by Sarah Bailey
He flicks at the plastic sign hanging off the rear-view mirror and glances sideways at her. ‘Not your car?’
‘It’s a rental.’
‘Okay.’ He looks out the window then back at her. ‘Want to tell me why you’re driving a rental?’
She doesn’t take her eyes off the road. ‘Not really.’
Pulling at his jaw, he shifts in the seat. She can tell he’s tired. He’s wearing a baseball cap, and his freckles glow against his pale skin. ‘Want to tell me where this theory on Bouris came from?’
‘Still no.’
He expels air from his nostrils. ‘I understand Isabelle’s death must hold a strange fascination for you.’ He holds up his hands as if Oli has protested, before adding, ‘But I’m not sure that digging around, meeting with scum like Bouris, is a good idea.’
She indicates and speeds up to overtake a station wagon. ‘But if someone else was involved in her death and was working with Bouris, then surely the police would want to know, right?’
‘Of course! But you don’t need to get involved.’
‘Really? ’Cause it doesn’t seem like you guys did a very good job the first time around.’
‘Oli.’
She hovers on the brink of tears, desperately trying to keep them at bay. ‘She was going for a run, and someone set that … monster on her.’ Her face spasms. ‘I mean, fuck, Rusty, her kids were waiting for her at home.’
He rests a hand lightly on hers. ‘Your stepdaughters.’
‘That’s not why it matters!’
He removes his hand. Gazes out the window. ‘I’ll look into Bouris. Dig around and see if something turns up. If anything feels off, I’ll put in a request to reopen the investigation.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispers.
Shadows crisscross their faces as they pass under streetlights.
Rusty shifts in his seat, turns to face her. ‘Ol, I want to be here for you, I really do, but it’s hard for me to be around you. Surely you must know that?’
Oli’s stomach lurches. She pulls over outside a pizza parlour, turns off the car. Through the window a couple is having dinner, and the woman laughs then rolls her eyes. Oli tips her head forward and rests it on the steering wheel. ‘Rusty.’
‘It’s fine. I know you’re upset about your colleague, and about what Bouris said. And of course I care about you, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.’
‘Do you remember that day we went to Siglo? On the rooftop?’
‘Yes,’ he says, looking puzzled. ‘We were celebrating that series you wrote on domestic violence. Why?’
‘Remember how you announced to the whole bar how amazing I was and how proud you were of me?’
He smiles. ‘I was a bit tipsy. But I was proud of you. You worked so hard on that story, and it was really important.’
‘It was sweet when you did that,’ she says quietly. ‘I always felt like I could do anything when I was with you.’
‘Huh.’ He slumps back against the seat. ‘Come on, Ol, that’s clearly not true.’
‘It is true! It’s just that things got really confusing, and I got scared.’
He snorts. ‘What, of commitment? I’m sorry, Oli, but you ditched me and shacked up with a widower and his two children six months later, so if you want to talk about confusing I think you win.’ Rusty lightly cuffs the window with his fist.
‘I was with Dean before.’ Her voice sounds hollow.
‘Before what?’
‘Before I was with you. A long time ago.’ Saying it aloud is bizarre, years of deceit purged in an instant.
Rusty is shaking his head, clearly trying to understand. ‘Hang on, but he was with—’
‘I was with him when he was with Isabelle,’ she interjects.
‘When?’
‘Ten years ago.’
‘Jesus, Oli, for how long?’
‘Long enough.’ She glances at him. ‘It really screwed me up.’
‘You should have told me.’
She manages a laugh. ‘I didn’t think it was much of a selling point.’
‘I guess not.’ His face relaxes, and she can tell that he is thinking. ‘Were you with him when you were with me?’
‘No, I wasn’t. Never. I hope you believe that. I didn’t see or speak to Dean until weeks after we broke up.’
He releases a breath. Clasps his hands together, then takes Oli’s. ‘Well, I’m glad about that. I don’t know why it matters, but it does.’ She grips his hand back. They watch the couple in the restaurant for a few moments.
‘After Isabelle died you were different.’ A statement.
‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘I was.’
