by Sarah Bailey
Oli slides her gaze toward Rusty. He’s staring at her. She flashes him a smile, but his expression remains resolutely neutral as she looks away.
She finds it hard to imagine a future with Rusty now, but not that long ago she thought they might end up together—marriage, kids, the whole thing. He was like a big kid himself, always joking around despite his serious job. Their relationship was chaotic and unpredictable, but it was fun. His shift work and her unorthodox hours led to unexpected late nights out, and his sense of adventure had them exploring her home town like it was a foreign city. She felt safe with him, while acknowledging that their default mode was friendship as opposed to the unchecked, limb-weakening passion she had with Dean.
It was all going well, fun and easy. And then out of the blue Isabelle died, and almost instantly her feelings for Rusty officially shifted. Their relationship suddenly seemed childish, something to tolerate but not to nurture.
Dean had called her as she was leaving the office after working late one night. It was eighteen months since Isabelle died, eighteen months of her daring to hope that a future with Dean might one day be possible. She was in the middle of texting Rusty, asking if he wanted her to pick up some takeaway, when her phone rang, a private number. Thinking it was a tip-off, she answered. ‘Hello.’
A male voice. Him. ‘God, your voice still drives me mad.’
She couldn’t speak.
‘I saw you today. You were walking down Flinders Lane, and now I can’t stop thinking about you. I called your front desk and tracked down your phone number. Meet me.’
The years slid away. She ended things with Rusty less than three weeks later, claiming a lack of compatibility, an absence of connection, something that suddenly seemed critically important.
Rusty moves next to her, shifting his weight. The soft musk of his aftershave stirs dormant memories. But then he’s gone, marching off to stand on his own on the other side of the crowd. The wind shakes the trees, and the minty tang of eucalyptus replaces the artificial scent. A minute later, her phone buzzes. You didn’t hear this from me, but apparently one of the guys found a note near her body. Not a suicide note, a death threat.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A WATTLE BIRD SHITS ON MANNY CHO’S BALD HEAD, AND EVERYONE loses their minds. But Oli barely notices the ribbing that breaks out as the esteemed reporter cleans the mess off with a tissue. She’s too busy rereading Rusty’s text message over and over.
A death threat changes everything. A death threat suggests someone knew Nicole was here. Was being found enough to push her over the edge? Or was she so scared for her life that she wanted to beat someone to it? The possibilities writhe like snakes through Oli’s brain.
Bowman is heading back up the driveway, and Oli steps away from the crowd and walks along the dirt road. She’d meant what she said to Cooper earlier: she’d always assumed that for whatever reason, Alex killed Evelyn. Her thoughts on the fate of Nicole were less clear. She believed it was most likely that Alex killed her too—on their late-night walk, when Alex could have disposed of the body—but Oli also thought there was a chance Alex had threatened her, caused her to flee or die by suicide. Of course, there was a theory that Nicole and Alex had killed Evelyn together, but why would Alex take the blame? Whatever really happened, Nicole being alive presented a risk to anyone who didn’t want the truth to come out.
Oli grimaces, knowing the most likely person to threaten Nicole is Alex Riboni. And if she’s a suspect in Nicole’s death, the podcast interview is going to be at risk.
Tiny wrens dance in the nearby branches, and a pair of rosellas fly low, almost skimming the roof of Oli’s car.
The three girls had been close from the moment they met, that was the one thing everyone agreed on. Close in a way that some of their peers described as unusual. Beneath the anger and grief, it was clear their loved ones were scared, aware the girls’ formerly innocent friendship had somehow turned dangerous.
Nicole’s dead body appears in Oli’s thoughts. Maybe it still is.
Cooper runs to catch up with her. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I need food.’ She gets in the car and pulls the door shut.
‘Food,’ he repeats, clambering into the passenger seat. He looks at the media pack. ‘Like lunch, you mean?’
‘Nothing else is going to happen here.’ She inches the Audi backwards, nudging the car behind her. She narrowly misses the tail-light of the one in front as she executes a tight three-point turn and leaves the makeshift car park in a cloud of dust. ‘And as I said, we need to talk to people who might actually know something about Nicole living here. Not cops.’
