Force of Nature

by Jane Harper

  ‘Thanks.’

  They headed out and around the side of the lodge until they came to a long, sturdy, wooden hut. It had been split into individual cabins with a shared porch stretching along the front. Falk could hear the tap of rain start against the tin roof as they walked along. Their rooms were right at the end, as promised.

  ‘Regroup in twenty minutes?’ Carmen said, and disappeared through her door.

  Inside, Falk’s room was small but surprisingly cosy. A bed took up most of the space, with a wardrobe crammed into one corner and a door leading to a tiny ensuite. Falk shrugged off his coat and checked his mobile. No signal here either.

  He propped his backpack – his dad’s backpack – against the wall. It looked tatty against the clean white paintwork. Falk wasn’t quite sure why he’d brought it. He had other bags he could have used. He’d found it at the very back of his wardrobe while he was digging out his hiking boots. He’d almost forgotten it was there. Almost, but not quite. Falk had pulled the bag out, then sat on the floor for a long time in his quiet flat, looking at it.

  He hadn’t been fully honest with Carmen. He hadn’t so much taken the bag when his dad died seven years earlier as been handed it by a specialist cancer nurse at the hospice. It had been light, but not empty, containing Erik Falk’s final few possessions.

  It had taken Falk a long time to go through the bag and even longer to donate or otherwise dispose of the belongings inside. In the end, he’d been left with only the bag and three other items. Two photos and a separate large, worn envelope. The envelope was creased and tired around the edges and had never been sealed.

  Now, Falk opened the top pocket of the backpack and pulled it out. The envelope was even more battered than he remembered. He spread the contents across the bed. Contours, gradients, shadings and symbols lay in front of him. Peaks and valleys and bushland and beachfront. Nature’s best, all there on paper.

  As Falk’s fingers ran over the maps, he felt almost dizzy from the surge of familiarity. There were more than two dozen. Some were old, and some better used than others, their paper thin and well examined. His dad had corrected them, of course. He knew best. Thought he knew best, anyway. Erik Falk’s handwriting looped and curved across the routes of the state’s major hiking regions. Observations he’d made each time he’d tied up his boots, hoisted the bag on his back and left the city behind him with a grateful sigh.

  It had been a very long time since Falk had looked at the pages. And he’d never been able to bring himself to examine them closely. He shuffled through the maps now until he found the one he was searching for: Giralang Ranges and the surrounds. It was an older one and was yellowed at the corners. The folds were fragile and fuzzy.

  Falk took off his boots and lay back on the bed, letting his head sink into the pillow, just for a minute. His eyes felt heavy. It was much warmer inside than out. He opened the map at random, squinting against the light. The grey pencil marks had faded in places over time and the words blurred at the edges. Falk pulled the map closer to his face and felt the blunted ache of well-worn irritation. His dad’s handwriting had always been bloody impossible to read. He tried to focus.

  Water spot. Campsite: unofficial. Blocked path.

  Falk blinked again, for longer this time. The cabin was warm.

  Short cut. Lookout point. Fallen tree.

  Blink. The wind bayed outside, pressing itself against the glass of the window.

  Not safe in winter. Take care.

  An echoed warning.

  Tread carefully. Danger here.

  Falk closed his eyes.

  Day 2: Friday Morning

  It took longer than expected to pack up the campsite. The tents refused to fold quite as small as they had originally, and the zippers on their bags jammed and strained in protest.

  Jill knew that her backpack could be no heavier than it had been the day before. She knew it, but as she swung it on her shoulders, she didn’t believe it. They were already behind schedule, but she let the others linger in the weak morning light, fiddling with straps and water bottles. She felt reluctant to leave the campsite, and suspected she wasn’t the only one. The other sites along the trail were smaller and less well established, she knew, but it wasn’t just that. There was something about leaving the safety of the start point for the unknown ahead that made her feel a little edgy.

