FAT MARSHMALLOW CLOUDS CHASE AWAY THE LAST OF THE AFTERNOON sun. Teenagers fill bus stops and shopping strips, stalking around in ripped jeans and puffy jackets with the brazen confidence of hardened media moguls. Oli stops at the traffic lights under a new billboard on the corner of Flinders and Elizabeth streets, advertising the launch of a television series: three girls in nurse outfits are draped over an older man with a stethoscope around his neck. Saving lives by day, turning tricks by night.

Oli massages her neck before stopping abruptly, fingers mid-prod. What if McCrae wasn’t there that night because of some pathetic crush on one of his students? What if he was there because he was pimping out the girls or selling their images online? Pia said that Diana McCrae was a photographer. Maybe the camera—the one that Alex was so protective of—was Diana’s; Julian might have given it to Alex at some point that year, then taken it home with him that night. Feeling energised by this theory, Oli takes the fire-escape stairs from the car park all the way to level five.

The studio is empty, a discarded juice bottle suggesting that Cooper has been here recently. And there’s a sticky note on her side of the table. Emailed you the new ep. We sound awesome! Followed by a smiley face.

Out of breath, Oli sinks into one of the seats. She finds the email and plays the recording while she reviews copy and replies to emails. Cooper’s right: the podcast does sound good. The edit is clever, mixing snippets of Alex’s phone call, the old press conferences and the one from earlier this week. The whole thing feels incredibly claustrophobic.

Oli smiles. Cooper must have got the paper’s legal rep to give the go-ahead on Alex’s audio. Good for him.

After a few more hours of work, she’s inexplicably restless. It’s six. Where’s Cooper?

She flips open Isabelle’s 2005 diary again, re-reads some of the passages. On one of the last pages, the detective wrote: Went to see them, not happy. Worth looking into background more and see if there’s a link to the internet site?

Oli shuts the book, gets up and stretches. The second hand on the cheap wall clock clicks clumsily. She calls Cooper and listens to his voicemail greeting: ‘Hi there. You’ve reached CNN central, aka Cooper Ng. Leave me a hot tip—or, failing that, a friendly personal message. Have a great day!’ She doesn’t bother leaving a message, just grabs her things and leaves.

In the elevator she jabs the ground-floor button with her fist. A chorus of ringing phones, office chatter and coughing greet her there. On the TV, the prime minister is wearing a hard hat and grinning like an idiot.