He nods. Swallows noisily. ‘Should we get some food?’
Oli pulls her hand away and starts the car. ‘Maybe later. First there’s something we need to do.’
Oli’s admission hovers in the car like a fog, but Rusty doesn’t ask any more questions, for which she is grateful. She guides the car past the sweeping grounds of the museum. Despite the cold, diners spill out onto Faraday Street, cheerful groups talking and laughing as waiters rush back and forth from the kitchen to the tables. People in gym gear jog along the footpath, snaking from side to side to avoid a collision. A rider flies past on his bike, almost clipping the side mirror.
Oli’s resolve crumbles. ‘Can you get my phone? The address is in the notes.’
He finds it in her bag and looks at the screen. ‘Dean has called you three times.’
‘It’s fine.’ She tells him her password, and he plugs the address into the GPS.
Just before the Johnston Street intersection she turns left, then left and right down a few streets until they reach 19 Flockheart Lane. She turns off the GPS and checks her phone. Dean has sent a text. I’ve gone back to Lakes Entrance. I’ll give you some space but we need to talk later this week. I love you.
Rusty looks at the house. ‘Are you going to tell me who lives here?’
She yanks the handbrake, trying to push Dean from her mind. ‘I don’t know who lives here.’
‘Oli,’ he says.
‘Julian McCrae came here a few days ago, and there’s a chance that Nicole Horrowitz is here with her daughter.’
‘Are you serious?’
Oli gets out of the car. ‘Come on.’
‘Oli, if that’s what you really think, then I need to call in backup.’
‘I thought that’s what you were,’ she quips, already halfway up the narrow path. She rings the doorbell.
Rusty stops a few steps behind on her right, primed to go into cop mode if it’s required.
Movement behind the door. A key turns in the lock. A face appears in the narrow gap. Oli blinks as a baby wails from somewhere in the house. ‘Cara?’
Oli remembers what Cara said about her sister when they met at the cafe. I wasn’t immune to her. Plus, she was my sister. It was just the two of us.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Cara’s eyes drift to Rusty. ‘And who is he?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Oli’s mind is whirling.
‘It matters to me.’ Cara’s bright-pink nails curl around the edges of the door. ‘How dare you turn up to my house late at night with no warning and bring some strange man with you.’ She glances backwards, and Oli wonders if Nicole is inside. ‘I don’t even know you.’
‘It’s okay, I’m a cop,’ Rusty says.
‘That doesn’t make me feel better. You need to leave. I already told you everything I know.’
‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Oli says. ‘Please, Cara, let us in. I know you want to do the right thing.’
‘No, I just want you to go.’ She pushes the door closed, and for the second time today Oli jams her boot in the gap, although this time she shoulders it wider too.
Rusty steps forward. Cara pushes back, but she’s not quick enough, and the door swings open. Oli falls into the hallway. Gets her bearings as quickly as possible and rushes forward. The baby is still crying, but she can�
�t tell from which direction the sound is coming. Rusty yells out, ‘Stop!’ and Cara grabs her from behind, tugs at her coat, but she makes it to the end of the hallway. Cara pushes past her then reels around, her dark eyes full of fire. Rusty is behind her, his breathing heavy.
‘Get out now.’ Cara’s collarbones are like knives pointing out of her heaving chest.
‘Cara, let us help you,’ says Oli.
The baby isn’t crying now, and the house is silent apart from their breathing.
‘Help me what?’ Cara seethes, her face distorted with fury.
Oli’s eyes jump around the room. A messy bookshelf. A colourful rug. Photos of Cara with a baby.
‘Who lives here with you, Cara?’ Oli’s husky voice rumbles.
‘It’s just me. Just me and my kid. And I want you to leave now.’
‘I don’t believe you. I think she’s here. I think Nicole is here.’
The women lock eyes, both burning with intensity.
‘Maybe we can sit down,’ suggests Rusty.
Oli senses movement in the hallway behind them. She shifts sideways, her gaze still on Cara as she slowly turns. In her peripheral vision she sees a figure coming up the hallway.
Rusty murmurs something under his breath.
