by Sarah Bailey
She rounds the bend and is greeted with chaos. Cops are hustling people away, trying to direct the traffic along the narrow road. Wisps of smoke dance past, latching on to clothes and hair. A Channel Nine cameraman she knows a little approaches her. Everyone calls him Mud; she has no idea what his real name is.
‘What happened?’ she asks.
‘Dunno. I was packing my gear, and there was a sound, sort of like a shot. Then everyone started shouting that there was a fire, and the cops asked us to stay back.’
‘Is the fire at the house?’
‘I reckon. That’s where the fireys went, right up the driveway. A bloody nightmare getting them through all the journos. And the cops had only just navigated the body coming out. You know what this mob is like—people were hell-bent on getting a good shot rather than helping the cops. It wasn’t pretty.’ He sniffs unattractively and swallows whatever he manages to dislodge from his sinuses. ‘My lady’s in there now, hobbling around on her high heels trying to get the lowdown.’
Oli knows the reporter he’s usually paired with, a tiny blonde with a big smile who wears brightly coloured jackets. Tamara? Tammy? She recently graduated from fluff pieces to headlines but has failed to tone down the outfits.
‘I heard a couple of cops were in the place when it went up,’ Mud adds.
Oli thinks of Rusty, feels a pull in her gut. ‘Any casualties?’
Mud shrugs. ‘Not as far as I know.’
She relaxes slightly.
‘Might have just been something was left on, an oven or stove, but I dunno, maybe it’s suss.’
It’s what Oli is thinking too, but could someone have snuck onto the property with cops everywhere?
‘Are you heading back?’ she asks Mud.
‘Yeah.’ He scratches his crotch and squints into the smoky sun. ‘My lady has her own wheels. I need to get back to the office and start sorting out this shit.’ He gestures to the camera slung over his shoulder, then looks skyward again. ‘You need a lift back to the city?’ ‘Um, no, thanks. I drove.’ Oli says goodbye to Mud and makes her way to the front gate.
Cooper texts her a bunch of photos he’s taken from further up the mountain. The dark-grey nest of smoke looks like a mistake in the middle of the greenery. A chopper shot would be better, but they’re not bad, and she writes back that he should send them in.
She reaches the end of the driveway, where the smoke is slightly thicker. There are fewer people around than before, many of them in uniform. A handful of reporters mill about, gunning for interviews and doing their grabs, but she guesses most have headed back to the city. The firefighters are packing up as well.
Bowman is sitting on the back step of an ambulance, looking furious. His coughs evolve into a splutter, but he waves away a paramedic’s offer of a water bottle. A few metres away, Rusty talks into his phone, a dirty smudge on his face. He winces at the paramedic applying a bandage to his hand.
‘Rusty!’ Oli calls out.
He lifts his gaze, indicates that he’s fine with a swift gesture.
She slides her eyes back to Bowman, who has stopped coughing and is getting to his feet. He looks so vulnerable that she feels embarrassed—it’s almost like seeing him naked.
‘Excuse me, Chief Inspector,’ she says, approaching him. ‘Were you in the house when the fire started? Are you injured?’
‘I’m not injured,’ he replies firmly.
‘Can you tell me what happened?’
He doesn’t reply but stares at her. Up close she can see grime in his pores. She remembers his shattered expression at Isabelle’s funeral as he delivered an emotional tribute, standing next to a large photo of the slain detective. Not for the first time, Oli wonders how close they were, whether she confided in him.
Bowman pulls his gaze away and starts walking, heavy-footed but at a surprisingly fast pace.
Oli rushes to keep up. ‘Has the fire destroyed the house?’
He holds a hand out as if to silence her. ‘We’ll give a statement once we have more information.’
‘I know she had a kid,’ Oli blurts. ‘A little girl.’
He grimaces. ‘Are you running with that?’
His stare is cool, and goose bumps break out on Oli’s arms. ‘We plan to. I have enough to speculate.’
‘Right.’ He turns from her and keeps walking.
‘Will you give a comment? There must have been evidence of a child in the house.’
