A NEAT CLOUD OF SMOKE BILLOWS ABOVE THE TREES. OLI AND Cooper are silent, both lost in their own scrambled thoughts. Oli’s entire body is like a coiled spring as she sifts through the possibilities. Maybe Evie was locked in a storage shed and set it on fire in an escape attempt?

Oli grits her teeth and pulls over at the Laker Drive turn-off, her stomach in knots. She turns to Cooper. ‘Take the car and see if you can get higher. We can always pick up the aerial footage from the TV networks, but if you can find a lookout you might get a decent shot of whatever is going on.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To find someone who can tell me what the hell is happening.’ Without waiting for his reply, she heads off on foot, thankful again she’s wearing her boots. The cool air is already hazy with smoke, but there are no sirens now. The only sounds are the swish of the trees and the erratic orchestra of birdlife. She starts to jog, her legs protesting immediately. She used to swim three times a week, pushing her body through the water while she turned stories over in her head. When was the last time she went to the pool? March?

She rounds the bend and is greeted with chaos. Cops are hustling people away, trying to direct the traffic along the narrow road. Wisps of smoke dance past, latching on to clothes and hair. A Channel Nine cameraman she knows a little approaches her. Everyone calls him Mud; she has no idea what his real name is.

‘What happened?’ she asks.

‘Dunno. I was packing my gear, and there was a sound, sort of like a shot. Then everyone started shouting that there was a fire, and the cops asked us to stay back.’

‘Is the fire at the house?’

‘I reckon. That’s where the fireys went, right up the driveway. A bloody nightmare getting them through all the journos. And the cops had only just navigated the body coming out. You know what this mob is like—people were hell-bent on getting a good shot rather than helping the cops. It wasn’t pretty.’ He sniffs unattractively and swallows whatever he manages to dislodge from his sinuses. ‘My lady’s in there now, hobbling around on her high heels trying to get the lowdown.’

Oli knows the reporter he’s usually paired with, a tiny blonde with a big smile who wears brightly coloured jackets. Tamara? Tammy? She recently graduated from fluff pieces to headlines but has failed to tone down the outfits.

‘I heard a couple of cops were in the place when it went up,’ Mud adds.

Oli thinks of Rusty, feels a pull in her gut. ‘Any casualties?’

Mud shrugs. ‘Not as far as I know.’

She relaxes slightly.

‘Might have just been something was left on, an oven or stove, but I dunno, maybe it’s suss.’