding people she knew, for whatever reason. Mental health, who knows?”
Falk could see that Rita agreed and, thinking about it, he was inclined to as well. Not least because he suddenly—again—pictured Gemma. They had both apparently spotted each other last year without the other noticing. It wasn’t impossible at all. “So you’re not worried?”
“About that?” Raco shook his head. “I know there’s a personal connection with Dwyer having worked with my dad, but if he really thought there was something solid to pursue, he’d do it. And—” He glanced past Falk, to his brother’s house. The kitchen lights were on, but Falk could see no movement inside. Still, Raco’s voice dropped a notch. “The fact is—and Dwyer knows this—all the alibis are pretty good. For everyone in Kim’s circle.”
“You’ve checked them out?” Falk said and glanced at Rita, who raised her eyebrows a fraction over the rim of her glass. This was not news to her.
“Yeah, look, don’t shout it around the dinner table or anything,” Raco said. “But yes, of course. And not because I don’t trust my own friends and family. Because I do. But Kim was family as well. And there are always going to be questions around something like this, so I’d rather know what we were all dealing with than get a surprise.”
Falk nodded. He could see a shadow in the windows now. Zara maybe. “So the movements on the night are good?”
“Yeah,” Raco said. “Not perfect, but when are they ever? Most people were on the festival site all night, seen multiple times by one or more people. When it comes down to it, I’ve heard a lot worse. You would’ve, too.”
“Who are we talking about?” Falk said. “Charlie? Shane?”
“Yep.” Raco’s voice was very quiet now. “Rohan, obviously, although we know where he went. Naomi. Gemma. Zara, I guess, if we’re being really thorough. Us—” He waved a glass toward himself and Rita. “You, technically.”
“Good enough to rule them out?”
“In the real world, yes.” Raco nodded. “And I say that as someone who cared about Kim. But yes. There are gaps of a few minutes here and there, but we’re talking short. Not hours, not even half hours. No one left the site alone, except Naomi, and Zara and Joel both saw her heading home. Shane drove back here to the vineyard a bit before 9:00 p.m. to grab another couple of crates. But he’s on CCTV leaving via the main exit, and he passed one of Charlie’s seasonal workers on the way back. Stopped to give her a lift the rest of the way to the festival and was back at the stall quick enough. Time frame’s reasonable.”
Falk nodded. That was useful to know, at least. If Raco was satisfied he’d checked things out, then he’d checked them out.
“But—” Falk glanced at the guesthouse door and pictured the folder of Raco’s notes sitting on the bedside table, thick and meticulous. “You do think something’s wrong.” It was a statement rather than a question.