He doesn’t reply.
She stops following him, frustrated. ‘Did you process the scene before the fire?’
‘No comment,’ he replies robotically, without turning around.
‘Are you sure she wasn’t on the property?’
‘Not today, Ms Groves. We’ll talk another time.’
‘Tomorrow?’ she yells. ‘I can meet you whenever suits.’
The wind gusts, stirring up more smoke. Bowman joins a small group of men and women in uniform.
‘All clear!’ a firey shouts to his colleagues, before he mutters something into a walkie-talkie.
Oli sidles up next to him. ‘How did the fire start?’ she asks, her face pulled into gossipy worry. ‘I’ve just come from next door.’ A benefit of not being on TV is that no one recognises her, and she doesn’t look groomed enough to arouse suspicion.
Jolly old Oli, her father’s voice taunts in her head.
‘We’re not sure yet.’ The firey sniffs a few times and wipes his face. ‘Apparently there was an explosion inside. There’s a big old fireplace in the main room, so maybe something was still burning in there—or it could have been dodgy wiring. Lots of houses around here aren’t maintained that well.’
‘Could it have been a bomb?’ Oli wonders aloud.
He scoffs. ‘Nah, doubt it, but I wasn’t first on the scene. Good thing no one was inside—it was wiped out in no time. A tiny old place. Must have been freezing in winter.’
‘How many bedrooms?’
The firey withdraws. Narrows his eyes. ‘You’re a journo?’
‘Yep,’ she replies without hesitation.
‘Well, probably best we stop talking, then.’
‘Two bedrooms?’
He throws her an exasperated look.
Oli tries to find Rusty, but he’s disappeared and doesn’t answer his phone. She heads back down Laker Drive and calls Dawn.
‘This is unbelievable!’ She sounds like she’s won the lotto. ‘The pictures the kid sent are great. Absolutely fab. We’re posting them in a minute.’
‘It will take me an hour to get you copy now.’ Oli narrowly avoids stumbling in a pothole.
‘Don’t worry, Pia’s drafted something that will be fine until yours comes through. It’s all pretty soft at this stage, but we’re in a good place. The reader stats on the 2005 recap and photo gallery we pushed live are going absolutely bananas. Like, fucking nuts. There are already over five hundred comments.’
‘Cooper told me there are several Housemate Homicide Facebook groups,’ Oli adds. ‘Some pro Alex, some anti.’
‘Check them out. Get Cooper to talk to the most opinionated members and get some quotes.’
Oli isn’t sure that adding fuel to that particular fire is necessarily the best idea, but she’s hardly about to argue when Dawn’s in full flight.
‘We’re hearing that the Sun is going to run a poll on whether Alex was the killer. Can you believe it? God, they’re tacky.’
Oli makes a sympathetic sound as she reaches the end of the road, wondering where Cooper is with her car.
‘I haven’t seen anything come through confirming the cause of death,’ Dawn says. ‘Did they say anything at the scene?’
‘She definitely hung herself.’
‘Okay, good. We’ll stick with speculation for the time being, but lay it on thick. You can allude to the child too, I checked with legal—but no details, not even gender, okay?’
‘No problem,’ Oli says, before adding, ‘Bowman and another cop were near the house when it went u
p in flames. They weren’t injured. I spoke to Bowman afterwards, and he didn’t deny that Horrowitz has a child.’
Dawn emits a controlled scream. ‘Christ, this is too good. We might run a few different pieces, see what grabs.’
The Audi appears just as Dawn starts reeling off plans for tomorrow’s edition. Oli shifts Cooper’s backpack from the passenger seat onto the floor and awkwardly arranges her long legs around it. ‘Let’s go,’ she mouths, and Cooper nods, tearing off down the road.
Dawn chews on something as she talks, and the sporadic swallowing sounds make Oli feel nauseous. Or perhaps it’s Cooper’s driving; he flips between the stop-start style of her nervous mother and the speeding of her overconfident sister.
‘Now about the feature,’ Dawn says, ‘what are you thinking?’
