Textbook Ebook Exiles Jane Harper 2 All Chapter PDF
Textbook Ebook Exiles Jane Harper 2 All Chapter PDF
Textbook Ebook Exiles Jane Harper 2 All Chapter PDF
A year on, Kim Gillespie’s absence casts a long shadow as her friends
and loved ones gather deep in the heart of South Australian wine
country to welcome a new addition to the family.
Title page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Acknowledgements
Copyright
Newsletter
For the readers, who make these books what they are.
Prologue
That was the key one, Aaron Falk knew. And the answer was
probably yes. Even with no warning – and there were warnings – the
answer was almost always yes. A million decisions paved the road to
a single act, and a single act could be derailed in any one of a million
ways. But choices had been made – some conscious and considered,
some less so – and of all the million paths that had lain ahead, this
was the one they found themselves on.
The baby was asleep when she was discovered. She was just short
of six weeks old, a good weight for her age, healthy and well, other
than being completely alone. She would have been warm enough
deep inside her bassinet pram. She was swaddled carefully in a clean
wrap purchased from the state’s leading baby-wares retailer, and
tucked in with an artisan wool blanket, thick enough to have the
effect of flattening out the bundle of her shape if placed in the right
way. It had been placed in exactly that way. A casual glance towards
the pram would inevitably first see the blanket rather than the baby.
It was a spring night and the South Australian sky was clear and
starry with no rain forecast, but the weatherproof hood had been
pulled over to full stretch. A linen square normally used as a
sunshield was draped over the opening between the hood and the
pram. A casual glance would now not see the sleeping girl at all.
The pram was parked alongside a few dozen others in the Marralee
Valley Annual Food and Wine Festival’s designated pram bay, fighting
for space in the shadow of the ferris wheel with a tangle of bikes and
scooters and a lone tricycle. It had been left in the far corner, the foot
brake firmly on.
The contents of the bay were collected one by one over the next
couple of hours, as families who’d been mixing wine, cheese and
carnival rides decided they’d celebrated local produce enough for one
night. By a little after 10.30 pm, only the pram and the assistant
electrical technician’s bike were left.
The baby’s name was written on the label of her onesie. Zoe
Gillespie. Her family wasn’t local – not anymore, at least – but the
festival director and the responding on-duty officer knew both her
parents by name.
Zoe’s mother’s phone rang from the nappy bag stowed in the
shopping holder underneath the pram. The tone trilled loudly in the
night air. The zipped bag also held a set of car keys and a purse
complete with ID, cards and cash. The technician ran out to the
visitors’ car park. A family sedan matching the make on the key ring
was one of the few remaining vehicles.
Volunteers were assembled and the area was combed again. Then
the car park, then the vineyards on either side. The pram had been
parked facing east, towards the back of the festival site and the
overflow exit. Beyond the exit lay bushland and a small track that led
only one way. The search moved along that track, following it all the
way down to the reservoir. Then along the broad leisure trail that
circled the water – empty at that time of night of walkers and service
vehicles – to the highest point along the rugged embankment: a
steep rocky ledge known locally as the Drop. Far below, the reservoir
stretched deep and wide.
Two days later, they found a shoe. Kim Gillespie’s white trainer,
waterlogged and streaked with sediment, was recovered more than a
kilometre to the east, jammed in the dam’s filters.
Specialist divers were called to broach the crack in the base at the
centre of the natural reservoir. They went as deep into the cavernous
void as they could, while searchers swept the perimeter on foot and
in ranger vehicles, and volunteers combed the shallows in their
weekend boats. The search continued for another week, then two,
then slowed and finally stopped altogether, with promises to return
when the water level dropped. Spring turned into summer and
autumn. Zoe grew out of her pram, took her first steps, needed
shoes of her own. Her first birthday came and went.
What did I see? Those who knew and loved the family were left
with their questions. They asked themselves and each other. What
did I miss?
Falk hadn’t been alone there last year either. Greg Raco had been
in the passenger seat then, Falk following his friend’s directions as
they neared the end of their eight-hour drive. Raco had ignored the
sat nav, especially after they’d crossed the Victorian border into
South Australia. His high spirits had been infectious and they’d
chewed through the kilometres, taking turns trading news and
picking the music. Raco’s newborn son was being christened that
weekend, in the same church where Raco and his brothers had been
themselves several decades earlier. His wife and two kids had already
made the trip and were waiting at the other end, but Raco’s sergeant
duties had held him back. He was clearly keen to be reunited with
them, so Falk had been surprised when he’d suddenly leaned forward
in the passenger seat, peering at the empty road and pointing to a
patch of trees. ‘You see that break ahead? Turn there.’
