by Sarah Bailey
‘What did Alex say?!’
‘Oh, right,’ he drawls.
Oli wrestles with her exasperation. He’s like a puppy you have to yank back onto the path every couple of steps.
‘She seems great, actually. Shy at first, but she warmed up. I got the sense she’s really angry under all the grief. I guess you would be if you were sent to gaol for something you didn’t do. I think she’s totally ready to tell her story.’
‘So she’s still claiming she didn’t do it?’
His forehead wrinkles. ‘Of course.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Well, we didn’t exactly get into specifics. I want to save the detail for the real interview, so that it feels genuine. But we discussed the key things I want to cover, and I asked her if anything was off limits. She said she was ready to talk about everything.’
Oli lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.
Sensing her judgement, he juts out his bottom lip. ‘She seems genuine.’
‘Maybe, but she’s also had ten years to get her story straight.’
‘I think she’s just ready to talk,’ he says earnestly. ‘I was only a kid back then, so I didn’t remember the story very well, but I’ve watched a stack of old footage over the past few weeks, and Alex seems really different from how she was back then.’ He pauses. ‘She said she’s started to remember stuff from that night. New stuff.’
Oli’s nerves go on alert. It seems Alex was days away from coming forward with new information about her friend’s decade-old murder, when Nicole suddenly turned up dead. Had the women been in touch? Oli tries to feel out the angles. If Nicole knew that Alex was claiming to remember details that might implicate her in Evelyn’s murder, could that have provoked her enough to die by suicide even though she was in hiding?
Oli’s pulse starts to race again. The more she thinks about it, the more she finds the idea of listening to Alex Riboni giving her account of what happened all those years ago incredibly appealing. What will she sound like? Will she be defiant or confident, soft or loud? Will she really reveal the truth about what happened that night?
Even though part of Oli is still furious about the idea of the paper investing so much effort in this podcast when her team have been told they can’t have new laptops, she starts to plan out the interview, feel her way through the cadence of the conversation.
‘What’s the format of the podcast?’ she asks Cooper. ‘The structure, I mean.’
‘Well, Alex will be the first guest, so I’m still figuring it out. I see myself playing the role of narrator, you know, setting the scene and doing all the background stuff, but then interspersing it with Alex’s comments. And I want to get her to talk about everything she remembers from the night Evelyn died. And I want to track down some of the other people who were there, get their perspectives as well. My vision is to stitch the whole thing together like one of those old radio plays. I’ve done a few trial runs, and it works.’
Oli is still sceptical that something so ambitious should be left to a kid, but she simply says, ‘Have you got interviews with their friends and family lined up?’
He puffs out his cheeks. ‘No,’ he says sheepishly. ‘Not yet, but I will.’
‘Evelyn’s mother will probably speak to you,’ Oli surprises herself by saying. ‘She was always desperate to share information about her daughter.’
‘That would be cool. She reckoned her ex-husband was involved, right?’
An adjacent car changes lanes unexpectedly, and Oli brakes sharply, cursing under her breath. ‘Yeah, Mitchell Stanley, an ex-footy player. He used to play for Essendon, I think, before he injured himself and transitioned into coaching. After he stopped playing football, he got heavily into drugs and gambling, and lost all his money. And he screwed around a lot.’ Oli scrunches her nose, locating memories stored in far corners of her brain. ‘I don’t think anything suggested he was linked to what happened—Geraldine Stanley just hated him. They were going through a nasty divorce, and she blamed him for Evelyn wanting to move out of home at such a young age.’
‘That TV interview Geraldine did was so sad,’ Cooper says earnestly. ‘I watched it twice last week.’
‘I do remember that Evelyn and her father had dinner together the night before she died.’
Cooper is typing notes into his phone at an impressive pace, muttering to himself.
‘God, I can still remember Geraldine turning up at the house that morning.’ Oli shivers. ‘It was awful.’
‘How did she know what had happened?’
Oli shrugs. ‘No idea. But when she turned up and saw the cops, she lost it.’
‘The poor woman.’
‘Yeah.’ Geraldine’s screams echo through Oli’s mind, making her skin crawl.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ Cooper exclaims.