‘No.’ Cara lifts her arms in pointless protest.
A little girl stands at the mouth of the hallway. She has clearly just woken up, her blonde hair flaring messily around her face. A long T-shirt skims her knees, an AC/DC logo splashed across the front of it.
‘Go back to bed,’ Cara says.
‘No!’ Oli says. ‘We want to talk to you. Is your name Evie?’
The little girl nods.
‘What’s going on, Oli?’ Rusty is holding his phone.
Oli puts her hands on her knees. ‘Where’s your mum, Evie?’
Evie looks at Cara then back at Oli. She takes a step away.
‘Please leave us alone,’ Cara says hopelessly.
Oli ignores her and tries to remain calm. ‘Can you tell me where she is, Evie?’
‘Oli,’ Rusty cautions.
The baby begins to cry again, in long screeching wails that dance up Oli’s spine. She moves toward Evie and kneels on the floor, knees cracking. ‘Evie, I’m looking for your mum. Is she here?’
Evie shakes her head.
Oli’s stomach drops as an anvil of realisation ploughs through her, the past few days streaming by in fast forward. She looks at Evie’s face: her wideset eyes, snub nose, ivory skin. Wavy blonde hair.
‘My mum’s gone,’ Evie says, as Oli scrambles to her feet.
It can’t be true, but she knows it is. She backs away from Evie and collides with Rusty, who grips her shoulders. ‘Rusty,’ she breathes.
‘I’m calling Bowman,’ he says firmly.
Cara is crying. Her sobs merge with the baby’s cries. ‘Please, let me explain.’
‘Rusty.’ Oli’s voice catches. ‘Oh god.’
He’s already on the phone, giving someone the address. After he hangs up, Oli pulls him into the corner of the room, still staring at Cara and Evie.
‘What is it, Oli?’ he says, looking into her eyes. ‘What?’
‘It’s her,’ she whispers. ‘I think we’ve found Louise Carter.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
RUSTY TALKS TO EVIE IN THE KITCHEN WHILE CARA TELLS OLI THAT Nicole is gone. She had called Cara out of the blue on Tuesday morning, pleading for her sister to come pick up her and her daughter from Warrandyte. She needed a place to stay. She’d finally escaped an abusive relationship that had essentially seen her a prisoner for years, and asked if Cara could find it in her heart to forgive her, to let them stay. She wanted to protect her daughter, the one good thing in her life. Cara insists that Nicole refused to talk much about the past, but said Alex had threatened her that night at Paradise Street, screaming at her after acting oddly for weeks. Nicole said she had no idea what set her off. ‘When Nicole told Alex she would call the cops if she didn’t calm down, Alex threatened her with a knife,’ says Cara. ‘Apparently, Alex just kept saying she had got herself mixed up with some bad people, and that the same people now wanted her dead. She accused Nicole of being a snitch and said they were all in real danger,’ Cara says. ‘That’s why Nicole left. She was absolutely terrified.’
‘Where was Evelyn when this happened?’
‘Asleep, I think. Alex must have killed her just after Nicole left. It sounds like she was having a full paranoid episode.’
‘She didn’t have a history of mental illness,’ Oli says.
‘Well, perhaps whatever drugs she was taking messed her up.’
‘Did you believe Nicole?’ Oli asks, trying to decide how she feels about this version of events. It’s basically the same story that Alex told everyone in court about Evelyn. It’s clear one of the girls lied, but with Alex and Evelyn both dead it’s impossible to know which scenario is bogus.
‘She seemed pretty upset. She wouldn’t talk about Alex’s suicide except to say that the guilt of killing Evelyn must have got to her. I asked her if she saw Alex when she came to Crystalbrook, but Nicole just shut down and said she didn’t want to talk about it.’
Rusty’s voice drifts in and out of Oli’s consciousness as he talks gently to Evie.
‘When did Nicole leave here?’ Oli says quietly.
‘Friday. She left a note on the bench asking me to look after Evie for a few days while she sorts some things out.’ Cara’s eyes brim with tears. ‘I didn’t know what to do. And I was so fucking angry. I kept telling myself she was coming back, that she would come back for Evie, but she’s not, is she?’
