The Housemate

by Sarah Bailey

  She crushes her smoke against a concrete pillar before it burns halfway. Finds a mint and shakes out her damp hair into what she hopes will pass as a stylish tousled look rather than an ungroomed mess.

  The office is chaos. Almost everyone is talking into a phone. As Oli rounds the corner to her desk, a camera crew hustles past, threatening to bowl her over. She enters Dawn’s office tentatively and pulls her scarf off, almost choking herself in the process. Sits.

  Dawn’s tall frame is clad in a blue dress dotted with daisies. ‘I don’t care, I don’t give a fuck. Get me the shots now.’ She drops her mobile onto her desk and gulps back an entire glass of water, her eyes darting around manically. A droplet trails from the left side of her mouth. ‘Good, you’re here. Get into the boardroom. Bronwyn’s in there already. I’ll find Pia, and we’ll work out what we’re going to run pre-lunch. The Sun’s got an O’Brien exclusive, apparently.’

  ‘Why did you remove the reference to the child in my article?’ Oli asks.

  ‘The exec team advised that we pull it.’

  ‘Joosten?’

  ‘Yes, him and others.’

  ‘Well, I’m not okay with it,’ Oli says. ‘It was an exclusive, and now other sites are running with it.’

  ‘Yes, well, apparently the Sun also got their mitts on O’Brien’s sister-in-law this morning, so you and TJ can commiserate together.’

  Pia stumbles into Dawn’s office, shoves a bunch of papers at Dawn and starts talking into her phone.

  Oli says, ‘I still think—’

  ‘Not now, Oli. For the love of god, let’s get moving.’

  Gwen and Brent appear in the doorway, wide-eyed. They trip over each other comically as they push inside.

  Dawn rakes a freckled hand through her hair and looks up at the ceiling. ‘Fine, let’s meet in here.’ She starts to pace the rug that runs along the side of her desk. ‘O’Brien’s presser is on in five, so we’ll have that copy live in less than an hour along with the video and a montage of the dead wife. Oli, what’s going on with the cops? Why are they keeping so quiet on Horrowitz? I’m hearing nothing.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Oli admits. ‘I’m guessing they’ll do a media call this morning. Maybe there’s a problem locating the parents.’

  ‘Well, we can only stretch the suicide out for a few days unless there’s new info, but the kid angle will last much longer if we can lock it down.’

  ‘That’s why it should have stayed in my piece,’ Oli says evenly.

  ‘I explained that, Oli,’ Dawn says. ‘You get something concrete, and we’ll run a whole cover on it, and we can allude to you breaking it first, okay?’

  Oli nods; she can’t be bothered arguing anymore.

  ‘We can do all the background copy from here—you just feed us anything new, okay?’

  Oli nods again.

  ‘And chase down the Riboni interview. We need it.’ Dawn looks her straight in the eye. ‘I’d like to pull your feature forward a day or so. Doable?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Oli replies quickly. ‘I won’t be able to speak to enough people by then, and like you said, it needs new news. We’ll have to corroborate anything Alex says. I’m also going to try to get a comment from Bowman.’

  Dawn folds her arms. ‘Okay, fine.’ She pouts, thinking. ‘Today let’s just make sure we’re first with every update. I want to run maps of the area, speculation from locals. I want a timeline. Pia, can you brief the art department on some graphics? I want to brand this thing, get it looking really slick—what we did yesterday looked like shit. Reuse the photos that Cooper kid took, they’re pretty good.’

  Oli’s stomach growls.

  Dawn skims the printouts Pia gave her earlier. ‘Just remember to use your brains—we sure as shit don’t have the time or money for a lawsuit right now.’

  Oli turns to Pia. ‘Did you track down the property owners?’

  ‘Yep, Tasmanians Rachel and Will Tiernan.’ Pia doesn’t look up. ‘I spoke to them about half an hour ago. Nice people. They’re horrified someone died there, even though they’ve never actually set foot on the property. Basically, they’re no help, they had no idea someone was living there, and they were planning on selling when they got around to it. I get the feeling that money is not in short supply.’

  ‘And they have no links to Nicole or the other girls?’

  ‘Not that they know of.’ Pia’s fingers dance across her phone.

