by Jane Harper
The footage was in colour, but the screen was mostly a mass of grey as the camera focused on the paved forecourt around the petrol pumps. There was no sound but the image was decent quality. The recording covered the past seven days and cars zipped on and off the screen as Falk fast-forwarded through to Thursday. When the time stamp ticked around to mid-afternoon, he pressed play and they watched for a few minutes.
‘There.’ Carmen pointed as a minivan pulled up. ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’
The footage held steady from its high vantage point as the driver’s door opened. Chase climbed out. His lanky figure in its red fleece was entirely recognisable as he walked to the pump.
On screen, the main door of the vehicle slid open, thumping silently on its hinges. An Asian guy climbed out, followed by two dark-haired blokes and a balding man. The bald man headed towards the shop while the other three stood in a loose group, stretching and chatting. Behind them, a large woman clambered out, stepping down heavily.
‘Jill,’ Carmen said, and they watched as Jill Bailey pulled out her phone. She tapped at it, put it to her ear, then pulled it away, staring at the screen. Falk didn’t need a clear view of her face to sense her frustration.
‘Who was she trying to call?’ he said. ‘Daniel, maybe?’
‘Maybe.’
Just then a woman stepped down onto the forecourt, her long dark ponytail swinging across her shoulder.
‘Is that Breanna?’ Carmen said. ‘It looks like her photo.’
The dark-haired woman looked around, turning as a third woman climbed out of the van.
Carmen breathed out. ‘There she is.’
Alice Russell stepped out, blonde and lithe as she stretched her arms up like a cat. She said something to the dark-haired girl, who was hovering at her elbow. They both took out their phones, their body language mirroring Jill’s from a minute earlier. Check, tap, check, nothing. The slight shoulder slump of frustration.
The dark-haired woman put her phone away, but Alice kept hers in hand. She peered through one of the minivan windows, where a hefty shape was pressed up dark against the glass. The footage was not clear enough to make out the specifics but to Falk, everything about it suggested the relaxed vulnerability of a sleeping form.
They watched as Alice held up her phone to the window. There was a flash, then she checked the screen, showing it to the three men standing nearby. They laughed soundlessly. Alice showed the dark-haired girl who paused, then turned up her mouth in a pixelated smile. Inside the van, the shape moved, the window lightening and darkening as the form shifted. The hint of a face appeared behind the glass, features invisible but body language clear. What’s going on?
Alice turned away, a single wave of her hand, instantly dismissive. Nothing. It’s only a joke.
The face remained at the window until Chase came out of the shop. He was with the service station attendant. Falk recognised the guy’s hat. The two men stood chatting on the forecourt while the BaileyTennants team climbed back into the van.
Alice Russell was the last one in, her porcelain features disappearing as the door slammed behind her. Chase slapped the attendant on the back and slipped into the driver’s seat. The minivan shuddered as the engine started and the tyres rolled.
The attendant stood watching as the vehicle pulled away. He was the only one there.
‘Lonely job,’ Falk said.
‘Yeah.’
After a few seconds, the attendant turned and walked off camera, leaving the forecourt a deserted slab of grey once more. Falk and Carmen watched as the footage ran on, nothing moving on the screen. Finally, Carmen sat back.
‘So, no real surprises there. Alice is a bit of a bitch who rubs people up the wrong way. We knew that already.’
‘She looked relaxed enough then,’ Falk said. ‘More than she ever is with us.’ That wasn’t particularly surprising either, he thought.
Carmen stifled a yawn, hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry, the early start’s catching up with me.’
‘I know.’ Outside the window, the sky had turned a deep blue. Falk could see their faces reflected in the glass. ‘Let’s call it a day.’
‘You’ll ring the office?’ Carmen said as she stood to leave, and Falk nodded. ‘And we’ll go to the hospital tomorrow, see what Alice’s assistant has to say. Who knows?’ She gave a grim smile. ‘Getting a snakebite on company time would be enough to piss me off. Maybe she’s feeling chatty.’
