140871101X

by Jane Harper

  ‘I know she’s growing up.’ Alice wiped her eyes with her sleeve. ‘But she’s still my baby. You wouldn’t understand.’

  No, thought Bree, picturing the broken bird’s egg, she supposed she wouldn’t. Her hand stilled on Alice’s back.

  ‘Don’t tell the others.’ Alice was looking at her now. ‘Please.’

  ‘They’ll want to know about the signal.’

  ‘There was no signal. I was wrong.’

  ‘Still –’

  ‘It’ll only get their hopes up. They’ll all want to try to call people. And you’re right about the battery.’

  Bree said nothing.

  ‘Okay?’

  As Bree let her hand fall from Alice’s back, Alice reached out and took it, her fingers firm against Bree’s knuckles. It was almost painful.

  ‘Bree? Come on, you’re smart enough to see that I’m right.’

  A long pause. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Good girl. Thank you. It’s for the best.’

  As Bree nodded, she felt Alice drop her hand.

  Chapter 18

  Daniel Bailey looked small against the front of his sprawling mansion. Falk could see him in the rear-view mirror, watching as he and Carmen drove away. The wrought-iron gate guarding the property slid open silently to allow them to exit.

  ‘I wonder when Joel Bailey’s planning to come home and face the music,’ Falk said as they drove along the pristine streets.

  ‘Probably when he needs his mum to do his washing. I bet she’ll do it as well. Willingly.’ Carmen’s stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard over the engine. ‘Do you want to grab something to eat? Jamie won’t have left any food in the house before he went away.’ She peered out of the window as they passed a row of upmarket shops. ‘I don’t really know anywhere around here though. Nowhere that costs less than a mortgage repayment, anyway.’

  Falk thought for a minute, weighing up his options. Good idea, bad idea?

  ‘You could come to mine.’ The words were out before he’d fully decided. ‘I’ll make something.’ He realised he was holding his breath. He let it out.

  ‘Like what?’

  He mentally scanned his cupboards and freezer. ‘Spag bol?’

  A nod in the dark. A smile, he thought.

  ‘Spag bol at your place.’ Definitely a smile, he could hear it in her voice. ‘How could I say no? Let’s go.’

  He put the indicator on.

  Thirty minutes later, they pulled up outside his St Kilda flat. The waves in the bay had been high and rough as they’d driven past, their white crests glowing in the moonlight. Falk opened the door. ‘Come in.’

  His flat had the chill of a home left empty for several days, and he flicked on the light. His trainers were still by the front door where he’d kicked them aside to put on his hiking boots. How many days ago was that? Not even three. It felt like more.

  Carmen trooped in behind him and looked around unashamedly. Falk could feel her watching as he did a lap of the living room, switching on lamps. The heater whirred to life and almost immediately it started to feel warmer. The entire room was painted a neutral white, with the few splashes of colour coming from the packed bookshelves that lined the walls. A table in the corner and a couch facing the TV were the only other pieces of furniture. The place felt smaller with another person in it, Falk thought, but not in a cramped way. He tried to remember when he’d last had someone over. It had been a while.

  Without waiting for an invitation, Carmen seated herself on a stool at the breakfast bar that separated the modest kitchen from the living space.

  ‘These are nice,’ she said, picking up one of two hand-knitted dolls lying on top of padded envelopes on the counter. ‘Gifts? Or are you starting a weird collection?’

  Falk laughed. ‘Gifts, thanks. I meant to post them this week but didn’t get to it with everything else happening. They’re for the kids of a couple of friends.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ She picked up the envelopes. ‘Not local mates, then?’

  ‘No. One’s back in Kiewarra, where I grew up.’ He opened a cupboard and concentrated hard on its contents so he didn’t have to look over at her. ‘The other died, actually.’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, trying to sound like he meant it. ‘But his little girl’s doing well. She’s in Kiewarra as well. The toys are belated birthday presents. I had to wait to get their names stitched on.’ He pointed to the letters on the dolls’ dresses. Eva Raco. Charlotte Hadler. Both growing like weeds, he’d been told. He hadn’t been back to check for himself and suddenly felt a bit guilty about it. ‘They’re okay presents, aren’t they? For kids?’

