THE AUTOMATIC GATES CLOSE SILENTLY, BLOCKING OFF THE TREE-LINED street. A few beats later, the garage door starts its descent, sealing Oli safely inside. Home. Dean’s Land Rover is already here, and she sits in the dark for a few moments, trying to decompress before she heads inside.

After she dropped Cooper off at the office, she drove to her favourite pub in Richmond for a beer and a bowl of chips, which she devoured in between mapping out the framework of her feature, all the while checking for updates from the cops. They still haven’t confirmed the identity of the body, even though the majority of news outlets are running with Nicole’s name while dredging up photos of the housemates and images from Alex Riboni’s trial. The police must be struggling to get on to Nicole’s family, and no doubt the fire has made processing the scene more challenging. Oli tried a few searches to determine if the Horrowitzes still live in Melbourne but couldn’t find any personal details. A missing daughter turning up dead is bad enough, but the fact she was alive for so long then died by suicide will surely carry extra pain. And if it turns out they have a granddaughter, they’ll have to come to terms with that as well.

Sitting in the garage, Oli texts Rusty’s personal phone to ask if he’s okay, hoping he might offer more intel. She’s tempted to message Cooper and double-check if he’s heard from Alex, but she doesn’t want to encourage dialogue. Plus, she thinks wryly, Cooper will call, email and text if he has even the slightest update. She closes her eyes briefly. Babysitting him was exhausting—though admittedly he turned out to be a good photographer, and taking the shot of Nicole showed some unexpected spunk. It helped that Oli enjoyed being out of the office and working a big story.

She thinks back over some of their conversations. Alistair Joosten’s apparent involvement in the podcast surprises her. She’ll talk to TJ about it; they’re in the same boat, after all, battle-weary soldiers in an increasingly crowded and high-tech field.

She knows she should head upstairs, but she’s enjoying the quiet of the garage. The dry air gives it a cosy feel. Cans of paint line the shelves on the left wall, and an impressive array of tools hang on the back. Who knew you could own so many things? When she moved out of her rented apartment, there was nothing to pack from the single-car garage except an old tent and a tatty broom.