A fresh blast of cold air as she opened the door, and she was gone.
Falk looked at the landline phone on the bedside table. He picked it up and dialled a familiar number, then sat on the bed as he listened to the tone, ringing a few hundred kilometres west in Melbourne. It was answered quickly.
Had the woman been found? No. Not yet. Had they got the contracts? No. Not yet. When would they get the contracts? Falk didn’t know. A pause at the other end of the line. They needed to get the contracts. Yes. It was imperative. Yes, he understood. There was a time factor, others were waiting. Yes, he knew. He understood.
Falk sat and listened, letting the shit roll down the hill in his direction. The occasional word of affirmation. He understood what they were saying. But so he should, he had heard it all before.
His eyes fell on the stack of maps, and as he listened, he shuffled through, opening the Giralang Ranges cover. Ordered grid markings were filled with winding routes, showing other paths to other places. He followed the lines with a finger as he listened down the phone. Was Alice out there now, looking at those same lines by torchlight or moonlight, scanning the landscape as she tried to connect print with reality? Or, a voice whispered, was it too late for that? Falk hoped not.
He looked up at the window. It was too bright in the room; all he could see was his reflection holding the phone. He reached over and snapped off the bedside light. Darkness. As his vision adjusted, blue-black details outside came into focus. He could make out the Mirror Falls trailhead a way in the distance. The trees on either side seemed to breathe and pulse in the wind.
At the trailhead there was a sudden glimmer of light and Falk leaned forward. What was that? As he watched, a silhouette emerged from the tree line, head down, hunched over against the elements, walking as briskly as the wind would allow. Running, almost. A thin beam of torchlight bouncing at their feet.
It was dark and cold to be out for a walk. Falk stood and put his face close to the glass, the receiver still at his ear. In the dark, from that distance, the figure’s features were invisible. A woman, though, he thought. Something about the way she moved. He could see no flash of reflective clothing. Whoever it was, they weren’t part of the official search team.
In Falk’s ear, the one-sided conversation was slowing.
Get the contracts. Yes. Get them soon. Yes. Don’t let us down. No.
A click, and it was over, for now. Falk stood, the receiver dead in his hand.
Outside, the figure skirted the path, avoiding the light spilling from the lodge into the carpark. She – they? – rounded the building and disappeared from view.
Falk hung up, and looked at his mobile lying useless next to the landline. Hurt her. He wavered for a second, then snatched up his key and pulled open the door. Cursing the far end position of his cabin, he jogged along the walkway, the frigid air sliding under his clothing and up against his skin. He wished he’d grabbed his coat. He rounded the corner of the lodge, scanning the empty carpark, not sure what he was hoping to find.
It was deserted. He stopped and listened. Any sound of footsteps was buried by the wind. Falk jogged up the stairs and into the lodge, hearing a clink of cutlery and the faint sounds of chatter floating from the kitchen area. A different ranger sat alone behind the desk.
‘Did someone come in here?’
‘Other than you?’
Falk gave her a look and the ranger shook her head.
&n
bsp; ‘You didn’t see a woman outside?’ he said.
‘No-one in the last ten minutes.’
‘Thanks.’ He pushed back outside. It was like plunging into a swimming pool and he folded his arms across his chest. He stared out into the bushland then crunched across the gravel towards the trailhead.
All ahead was dark, the lights of the lodge brilliant behind him. Over his shoulder, he could see what he thought was his own cabin window in the middle distance, the window a blank square. Beneath his boots, the path was a mess of footprints. There was a rustle as a bat darted overheard, a jagged shape against the night sky. Other than that, the trail was deserted.
Falk turned in a slow circle, the wind biting at his skin. He was alone. Whoever had been there was gone.
Day 2: Friday Morning
Bree was sweating. Despite the cold, the moisture clung to her skin and she could smell the alcohol coming from her pores as she walked. She felt disgusting.
