‘You’re not the only investigative journalist in the house,’ he teases. ‘I can hear you’re outside, and it doesn’t sound like the noise our garden makes.’

Oli looks around; the laneway is shielded from the hubbub of the city. ‘There’s too much to do. I had to come into the office.’

‘I caught the news before. I can’t believe it was the other girl up in Crystalbrook. It’s crazy.’

‘It’s been pretty hectic. I’m about to go to the press conference.’

‘You’re at police HQ?’

‘Yep.’

‘I’m just around the corner.’ He drops his voice. ‘Shame I can’t sneak out to meet you. Like old times.’

Her stomach flips gently. He rarely refers to their past, the strange sixteen months when they met in secret, in the middle of the day, at night. When he would come to her apartment early in the morning, stay for a blissful hour, then go, leaving her giddy but also unsure if she would ever see him again.

After he made contact eighteen months ago, their previous intimacy allowed them to accelerate into a familiar rhythm. But the removal of all restraint, the complete lack of caution, meant it felt new. Oli could see him whenever she wanted. Call him. Touch him. There was such freedom to it, such abandon. But since she moved in, it’s been different. Dean has been different.

She catches her reflection in a tinted car window, sees the line of worry etched between her brows. ‘I’d like that,’ she says, tears welling in her eyes.

‘I’m trying not to think about it,’ he adds huskily. ‘I have too much to do today, and I can’t afford to be distracted.’

‘Dean, do you think there’s a chance you can put me in touch with Julian McCrae?’ she blurts, knowing she has sabotaged the moment but too desperate for information to care.

‘Julian McCrae?’

‘Yes. He was the professor at the Housemate Homicide party, and he works at Melbourne uni. I really want to talk to him.’

‘I know who he is, Ol, but I’d really prefer you don’t chase him down. He’s highly respected, and I don’t want the uni embroiled in another scandal. One’s enough for now, and Nath would lose it if something else blew up. He’s anxious enough as it is.’

‘I’m not accusing McCrae of anything, I just want to ask him some questions.’

‘Sorry, Ol. If you really need to talk to him, you’ll have to figure it out, but I wish you’d just leave it alone. He was cleared back then, so I don’t see the point in rehashing it now. Look, I’ve got to go. Don’t work too hard, okay?’