by Sarah Bailey
This is where she came with her mother all those years ago. She was that girl in pyjamas hovering by Sally Groves’s side.
‘What did she take?’
‘What?’ Oli could still taste her mother’s vomit on her lips.
‘Do you know what she took?’
‘I don’t know.’
New faces appeared, and Sally disappeared into the bright lights.
‘Do you have any idea what made her do this?’ a doctor asked.
Dazed, Oli thought about the horrible secrets in her diary. The words that Sally had read. Things she must have known deep down but had somehow managed to ignore.
The paramedic squeezed Oli’s arm. ‘Hey, you did really well tonight. You saved her life.’
Oli went to the front desk to call Lily, trying not to think the awful thing. That if Sally didn’t wake up, Oli wouldn’t have to acknowledge what her dad had done to her, that they would never need to discuss it.
The hospital is different now, remodelled and sleek with creamy-white low lights and large potted plants. A crying woman hurtles past, clipping Oli’s elbow. She reels sideways, increasingly panicked. But Sally had made it, surely Cooper will too.
Oli follows the signs, praying as she rushes into the crowded waiting room. Several children are crying. A little girl circles a toy train around an ancient wooden track, staring solemnly at all the adults in the room. A shocked-looking couple hold wads of tissues, their eyes leaking as they stare at the carpet.
Phones ring.
Oli feels like she’s standing on air.
A blur of blue. Cops.
She staggers to a stop. Rusty is standing with two other officers, talking to a doctor. ‘Rusty,’ she breathes, hands on her hips.
The cops and the doctor exchange glances. Rusty steps away from the group, his arms out in front of him. The world blurs as she lets him hug her, her face pressed to his chest.
‘I’m really sorry, Oli.’ Rusty’s heartbeat is strong and steady through his shirt, his breath hot on her scalp. ‘Cooper didn’t make it.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
COOPER LOOKS IMPOSSIBLY PALE AGAINST THE WHITE SHEETS. OLI stands at the end of the hospital bed and sobs. ‘God!’ she cries out. She covers her face with her hands. Brushes away the tears that drip down her face. The anger that burns through her is overwhelming. She wants to destroy something. Smash a window. Shake Cooper until he wakes up. She rounds the bed and moves closer to his face. His hair is still thick with wax and stands in a peak. The sheet sits across his neck. She imagines the damage underneath.
How could anyone hurt him?
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ she whispers, over and over. ‘I’m so fucking sorry.’
He doesn’t move, but she can almost hear his wry reply.
Eventually she retreats to the corridor, pulling the door shut even though every cell in her body hates leaving Cooper alone in that empty room. Her throat is sore; she can taste copper. She grips his mother’s hands, trying to convey her utter grief and sorrow. His mum is just like him. His dad is short and overweight, with bloodshot eyes. There’s a cartoon bandaid on his thumb. Their sadness is so much worse than her own, and their pain merges with hers until she feels she might faint.
‘He was so excited to be working with you,’ his mother whispers into a tissue. ‘He was so happy.’
Oli forces herself to look into her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she chokes out. ‘He was very special. I was lucky to know him.’
Oli holds the toilet bowl as her stomach expels the last of the hot chocolate. She tunes into the hospital sounds. The rattle of metal implements shifting on a trolley as it rolls past. Female voices talking about a physio appointment. The swell of approaching sirens. Oli slumps sideways, tipping her head against the worn porcelain. How can Cooper be dead? The thought hovers around her, refusing to land. Shock continues to slice through her body, and she rolls back onto her knees, dry-retching into the toilet. Cooper’s face looms again, and her heaving turns to sobbing, sweat breaking out across her forehead.
Eventually she flushes the toilet and pulls the lid closed. She drops her head onto the surface and shuts her eyes, wishing everything would just go away.
But someone is calling her name. ‘Oli? Oli, are you in there?’
With a huge effort, she lifts her head and scans the tiny room. Her satchel lies on the floor under the basin. Her phone is a few centimetres further away on the tiles.