Her head had been aching since waking up. Packing the campsite made it worse and the whole thing had taken ages, far longer than it should have. Only Alice had seemed keen to get moving. Bree had seen her shove a tent into a bag with so much force she worried she might rip it. Bree hadn’t offered to help. She was having enough trouble with her own tent.
With the zip finally closed, Bree had ducked behind a distant tree and vomited, hot and silent. How much had she had to drink last night? She couldn’t remember refilling her glass, but she couldn’t remember it being empty, either. It was the bloody men’s fault, she thought, and felt a spike of anger. Not so much at them, but at herself. She was usually more switched on to things like that.
Bree now wiped a bead of sweat from her eye as she stared at Alice’s back. Alice had pulled out ahead soon after setting off and Bree was struggling to keep up for once. Had Alice seen her drinking too much last night? She hoped not. Alice had been safely tucked away talking to Daniel most of the time. When Bree had next seen her, her head already swimming a little, Alice had been walking towards the tents. Bree may have got away with it last night, but she knew she was paying for it now.
Twice that morning they’d hit forks in the trail, and twice Alice had stopped and looked over. Bree had checked the map, ignoring the rocks clanging in her head, and pointed out the direction. With a nod, Alice had walked on without a word.
Bree heard a low groan behind her. It could have come from any of the others. She guessed shoulders, heels and nerves were all starting to fray. The track had grown thin and they’d resorted to single file a few kilometres earlier. The uphill gradient was enough to discourage talking. Ahead, Alice stopped once more as the trail turned a gentle corner and widened, splitting into two. Bree heard another groan behind her. Definitely Jill this time.
‘Hold on, up there,’ Jill called. ‘Let’s break here for lunch.’
Bree breathed out with relief but Alice checked her watch. ‘It’s still quite early,’ she called back.
‘It’s not that early. This is a good place to stop.’
It wasn’t really, Bree thought as she set her backpack down. The ground was muddy and there was no view other than the trees towering over them. She shivered and sat down on her pack, her legs a little wobbly. It was colder now they’d stopped moving. Quiet too, without the sound of footfall. She could make out the chirp and squeak of invisible birds. Bree heard a rustle in the bush behind her and spun around, her thoughts plunging down a black hole and landing with a thump before the spectre of Martin Kovac.
There was nothing there, of course. Bree turned back, feeling silly. It was silly. She was too young to remember the stories from the time, but she had made the mistake of stumbling across them online while looking up information about the Giralang Ranges. She’d been at her office desk absorbed in the fate of the last alleged victim – Sarah Sondenberg, eighteen and never found – when the junior accounts manager had come up behind, startling her.
‘You be careful out in Giralang,’ he’d said with a grin and a nod at the screen. ‘She looks a bit like you.’
‘You be careful I don’t report that kind of comment to HR.’ Their mild flirtation had been ramping up over the past month. Bree thought she would probably say yes when he finally asked her out for a drink.
Once he’d gone, she’d looked back at the screen. Did Sarah Sondenberg really look like her? Maybe a little around the nose and mouth. The girl was pretty, there was no doubt about that. But in her own way. Besides, Sarah Sondenberg was blonde, blue-eyed. Bree had shut down the website, and thought no more about it, until now.
She checked once more over her shoulder. Nothing. Still, perhaps it would be best if this were a short break. She took a gulp from her water bottle to try to ease the ache in her head, and closed her eyes.
‘Could you please move away if you’re going to do that?’
Bree winced at Alice’s voice and prised her eyes back open. Alice wasn’t talking to her, of course. Not like that. But she was looking at Beth, who was leaning against a tree, lit cigarette in hand.
Christ, all this fresh air and her sister couldn’t wait to pollute it. Immediately, she heard their mum’s voice in her ear. Leave her alone, better she’s addicted to the ciggies than . . . Her mum would always trail off then. She could never bring herself to say the word.
Beth shrugged and Bree watched her trudge away, the trail of smoke mingling with the scent of eucalyptus in the air. Alice fanned her hand.