They had still been a good thirty minutes out of town and Falk
could see nothing. The stretch of bushland had looked identical to
the rest lining the route. ‘Where?’
‘There, mate.’
Falk had still missed it, and had had to illegally reverse several
metres before he saw the single-lane track. He’d eyed the unpaved
surface and mentally assessed his car’s suspension.
‘Quick detour.’ Raco had grinned. ‘Trust me. It’s worth it.’
He’d been right. It had been worth the stop, both then and now.
With no Raco beside him this year, Falk had slowed to an almost
crawl and still managed to slide past the turn-off. He’d caught it in his
rear-view mirror and, again reversing further than ideal even on a
clear road, had bumped up the track that looked like it led exactly
nowhere. At the end was a small clearing and one other car.
Falk came to a stop and switched off the engine. He sat for a
moment, staring ahead to where the heavy bushland parted. The sky
was a bright dome, glowing with the vibrant blue of spring. Nestled
below was an intricate patchwork of greens that made up the
Marralee Valley. Falk had felt last year that the view had been all the
more beautiful for being so unexpected. But now, lit up by the late-
afternoon sun, it was even better than he remembered, if anything.
He climbed out of his car and stretched, the movement stirring the
owner of the other vehicle. The man was standing a sensible distance
from the lookout’s wooden safety rail. He was also staring out at the
view, but his arms were crossed in a way that suggested he was
taking in none of it. A child’s sippy cup dangled from one hand and,
behind him, a sturdy toddler sat straight-legged on the wooden picnic
table, scattering a box of sultanas across the battered surface. At the
sound of Falk’s car door slamming, the man unfolded his arms and
rubbed a hand over his eyes. He turned and handed the cup to the
toddler.
The man nodded at Falk and as his daughter swallowed her last
mouthful, he hoisted her up and carried her to their car. He seemed
to sense he’d been recognised, and his body language didn’t invite
questions or conversation. Fair enough, really, Falk thought. The
bloke would have had plenty of questions thrown his way at the time.
The husbands always did.
‘You’re here for the christening.’ The man spoke suddenly, catching
Falk by surprise. He’d stopped between the two cars and looked a
little relieved, like he’d worked something out. ‘Is that right? For the
Racos’ son?’
‘Yeah.’
Kim Gillespie had been part of the extended Raco family for close
to twenty-five years, Falk knew. Since that long-ago autumn
afternoon when she’d first ridden her bike past the Racos’ house,
teenage ponytail swinging, until the night last year when she’d
disappeared under the bright festival lights. The christening had been
immediately cancelled after Kim went missing. It had taken the Raco
family a full twelve months to reschedule.
Falk took a step towards Kim’s husband and child and held out his
hand. ‘Aaron Falk.’
‘Only briefly.’
Rohan was nearly as tall as Falk and while he would only be forty-
two now, he looked to have aged a fair bit over the past year.
‘You here for the christening too?’ Falk asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘I hope so.’ Rohan clicked the seat buckles and patted his
daughter’s leg. He turned back to Falk. ‘I thought you looked familiar
when you pulled up. Greg Raco’s mate? You were on the witness list?’
‘Yeah.’
Rohan tilted his head, trying to remember. ‘Remind me. Near the
entrance?’
Falk was surprised the man remembered him after a year, but only
a little. Falk had been a visitor in town, one of hundreds, but still
worth following up. Rohan had probably flagged Falk’s presence to
officers himself – There was another bloke there, tall, forty-
something, short hair, grey-blond maybe. Friend of the Racos but on
his own, kind of hanging around – dredging up whatever information
he could hours after the fact.
‘You’re police too, aren’t you?’ Rohan tucked the sippy cup in next
to Zoe before shutting the car door. ‘That how you know Greg?’
‘Yeah, but we don’t work together. I’m AFP, financial division. He’s
with the State Police, back in Victoria.’
‘Right.’ There was a muffled wail of complaint from inside the car
and Rohan sighed. ‘Anyway. Better keep this one moving. Good to
see you. You’re staying at the Racos’ place?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then I’ll probably see you at the appeal. They’ll all be there.’
‘Thank you.’ The reply was reflexive and Falk recognised the
apprehension. It was exhausting to keep hope alive. How well could a
missing person’s appeal really go after twelve whole months? There
were no good answers left out there.
Falk watched Rohan reverse and disappear down the track, then
walked over to the barrier. He leaned both hands on the railing and
let himself relax for a minute, soaking up the sight in front of him.