Oli pictures Nicole’s body hanging from the tree. ‘Well, until we know whether the kid is alive or dead it’s hard to say, but I think I’ll start with today and work backwards. Focus on the tragedy of two young women ending up dead, a decade apart. I obviously want to find out what Nicole Horrowitz has been doing these past ten years, speak to anyone who knew her, and identify the kid’s father.’ Oli watches the trees whip past. ‘I’m also thinking we profile the Paradise Street house. How it was the epicentre of the friendship group, and the social hub for the girls the summer before Evelyn died.’
‘And you’ll speak to the other party-goers, right? The old boyfriend?’
‘Yep, we’ll start working on quotes. See if they’ll agree to interviews.’
‘Okay, good. I think this will come together well, Oli. I’ll want your roughs by Sunday. I assume that’s doable?’
Anxiety settles across her chest. ‘Should be fine.’
‘Great, Sunday morning. Gotta go, Joosten’s right up my arse today. Hey, tell the digi kid that his photo’s up on the site. It looks good.’ Dawn hangs up.
Oli glances across at Cooper, who looks ridiculous driving her car.
‘Evie wasn’t in the house?’ he asks.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘That’s good.’
She pulls out her laptop and starts typing. The motion of the car reminds her of when she first worked in news and wrote on the bus to and from work. ‘Your photo is online,’ she says.
‘Really? That’s cool.’
‘Yeah.’
‘I still haven’t heard from Alex. She hasn’t read my message.’ He combs at his hair with his fingers. ‘Do you think she’s going to get back to me?’
‘It’s not a good sign,’ Oli says.
‘I feel stressed.’
‘Welcome to journalism,’ she replies, typing furiously.
Dean calls when they’re about halfway down the mountain. Oli has so far refrained from making comments about Cooper’s driving, which seems to be getting worse.
‘I’m sorry I never called you back,’ she begins, switching off the car’s Bluetooth. ‘Crazy day.’
‘No worries,’ Dean replies. ‘You’re out on the road?’
‘Um, yes. I’m in the car but I’m not driving.’
‘I’m guessing that means there’s no chance you can pick the girls up tonight? Nina’s sick, and I really need to be in a meeting at four pm.’
‘Um, sorry, I can’t.’ Oli mentally curses Nina the babysitter, who is much more likely to be hungover than sick. ‘We’re on our way back now, but we’re probably still forty-five minutes from town. Plus, I’ve got to file my piece, which I’ve only just started.’
‘Are you with TJ?’
Oli glances at Cooper. ‘No, I’m with another colleague.’
‘Right.’
She wedges the phone against her ear and keeps typing, determined not to be the one to fill the silence.
‘I guess I can ask Toni to pick up the girls,’ Dean says. ‘I’m sure she won’t mind.’
Oli rolls her eyes. ‘I’m sure she won’t.’ Toni is their next-door neighbour and was good friends with Isabelle.
‘Hang on, I’ll text her now.’ There’re a few moments of muffled sounds. ‘Alright, done, cross your fingers.’
‘Crossed.’
‘What are you working on?’ Dean’s voice is light; he’s clearly keen to change the subject.
‘Nicole Horrowitz has turned up dead. A suicide, but there’re some weird circumstances. As you can imagine, it’s been a crazy day.’ He inhales sharply. ‘Jesus, wow. I saw something earlier about a death in the hills, but I didn’t know it was her.’
Oli wonders if he’s thinking back to that time when both she and Isabelle were doggedly obsessed with the housemates. Both of them seeing Dean.
‘So,’ he says, ‘I’m guessing that means you’ll be home pretty late?’
‘I’m really not sure yet. I’ve also got a feature to write.’
‘That’s great, Oli,’ he says sincerely. ‘I know how much you love them.’
‘Yes,’ she says, feeling a ripple of pride. ‘It’s a lot to do in not a lot of time.’
‘You’ll be great. I just don’t want you to work too hard.’
‘Likewise,’ she counters. She thinks she hears him sigh.
‘Also, I want to check you haven’t forgotten about taking the girls to the swimming carnival on Thursday night?’