‘What?’ She’s following the GPS on her phone, which starts to glitch, reloading their route.
‘You should come on the podcast! For starters, your voice is incredible, but mainly because you were there at the scene. You can give the journo perspective.’
‘I don’t think so.’ She tries to soften her deep timbre.
‘Come on, it would be great!’ Cooper is palpably working himself into a frenzy. ‘It’s perfect, actually. I bet there are heaps of other crimes you’ve covered over the years, and we can work our way through all of them.’
‘I …’ Oli is saved by the phone ringing, and she answers via Bluetooth. ‘Lily, hi. You’re on speaker,’ she adds quickly, although knowing Lily, it won’t bother her either way.
A lead? Cooper mouths at her eagerly.
‘My sister,’ she hisses.
He cups his ears knowingly to indicate he won’t eavesdrop.
‘Jesus,’ she mutters.
‘What, Ol?’ Lily sounds annoyed. ‘You’re driving, aren’t you? I hate talking to you while you’re driving.’
‘Sorry.’ Oli tries to tell whether Lily’s words carry the slur that suggests she’s been drinking.
Lately it has become apparent to Oli that she enjoys the thought of talking to Lily a lot more than she enjoys actually talking to her. The closeness they shared as little girls and young women has shifted, but Oli’s muscle memory still responds with a feeling of intimacy in anticipation of every conversation with her sister, only to be disappointed as she reorients herself to the reality of their polite chatter. They teeter on the edges of each other’s worlds, trying to make sense of them.
‘Did you see the news?’ Lily says. ‘Sorry, stupid question, of course you did. Is it true, Ol? God, I remember that story. It was bloody everywhere, huh. I even remember the name of the brothel everyone was saying she worked at. Calamity Jane’s, wasn’t it? And remember how you wore my shirt to work that morning, and I found out because I saw you on the news later that night. Remember, Ol? I went ballistic.’
Oli rakes her fingers through her hair. ‘I remember.’
Cooper smothers a smirk, then makes a show of looking out the window.
Oli turns down the volume as Lily’s voice tinkles through the car. ‘How was that ten years ago? Fuck we’re getting old.’
‘Yep.’ Oli’s knuckles are white.
‘Are you at work? What are you doing?’
‘I am, and I need to get going soon—I’m on a deadline.’
‘You’re always on a deadline,’ Lily says scornfully. ‘Mum and I thought you might slow down now you have the girls. And Dean.’
‘Lily, not now,’ Oli says firmly. ‘Do you need something?’
‘Not really.’ She sighs loudly. ‘I just want to complain about Rebecca.’
There’s the slightest tension on Oli’s foot as they hit an incline, and the car shifts into a lower gear. The road becomes slightly rougher, with cat’s eyes running along the dividing line in the middle. The houses start to thin out, replaced by long stretches of ferns and native grass.
‘What’s Rebecca done now?’ Oli surveys the intersection ahead.
Lily groan
s. ‘She’s like a ghost popping up all the bloody time—a money-grubbing, evil bitch ghost who has no pride and no morals. Basically she’s just doing her standard bullshit. Anyway, don’t worry, I can complain later. Can I call you tonight?’
‘Maybe.’ Oli is now pretty sure that Lily has been drinking. ‘I don’t know how late I’ll be.’
‘Seriously, Ol, isn’t Dean loaded? Surely you can stop busting your balls?’ Lily sighs. ‘Anyway, you’re lucky Isabelle’s dead, that’s all I can say. I wouldn’t wish an alive ex-wife on anyone. Also, Mum wants you to call her.’
Lily hangs up. The white noise in the car amplifies, and Oli clears her throat in an attempt to banish the awkwardness.
‘My mum’s always at me to call her,’ Cooper says after a few moments. ‘And I still live at home!’
Oli reaches past him and pulls open the dashboard compartment, retrieving the packet of cigarettes from under the car-care manual. She hits the button to wind down her window.
His Adam’s apple protrudes awkwardly. ‘I thought you didn’t smoke at work?’
She eases a cigarette into her mouth straight from the packet and flicks her lighter, leaning toward the flame. ‘I do today.’