Oli senses that Cara was initially flattered by Nicole seeking her out, but now she feels betrayed—and taken advantage of. She should have known better.
‘Did she say anything about her ex-partner?’ Oli asks just as a pair of cops arrive.
Oli and Cara remain opposite each other in the lounge. The baby suckles noisily at Cara’s breast, his tiny hand sporadically smacking against her shoulder or reaching out to grab her shirt. Cara’s either forgotten her question or is ignoring it. She stares straight ahead looking stunned but also resigned, as if part of her expected something like this to happen.
‘A man came here on Friday,’ Oli says, as Cara rearranges her clothes and burps the baby, his head bobbling atop his neck while she holds him over her shoulder. ‘Do you know who he was?’
Cara shakes her head. ‘I don’t know anything about that. But I went out to do some shopping in the afternoon, so maybe he came then? I took the kids with me. Nicole was gone when we got home.’ Cara is completely deflated now, it’s clear there is zero fight remaining in her.
‘Why did you meet with me last week?’
‘Nicole wanted me to. She wanted to know what you knew.’
From the other side of the room, Oli can hear snippets of Rusty’s account of the situation. He explains his relationship to Oli, the words ‘journalist’ and ‘ex-girlfriend’ breaking through the multiple conversations buzzing around the room. There’s something wrong with his tone. Ever since Oli told him she thinks Evie might be Louise Carter, he’s been distant.
Another detective squats in front of Evie, the little girl listening solemnly to whatever he’s saying. Cooper would be losing his mind at the turn of events. Oli tries not to think about him. Her jaw starts shaking just as the kid looks over at her. She stares back at Evie, and her grief turns to rage. She clenches her fists and drags one of them across her face, flicking the tear away.
She stands up and walks to the back door. Slides it open and steps outside. Shuts it behind her. Rusty calls out to her from the other side of the glass. She ignores him and tries to get a handle on the emotions bouncing around in her skull.
It’s cool out. The white light of a plane flashes intermittently as it glides through the navy sky. After a few minutes, the door swooshes open. Oli tenses but keeps her eyes on the plane, anticipating Rusty’s gentle coaxing to come inside.
‘Ms Groves. It seems you are trying to promote yourself from writing the news to being the news.’
She whirls around. Bowman. He’s wearing the tan trench again but with corduroy pants and a black jumper instead of a suit. He’s clearly come straight from bed, with grey stubble peppering his fleshy cheeks.
‘I think that might be Louise Carter in there,’ Oli cries, stabbing her finger toward the house. ‘I think Nicole Horrowitz has been hiding her away for ten years!’
‘Well, we’ll have to see about that.’ Bowman’s baritone is authoritative as always, but Oli senses he’s unsure. His normally stony face has softened, and he glances from her to the house.
‘You need to find Nicole.’ Oli’s chest heaves, her cheeks burn. She fights an urge to scream into the night.
Bowman nods slowly. He eases his hands into his coat pockets and looks up at the stars. ‘I appreciate your urgency, Ms Groves, but this is a criminal investigation and we need to take things slowly.’
‘Fuck that,’ mutters Oli.
He doesn’t reply, just looks at her.
She explodes. ‘I mean, come on! What are you waiting for? How can you stand it, not knowing the answers? It’s unbearable.’ She reels around blindly, almost losing her balance on the edge of the small porch. Her sadness is heavy, both rising up and bearing down.
‘I’m sorry about your colleague,’ Bowman says bluntly. ‘I know what that’s like.’
Against her will, Oli’s face twists.
‘Were you at home with your family last night?’
She shakes her head. ‘No,’ she murmurs. ‘They’re away. I was at work until Rusty called to tell me about Cooper.’
Bowman clears his throat.
‘What?’ she asks.
‘This is bigger than you know.’
She turns slowly to face him again. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He sighs. ‘I think you should head home.’
‘Cooper thought there was a link between the housemates and Louise Carter, you know.’
Bowman’s expression doesn’t change. ‘Do you know what made him think that?’