  Oli arches her back. ‘If Nicole started living in Crystalbrook four years ago, where the hell was she before that? And why hide out? Alex never suggested that Nicole killed Evelyn, and once Alex was in prison surely it was safe for her to come home?’

  ‘Is there any chance she was in witness protection?’ Brent says. ‘Maybe that’s why the cops are being so slow to confirm the details.’

  ‘As much as I love your Nancy Drew role-play, I’d appreciate it if you get out of my office and find somewhere else to have this conversation.’ Dawn is reading something on her phone, her right eyebrow jerking toward the ceiling.

  They exchange glances as they file out of her office.

  ‘Apparently Melissa Warren’s landed an exclusive with Nicole’s parents,’ Dawn calls after them, her voice now eerily calm, ‘so just make the fuck sure no one gets to Alex Riboni before we do.’

  Cooper is sitting at Oli’s desk watching something on his laptop. The left heel of his huge white sneaker taps against the floor, purple headphones fixed on his ears.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Oli says sarcastically, placing her computer next to his. She reaches past him to grab her coffee mug. She is plotting out what she needs to do, who she needs to contact. The story is fragmenting in her head, and she needs to pull it into focus, corral it into something more manageable. It doesn’t help that Crystalbrook is so far away—the last thing she needs is another two-hour round trip. Nor does it help that she’s been ordered to secure an interview that wasn’t hers in the first place.

  ‘Oh, hey, Groves!’ Cooper pulls off his headphones and looks up at her before cracking his knuckles and slurping something unidentifiable from a glass bottle. STICK IT TO THE (HU)MAN runs across his T-shirt in huge black font. ‘You ready?’

  ‘I’m not ready for anything except a giant coffee. Maybe no one told you, but it’s another big news day, so I don’t have time to sit and chat.’

  ‘But we need to run through my interview questions.’ He blinks at her dolefully.

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Cooper,’ Oli hisses. ‘At this rate there won’t be an interview! You haven’t even heard from Alex.’ A thought emerges. ‘Are you sure it was Alex you were talking to?’

  He looks offended. ‘Of course.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, for starters, her voice is the same. And she knows all about what happened back then.’

  ‘That would be easy enough to fake,’ Oli retorts. Jesus, she thinks, what a waste of time all the podcast hype will have been if it turns out Cooper’s been duped by some looney. ‘Either way, our interview chances are looking shakier by the minute, so we better get moving on a backup plan, seeing as this podcast is so important to everyone.’

  ‘We?’ Cooper says hopefully.

  ‘You,’ she corrects. ‘I’ve got shit to do.’

  ‘Okay,’ he says, looking glum.

  Oli clenches her jaw. She’d happily take Dawn’s unpredictable fireworks over Cooper’s adolescent moodiness. ‘We can speak later. And if you do hear from Alex, the same rules apply—drop everything and contact me.’ She heads to the kitchen, phone in hand as she googles hospitals and GPs in Crystalbrook and the surrounding suburbs.

  Cooper trails after her, carrying his laptop. ‘Kylie suggested that I think about changing the podcast anyway. Turn it into more of a real-time investigation to match your coverage. Do you think that might work? It gives us an out if Alex doesn’t come through.’

  Oli shoots him a sharp look while she fills the kettle, scrolling through the search results with her free hand. �
��Later, Cooper,’ she says firmly.

  ‘It makes sense.’ He looks thoughtful. ‘People can follow along and get up to speed when new info drops. It really could be the next Serial.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with aiming high,’ Oli mutters, taking screenshots of the contact details for the three medical clinics that service the area around Crystalbrook. The kettle boils, and she pours the steaming water into her mug, dissolving the coffee granules. Adds milk.

  ‘I was thinking it could work in with your piece, and we could cross promo them. You know, like mutual shout-outs. The sales guys will love it.’ Cooper’s face is flushed with excitement.

  ‘Always my top priority.’ She sips her coffee. It tastes funny. She looks for a spoon but can’t find one, stirs the brown liquid with a knife.

  Cooper kicks the skirting board under the bench. ‘I just figure it might be cool to keep teaming up.’

  She sighs. ‘Look, Cooper, I don’t want to be rude, but I really work better solo. If it happens, I’ll help with the interview, and I’m happy to look at a revised structure and share quotes with you, but podcasts really aren’t my thing. I—’ Oli stops short as Dawn approaches.

