by Sarah Bailey
Cooper shrugs. ‘I told him we might interview him for the podcast sometime—you know, get the perspective of a millennial cop.’
‘Well played,’ she says begrudgingly.
Cooper glows with pride. ‘Anyway, no Nicole.’
‘Christ, this woman is like Houdini.’ Oli thinks about what Lily said. ‘Maybe she lied to Benny at the servo and she has a partner who is helping her and Evie hide.’
‘Could be,’ he says. ‘Hey, so I’ve been thinking about the first episode. Your suggestion makes sense, and if we’re going to focus on the house party and the fallout the day after, there’s nothing stopping us from getting started.’
‘Okay.’ Her nerves flare at the thought of recording.
‘The fridge down here is still dodgy, but I checked level three and it’s sweet up there if you need milk for your coffee.’
She drops her bag on the floor near his shoe, a ridiculous rainbow slab of leather and rubber with velcro instead of laces. ‘I have an idea.’ She has quickly reached her early-morning Cooper quota. ‘Why don’t you go and get us some nice takeaway coffee from next door while I map out my notes for the podcast?’
‘Can do.’ He stands up, pulling on his backpack, then bites his lip and looks around the desk. ‘Where’s your KeepCup? Mine’s in here.’ He pats his bag.
Oli glares at him, but he just holds her gaze, blinking like Bambi. She plucks her wallet from her bag and hands him her credit card. ‘I left it at home, so how about you buy me one with our coffee?’
Cooper eyes the card before taking it gingerly and sliding it carefully into his own wallet.
When he’s gone, Oli types up an overview of the first two days of the Housemate Homicide story. People start to fill the office, but Oli is lost in the past, the words flowing directly from her brain to her fingertips. A few times she hears O’Brien’s name muttered, everyone thrilled with the reaction to TJ’s exclusive.
Cooper returns in triumph with her coffee cup. ‘Here,’ he crows, placing it in front of her.
‘Thanks.’ She takes a sip, eyes him warily. ‘What?’
He squares his skinny chest. ‘I got an email from Miles Wu. Alex contacted him last week and told him about her interview with me and now he wants to talk.’
When Dawn thrusts a piece of paper at Pia, all the ruffles on her fuchsia blouse jiggle. ‘Get this up online as soon as possible. And see if this man or anyone he knows will talk.’
Oli steps out of Dawn’s office doorway so Pia can get past. ‘What’s going on?’
‘It’s breaking now.’ Dawn points at the screen. ‘TJ just called me about it.’
Oli glances behind her. The newsroom is unusually quiet. Cooper is still at her desk, his hands frozen over his keyboard, eyes fixed to the bank of TVs. A twenty-seven-year-old man has come forward claiming that John O’Brien molested him when he was a teenager. Oli eases her boss’s door shut and watches the TV on the edge of Dawn’s desk. A swarm of journalists accost a jowly lawyer as he clambers out of a taxi on Collins Street. Looking flustered, he pauses on the pavement and confirms the key points of his client’s claim. Now a tradesman with a family of his own, the accuser says he was thirteen when he helped his father complete some landscaping work at O’Brien’s house during his school summer holidays. He was just doing basic things, the lawyer stresses, like fetching nails and weeding. Sweeping. There was a pool on the property, and after they knocked off for the day O’Brien insisted the boy have a swim. O’Brien lent the boy some board shorts that used to belong to his son, and it was when he was in the bathroom getting changed back into his clothes that the sexual assault allegedly occurred. The boy’s father was outside having a beer with his employees, none the wiser. Afterwards, O’Brien told the boy that if he ever said anything, his father’s business would be ruined. Not yet in politics, O’Brien was working as a senior consultant at a high-profile corporate firm at the time.
Oli baulks every time the lawyer uses the word ‘molestation’. She focuses on the dark-purple skin tag that wobbles on his fleshy jawline.
TJ is there, right in the thick of the scrum, his blond head towering above the flowing blow-waves as the pack moves like a support crew alongside the lawyer, who has stopped talking and is trying to make his way to his office.
‘Where are we with the podcast?’ Dawn says suddenly, spinning around. ‘And don’t forget, tomorrow I want you to write a piece for the paper introducing the first episode with some background about why we’re doing it and what people can expect next.’
Oli blanches. ‘You didn’t mention a launch piece. Do you really think it’s necessary?’
‘Yes,’ Dawn barks. ‘Content fuels content. Come on, Oli. Surely you’ve noticed that people just want to consume the same thing over and over, then rake it over the coals until there is literally no part of it they have not chewed, swallowed, spat up and eaten again. They watch shows and then watch shows about the shows they’ve just watched.’ Dawn snorts derisively. ‘The more we can milk each story the better.’
Through the glass panel they observe an intern sticking up a glossy poster on the communal pin board near Oli’s desk. She stands back to reveal the contestants on the new season of The Bachelor: cosmetically enhanced women arranged in a layout reminiscent of a horseracing form guide. The intern carefully draws a cross through one of the faces with a Sharpie.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Dawn mutters. She spreads out her fingers and presses them around her skull as if trying to make the stupid stop.
