OLI OPENS HER LAPTOP RIGHT THERE ON THE PARK BENCH AND starts typing: HOUSEMATE HOMICIDE, HORROWITZ ON THE RUN. She puts it all in: Evie, Cooper’s conversation with Benny, the description of the car and the possibility of a recent break-up. She even alludes to an incriminating letter being found at the scene. At the last minute she adds Cooper’s name to her by-line before shooting it off to Dawn.

She calls Cooper back. ‘You should stay in Crystalbrook. See who else will talk to you. And try to find out who the boyfriend was—if he exists.’

‘I’m already on it,’ he says, sounding pleased. ‘I’m asking lots of questions and most people seem happy to talk to me.’

‘Good. And try to talk to the cops. If they think you have new information, they might be willing to do an exchange.’

‘Okay, talk to the cops. No problem.’ Cooper sounds less confident.

‘We need to discuss the podcast too. I’m thinking the first episode can be a detailed overview of what we know about that night on Paradise Street. I can describe what it was like to be at the house the morning Evelyn’s body was found, so we don’t need to sort out any interviews. It will buy us some time.’

‘I like that. Yes, that’s good.’ Cooper’s voice brims with excitement.

‘And we need to speak to the legal team about using grabs from your phone call with Alex. If we can include her voice in the promos, I don’t think we’ll need to worry about getting an advertiser.’

‘Shit, are you serious?’

‘Of course. We’re sitting on pure gold, but we need to cross our t’s, dot the i’s.’

‘Okay, I’ll call them.’

‘Chat later.’ Oli shuts her laptop. A strong wind has come out of nowhere, and it matches her mood. Leaves swirl in mini-tornadoes while tree branches buck dangerously at parked cars. She hails a cab that deposits her back in the city, and she ducks across William Street just as it starts to drizzle. A woman in a tight pencil skirt hobbles past, yelling into her phone, her suit jacket shielding her hair from the rain.

Oli flattens herself against the wall so she’s under the laneway awning. Her phone beeps with a Facebook message from Mitchell Stanley. I will call u 2morrow.

‘Yes,’ she whispers. Finally some traction.

She fires a message back. Great, thank you. I look forward to hearing what you have to say. Happy to meet in person if you like.

She calls Dean.

‘I can’t believe the news about Julie O’Brien,’ he breathes. ‘I mean, I know John’s a prick but, still, it’s awful.’

‘Yeah, it’s pretty sad.’

‘Anyway, how are you feeling? You didn’t take my advice and work from home?’

‘No. How do you know that?’