‘Oli?’
She staggers to her feet, her surrounds lurching like a sailboat on rough seas.
Rusty is standing outside the door, his face weighed down with worry. The tears come again. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls her close, his shoulder propping the door open. He’s taller than Dean, her head fitting into the curve of his chin. His shirt becomes wet against her face as his hand traces a comforting circle on her back. ‘Come on, let’s get you out of here.’
Oli stands in the doorway while he gathers her things. He pulls her satchel onto his shoulder and pats it. He looks ridiculous, and Oli tries to force a smile but it’s impossible. ‘What happened, Rusty?’ she whispers. ‘What happened to him?’
‘Not here.’ Rusty hustles her through the bright corridor, through the crowded waiting room and out into the night.
The tearstains on Oli’s cheeks burn in the cool air, and the blue and red lights of an incoming ambulance hit the back of her eyeballs. She rushes to keep up with Rusty’s long strides as they cross over a narrow road and a garden bed, entering the hospital car park.
‘Get in.’ He gestures to a dark sedan, and she does as she’s told. ‘Want water?’ He hands her a bottle from the console, and she takes a few sips.
‘I can’t believe this,’ she says. It feels like the longer she has known about Cooper being dead, the more unlikely it seems.
‘Oli.’ Rusty takes her hand. Her ring sparkles outrageously in the yellow glare of the streetlights.
She tries to separate herself from the story. Cooper needs her help, now more than ever. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘We’re not exactly sure yet. It got called in just as I was clocking off, but I went along for back up. We didn’t know if it was a street fight or an attack, but when we got there it was just him. Someone stabbed him and ran, Ol. I knew he wasn’t in good shape, but I thought he might pull through. I’m really sorry.’
Oli tries to block out the image of a blade cutting through Cooper’s skinny body. He never stood a chance. She grips the edge of the car seat with her other hand. Squeezes her eyes shut. ‘I don’t understand. Was he mugged?’
Rusty grimaces. ‘Maybe. His phone and wallet are gone.’
Oli’s galloping thoughts come to a halt. ‘How did you know it was him?’
‘He had some business cards in his jacket pocket. That’s when I realised I’d met him with you up in Crystalbrook.’
‘Oh.’ Oli has a vision of Cooper whipping out his business card to give to Rusty, an earnest look on his face.
‘He was on his bike. We’re not quite sure whether he stopped for some reason or someone attacked him while he was riding.’
Oli’s throat feels like it’s closing over. ‘God, Rusty. He was just a kid.’
Rusty turns to face her. ‘When did you last see him?’
‘Yesterday. We had a late lunch in the city.’ Her voice is so low, it’s almost a hum. ‘And we spoke earlier today. I tried to call him this afternoon, but he never got back to me. We were supposed to meet at the office.’ She buries her face in her hands. ‘I really can’t believe this.’
‘This is not your fault, Oli, you know that.’
She just shakes her head. The emptiness is taking hold, the utter hopelessness that sinks in when reality is unavoidable.
‘I listened to your podcast.’ Rusty watches an ambulance fly past. Oli wipes her face even though tears are still streaming out. ‘You did?’
‘Yeah.’ He rubs his eyes. ‘Oli, I want you to be careful. That kind o
f thing can bring the crazies out. It’s more personal than print—people hear a journo’s voice, they might develop an unhealthy obsession. Especially with your voice.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ She sniffs.
‘I’m serious. People can easily google you, then once they see what you look like, well …’ He seems annoyed with himself. ‘You know I’ve always worried about you. It’s one thing to do what I do, but you’re out there asking questions and following people around with no authority and no protection. It’s dangerous.’
‘Do you think what happened to Cooper had something to do with the podcast?’
‘I have no idea, but I still think you should be careful. Maybe he pissed someone off. Maybe he crossed paths with someone who didn’t like him asking questions, or maybe it was completely random.’
Oli thinks about Cooper’s excitement at the possible link between Evelyn and Louise Carter. His call to Miles. He was so determined to crack the case, to prove himself. Had someone worried he was inching too close to the truth?
