Oli approaches the rear of the giant computer screen Kylie pointed out. On the other side she finds a scrawny-looking Asian kid wearing giant purple headphones. He stops mid-bop and yanks them off, springing to his feet. ‘Olive Groves! Great to meet you. A real honour.’ He grins and pumps her hand with unexpected strength. ‘I’m Cooper. Cooper Ng. Some of my mates call me CNN. My middle name is Nicholas, but I’m down with whatever suits you. Coop, Coops? I really don’t mind.’

Cooper’s short black hair has been corralled into one giant peak slightly to the left of his crown, and he has three silver studs in his left ear. He wears glasses with thick black frames, his short-sleeved shirt skims his thighs, and his jeans bring new meaning to the term pipe-cleaner. He stuffs his headphones—and about a million other electronic devices and cords—into a backpack.

‘Are you cool with me calling you “Oli”? I notice your by-line is always Oli. Olive Groves is a downright cracker of a name, though. Total gold! Your parents must have had a sense of humour.’ Oli opens her mouth to speak, but he hurtles on. ‘Are you going to change your name when you get married? I figure you won’t, but people can surprise you sometimes. You know how there are some chicks who are total feminists but then they overlook something really basic like taking a dude’s name? It’s the worst.’

She blinks. ‘Are you ready to go?’

‘Um, let me see.’ He pats himself up and down, appearing to run through some mental checklist. ‘It’s still cold outside, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, it’s lucky I have this piece of quality goodness then, isn’t it?’ He yanks a multicoloured ski jacket from the back of his chair, wrestles it into a small bundle and wedges it under his elbow. ‘Ready!’

‘Great.’ Oli’s back teeth grind together.

‘Let’s go, then, shall we?’ He swings his backpack on. ‘Bye, Chelsea!’ he calls out. ‘See you, Graham!’

His colleagues fail to respond, earplugs in, eyes fixed zombie-like to their screens. Cooper charges off toward the lift, and Oli trails behind, plucking an apple from the brimming fruit bowl.

In the lift, Cooper keeps talking. ‘This whole thing is crazy, huh? I never get sent on stories, but it’s just such a coincidence that I’ve got Alex coming up on the pod.’ He flicks his finger up and down his phone at an alarming speed. ‘I’ve got alerts on all of the Housemate Homicide chat groups and keywords. The second this thing hits, I’ll give you the vibe. There’s going to be, like, a billion conspiracy theories doing the rounds as soon as people hear about Nicole Horrowitz turning up dead.’

The lift pings, and the doors open.