Bowman is walking down the driveway toward the media pack, his stocky body moving in calm, even strides. He stops just as the sun emerges from behind a cloud, and hands shield faces from the glare, giving the impression of a collective salute to the chief inspector.

Oli spies Rusty up the back behind an ABC cameraman. Even from here she can see a little tic pulsing under his left eye. She edges around the crowd, reaching him just as the press officer calls for attention. ‘Quiet, please.’

Cameras are adjusted on shoulders, or fitted and locked into place on tripods, their lenses aimed at Bowman like guns.

‘Any updates?’ Oli murmurs to Rusty.

‘Oli,’ he moans under his breath. ‘Stop.’

Cooper is climbing onto the raised earth behind them, trying to capture an image of Bowman on the dirt stage looking out at the desperate swarm. It will be a great shot, Oli thinks begrudgingly. Perfect for tomorrow’s front page.

‘I appreciate that there is a lot of interest in our presence here today,’ Bowman begins, ‘but I am not in a position to share many details at this stage. There are family members who need to be informed.’

About seven people shout questions, all variations on a familiar theme: is Nicole Horrowitz dead? It’s been asked on and off for the past ten years.

Bowman waits for the noise to die down, rocking gently from his heels to the balls of his feet. ‘I can confirm there is a deceased person on the property, and we are in the process of determining the sequence of events. We are not yet in a position to confirm the cause of death or the identity.’

Oli slides her gaze toward Rusty. He’s staring at her. She flashes him a smile, but his expression remains resolutely neutral as she looks away.

She finds it hard to imagine a future with Rusty now, but not that long ago she thought they might end up together—marriage, kids, the whole thing. He was like a big kid himself, always joking around despite his serious job. Their relationship was chaotic and unpredictable, but it was fun. His shift work and her unorthodox hours led to unexpected late nights out, and his sense of adventure had them exploring her home town like it was a foreign city. She felt safe with him, while acknowledging that their default mode was friendship as opposed to the unchecked, limb-weakening passion she had with Dean.

It was all going well, fun and easy. And then out of the blue Isabelle died, and almost instantly her feelings for Rusty officially shifted. Their relationship suddenly seemed childish, something to tolerate but not to nurture.