Light wisps of cloud moved across the sky, throwing delicate patterns
of shadow below. From that height, the town looked small, its
surrounds vivid and lush. Long rows of grapevines stretched out,
their man-made perfection drawing the eye. Far in the distance, he
could make out the aggressively imperfect crack where part of the
giant Murray River carved its way through the land.
Rohan had the look of a man who did not sleep well, Falk thought
as he let his gaze settle. That wasn’t surprising, given the
circumstances, plus the demands of parenting a one-year-old. But
still, Falk wondered what specifically was keeping the guy awake at
night, in those hours when he could be snatching some precious rest.
A few things, probably. The statement from that young bloke who’d
been manning the first-aid station, for one. What the kid reckoned he
had or, more crucially, hadn’t seen. A couple of the alleged sightings,
almost certainly. The drunk woman at the bar, maybe. The crying
heard from the toilets. Confirmed or not, those were the kinds of
things that played on your mind.
Falk took one last look at the view, then dragged his eyes away
and walked back across the clearing. He climbed into his car and
checked the directions for the last leg of the journey.
The decision Rohan had taken to leave the festival. That moment
when he’d waved goodbye to his wife and child and turned alone in
the direction of town, heading into the night. The hours leading up to
that moment. The days and months leading up to that night. Those
things that you didn’t even notice at the time. Little decisions that
ultimately added up to something so much bigger.
Falk edged his car along the narrow trail, emerging from the trees
and back onto the road. He turned the wheels west and pressed
down on the accelerator.
The little things you could have done differently, that was the stuff
that haunted you.
Chapter 2
The déjà vu that had been hovering all journey really kicked into full
gear as Falk pulled up the long dirt driveway and came to a stop
outside the bluestone cottage.
Even driving at a tour-guide pace via the scenic route, it had only
taken Falk and Raco a handful of minutes last year to travel right
through the town and out the other side. The main street had not
long disappeared behind them and the land opened up again when
Raco had pointed to the dirt driveway with a painted sign on the
fence.
A year on, Falk stood on the step of that same front door and
knocked. It always felt to him like trauma should mark surroundings
in the same way it could mark people, but that didn’t often happen.
Depended what the trauma was, he supposed. Here, anyway, all
appeared well. Better than well. The vineyard glowed in the late-
afternoon sun with the same fresh vibrancy as it had twelve months
earlier. The welcome sign had been recently repainted, and carefully
cultivated rows of vines stretched out in pleasing symmetry. Their
leaves shimmered bold and green, and from that distance had the
illusion of almost breathing, alive in the light of the warm spring day.
From inside the house, Falk heard a clatter of fast footsteps down
the hall, followed by the tread of heavier ones. The door opened, and
there stood Raco, a little girl at his feet and a one-year-old in his
arms.
‘You made it. Welcome.’ Raco grinned. He didn’t have a free hand
so settled for gesturing with a jerk of his head. ‘Come in, mate. Rita’s
out the back. Mind your step, here,’ he added as his five-year-old
daughter, Eva, clung to his jeans, entangling herself in his legs.
Raco’s toddler son rested against his shoulder and fixed Falk with a
glassy, accusing gaze.
The kids looked older than Falk had expected, but they always did.
Rita texted him photos, but Falk had last seen them in person a good
six months ago, when they’d brought Eva to Melbourne to see a
musical.
Raco was also looking older these days, Falk couldn’t help but
notice. His dark curly hair had definite flecks of grey now, and his
boyish face had lines that had never been there before. He was
younger than Falk, not even forty yet. But after the past year, for the
first time ever, Falk thought he was starting to look his age.
‘Beer? Water?’ Raco called over his son’s head as Falk followed
them down the hall. ‘Or there’s heaps of wine, obviously.’
‘No worries.’ Raco gently kicked a stray toy out of the way. It may
have been his brother’s place, but Raco was as at home there as Falk
had ever seen him.
In some ways, Raco had barely changed over the six years Falk
had known him. He was still quick with a smile and had an invaluable
ability to make people feel that he understood exactly where they
were coming from, and actually cared about it as well. But he’d shed
the green rawness he’d had when Falk had first met him, out in a
barn that had once belonged to a friend of Falk’s. The heat had been
blazing then, the property still bearing the bloodied telltale signs of
death.
Raco now wore the quiet solid confidence of a man who had come
face to face with the worst and had proven himself. He had leaned
into his role as sergeant of a small country town and was liked and
respected by the locals back in Kiewarra. As a former Kiewarra local
himself, Falk thought it was impossible to overstate what an
achievement that was.