CHAPTER FIVE
ABOUT HALFWAY UP THE MOUNTAIN, THE GPS ON OLI’S PHONE REALLY starts to lose it. The guiding arrow on the screen goes haywire, swinging wildly from left to right. Dawn is texting her, wanting updates, and Oli impatiently flicks the alerts off the screen with her left thumb, while trying to keep a grip on the cigarette in her right hand. ‘Come on, come on,’ she mutters, using her knees to steady the steering wheel.
‘Here,’ Cooper offers, clearly alarmed, as he loads Google Maps on his phone. ‘I’m with Telstra.’
‘So?’
‘They have the best network coverage.’ He relaxes into his seat. ‘So, back to my idea about you co-hosting the pod. What do you think?’
Oli groans inwardly. This kid is relentless. ‘I’m a print journalist, Cooper.’
‘So far. But who knows what might happen next! You could switch to TV, radio, or something completely unrelated to journalism. Did you know that on average these days people will have up to four different careers?’
‘Print suits me,’ Oli snaps. ‘I have no interest in working in another field. Plus, it’s all I know, and I don’t think I’m at a stage in my life where I can just transition to something else.’ This isn’t dissimilar to the dialogue she’s been having with Dean lately, and the same heat rises in her cheeks.
Cooper laughs. ‘You’re not that old!’
‘I’m old enough to know that I like the job I have.’
‘We’ll see.’ He seems immune to her irritation.
Bushland completely surrounds them now, layer upon layer of green.
Cooper adjusts the cuffs on both legs of his skinny jeans. ‘So, who do you think did it?’
‘You mean, who killed Evelyn Stanley?’
‘You must have a theory.’ He spreads in his fingers in a dramatic flourish and stares at her expectantly.
‘I always thought Alex did it. I thought there was a good chance she killed Nicole too, but I guess I was wrong.’
‘Really?’ He looks disappointed.
‘Yes. I wasn’t sure whether it was premeditated, self-defence or something in between, but that’s what all the evidence pointed to.’
‘But why?’
‘Jealousy and betrayal, probably. The usual Shakespearean stuff.’
He makes a face. ‘Do you really think she would kill her friend because she was jealous?’
Oli laughs. ‘Yes, especially if she was off her face on drugs and booze.’
‘There were heaps of other people at the house that night,’ he says defensively.
‘Sure, but only Alex’s DNA and bloody fingerprints were on the knife and Evelyn’s body.’
He frowns. ‘I guess. It just seems way too obvious.’
Oli hides a smile. Cooper’s interactions with Alex have clearly got in the way of his objectivity. She remembers feeling like that—getting defensive of someone just because they agreed to an interview or gave her a lead.
‘Well, mate, we are an example of why this story captured the hearts and minds of the nation. Let’s just pray we finally get some answers today. Hopefully Nicole left a suicide note.’
‘I hadn’t thought about that,’ he says, his eyes shining. ‘That would be kind of amazing … for the story, I mean.’
‘Yes, it would.’
‘Still, no matter what, I think the older guy being at the house that night is suss.’
‘Julian McCrae, the professor?’
‘Yeah. I mean, our uni teachers wouldn’t have gone to one of our parties. Way too risky.’
‘Things have changed a lot in ten years,’ Oli points out. ‘I’m not sure people would have been as attuned to that kind of thing back then. But, yes, the timing was unfortunate for McCrae. He was cleared pretty quickly, though—of the murder, anyway. His wife gave a statement confirming he came home early that night. All of the other party guests had alibis too. The couple Tanya and Roy, another girl Amber. They all went home well before Evelyn was murdered.’
‘McCrae’s wife could easily have lied. Maybe she didn’t want to admit that her husband was fooling around with his students.’
‘But the others all confirmed he left.’
‘I still want to talk to him,’ Cooper huffs. ‘Get his side of the story.’
‘Have you tried to contact him?’
‘Yeah. I messaged him on LinkedIn a few weeks ago, but he never replied. He’s still teaching, though, so he won’t be too hard to find.’
‘When you spoke to Alex, did she say anything about where she went that night?’