Oli considers telling Cooper about Rusty’s text but decides against it. It’s not like she’s obliged to share anything with him, and he’ll just drive her crazy with bogus theories.
He digs around in his backpack, pulling out various cords and connecting the camera to his laptop while sporadically hitting buttons on his phone screen.
‘Happy with what you got?’
‘Yeah.’ He flicks through the images. ‘I mean, I’m not the best photographer in the world but I’m okay. I’ve done a few courses.’ He keeps scrolling. ‘Bowman looks about a hundred years old.’
‘He must be close to retirement.’ She turns off the dirt road and back onto the uneven bitumen. ‘I remember thinking he was ancient when I first started out.’
Cooper zooms in on one of the images. ‘Yeah, he’s retiring in March.’
She frowns. ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘Um, I’m not sure.’ Cooper’s eyes are fixed to his screen. ‘I think Joosten mentioned it.’
‘You’re in regular contact, are you?’ she asks, bristling.
Cooper finally turns to face her. ‘I was up in Sydney last month meeting with the exec team. It’s like I said, Joosten’s been heavily involved in getting the podcast off the ground. He’s keen to make sure it has national appeal. I think the Bowman thing came up then.’
‘Well, it certainly sounds like your project is getting a lot of support from the business.’
‘It really is.’ Cooper chews his lip thoughtfully. ‘Serial has really paved the way—it had, like, millions of people downloading episodes the second they dropped. The stuff they’ve ended up finding out is amazing. Plus, podcasts are more user-friendly than print. People can consume them while they’re out and about, which is cool.’
Irritation rolls up and down Oli’s body. Trust the exec team to throw money at something new rather than invest in their flagship product. Plus, if podcasts are going to be a major part of the media landscape, they need to be done properly, with rigour, and led by someone with the experience to craft the right narrative. The last thing the industry needs is hundreds of kids like Cooper running around with their smartphones, broadcasting god knows what to anyone who will listen. She tries to convey her point without being completely dismissive. ‘I’m sure for some stories podcasts are great, but they’re not trustworthy like print.’
He scrunches up his nose. ‘Maybe not yet, but they’re getting there.’
‘And they don’t get published regularly enough,’ she adds. ‘Not like the paper which is delivered every day, no matter what.’
‘They could be if we changed the business model. Plus, do you ever wonder what the benefit is of people knowing stuff as it happens? I mean, they didn’t used to, and it’s not like the general public do anything with most of the information we publish.’
Her eyes bulge incredulously. ‘We need to present the facts and get the information into the public sphere as quickly and accurately as possible. It’s the most important logistics job in the world.’
‘Agree to disagree!’ Cooper singsongs just as his laptop pings. ‘Sent!’ He grins and cracks his knuckles. ‘I can relax now.’
Oli raises an eyebrow and tries to calm down—this kid is really pushing her buttons. ‘Hardly. We’re just getting started.’ They reach the shopping strip, and she steers the car in a wide
arc, parking in front of a bright-red Australia Post letterbox. ‘You can wait here, if you like?’ She grabs her wallet and swings the door open.
‘Are you kidding me?’ He shoves his array of equipment into his backpack and scrambles after her.
The supermarket is tiny, more akin to a milk bar, with three aisles of packaged goods and a modest but fecund fruit and vegetable section. Jaunty music plays from a dusty speaker on the wall. The front counter features two small stacks of newspapers, and on the front cover of Melbourne Today is a shot of John O’Brien’s arrest back in March, with TJ’s by-line visible under the headline: ‘GUILTY,’ SAYS FORMER COLLEAGUE.
Oli plucks a chocolate Big M from the fridge and a packet of chips from the sparse rack near the door. She gives Cooper a look, and he reluctantly selects an apple. They deposit their goods on the narrow check-out counter. An older woman stands next to an ancient cash register. Her thick brown curls are pulled back from her face with tortoiseshell combs, and she wears a soft lilac jumper with small pearls sewn into the collar. On a cord around her neck hangs a pair of glasses that she slides onto her nose.
‘Is this your shop?’ Oli asks her.
She beams. ‘Yes, it is. My husband and I own it. Have done for over thirty years now.’