  ‘They’re beautiful, Aaron. I’m sure they’ll love them.’ Carmen carefully returned them to the packages as Falk continued hunting through his cupboards.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ He unearthed a single bottle of wine and subtly wiped a layer of dust off it. He was not a big drinker in company, and certainly not alone. ‘Red okay? I thought I might have some white, but . . .’

  ‘Red’s perfect, thanks. Here, I’ll open it,’ Carmen said, reaching out for the bottle and two glasses. ‘You’ve got a nice place here. Very neat. I have to have about two weeks’ notice to have people round. Although your taste is a little on the monastic side, if I may say so.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first.’ He poked his head into another cupboard and emerged with two large pots. Mince from the freezer went into the microwave to defrost as Carmen poured the wine into two glasses.

  ‘I’ve never had the patience with all that “let it breathe” rubbish,’ she said, clinking her glass against his. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  He was conscious of her eyes on him as he put oil, onions and garlic in a pan then, as they sizzled, opened a tin of tomatoes. She had a half-smile on her face.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Nothing.’ She looked at him over the rim of her glass as she took a sip. ‘Just with your whole bachelor pad set-up, I was expecting sauce from a jar.’

  ‘Don’t get too excited. You haven’t tasted it yet.’

  ‘No. Smells good, though. I didn’t know you could cook.’

  He smiled. ‘That’s probably a bit generous. I can make this and a few other things. It’s like playing the piano, though, isn’t it? You only need to know about five decent pieces you can drag out in company and people think you’re good at it.’

  ‘So this is your signature dish, as they say on the cooking shows?’

  ‘One of them. I’ve got exactly four more.’

  ‘Still, five dishes is four more than some men can make, let me tell you.’ She smiled back and hopped off her stool. ‘Can I turn on the news for a minute?’

  Carmen picked up the remote without waiting for an answer. The sound was low but Falk could see the screen out of the corner of his eye. They didn’t have to wait long for an update. The ticker scrolled along the bottom of the screen.

  GRAVE FEARS FOR MISSING MELBOURNE HIKER.

  A series of photos appeared: Alice Russell, alone, then again in the group shot taken at the start of the trail. Martin Kovac, old images of his four victims, an aerial shot of the Giralang Ranges, a rolling tangle of green and brown stretching to the horizon.

  ‘Any mention of the son?’ Falk called from the kitchen, and Carmen shook her head.

  ‘Not yet. It all sounds pretty speculative.’

  She turned off the TV and moved over to examine his bookshelves. ‘Good collection.’

  ‘Feel free to borrow any,’ he said. He read widely, mostly fiction, spanning from the award-studded literary to the shamelessly commercial. He stirred the pan, the aromas filling the room as Carmen examined the shelves. She was brushing her fingers along the spines, pausing once or twice to turn her head and read the titles. Halfway along, she stopped, edging something thin out from between two novels.

  ‘Is this your dad?’

  Falk froze at the stove, knowing without lo
oking what she was talking about. He gave one of the bubbling pots a vigorous stir, before finally turning around. Carmen was holding up a photograph. She had a second one in her hand.

  ‘Yeah, that’s him.’ Falk wiped his hands on a tea towel and reached across the counter for the picture she was holding. It was unframed and he held it by the edges.

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Erik.’

  Falk hadn’t looked at the picture properly since it had been printed by a nurse and presented to him in a card after the funeral. It showed him next to a frail-looking man in a wheelchair. His dad’s face was drawn and pale. Both men were smiling, but woodenly, as though responding to an instruction from the person behind the camera.

  Carmen was looking at the other photo she’d found. She held it up. ‘This one’s really nice. When was this taken?’

  ‘I’m not sure. A while ago, obviously.’