‘Oli? Ol?’ Rusty has been trying to get her attention. ‘Do you know what he was doing today?’
‘I only met him last week.’ A moment of incredulity at this realisation—it feels like so much longer. ‘We were working together on the Housemate story.’
Rusty nods. ‘Well, it might have just been a random attack. Or possibly racial. We need to check if anything similar has happened recently, or if he received any threats. That’s what the guys will be doing now.’
‘Where was he attacked?’
‘North Melbourne. We’ll pull his phone records and see if we can work out if he met with someone. Or was about to meet with someone.’
An ambulance charges into the hospital driveway, colouring the entire area red and blue. The scene from earlier is repeated. Stony-faced paramedics work with practised speed, efficiently ejecting the patient and holding various pieces of medical equipment above the body as they disappear into the hospital. Oli remembers the lactic acid that pumped through her limbs as she ran alongside her mother’s stretcher. The cocktail of emotions that percolated as she watched Sally’s face loll against the white material, traces of saliva still on her neck and in her hair.
Rusty rubs his eyes again. Yawns. Awkwardly stretches his long legs around the accelerator and brake pedals. ‘You going to be okay, Ol?’
She looks at his profile, backlit by the moon. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Rusty.’
‘Yeah, well.’ He stares out the window. Doesn’t glance at her. ‘How did you get here?’
‘Taxi.’
He nods. ‘I should get you home.’ When he turns the key in the ignition, it almost drowns out his next comment. ‘Dean will be worried.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
MONDAY, 14 SEPTEMBER 2015
THE HORROR OF COOPER’S DEATH SEIZES OLI’S BODY THE MOMENT she wakes. She gasps for air in the middle of the king-sized bed, goose bumps rippling along her skin as she curls into the foetal position, hugging her legs and pushing her forehead into her knees. How can it be a new week and Cooper is dead? Yesterday he was alive and now he’s dead. It is utterly unfathomable.
Underneath the devastation, persistent thoughts about Dean needle at her brain. She thinks back over the past eighteen months. When they first reconnected, she treated the relationship like a delicate bubble. She cleared her schedule for him, even took time off work to be with him. Their relationship was as addictive as ever. But the high faded more quickly this time. She threw herself back into work and tried to fit him into her world rather than the other way around. In turn, he pressured her to move in. He wanted more of her time. Made her feel guilty about the girls.
Her mind drifts to Dean pinning her down, his strength always teetering on the cusp of feeling dangerous; Dean demanding to know where she is. An uncomfortable medley of their recent conversations plays out in her mind, unease lodging in her gut. His quest for perfection is something she admires, but her inner voice insists there’s an edge to it. His need for control always threatens to ruin a moment. The potential to disappoint him feels constant. But, she reassures herself, he’s never shown a hint of aggression. He’s possessive, yes, but that’s not a crime. He might have high expectations and like things to be just so, but he is not violent. He’s just not. As if to prove a point, she summons a series of moments: his quiet pride about the girls, the gentle encouragement he offers them. His relaxed teasing. The way he wants to look after her. His generosity. The way her body has always responded to him without hesitation.
Oli switches between dozing and crying. She closes her eyes and tries to think about nothing. After an hour or so, she feels wrung out. She flips onto her back and looks around the room. All of Dean’s things are tucked out of sight. Even his nightstand is spotless; the water bottle that is usually there is gone, leaving only a photo of the twins. Oli has no idea what time it is, the block-out blinds doing an effective job. Her phone will be flat by now, and she feels a satisfying surge of rebellion at being uncontactable.
Without warning she’s hot and clammy, sweat breaking out across her forehead and behind her knees. The plush pillows and satiny sheets feel revolting against her skin, and she desperately kicks them off, scrambling out of the bed and standing on the carpet in her underwear, breathing heavily, nerves jangling.
