Oli tries not to gag as she takes another sip of coffee. The texture is ominously thick, and the milk has curdled on the surface. She tips it down the sink and watches as white clumps gather in the plughole. ‘Yes?’

‘You’ll need to play editor on this whole thing, make sure it all comes together. I’ll speak to the sales guys. We need to explore subscriptions.’ She claps, and Cooper and Oli both jump. ‘I mean, do you think people will pay for this kind of thing?’

‘I absolutely would,’ Cooper says. ‘But I listen to, like, heaps of podcasts. I’ve probably listened to hundreds. I have them on all the time, when I ride into work and when I play squash. Even when I’m in the bath.’

Dawn looks at him as if he’s gum on her shoe. ‘That was a rhetorical question, but thanks for the insight. Just don’t fuck this up, okay?’

Oli jumps in. ‘We’re on it, Dawn.’

Dawn’s phone starts to ring, and she stalks off.

Pia joins them, dumps a dirty plate in the sink. ‘Apparently Bowman’s doing a presser at police HQ about Nicole Horrowitz, at two.’

‘Thanks.’ Oli feels completely bamboozled.

‘No dramas. Oh, and also, don’t use anything in the fridge. The thermostat is broken, and everything in there has gone to shit. Someone should have put up a sign.’

‘Sorry about that.’ Cooper follows a fuming Oli back to her desk. But he’s not sorry at all; the little shit looks downright smug.

‘That was not okay,’ she snaps. ‘I don’t appreciate you pitching ideas that involve me behind my back. This is my job, Cooper. Not some game.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, more contrite. ‘But it’s good that Dawn’s happy with the idea, right?’

Oli squeezes her eyes shut. She already felt defeated by the day, and now she has to manage Cooper while trying to navigate the biggest feature she’s written in months. And launch a podcast. And juggle Dean and the girls.

Cooper starts rambling again, something about sound effects, and Oli holds up a hand. ‘Just get everything you’ve got on the podcast so far and meet me at Breakers in twenty minutes.’

He darts off, and she quickly checks her email alerts: still nothing new on Nicole or the child. She glances at the TV screens. The networks show rolling coverage of detectives coming and going from the O’Brien residence in Albert Park; solemn-looking reporters speak earnestly to camera.