  Falk had a little trouble swallowing as he looked at the second image. The photo quality was less crisp and the camerawork a little shaky, but the smiles it captured were not forced this time. He would be about three years old, he guessed, and sitting on his dad’s shoulders, his hands gripping the sides of Erik’s face, and his chin resting on his dad’s hair.

  They were walking along what Falk recognised as the trail that had skirted their large back paddock, and his dad was pointing at something in the distance. Falk had tried a number of times without success to remember what had caught their eye. Whatever it had been, it had made them both laugh. Whether it was the weather, or a stuff-up in the photo development process, the scene was awash with a golden light, giving it the appearance of an endless summer.

  Falk had not seen the photo for years, until he’d brought his father’s backpack home from the hospice and emptied out the contents. He hadn’t known his dad had even had it, let alone how long he’d kept it with him. Among all the things in his life Falk wished had gone differently, he wished his dad had shown him this photo while he was still alive.

  Not knowing quite how he felt about any of it – the belongings, the funeral, his father’s death – Falk had tucked the backpack with Erik’s maps inside in the bottom of the wardrobe and slid the photos between two of his favourite books until he decided what to do with them. They had all remained there ever since.

  ‘You look just like him,’ Carmen was saying, her head down, nose close to the image. ‘I mean, obviously not so much in this one in the hospital.’

  ‘No, he was pretty ill by that stage. He died quite soon after. We used to look more alike.’

  ‘Yeah, you can really tell in this one of you as a child.’

  ‘I know.’ She was right. The man in the photo could be Falk himself.

  ‘Even if you didn’t always get on, you must miss him.’

  ‘Of course. I miss him a lot. He was my dad.’

  ‘It’s just that you haven’t put the pictures up.’

  ‘No. Well, I don’t really go for home decorating much.’ He tried to make a joke of it but she didn’t laugh. She watched him over her glass.

  ‘It’s okay to regret it, you know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Not being closer when you had the chance.’

  He said nothing.

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first kid to feel that way after losing a parent.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Especially if you feel perhaps you could have made more of an effort.’

  ‘Carmen. Thank you. I know.’ Falk put his wooden spoon down and looked at her.

  ‘Good. I was just saying. In case you didn’t.’

  He couldn’t help a small smile. ‘Remind me, are you professionally trained in psychology, or . . .?’

  ‘Gifted amateur.’ Her smile faded a little. ‘It’s a real shame you grew apart, though. It looks like you were happy together when you were younger.’

  ‘Yeah. But he was always a bit of a difficult bloke. He kept himself to himself too much.’

  Carmen looked at him. ‘A bit like you, you mean?’

  ‘No. Far worse than me. He kept people at arm’s length. Even people he knew well. And he wasn’t a big talker so it was hard to know what he was thinking a lot of the time.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Yeah. It meant he ended up quite detached –’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘– so he never really connected that closely with anyone.’

  ‘My God, seriously, Aaron, are you honestly not hearing this?’

  He had to smile. ‘Look, I know how it sounds, but it wasn’t like that. If we were that similar, we would have got along better. Especially after we moved to the city. We needed each other. It was difficult to settle here in those first years. I was missing our farm, our old life, but he never seemed to understand that.’

  Carmen cocked her head. ‘Or maybe he did understand how hard it was, because he was finding it difficult himself, and that’s why he invited you to go hiking on the weekends.’

  Falk stopped stirring the pan and stared at her.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said. ‘You would know. I never even met him. I’m just saying that I think most parents do genuinely try to do right by their kids.’ She shrugged. ‘I mean, look at the Baileys and their dickhead kid. He can do no wrong even when it’s caught on camera. And it sounds like even a lunatic like Martin Kovac spent his last couple of years upset that his son had gone AWOL.’

  Falk started stirring again and tried to think what to say. Over the past few days, the brittle image he had of his father had been slowly warping into something a little different.