‘He’s here,’ Raco called as they came into a large bright kitchen
which in turn opened onto a raised verandah with a spectacular view
of the vineyard below. A small woman in a patterned dress was
leaning with one hip against the wooden post, her cloud of dark hair
shining in the sun. She was ignoring the scenery, instead frowning at
a printed flier in her hand. As Falk stepped out, she put the flier down
on the outdoor table, trapping the corner under her water glass.
‘Aaron.’ Her face broke into a smile as she came to him and rested
her hands on his forearms. Rita Raco looked up at him for a moment
before enveloping him in a hug. ‘Hello. So good to see you.’
She meant it, Falk could tell, and he felt a rush of pure warmth
towards them both. That was the thing about Rita and Raco. Their
friendship was as close to unconditional as Falk had ever found.
‘How long have they let us have you for, in the end?’ Rita said as
she took Henry and settled him into his highchair with a banana in
his hand.
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Eriksson sai silmänräpäykseksi omantunnon vaivoja. Mutta silloin
ajatteli hän seteliä ja tuli iloiseksi. Hän meni vaimonsa luokse ja
kertoi tehneensä hyvän kaupan.
— Minkä niin?
*****
Mutta sitten tyyntyi hän taas heti; ehkei se ollut mitään vaarallista.
— Vai niin!
— Silloin voin minä sen sanoa. Se ei ole tietysti kukaan muu kuin
tuo, joka hiipii tuolla viidakossa ja tähystelee tänne.
— Herra jumala!
Hans oli tullut nyt saapuville. Hän asettui vaunujen taakse. Hän
pelkäsi Ernstin nyrkkejä.
— Mikä todistus?
Näytettiin kaksikruunuista.
Ernst tuijotti.
— Tule, Anna-Reetta!
— Kyllä, Anna-Reetta!
— Ernst, Ernst!
— Vankeuteen, tietysti.
— Kysy Hansilta!
— Kyllä, mene!
— Kitas kiinni!
Kosinta.
— Hyvää iltapäivää!
— Silloin voi hän hyvin istua ja levätä hiukan. Siitä on jo aikoja kun
olemme viimeksi puhelleet.
Ja sitten he vaikenevat.
Riitta nauraa:
— Eihän voi muuta, kun kuin pyytää niin kauniisti. Minäkin olen
ajatellut sitä samaa, jos sanon niinkuin asia on.
Niin vaikenevat he. Sillä »poika» seisoo nyt heidän edessään. Hän
kysyy eukolta:
Vappuyö.
Hän uneksi kuiluista, jota hänellä ei ollut. Hän oli suuri ja vahva,
kaksikymmenvuotias.
— S—tana!
Mutta silloin oli eukko pauhun nostanut, niin vanha kuin olikin,
vaaleat, laihat kasvot näyttivät suuttumuksesta vavahtelevan, ja
puolisokeat silmät olivat muuttuneet melkein vihreiksi. Hän oli
huutanut:
— Frans!
— Niin!
Äiti kutsui häntä sisään. — Mitähän hän taas tahtoi? Aina olisi
hänen pitänyt jotakin tehdä, kiitosta hän ei saanut koskaan. Hän hoiti
koko talouden, heinän kulotuksesta sikolättiin saakka, mutta hänellä
oli sellainen äiti, ettei hän voinut saada armastansa omakseen.
— Tuuleehan nyt.
Siinä hän oli oikeassa. Frans oli kyllä nähnyt Pekan myllyn siipien
huiskavan metsänreunan yli, kun hän äsken oli seisonut mäellä. Äitiä
ei käynyt petkuttaminen — hän käsitti, että Pekka oli myllyssä,
vaikka näkikin niin huonosti, ettei voinut myllyn siipiä eroittaa.
— Niin niin, siellä he nyt yöllä keikkuvat ja niin siitä tulee heti häitä
jälestä — sanoi äiti.
— Sinua? Enkö minä ole ollut äiti sinulle? Oletko kärsinyt vilua ja
nälkää, hä?
74
— Ei minusta.
— Äiti!!
Frans ei kuullut, mitä äiti sanoi. Hänellä oli ainoastaan yksi ajatus:
Malin!
Herra Jumala, oliko hän niin huono ihminen, että sellaisia ajatteli!
Tämän sanoi äiti hänelle, joka aina oli tahtonut häntä rakastaa!
— En.
— Apua!
— Äiti, äiti!
— Mitä se on?
— Hän meni suoraan siipiä kohti. Hänhän oli niin sokea. Minun piti
juuri huutaa hänelle, mutta se oli liian myöhäistä.
Keulapuolella.