‘Lunch,’ a voice said.
Bree looked up to see Lauren standing over her, holding out a cheese roll wrapped in cellophane and an apple.
‘Oh. Thanks.’ She tried to smile, but her stomach lurched at the thought.
‘You should eat.’ Lauren was still standing over her. ‘It’ll help.’
The woman made no attempt to move until Bree had unwrapped a corner and nibbled a bit of crust. Lauren watched her swallow before moving on.
Alice shot a glance at Bree as if seeing her properly for the first time that day. ‘Too much to drink last night?’
‘Just tired,’ Bree said. ‘I didn’t sleep well.’
‘Join the club.’
Alice did look pale, Bree saw now, surprised she hadn’t noticed before.
‘Are you okay to navigate?’ Alice said.
‘Yes. Definitely.’
‘Are you sure? It’ll eat up a lot of time if we go wrong.’
‘I know. We won’t.’
The words came out a little louder than she’d meant and Jill looked up. She was sitting on a rock further along the path with one boot off, fiddling with her sock.
‘Everything all right?’
‘Good, thank you,’ Bree said at the same time as Alice said: ‘Bree’s tired from last night.’
Jill looked from one to the other. ‘Right.’
‘I’m not. I’m fine.’
Jill said nothing for a minute, but something in her face made Bree think she may have seen more last night than Alice had. Bree felt her cheeks grow hot.
‘Do you want someone to take over with the map for a while?’ Jill’s voice was light.
‘No. Not at all. Thank you. I can do it.’
‘All right.’ Jill turned back to her sock. ‘But please say if you do.’
‘I don’t. Thank you.’
Bree bit the tip of her tongue in irritation. She could feel Alice still watching her, and she tried to focus on the sandwich in her lap. She took a small mouthful to stop herself from speaking, but found it hard to swallow. After a moment, she rewrapped the sandwich and stuffed it into her backpack.
‘I wasn’t trying to drop you in it,’ Alice said. ‘But we have to get back on time on Sunday.’
Something in her voice made Bree look up. She flicked through her mental calendar. What did Alice have on? Sunday. Prize night at Margot Russell’s school. Bree closed her eyes rather than
roll them.
She had met Margot only once, two months earlier. Alice had asked her to pick up her daughter’s formal dress from the drycleaners and drop it at her house. It was well outside Bree’s job description, obviously, but perhaps as a personal favour? Of course, no problem. The dress was beautiful. Bree had worn something similar, if less couture, to her own formal. Even without the photos in Alice’s office, she would have recognised Margot as soon as she opened the door. A younger version of her mother. She was with a friend, sipping kale smoothies from one of Bree’s favourite health stores.
‘Hey, those are great, aren’t they?’ Bree said. She knew that kind of drink and she knew that kind of girl, with their glossy hair and smooth skin and desirable figures and amused looks. She was that kind of girl at school. Still was.
Margot had said nothing for a moment, then pointed her straw at the drycleaning bag Bree was clutching.
‘Is that my dress?’
‘Oh. Yes. Here. I’m Bree, by the way.’
‘I know. Thanks.’ A rustle of plastic and the door was shut. Bree stood alone on the step, staring at the glossy paint.
‘Who was that chick?’ a faint voice floated through an open window.
‘One of my mum’s minions.’
‘She’s a bit needy.’
‘That’s what my mum says.’
Bree had stepped back. Now, she looked at Alice. Thirty years older than her daughter but with the same expression in her eyes.
Bree made herself smile. ‘Don’t worry. We won’t be late back.’
‘Good.’
Bree stood and, under the guise of doing a few stretches, wandered along the path to a tree stump. She could see her sister in the distance, still smoking, and staring out into the bush. Bree propped a leg up on the stump and bent over, feeling her hamstrings pull and her head spin. Her stomach heaved and she swallowed the hot surge in her gullet.
She unfolded the map and lay it out so she could look at it as she stretched. The paths swirled a little on the page.