  ‘I suppose so,’ he said finally. ‘And look, I do wish we’d done a better job of sorting things out. Of course I do. And I know I should have tried harder. I just felt like Dad never wanted to meet halfway.’

  ‘Again, you would know. But you’re the one with the last picture of your dying father sandwiched between two paperbacks. That doesn’t scream halfway mark to me.’ She got up and slid the photos back between the books. ‘Don’t scowl, I’ll mind my own business from now on, promise.’

  ‘Yeah. All right. Dinner’s ready anyway.’

  ‘Good. That should shut me up for a bit at least.’ She smiled until he smiled back.

  Falk loaded up two plates with pasta and the rich sauce and carried them to the small table in the corner.

  ‘This is exactly what I needed,’ Carmen said through her first mouthful. ‘Thank you.’ She cleared a quarter of her plate before leaning back and wiping her mouth with a napkin. ‘So, do you want to talk about Alice Russell?’

  ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Do you?’

  Carmen shook her head. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’ She took another sip of wine. ‘Like when did your girlfriend move out?’

  Falk looked up in surprise, his fork halfway to his mouth. ‘How did you know?’

  Carmen gave a small laugh. ‘How do I know? Aaron, I’ve got eyes.’ She pointed to a large gap next to the couch that had once housed an armchair. ‘Either this is the most aggressively minimalist flat I’ve ever been in, or you haven’t replaced her furniture.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’d be about four years ago that she left.’

  ‘Four years!’ Carmen put down her glass. ‘I honestly thought you were going to say four months. God knows, I’m not overly houseproud myself, but really. Four years. What are you waiting for? Do you need a lift to Ikea?’

  He had to laugh. ‘No. I just never got around to replacing her stuff. I can only sit on one couch at a time.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But the idea is that you invite people over to your home and they sit on your other bits of furniture. I mean, it’s so weird. You haven’t got an armchair, but you’ve got –’ she pointed at a polished wooden contraption gathering dust in a corner, ‘– that. What is that, even?’

  ‘It’s a magazine rack.’

  ‘There are no magazines on it.’

  ‘No. I don’t really read magazines.’

&nb
sp; ‘So she took the armchair, but left her magazine rack.’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘Unbelievable.’ Carmen shook her head in mock disbelief. ‘Well, if you ever needed a sign that you’re better off without her, it’s sitting right there in your corner, magazine-less. What was her name?’

  ‘Rachel.’

  ‘And what went wrong?’

  Falk looked at his plate. It wasn’t something he let himself think about too often. When he thought about her at all, the thing he remembered most was the way she used to smile. Right at the start, when things were still new. He refilled their glasses. ‘The usual. We just grew apart. She moved out. It was my fault.’

  ‘Yeah, I can believe that. Cheers.’ She raised her glass.

  ‘Excuse me?’ He almost laughed. ‘I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to say that.’

  Carmen looked at him. ‘Sorry. But you’re a grown-up, you can take it. I just mean that you’re a decent bloke, Aaron. You listen, you seem to care, and you try to do the right thing by people. If you drove her to the point where she had to move out, it was on purpose.’

  He was about to protest, then stopped. Could that be true?

  ‘She didn’t do anything wrong,’ he said finally. ‘She wanted things I felt I couldn’t really deliver.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘She wanted me to work a bit less, talk a bit more. Take some time off. Get married perhaps, I don’t know. She wanted me to try to work things out with my dad.’

  ‘Do you miss her?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not anymore,’ he said truthfully. ‘But I sometimes think I should have listened to her.’

  ‘Maybe it’s not too late.’

  ‘It’s too late with her. She’s married now.’

  ‘It sounds like she might have done you some good if you’d stayed together,’ Carmen said. She reached a hand out and lightly touched his across the table. Looked him in the eyes. ‘But I wouldn’t beat yourself up too much. She wasn’t right for you.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. Aaron Falk, you are not the kind of man whose soul mate owns a magazine rack.’

  ‘To be fair, she did leave it behind.’