Pia and Brent are in the meeting room next to the boardroom. ‘Anything more on Nicole Horrowitz?’ Oli says in greeting.

Several sheets of paper are scattered on the table in front of them, devices lined up like weapons.

‘We’re not sure,’ Brent says. ‘There are a few social media accounts in her name and variations of it, but we’re pretty sure they’re not her.’

‘What about Natalie Maslan? Or Evie Maslan?’

Brent stifles a burp and takes a swig from his water bottle. Nods. ‘We think this might be them.’ He holds out a piece of paper. It’s a copy of a newspaper article, a story in a local rag about an environmental program the local council set up. CRYSTALBROOK PLEDGES TO HELP THE CLIMATE, reads the headline. In one photo, several parents are tying newly planted native trees to wooden stakes. No names are listed, but Oli thinks one of the women might be Nicole Horrowitz: a sunhat casts a shadow across her heart-shaped face, but the eyes—the eyes are hers. Oli is sure of it. There’s a photo of some students too. Evie, Rosie and Max all love working in the garden. Oli looks at the grainy photo of the smiling little girl.

‘Guys, this is great.’ She checks the publication date. ‘Hang on. This ran three weeks ago?’

Brent and Pia nod.

The timing must mean something. She remembers Cooper saying that Alex worked for an environmental company, something to do with sustainability programs. Maybe she stumbled upon this photo. She could even have been involved in setting up the initiative.

‘We’re also seeing if Duffy can run some facial recognition on Facebook and Google Images,’ Brent says. ‘But I’m not sure it’s that reliable, and all the photos of Nicole are obviously ten years out of date.’

‘Find out where Alex worked,’ Oli says. ‘She might have been in Crystalbrook for a job. Keep me posted. I’m going to hit the road and try for some interviews.’

Pia calls after her, ‘Will you go to the presser, or do you want me to?’

‘I’ll go.’ Oli grabs a half-finished packet of M&M’s from her top drawer and pulls the beige notebook out of her bag. She thumbs through it, scanning her decade-old handwriting until she finds the list of mobile numbers and addresses. She eats another chocolate and runs her finger down the familiar names. She tries the number she had for Miles Wu but is greeted with an automated message informing her that it’s disconnected. There’s no point contacting Nicole’s parents—from what Rusty said, they’ll still be with the police.

Oli calls the landline number next to Geraldine Stanley’s name, but it rings out, no answering machine. It’s already past eleven; she’s running out of time. She scans the last few names.