‘It’s lovely.’
‘Thank you, dear, we like it.’ The lady looks around the shop as if she hasn’t noticed it in a while.
‘Crystalbrook is such a beautiful place,’ gushes Oli. ‘It must be wonderful being right in the middle of nature. You must know everyone in town.’
Cooper stands next to her, stiff as a board, and Oli hopes the woman doesn’t think he is her boyfriend.
‘Well, yes, we probably do.’ The woman nods proudly. ‘Now, do you need a bag, dear? That will be seven eighty-five.’
‘No, thanks,’ Oli replies cheerfully, handing over ten dollars. She takes a punt that the lady hasn’t listened to the news today. ‘I have an old schoolfriend who lives around here, but I’m not exactly sure where. I think it’s on Laker Drive, does that sound right? About halfway along. She mentioned in an email that it’s a real bush property, almost a cottage.’
‘I know Laker Drive!’ the lady exclaims as if it’s a quiz.
‘My friend has long dark hair?’
‘You must be talking about Natalie Maslan,’ says the woman knowingly. ‘She’s around your age, I think.’
‘Yes, Natalie!’ Adrenaline pumps through Oli’s system.
‘They’re in here now and then. She’s a pretty young thing, but far too skinny if you ask me.’ She looks approvingly at Oli’s ample hips.
‘Well, thanks.’ Oli backs toward the door. ‘I’ve misplaced her phone number, but we might head over there now to see if she’s home. It’s been ten years since I’ve seen her!’
The woman beams. ‘I’m not sure what she does exactly, but I think she works from home. They’ve only been here a few years. She’s very … What’s that word everyone uses these days? Introverted. She’s very introverted. Although I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see an old friend.’
Oli pauses, one hand on the door. ‘You said “they”. Does Natalie have a partner?’
The woman brushes some lint from her sleeve and gives Oli a puzzled look. ‘I’m not sure about that, dear, but she does have a little girl. Evie. She’s an absolute doll. Didn’t Natalie mention her to you?’
Oli hustles Cooper down the side of the supermarket into a worn dirt lane. Clusters of weeds sprout from the base of an old rubbish skip, and a large crow eyes them curiously from its perch on a nearby rooftop. She pulls out a cigarette and fumbles in her bag.
‘Here.’ He produces a neon-pink lighter and flicks his thumb, and the flame flares in the white sunlight.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbles. She bends forward, sucking in air until the tip catches. ‘Want one?’
‘Nah, I’m too wired.’ He paces on the spot and rakes his hand through his hair-spike before combing it back the other way. ‘Nicole Horrowitz had a kid,’ he says, stating the bleeding obvious.
Oli smokes hard and fast, calmed somewhat as the nicotine hits the depths of her lungs. ‘Looks like it.’ She bats the tip of the cigarette against the brick wall. ‘And she named the kid Evie? Jesus Christ.’ Oli is angry but can’t work out exactly why. It’s almost as if she feels fooled by Nicole Horrowitz. It does seem as though the missing woman is giving the whole country a giant, posthumous up yours.
After dropping this bombshell, the supermarket owner had told them she thought the child was about ten. ‘Shy little thing,’ she’d said fondly. ‘Just like her mother.’
Oli kicks her heel against the building. ‘Christ, what the fuck is going on?’
Cooper eyes her uneasily. ‘If that woman is right and this kid is ten, then it’s possible Nicole was pregnant that night. Maybe she witnessed whatever happened between Alex and Evelyn, saw her friend die. Maybe she wanted to protect her baby, and that’s why she ran off?’
‘Or,’ Oli counters, ‘Nicole told Alex she was pregnant when they left the house together on their walk. Maybe they argued about it, had an altercation, then Nicole ran off and didn’t want anyone to know she was pregnant. Maybe that’s why she stayed away this whole time.’
‘Why would they argue about that?’
‘I don’t know.’ Oli tries to think. ‘The father was probably someone they knew?’
‘Miles Wu?’
‘Maybe.’ Oli kneads her temples as if this will help clarify her thoughts. ‘What if Alex came home from her walk with Nicole and told Evelyn that Nicole was pregnant with Miles’s baby. Evelyn might have taken Nicole’s side, causing Alex to flip.’
