‘Shit.’ Oli parks precariously on the edge of a bend, wedged between two cars, the arse of the Audi sticking out onto the road. It’s definitely not legal, but she figures it’s unlikely anyone will be handing out parking tickets.

‘Wow.’ Cooper surveys the scene, and Oli feels a jab of irritation at his naked awe.

A steady stream of vehicles continues to appear, comically navigating the narrow road. A few metres away, Melissa is already setting up for a piece-to-camera in front of a blooming wattle tree, her frozen forehead giving her a slightly shocked look that will probably work well for this particular story. She’s been unbearable since she switched to television six years ago, and her recent make-up endorsement deal has served to make her more so. Her long-suffering cameraman is ready to capture every move, a hairbrush and make-up bag jammed under his armpit.

Oli flicks off the ignition and exits the car, blinking into the glare as more cars push their way into the crowded space. She hasn’t seen the media swarm like this in a while, but then again, not many cold cases suddenly catch on fire like this. So much for having the scoop.

Melissa spots Oli and scowls.

‘Got the camera?’ Oli snaps at Cooper. ‘You should get a photo to Dawn as soon as you can, even if it’s just a holding shot.’

‘I sure do,’ he replies cheerfully, sliding on a pair of ridiculous-looking sunglasses. But then he hesitates. ‘Um, where to?’

Oli gestures at the police cars before walking toward them, and he falls into step behind her. The sun feels hollow; its light isn’t translating into heat. She shivers, her insides somersaulting. The red and blue lights that pulse from the police vehicles are half-hearted in the sunshine. On the other side of the cars, a line of cops creates a human shield in front of a narrow dirt driveway that runs for a few metres before disappearing into thick bush. A wonky letterbox sticks out of some shrubbery to the left of the clear space; a faded number nine sits above the rusted slot, and someone has written No Junk Mail neatly across the bottom in black paint.

‘Take a shot,’ Oli hisses at Cooper.

He obliges, capturing a few angles before looking at her uncertainly.

‘Send them to Dawn. I’ll just be around here.’

He scampers off, and Oli breathes a sigh of relief.

She’s surprised to see Constable Rusty Frost arrive. She hasn’t seen him for well over a month; he’s been on leave. She saw photos of South America on Facebook, shots of him and a mate in Vegas. She sidles up to him, notices his hair is shorter. ‘Rusty, hey. Welcome back. What can you tell me?’

A soft-pink blush spreads from his cheeks toward his ginger hairline. ‘Hey, Oli.’

‘Good break?’

‘Great break.’