Cooper shakes his head. ‘No, I didn’t ask about that. Like I said, I wanted to save the main points for the interview. She did say she was comfortable with talking about Evelyn, though. You know, like the moments after she died, and when Alex called the ambulance.’
Oli remembers the statement Alex made in court, her face white and her voice shaking: I remember thinking that maybe the bath had somehow overflowed into the hallway, and that’s how the water got all over the floor. But it wasn’t water. It was blood.
‘Maybe you can get Bowman to talk to you as well.’ The thought comes out of nowhere. ‘He’ll be a great juxtaposition to Alex, and it’s a nice angle, the case he built that was overturned. I’d say it still pisses him off—his strike rate is almost perfect.’
‘Sure, I like the idea of interviewing him,’ Cooper says, sounding terrified. ‘Do you think he’d do it? Heaps of cops in the States do podcast interviews, but things are pretty different over there, aren’t they? Do you reckon you could speak to him? It would definitely be better coming from you.’ He pauses for breath just as his phone connection drops out. ‘Hey, no way!’ he exclaims.
They approach a roundabout with no signs and, not knowing which way to go, Oli pulls over. Cooper grabs the phone from the holder and prods the screen. After a few moments, a shiny black BMW tears past. Oli accelerates in pursuit. ‘It’s fine, Cooper. I know where we’re going.’
He raises his eyebrows cartoonishly. ‘How?’
Oli gestures to the BMW. ‘I don’t think Melissa Warren is heading to a midweek mountain picnic.’
Mercifully, the impromptu car chase lulls Cooper into silence. Oli follows Melissa’s BMW up the winding curves of the mountain for a few hundred metres, until the road turns almost one hundred and eighty degrees onto a steep dirt incline. Oli jerks the car to the right, and Cooper’s arm flies out to brace against the dashboard.
Up ahead, the serene bushland has been invaded by emergency vehicles. A small cluster of people wearing jeans, boxy blazers and sunglasses are talking into their phones: homicide detectives. The second cluster is more eclectic. An attractive woman in a tailored skirt. Two scruffy men in jeans with cameras propped on their shoulders.
‘Shit.’ Oli parks precariously
on the edge of a bend, wedged between two cars, the arse of the Audi sticking out onto the road. It’s definitely not legal, but she figures it’s unlikely anyone will be handing out parking tickets.
‘Wow.’ Cooper surveys the scene, and Oli feels a jab of irritation at his naked awe.
A steady stream of vehicles continues to appear, comically navigating the narrow road. A few metres away, Melissa is already setting up for a piece-to-camera in front of a blooming wattle tree, her frozen forehead giving her a slightly shocked look that will probably work well for this particular story. She’s been unbearable since she switched to television six years ago, and her recent make-up endorsement deal has served to make her more so. Her long-suffering cameraman is ready to capture every move, a hairbrush and make-up bag jammed under his armpit.
Oli flicks off the ignition and exits the car, blinking into the glare as more cars push their way into the crowded space. She hasn’t seen the media swarm like this in a while, but then again, not many cold cases suddenly catch on fire like this. So much for having the scoop.
Melissa spots Oli and scowls.
‘Got the camera?’ Oli snaps at Cooper. ‘You should get a photo to Dawn as soon as you can, even if it’s just a holding shot.’
‘I sure do,’ he replies cheerfully, sliding on a pair of ridiculous-looking sunglasses. But then he hesitates. ‘Um, where to?’
Oli gestures at the police cars before walking toward them, and he falls into step behind her. The sun feels hollow; its light isn’t translating into heat. She shivers, her insides somersaulting. The red and blue lights that pulse from the police vehicles are half-hearted in the sunshine. On the other side of the cars, a line of cops creates a human shield in front of a narrow dirt driveway that runs for a few metres before disappearing into thick bush. A wonky letterbox sticks out of some shrubbery to the left of the clear space; a faded number nine sits above the rusted slot, and someone has written No Junk Mail neatly across the bottom in black paint.
‘Take a shot,’ Oli hisses at Cooper.
He obliges, capturing a few angles before looking at her uncertainly.
‘Send them to Dawn. I’ll just be around here.’