  ‘Oh good, you’re both here. Change of plans. Well, actually, there’s just extra plans.’ Dawn turns to Cooper. ‘I just spoke to Joosten about your email, and we agree there might be merit in pairing you up to work on the feature and the podcast together. We’re getting word that the Sun might be launching a podcast series in the wake of O’Brien’s case, “giving a voice to victims”.’ Dawn manages to look both impressed and disgusted. ‘But I think the Housemate story might give us an edge. It will rate better with a younger audience, and that’s what we need right now.’

  Oli looks at Cooper. He sweeps up some crumbs on the bench with his fingers, depositing them in the sink, and studiously avoids her stare.

  Dawn continues, ‘We’re going to run a promo online this afternoon for both the podcast and the print coverage, and there’s a chance we might do a run of TV ads too. We’ll be promising exclusive interviews, plural, so make sure you get them.’

  Cooper emits an excited squeak.

  ‘Oli,’ Dawn barks.

  Oli tries not to gag as she takes another sip of coffee. The texture is ominously thick, and the milk has curdled on the surface. She tips it down the sink and watches as white clumps gather in the plughole. ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’ll need to play editor on this whole thing, make sure it all comes together. I’ll speak to the sales guys. We need to explore subscriptions.’ She claps, and Cooper and Oli both jump. ‘I mean, do you think people will pay for this kind of thing?’

  ‘I absolutely would,’ Cooper says. ‘But I listen to, like, heaps of podcasts. I’ve probably listened to hundreds. I have them on all the time, when I ride into work and when I play squash. Even when I’m in the bath.’

  Dawn looks at him as if he’s gum on her shoe. ‘That was a rhetorical question, but thanks for the insight. Just don’t fuck this up, okay?’

  Oli jumps in. ‘We’re on it, Dawn.’

  Dawn’s phone starts to ring, and she stalks off.

  Pia joins them, dumps a dirty plate in the sink. ‘Apparently Bowman’s doing a presser at police HQ about Nicole Horrowitz, at two.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Oli feels completely bamboozled.

  ‘No dramas. Oh, and also, don’t use anything in the fridge. The thermostat is broken, and everything in there has gone to shit. Someone should have put up a sign.’

  ‘Sorry about that.’ Cooper follows a fuming Oli back to her desk. But he’s not sorry at all; the little shit looks downright smug.

  ‘That was not okay,’ she snaps. ‘I don’t appreciate you pitching ideas that involve me behind my back. This is my job, Cooper. Not some game.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, more contrite. ‘But it’s good that Dawn’s happy with the idea, right?’

  Oli squeezes her eyes shut. She already felt defeated by the day, and now she has to manage Cooper while trying to navigate the biggest feature she’s written in months. And launch a podcast. And juggle Dean and the girls.

  Cooper starts rambling again, something about sound effects, and Oli holds up a hand. ‘Just get everything you’ve got on the podcast so far and meet me at Breakers in twenty minutes.’

  He darts off, and she quickly checks her email alerts: still nothing new on Nicole or the child. She glances at the TV screens. The networks show rolling coverage of detectives coming and going from the O’Brien residence in Albert Park; solemn-looking reporters speak earnestly to camera.

  She grabs her things and heads outside. As she walks around the building to Breakers cafe, she tries two of the Crystalbrook medical clinics, doing her best Sarah Finlayson doctor impersonation. Unsurprisingly, neither will confirm whether they have a patient named Evie Maslan on their books, though Oli can tell they both check their records. She thinks it’s likely that Nicole avoided taking the little girl to the GP, but it’s worth a shot. She wonders if Nicole’s been calling herself Natalie Maslan the whole time and what kind of identification she has. Of course, it’s always possible for paperwork to be faked and for loopholes to be found. Last year Oli worked on a story about stolen identities; it happens more often than people think.

  She kicks through a pile of leaves. Maybe Evie isn’t Nicole’s daughter—she could be a niece or a cousin or something. But then why was she living with Nicole? Oli sighs. No matter who the little girl belongs to, it’s not a good sign that she hasn’t turned up yet.

  Oli enters Breakers, nabs her favourite table and nods hello to Col, who starts making her a coffee. She begins to make a mental list of people to contact for her feature. Miles Wu. Evelyn’s father Mitchell Stanley. The couple, Tanya and Roy. Evelyn’s friend Amber.

