Oli smiles at him gratefully and joins the throng of journos clambering to get to Bowman. Familiar faces jostle around her, sickly sweet perfume mixing with warm coffee breath. Phones ping with texts. The sun breaks through the clouds, and Oli squints, pen poised as questions rumble around her. ‘Who lives at the property?’ she calls out, adding to the chorus.

‘Quiet, please.’ Bowman’s rich baritone demands attention. He pauses and looks slowly from left to right, a tired old cattle dog ready to round up the sheep. ‘I’m going to make a brief statement about the circumstances we are dealing with here this morning, but there is minimal information at present, so I expect we’ll hold a formal press conference at a later time. I won’t be answering any questions this morning, understood?’

The mob nods, disappointed.

‘A young woman is deceased, and we are treating her death as suspicious.’ Bowman’s tar-thick voice catches pleasantly on the tails of certain words.

Through the hedge, Oli glimpses the blood-stained woman wrapped in the police blanket.

A shiny blue Ford pulls up behind Oli’s Mazda, blocking the end of a driveway. Detective Sergeant Isabelle Yardley emerges. Oli immediately finds it close to impossible to focus on what Bowman is saying. Her eyes are glued to Isabelle.

‘We understand that the victim lived at the property with two other people.’ Bowman pauses, acknowledging Yardley with a nod. ‘They will both be questioned, but we believe a number of people were at the property last night, and we will be speaking to those individuals as soon as possible.’

Yardley ducks under the chequered tape and sails up the driveway. Her charcoal suit clings to her petite frame, and the fat curl at the end of her ponytail swings like a pendulum. She steps onto the front porch and turns, her laser-like stare landing on Oli.

Bowman’s voice fades into a hum as Oli’s legs wobble. Her heartbeat echoes in her head. Yardley refuses to break the stare, her face devoid of emotion. The emerging sunshine does nothing to quell the chattering of Oli’s teeth. Does she know? She must know. No, you’re being paranoid. He would have told you.

Oli’s senses go into overdrive. Memories flood her system, and she feels both intense dread and the heady bliss of last night. She’s acutely aware that Isabelle Yardley has the power to ruin it all, and that the loss would cripple her. For a horrible second, she thinks she’ll be sick. She shudders through a deep anchoring breath.

‘I’m not yet prepared to discuss how the young woman died,’ Bowman says, ‘but I can confirm that the scene in the house is quite confronting and we’ll be allocating significant resources to get to the bottom of what happened as soon as possible.’

Bowman folds his arms, indicating he is finished. The media mob stirs and shouts questions again.