  Jill had kept half an eye on Alice while packing. The woman had barely spoken and had had to be asked twice for the tent pole bag. But she wasn’t ill, Jill was certain. And she wasn’t going to get permission to leave this trip early. Jill was certain of that as well.

  She watched Alice gather up the empty wine bottles and bag of communal rubbish and hand them straight to Beth. No remorse about the morning’s outburst, apparently. Jill was debating whether to say something, but Beth simply took the rubbish and put it her backpack without comment. Jill let it slide. She’d learned how to pick her battles.

  An hour late and all excuses exhausted, they at last started to walk. Alice soon pulled out ahead, with Bree clutching the map and trailing at her heels. Jill watched the backs of their heads and shifted her pack. She could feel the straps rubbing on her shoulders. The man in the shop had told her they were made from special breathable material for added comfort. The memory of that conversation infused Jill with a sense of deep and lasting betrayal.

  At least the path was flat, but its uneven surface meant she had to watch her feet. She stumbled once, then again, nearly losing her balance this time. She felt a steadying hand grasp her arm.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Lauren said.

  ‘Yes. Thanks. I’m not used to the boots.’

  ‘Painful?’

  ‘A bit,’ she admitted.

  ‘Two layers of socks might help. A thin pair under a thick pair. Listen, Jill –’ Lauren’s voice dropped a notch lower. ‘I wanted to apologise.’

  ‘For what?’ She knew. Or perhaps she didn’t. When Jill thought about it, Lauren could be feeling guilty about a number of things.

  ‘The other week, at the briefing,’ Lauren said. ‘I mean, I’m sorry I wasn’t at the briefing. But Andrew said he could make the presentation alone and –’ She stopped. ‘I’m sorry. I should have been there, I know. I’ve been under some pressure at home lately.’

  Jill looked over at that. Pressure at home was one language she spoke.

  ‘Is it anything we can offer you some support for?’

  ‘No. Unfortunately. Thank you, though.’ Lauren kept staring straight ahead. She was very thin these days, Jill noticed now, the bones in her neck and wrists sliding against her skin.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right. Because the briefing –’

  ‘I really am sorry –’

  ‘I know, but it wasn’t the first time for something like that. Or even the second.’

  ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Are you sure, Lauren? Because –’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure. Things will improve.’

  Things would have to, Jill thought. Lauren had been high on the list in the latest round of cuts. Highest, in fact, until Alice had argued for a merger of part-time roles to make equivalent savings. Jill also suspected Alice had covered for Lauren at least twice in recent months, narrowly averting mistakes in the making. If Jill was aware of two instances, there were almost certainly more. She knew the two women went back a long way. What that meant for Lauren was another question.

  Up ahead, they could see Alice’s head, fair against the gloomy trail. Jill thought of something.

  ‘You did a good job with the fire last night. I saw you light it.’

  ‘Oh. Thanks. I learned it at school.’

  ‘They taught you well.’

  ‘You’d hope so. It was the Endeavour Ladies’ College full-year special at their McAllaster Outdoor
Campus. A long time to learn all sorts of things out there. Alice went as well.’ Lauren looked at Jill. ‘You must have gone to private school, didn’t yours do something like that?’

  ‘I was educated in Switzerland.’

  ‘Oh. I suppose not, then.’

  ‘Thank God.’ Jill glanced sideways with a small smile. ‘I’m not sure I could cope with a year of this sort of thing.’

  Lauren smiled back but Jill could sense the unasked question in her eyes. If Jill was so uncomfortable, why agree to this at all? Jill had lost count of the thousand different ways the question had been framed over the past thirty years, but her answer had always been the same. BaileyTennants was a family firm. And Jill Bailey did what was best for the family.

  ‘Anyway,’ Lauren said. ‘That’s all I wanted to say, really. I do realise things haven’t been good enough at work.’

  Ahead, Jill saw Alice and Bree had stopped. The track had hit a fork, a path to the left, a smaller one to the right. Bree had pulled out the map and was sitting on a stump, examining it, her nose close to the paper. Alice stood, hands on hips, watching her. She looked up as they approached, her blue eyes alert and head tilted. Jill wondered suddenly if she’d been listening to their conversation. No. Surely she was too far away.