Last night, Rusty insisted on walking her to the door when she told him Dean and the girls were away. Rusty’s eyes surreptitiously skimmed the house: the manicured front lawn, the standard rosebushes along the driveway. For a moment she thought he was going to offer to stay, but he mumbled something about needing sleep before his early start. Oli wonders if he’s seeing anyone, maybe that female cop, but she dismisses the thought and sets about finding her bag. It’s hanging on the end of the staircase. She takes out her laptop and phone, and connects them to the charger. Glances at the time: a quarter past nine.
In the shower she works the shampoo into foamy white peaks, lets the soft hum of the pipes massage her thoughts. What was Cooper doing yesterday before he was attacked?
Feeling sluggish, she dries herself and pulls her wet hair into a messy bun. Dresses quickly. Stuffs her laptop into her bag and grabs her phone. Messages fill the screen, and she instinctively goes to call Cooper. Then she pauses, determined not to let the grief paralyse her again.
As she heads down to the garage, the landline in the kitchen rings. She pauses. It’s Dean. It has to be. He’s tried her mobile and now he’s trying to track her down at the house. The electronic trill snakes down the stairs and echoes into the shadowy room. Dust motes are caught in the half-light and swirl around the car like insects. Dean’s wall of tools seems to watch her as she stands on the bottom step. She looks at the Audi.
Dean insisted on buying her a new car.
He always seems to know where she is. Where she’s been.
Isabelle had an appointment with the lawyers. He knew she was at the gym that morning.
He’s tracking her car, she knows he is.
Heart pounding, she heads back up the stairs, leaving the house on foot. She reaches the nearby shopping strip. Calls Pia.
‘Oli? Oh my god, it’s so awful about Cooper. I can’t believe it. Are you okay?’
Oli feels herself cracking. ‘I know, I’m okay. You spoke to him yesterday, right?’
‘Um, yeah. I was helping him try to find info on the housemates’ babysitting jobs. We were trying to access decommissioned websites and see if we could link them to their old mobiles. I spoke to the tech guys but didn’t have any luck.’
‘When he left the office, did Cooper say anything about what he was doing?’
‘He mentioned he was going to the university. Something about a tip-off he got.’
Oli pauses. ‘The university?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay. Thanks, Pia.’
‘Are you coming in, Oli? The cops have been here. Dawn is looking for you. So is TJ.’
‘No, I’m sick,’ she says. �
��Listen, Pia, I’m about to send you episode two of the podcast. Can you get it through approvals? I want it published asap.’
‘Even though—’
‘Yes,’ Oli snaps. ‘Let’s just get it online today.’ She hangs up. Looks around. Spots a taxi rank outside the supermarket and jogs toward it. ‘Melbourne uni, please, Parkville campus.’
As they pull into the morning traffic, her mind is trawling the possibilities. Did Cooper arrange to meet McCrae at the university, on a Sunday? Did they have a confrontation? Maybe McCrae followed him. Oli’s knuckles are white as they bypass the city. She exits the cab and rushes onto the campus, realising she has no idea where to look for the professor. Students amble past, sunglasses on, earbuds in. She spies a map and hurries over to it, tugging her notebook out of her bag. McCrae’s lecture should be starting in twenty-five minutes. She turns to look up at the buildings, shielding her eyes from the morning sun.
Someone grabs her shoulders, hard. She spins around.
‘Oli, what are you doing here?’
It’s Dean.
A basketball bounces past. Around them students talk, laugh, and drink takeaway coffees.
‘What am I doing here? What are you doing here?’ Oli’s chest heaves as if she’s been running. ‘Why aren’t you in Lakes Entrance with the girls?’
Dean’s eyes dart around. ‘I’m not supposed to be here. There’s an issue. I can’t discuss it, but it’s going to cause us problems. It hasn’t been made public yet, so we’re trying to keep a lid on it.’ He looks at her pointedly. ‘I drove down this morning. I tried to call you,’ he adds, reaching his hand out. ‘Twice.’
‘No.’ She shuffles away.
‘What do you mean, no?’ He laughs nervously. ‘Oli, are you alright?’