Shit. She thought the carnival was weeks away. ‘Of course not. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Okay, great. I really want one of us to be there. Anyway, I better go. I’ll sort dinner so you can eat something decent when you get home. Good luck with your story, I’m sure it will be great.’
Dean and dinner, she thinks as the call disconnects. Before she was with him, all her meals were sporadic and varied. She ate so frequently that meals themselves seemed unnecessary; regular sit-down dinners just weren’t part of her schedule. She ate at her desk, often late at night, usually something salty straight out of a box. On nights off, she and Rusty became takeaway connoisseurs. But Dean believes in the power of a home-cooked meal. He likes the routine of dinner and feels strongly that the family unit should revolve around it.
Oli stares out the window and wonders if he’s finding it hard to adjust to a life with her. Saying yes to his proposal felt hasty but right, an inevitable step forward in their renewed romance. It was her thirty-ninth birthday, and they’ll be married within the year. The synchronicity appealed almost as much as the diamond-studded band he presented to her.
She and Cooper have hit suburbia again, the tapestry of green on either side of the road replaced by large double-storey houses with several cars clogging the driveways. Faded play equipment sits on front lawns beside dirty wading pools full of leaves. Oli thinks about the house on Paradise Street: the knobbly rosebushes in the front yard, the row of shoes next to the door. Evelyn’s bloody body in the hallway.
Oli gets back to work on her laptop, the screen filling with words as she describes the scene at Laker Drive, implies suicide, and briefly recaps the events from ten years ago before finishing with the suggestion that a child might have been in Nicole’s care at the time of her death. Oli skims the piece from start to finish, editing as she reads under her breath. It’s good, punchy, with reveals in all the right places.
‘You do have your licence?’ Oli inquires politely, after Cooper drifts into the left lane before dramatically overcorrecting.
‘I was a late bloomer driving-wise,’ he admits happily, ‘but I got my licence when I was twenty-one.’
She grits her teeth. Surely he can’t be much older than twenty-one now.
‘I think driving this car is making me nervous,’ he explains. ‘My family aren’t really car people, but this is pretty amazing.’
‘Eyes on the road,’ she says pointedly.
The moment they hit the city, they’re greeted by gridlock. She gives her copy one more cursory check before tethering to her phone and sending it to Dawn. Oli’s mind flashes to the image of Nicole’s body hanging from the tree, and she wonders where the little girl is. She remembers the creek r
unning along the rear of the property and thinks grim thoughts.
‘So we’re going back to the office, yeah?’ Cooper says, flicking the windscreen-wipers on instead of the indicator. ‘I need to get a few things sorted for the podcast. Plus, my bike’s there. Do you ride? It’s the best. Really good for fitness—and the environment, obviously.’
‘No, I don’t. I’m going to work offsite for a few hours and get a jump on my feature, but I’m happy to swing past the office first to drop you off.’ She’s itching to get away from him and have some time to herself.
‘Sure,’ he says amiably. ‘Hey, so if Alex gets back to me, I’ll let you know straight away.’
‘Yes.’ Oli puts her phone down. ‘Day or night, if you hear from her, you call me.’
‘I really hope she does.’ His brow furrows as he turns into the car park. He stops too far from the security checkpoint, and Oli pretends not to notice as he unbuckles his seatbelt and hangs halfway out the window to wave her pass against the scanner. At least he doesn’t have trouble parking. ‘Here we are.’ He turns off the car and rolls his shoulders.
She hands him his backpack and gets out, then goes around to the driver’s side with her hands on her hips.
A text from Dawn arrives. We’re running your piece now. Good work. Keep me across the Alex interview.
Despite her exhaustion, Oli feels the rush. It never gets old, her words in print.
Cooper springs out of the driver’s seat. ‘So unless I call you in the middle of the night to conduct a covert interview with Alex, should we meet here first thing? Your desk?’
Oli is already a million miles away, deciding where to go for food. She’s starving.
‘Oli?’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘Tomorrow morning. Should we meet at eight? You’re usually in pretty early and, like you said, we need to go over my interview questions.’