THE ONLY SOUND IN THE ROOM IS PIA’S TYPING. THE BLOOD DRAINS from Oli’s face, and she sinks into the nearest chair before her legs buckle. The name Nicole Horrowitz creates an instant file path in her brain to a slew of old images and news headlines. Nicole and her former housemates are in the same category as Azaria Chamberlain and the Beaumont Children; their case is an unsolved mystery firmly fixed in Australia’s collective psyche, journalistic gum on the nation’s shoe. Oli has worked enough stories to know that some just have the X factor, the perfect mix of ingredients, a plot and characters that keep people wanting more. Try as the media overlords might, they just can’t orchestrate that desired alchemy—sometimes death simply falls flat. But the Housemate Homicide had been a newspaper editor’s wet dream from the start, and despite Alexandra Riboni’s swift conviction, there has always been something off about the whole thing. It lacks the neatness of a clear motive. It lacks closure.

‘She was found this morning. By a jogger, apparently.’ One of Dawn’s bright-red nails is chipped, and Oli’s eyes are drawn to the blemish as she waves her hands around.

While Oli is taller than average, Dawn is at least six foot and her extremely feminine wardrobe of colourful blouses and floral dresses jars with her broad frame.

‘He spotted a woman’s body hanging from a tree,’ Dawn concludes, ‘and called triple zero.’

‘Jog ruined.’ TJ’s face is lit with the glow from his laptop screen.

Oli is struggling to get words out. ‘Where?’

‘Tiny little place called Crystalbrook, up in the Dandenongs.’

Oli swallows. ‘And it was a suicide?’

‘Looks like it.’ Dawn shakes her head from side to side in what is likely an attempt at expressing empathy, but there’s a savage glint in her eye.

A panicky feeling has taken over Oli, and the coffee lurches in her gut. She summons a visual of the house on Paradise Street. Remembers watching from her car as Isabelle escorted a blood-spattered Alex Riboni from the scene. Remembers Evelyn Stanley being carried out in the body bag. Can still hear Yardley’s crisp address to the media the following day.

It feels like yesterday, but it was almost ten years ago.

‘Nicole was alive the whole time?’ Oli says stupidly.

‘She was,’ agrees Dawn, ‘and now she’s not again.’

‘Alex didn’t kill her,’ Oli murmurs. Her eyes lock with Dawn’s, then TJ’s. This is huge. Oli swallows. ‘Is it definitely her?’

Dawn leans across the table. ‘It’s not official yet, but it’s what I’m hearing from my source. Apparently, they found her old ID on the scene. It looks like she’s been hiding away up there for years.’

‘Holy shit.’

‘Yep.’ Dawn steps back from the table, looking pleased. ‘Holy shit.’

‘How long ago was it called in?’