  ‘And I’m really grateful for my job and the opportunities.’ Lauren had lowered her voice. ‘And for your patience. I want you to know I’ll make it up to you.’

  Jill nodded. Up ahead, Alice was still watching.

  ‘I know you will.’

  Chapter 8

  When Falk awoke with a start, the window outside his cabin was darker than he remembered. He heard the rustle of paper and looked down. His dad’s map was still open across his chest. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and squinted at the rain hitting the window pane. It took a moment before he realised the tapping was coming from the door.

  ‘You took your time,’ Carmen said as he opened it, a cold rush of air sweeping in with her.

  ‘Sorry. I was asleep. Come in.’ Falk looked around the room. No chairs. He pulled the dent in the bedspread straight. ‘Take a seat.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Carmen cleared a space among the maps on the bedspread. ‘What are all these?’

  ‘Nothing. They used to belong to my dad.’

  Carmen picked up the Giralang Ranges map lying open on the top of the pile. ‘This one’s all marked up.’

  ‘Yeah. They all are. It was kind of his hobby.’

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s a big black X with the words “Alice is here” on it?’ Carmen said. She examined the pencil markings. ‘My nanna used to do this to her recipe books, write little notes and corrections. I’ve still got them all. It’s nice, like she’s talking to me. And she was right. Half a teaspoon of juice mixed in with the zest will give you the best lemon drizzle cake you’ve ever tasted in your life.’ She put down the map she was holding and picked up another. ‘Did you visit these trails together?’

  Falk shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘What, none of them?’

  Falk stacked the maps slowly. ‘We didn’t really see eye to eye.’ His mouth felt dry and he swallowed.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Is there a short version?’

  Falk looked down at the maps. ‘When I was sixteen, Dad sold our farm and moved us to Melbourne. I didn’t want him to, but there’d been a lot of trouble in our hometown. Things there went south pretty fast, and I think Dad thought he was doing it for my benefit. I don’t know, he felt he had to get me away, I suppose.’

  As an adult, years later and with the benefit of twenty-twenty hindsight, Falk knew a part of him could now understand that. At the time, he’d simply felt sold out. It had seemed wrong, running away to the city with the scent of fear and suspicion lodged in their nostrils.

  ‘It was supposed to be a fresh start,’ he said. ‘But it didn’t really work out like that. Dad hated it. I wasn’t much better.’ He stopped. And they had never talked about it. Not about their past life, not about their new life. The unspoken words had hung between them like a veil, and it was as if a new layer had been added every year. It grew so thick that by the end, Falk felt he couldn’t even see the man on the other side. He sighed. ‘Anyway, every weekend he could, Dad used to pack a bag, drive out somewhere and go hiking. Use his maps.’

  ‘You were never tempted to go along?’

  ‘No. I don’t know. He used to ask. At first, anyway. But you know, I was sixteen, seventeen. Angry.’

  Carmen smiled. ‘Aren’t most kids at that age?’

  ‘I suppose.’ It hadn’t always been the case, though. Falk could remember a time when he used to follow his dad like a shadow. Out on the paddocks on their farm, his head no higher than the low fence line as he chased his dad’s long, steady paces. The heavy sun had made their shadows even taller and their blond hair glow almost white. Falk had, he remembered, wanted to be just like him. That was another thing he could see with the cold clarity of hindsight. The pedestal had been too high.

  Carmen was saying something.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I asked what your mum made of it all?’

  ‘Oh. Nothing. She died when I was really young.’

  Giving birth to him in fact, but Falk avoided specifying that where possible. It seemed to make people very uncomfortable, and prompted some – women, usually – to look at him with an appraising glint in their eye. Were you worth it? He avoided asking himself the same question, but at times caught himself wondering what his mother’s last thoughts had been. He hoped not entirely full of regret.

