“Well. Not exactly.” Raco hesitated. “Look, it’s nothing solid. But it’s the baby for me. Kim leaving Zoe alone like that. I think about our two—” He and Rita both instinctively turned toward the house where Eva and Henry were sleeping. “And I cannot imagine Kim doing that. I just can’t. There were so many people around who she knew and trusted, why not leave Zoe with someone? She could have made any excuse—anything at all—and handed over the baby and walked away, but at least then she would have known Zoe was safe. And, okay—” He glanced at Rita, and Falk could tell they’d had this conversation before. “I know people do things that are out of character when they’re struggling. I get that. But that was seriously out of character for her. So much so.”
“Right.” Falk looked over to Rita. “What do you think?”
Rita reached across and took her husband’s hand. A silent, private warmth passed between them. “Honestly, I think mental health can be complicated. I’m not sure it helps to judge what Kim did that night against the woman we knew.”
Raco squeezed her hand. “Look, you’re probably right.” He sighed. “It’s just when I think about Kim, I can’t believe this was—I dunno—her ending. Something this bloody sad and lonely. She deserved a happy life. Better than this, anyway.”
They fell silent, and Falk could hear the breeze whisper through the vines.
“Maybe there is something else, though,” he said finally. “Joel’s sticking to his guns about Kim not leaving the festival by that exit.”
“She did, mate.”
“But there are other ways to get to the reservoir, he’s right about that—”
“It doesn’t work—”
“But if she went another way, then it opens up—”
“No. Mate—” Raco stopped him. Not annoyed, simply exhausted. “I get what you’re saying. But Kim left that way. She had to.”
He stifled an enormous yawn, and Rita stood, resting her fingers lightly on Falk’s shoulder and then her husband’s as she reached to gather the glasses. Enough for now.
“Let’s call it a night,” Raco said. “But I’ll show you tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” Falk nodded. “Okay, mate.”
They said good night, Rita stretching up to give him a soft kiss on the cheek, and Falk let himself into the guesthouse. He turned on the lights and sat on the bed, alone, then got up again, rummaging through his bag until he found his work diary. He sat down once more and opened it. He ignored the meetings and reminders clamoring for his attention and instead turned the pages slowly, one by one, looking through the entire year for a three-day weekend when he was completely free. He checked all fifty-two weeks and couldn’t find a single one.
21
The good folks of the Marralee Valley were not the types to waste a sunny Saturday morning, and the festival grounds were as busy as Falk had ever seen them. He’d left Raco and Rita in the vineyard driveway, packing the kids into their car, and walked to the site rather than squeeze between the child seats. He’d followed the main route, approaching the festival via the parking lot rather than the reservoir, and had still beaten them there. From a shady spot near the entrance he watched the Racos approach, Henry complaining bitterly from the stroller as Eva swung from her dad’s hand.
“Listen, I can wrangle them both if you want.” Rita nodded to the kids as they all met outside the gate. “Just not for too long.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you, my love.” Raco smiled and gave Rita a kiss. “All right, Eva. Say bye to Mum. She and Henry are going to check out the baby rides while you and me and Aaron do some investigating.”
“Really?” Eva’s face was instantly alert and serious. “What are we looking for?”
Raco put his hands on his knees so their eyes were level. “Ways to get in and out of here.”
Eva frowned, then pointed to the main entrance beside them, a bottleneck already forming. “That’s easy. There are lots of ways.”
“Well,” Raco said mildly. “We’ll see.”
He straightened and together they walked over to join the crowd waiting to get inside. Henry’s stroller saw him and Rita waved breezily through the side gate, while Falk, Raco, and Eva stood in the line for the turnstiles.
“So, the entrance is always staffed,” Raco said to Falk as they shuffled forward, and they both looked over to the workers in festival T-shirts on either side of the queues. “They keep an eye on the numbers coming in, open the side gate. Watch for potential troublemakers as well, so they can get security involved if they need to.”
Raco took Eva’s hand as they passed through the turnstiles, and rummaged in his pocket for some cash for the charity collectors inside the gates. Falk did the same, pulling out a handful of coins and dropping them in the nearest collection tin.
“Thanks, mate.”
Falk stopped and looked up at the familiar voice. Even then, it took him a moment to recognize the speaker. Sergeant Dwyer seemed a different man out of uniform. He was dressed in jeans and a checked shirt, collecting alongside a kind-faced woman who Falk guessed from their body language must be Dwyer’s wife.
“G’day, Eva. Gentlemen.” Dwyer nodded at the three of them, smiling as he held out the tin for another passerby to drop in a donation. “Appreciated, thank you.”
Falk looked past him to the sign propped up nearby. Each day had seen a different charity on the gate, and this wasn’t one he was hugely familiar with. He recognized the logo and branding, though. A support network for families of those with alcohol abuse issues.
“This is my wife, Cathy, by the way.” Dwyer nodded to the woman waiting patiently for Eva to painstakingly deposit Raco’s coins into her tin one at a time.
“Hello.” Cathy looked over and smiled. She had a badge pinned to her shirt showing a photo of a young woman captured in a spontaneous glance. A surprised, amused look lit up her eyes, but for just a moment, her frozen long-gone gaze reminded Falk a little of Kim Gillespie. The similarity ended there, though; this woman was years younger, with fair hair framing her face. Caitlin Dwyer, he read, above the charity’s logo and dates of both her birth and her death. What had Raco said about her? Falk thought back. Choked on her own vomit after a party the previous year. According to her mother’s badge, Caitlin had been just twenty-two.
“I’m very sorry about your daughter.” Falk turned back to the sergeant.
“Thank you.” Dwyer’s reply was steady, but there was something deep and sad behind his eyes. “Doesn’t get much easier, but we try to make a point of talking about it. Not a popular topic this time of year—” His eyes followed a couple clinking past with a large case of wine bottles, their young children trailing in their wake. “But a community like this, there’s a drinking culture built in, and youth alcohol issues don’t get much attention. People think it’s just kids being kids, but some of them—” His eyes slid to his wife’s badge, then quickly away. “They can’t handle it. Oh, great, thank you.” He held out his tin as another passerby reached over.