Oli tries to summon details about Miles. Tall. Shaved head. Fit and lean. Studious. He didn’t seem like the type of guy who would sleep with his girlfriend’s best friends, but Oli is well aware that people don’t tend to print that kind of thing on a T-shirt.
Cooper looks confused. ‘Maybe Nicole only meant to hide out for a little while and wait for things to settle down, but when they didn’t she decided to have her baby away from the spotlight and made a fresh start somewhere.’
Oli tries to picture it. ‘Alex always maintained that Nicole wasn’t there when Evelyn died. And the DNA supported that. If Nicole felt guilty about something I don’t think it was Evelyn’s murder.’
Cooper squirms, twisting his arms in front of his body.
‘What?’
‘Well, when we spoke on the phone the second time, Alex told me that part of what she could remember was waking up in the hallway after Evelyn was dead. She said she could hear someone in the house.’
‘Are you serious?’
He nods. ‘That’s what she said.’
‘We need to speak to Alex as soon as possible. We can’t wait until Sunday.’ She gestures at Cooper. ‘You need to call her now. Quickly.’
‘I can’t,’ he cries. ‘She wouldn’t give me her number.’
‘What?’ Oli is in danger of exploding. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She said she wasn’t comfortable giving me her phone number. The two times we spoke she called me, and her settings were on private.’
‘Well, how the fuck are you going to contact her?’
‘Twitter.’ He looks offended. ‘That’s the only way she said she was happy to communicate.’
Oli closes her eyes. Breathes. ‘Well, do it now.’
The slightest hint of smugness seizes his features. ‘I messaged her before we left the office. I asked her to call me.’
‘But she hasn’t,’ Oli says flatly.
‘No.’ His expression drops as he glances at his phone, looks nervously at Oli then back at the screen. ‘She hasn’t read my message yet.’
‘Okay.’ Oli sounds a lot less frantic than she feels. ‘The second you hear from her, you need to tell her the interview has to happen as soon as possible. Before Sunday. We can talk to her in the middle of the night if she wants, I don’t care. We need to get her on the re
cord before she changes her mind or is dragged back into custody.’
Cooper blanches and steps away from Oli, squaring his bony shoulders. ‘Like I said, it’s been pretty hard to get her to agree to the whole thing. I don’t want to freak her out. She trusts me at the moment, and I want to keep it that way.’
‘Well, you’ll have to reconcile wanting to make a new friend with wanting to be a journalist.’
His nostrils flare, and he opens his mouth but then changes tack. Oli can hear him counting under his breath. ‘When she calls me,’ he says evenly, ‘I will ask if she wants to do the interview earlier, but it’s up to her.’
‘Cooper, you do realise there’s a possibility Alex has something to do with what happened to Nicole, right? They might have been in touch.’
‘I’m keeping an open mind until we do the interview.’
‘You’ll need to keep an open mind way beyond that, my friend.’ She’s aware of how patronising she sounds, but someone needs to teach him how real journalism works. ‘It’s not your job to judge. It doesn’t matter what you think. We deliver a point of view and make sure we balance anything Alex tells us with the known facts. You’re not her lawyer.’
‘Surely I can have an opinion.’
‘Of course you can. You just have to keep it to your goddamn self. Either that, or you go and work at the Sun.’
She frees the straw on her Big M and breaks the silver seal, gulping down the sweet milk. She notices that his fists are clenched again, and she hides a smirk. Good, let him get worked up, he’s obviously had an easy run so far, what with jaunts to Sydney and the exec team falling all over itself to get his podcast off the ground. Time for him to have a taste of the real deal, the ninety-nine per cent of the job where things don’t go the way you want them to. She pulls open the chips and munches them noisily.
‘Don’t you think there’s a chance it was Nicole all along? That she killed Evelyn?’ Cooper speaks with an urgency that tells Oli this is his theory; this is what he’s secretly hoping Alex’s interview will prove.
Oli sighs. Sating her appetite has made her tired. ‘The DNA says no. Alex was there, covered in blood. Alex’s prints were on the knife and on Evelyn. Alex admitted to doing it. She even said Nicole wasn’t there.’