  Col brings her coffee over. ‘It’s like Christmas for you lot this week, isn’t it?’ He gestures to the front page of the newspaper on the table next to Oli.

  ‘Something like that,’ she replies.

  ‘I’ve always hated that O’Brien prick.’ Col throws a tea towel over his shoulder. ‘He’s a creep no matter what the court says. But I can’t believe that girl turned up after all those years.’ He shakes his head. ‘The mystery solved after all that time, huh?’

  If only that were the case, thinks Oli, looking at her old notebook. The story seems more convoluted than ever. She wonders where Cooper is, although she’s happy to have some peace and quiet. For a few minutes she focuses on her notes.

  The door swings open, and a large group file in. A few minutes later there’s still no sign of Cooper, but she’ll be damned if she’s going to call him. She thinks of more people to contact: Nicole’s family, McCrae, Ren and Matt from the house next door to the housemate murder property, Bowman.

  One of the wait staff drops cutlery in the kitchen, and the crash halts all conversation. Slowly chatter builds again and blends with the whir of the coffee grinder, the pleasant buzz of the milk frothing. Normally Oli loves working in noisy environments—something about it forces her mind to focus—but not today. Every sound stabs at her brain.

  More people enter the cafe. Still no Cooper. It’s been almost thirty minutes.

  ‘This is ridiculous.’ She gathers her things and gets to her feet, just as he bursts in.

  He makes a beeline to her, eyes wild.

  ‘Can’t you tell the time?’ she says crossly.

  His chest rises and falls, and he combs his fingers through his hair. ‘It’s not Nicole.’

  She looks at him blankly. Someone squeezes past her, trying to get to their table, and she stumbles and holds on to the chair to steady herself. Her phone starts buzzing on the table. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The dead woman,’ Cooper huffs. ‘It’s not Nicole. It’s Alex.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CARS AND TRAMS SAIL BY, AND SPARROWS FLIT BETWEEN THE GUTTER and the footpath, searching for crumbs under the watchful gaze of a mangy crow. Oli stands outside Breakers, feeling numb. Her
brain is struggling to process this new information.

  Cooper paces in front of her, increasingly distressed. ‘I messaged Alex this morning, even though she still hadn’t read the other one. I just figured that maybe if she heard it come through, it might prompt her to respond, but she was dead the whole time!’ His face loses the last of its colour. ‘I mean, holy shit, Oli. She’s dead.’

  ‘Has it been confirmed?’

  He nods. ‘Yep, it just hit the newsdesk, and I ran straight here. Alex’s lawyer posted it on Twitter after she ID’d the body. She’s the next of kin—how sad is that? Look, it’s legit.’

  Oli glances at his screen, quickly reads the message and recognises Ruby Yeoh, the lawyer from Alex’s trial. ‘Okay.’ Oli squints into the sky, trying to quell her intense feeling of being overwhelmed. ‘Where’s your camera?’

  ‘Huh?’ Cooper looks at her blankly.

  ‘The camera from yesterday. I want to look at that photo.’

  ‘I deleted it off the camera,’ he mumbles. ‘But I sent it to myself.’ He swipes at his phone screen a few times and hands it to her.

  Oli enlarges the image, each zoom amplifying her dread. Just like she saw Nicole yesterday, she now sees Alex. All three girls were so similar: same build, same height. The kind of hair that was easily dyed and restyled. In her mind’s eye, Alex and Nicole merge into one. ‘Fucking hell.’ Oli hands the camera back to Cooper.

  A horn blares, and they both jump. A little girl starts to cry and is promptly whisked onto her father’s shoulders; she gleefully wipes her lollipop across his bald head.

  Cooper swallows, clearly desperate for some direction. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Let me try Rusty.’

  ‘The cop from yesterday?’

  She nods, ignores a missed call from Dawn and dials Rusty. ‘Jesus,’ Oli says when he picks up, ‘what the fuck is going on?’

  He keeps his voice low. ‘It’s the other girl. Alex Riboni. I think they realised when they brought her in last night, but they had to wait for her lawyer to come in this morning. It’s a nightmare ’cause we already contacted Nicole’s parents. Understandably, they’re a mess. Anyway, the autopsy is happening now, but I don’t think there’re going to be any surprises. We think she caught the bus up there the day before we found her.’