  ‘Anyway. That’s how I ended up with these.’ He added the last of the maps to the stack, put them aside. Enough. Carmen took the hint. The wind whistled and they both looked over as the window rattled in its frame.

  ‘So. No Alice,’ Carmen said.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘What now, then? Is there any mileage in us staying up here tomorrow?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Falk sighed and leaned back against the headboard. The search was in professional hands. Even if she were found in the next hour – in any state from safe and sound to weather-beaten and bloodied – Falk knew they would have to find another way to get the contracts they needed. Alice Russell would not be returning to work immediately, if at all.

  ‘Daniel Bailey didn’t know who we were,’ he said. ‘Or if he did, he did a good job of hiding it.’

  ‘No. I agree.’

  ‘It’s almost enough to make me feel this has nothing to do with us, except . . .’ He glanced at his phone, silent on the bedside table.

  ‘I know.’ Carmen nodded.

  The recording. Hurt her.

  Falk rubbed his eyes. ‘Forget what was said for now. Why would Alice try to call me from out there?’

  ‘I don’t know. It sounds like she tried to call triple zero first but couldn’t get through.’ Carmen thought for a moment. ‘Still, honestly, you would not be the person I’d be calling if I were stuck out there.’

  ‘Thanks. Even with all my maps?’

  ‘Even so. But you know what I mean. It has to be something to do with us. Or you. I can only think she was backing out. Did she seem worried last time you spoke to her?’

  ‘You were there,’ Falk said. ‘Last week.’

  ‘Oh right. No other contact since then?’

  It had been a forgettable meeting. Five minutes in the carpark of a large supermarket. We need the contracts, they had said. The ones linking to Leo Bailey. Please prioritise them. It had been framed as a request. The tone had made it clear it was an order. Alice had snapped that she was doing her best.

  ‘Did we push her too hard?’ Falk said. ‘Make her somehow slip up?’

  ‘We didn’t push her any harder than usual.’

  Falk wasn’t sure that was true.
They’d been feeling the pressure from above themselves and had duly passed it down the line. Shit rolling downhill, the most traditional of business models and one Falk was sure Alice would be familiar with. Get the Leo Bailey contracts. The Chinese whisper passed from their ears to Alice Russell’s. Falk and Carmen had not been entrusted with the significance, but the secrecy surrounding the order spoke volumes. Get the contracts. Alice Russell may have disappeared, but the pressure from above had not. Get the contracts. That was the priority. Still, Falk glanced again at his phone. Hurt her.

  ‘If Alice slipped up, someone had to notice for it to cause problems,’ Carmen said. ‘What about speaking to Alice’s assistant? Breanna McKenzie. If something’s up with the boss, the assistant’s usually the first to know.’

  ‘Yeah. I suppose the question is whether she’d tell us or not.’ Falk thought that might depend on how much shit Alice herself had sent rolling in her assistant’s direction over time.

  ‘All right.’ Carmen squeezed her eyes shut, rubbed a hand over her face. ‘We’d better let the office know. You haven’t spoken to them today?’

  ‘Not since last night.’ Falk had called in after getting off the phone with Sergeant King. News of Alice Russell’s disappearance had not gone down well.

  ‘Do you want me to take the hit?’

  ‘It’s all right.’ Falk smiled. ‘I’ll do this one.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Carmen sighed, leaned back. ‘If Alice had a problem before the retreat, she would have called us before setting off. So whatever’s happened, it happened in there, yes?’

  ‘Seems that way. Ian Chase said she seemed all right when they set off. Not that he would necessarily be able to tell.’

  If they knew one thing about Alice, it was that the woman was good at putting on a front. Or at least, Falk hoped she was.

  ‘Where’s that CCTV footage from the service station?’ Carmen said. ‘The bit showing the group on its way up here.’

  Falk pulled his laptop out of his bag. He found the memory stick the service station attendant had given him earlier and opened the computer screen so Carmen could see. She moved in a little closer.