Oli tries to take advantage of this vulnerable moment. ‘Do you really think I should write the launch piece? Maybe it should come from someone else—it would be more objective.’
‘No, it has to be you. Your readership is decent, and this way it all ties together.’
Crossing her arms, Oli looks at the floor. ‘Fine.’ It’s hard to know if her involvement in the podcast will appear like a promotion or the beginning of a phase-out.
‘And you need to get moving,’ Dawn says. ‘I need this thing up and running so the exec team can find something else to masturbate over.’
‘We’re recording the first episode this morning, and we’re already working on the narrative for episode two.’
Dawn seems to calm a little. ‘What else?’
‘We have a few interviews lined up.’ Oli refrains from mentioning names; all of a sudden it feels safer to remain vague. ‘It’s all under control.’
‘Alright, alright.’ Dawn’s eyes are back on the TV.
‘And Bowman agreed to meet with me tomorrow night.’
Dawn’s head jerks up. ‘He did?’
‘Yes.’ Oli’s deep voice cracks.
Dawn gives her a look, seems about to say something, then shakes her head.
Oli self-consciously runs her tongue along her teeth. ‘What?’
‘Oli, I’ve always thought you were a good journalist.’
She feels the room tilt slightly.
‘It’s not going to get any easier around here,’ Dawn continues matter-of-factly. ‘Surely I don’t need to tell you that.’
‘No,’ Oli says, uncertain.
‘The old way just won’t cut it anymore.’ A hint of defensiveness in her voice. ‘Different things are being prioritised. The podcast is a good example—Joosten thinks that part of the business might end up being more profitable than the paper.’
Oli makes a face. ‘I want it to do well, of course, but I think that might be a little ambitious.’
Dawn pumps lotion from a bottle next to her keyboard and applies it aggressively to her bejewelled hands. ‘The exec team have plans for several podcasts, Oli. Honestly, I feel like I’m drowning in them. You’re lucky to have a shot at it first up.’ Dawn gives Oli a pointed look, then brushes lint off her skirt and yanks open the door. ‘It’s time for the editorial meeting.’
Oli remains standing as the others file into the small space, uncertain whether she’s just been given a warning or a pep talk.
Dawn r
uns her tongue along the front of her oversized teeth. ‘Are you coming in or not?’ She directs her laser-like glare at Cooper, who is hovering in the doorway.
As Dawn paces behind her desk, assigning tasks and making snide comments about the competition, Oli barely listens.
‘That was my first editorial meeting,’ Cooper stage whispers thirty minutes later, as he and Oli walk back to her desk. ‘God, it’s so cool how she arranges the news like that.’
‘Yeah.’ Oli glances back at Dawn, who is on the phone, moisturised fingers tangled in her wavy hair.
‘Um.’ Cooper looks at Dawn too, then back at Oli. ‘So I guess we—’
‘Let’s record this bloody thing.’
‘You’re sounding great.’ Cooper removes his headphones. ‘Your voice is totally made for this. It’s so low and husky, which obviously works for the genre.’
Oli pulls off her headphones. She is raw with nostalgia, disoriented from her journey back in time. The apprehension feels fresh, the sense of being overwhelmed, desperate, while lurching from theory to theory. Trying to corral words into a logical sequence.
‘Seriously, I think it’s really strong.’ Cooper gets up to turn on the computer behind him, then spins back around. ‘It’s like I’m right there with you, rocking up to the house at day break. Being yelled at by the cop and seeing Evelyn’s body in the hall. It’s such great detail.’
‘I was high as a kite on ecstasy.’
‘What?’
She starts to laugh. ‘It’s true. I was in a cab home from a massive night when my editor called me and said I needed to go to the scene.’
He blinks several times. ‘Really? It sounds like you were so together.’
‘Back then I was quite good at pulling up at work after an all-nighter.’ She yawns. ‘Not like these days. Now I can barely make it to midday after a full night’s sleep.’
‘I’ve always been too scared to take drugs. Plus, there’s no weight on me, so even one beer goes straight to my head.’
‘Well, it’s not exactly something I partake in these days.’ She looks around the little studio. It’s starting to feel familiar; despite the material covering the walls, it doesn’t seem claustrophobic. She notices a whole bunch of movie postcards Blu-Tacked to the backboard of the desk.
‘Film club.’ Cooper looks at them fondly. ‘Once a week we go to the cinema and discuss the movie afterwards. You should come, it’s really fun.’
‘Maybe,’ she says, thinking that she would actually quite like to be part of a film club. ‘Hey, so you told Miles you’d meet him at 11.30 am, right?’
‘Yep. I should probably get going.’
She hands the headphones to Cooper. ‘I think I should go.’
He hesitates. ‘Sure, okay. Do you want to drive, or should we get a cab?’
‘No.’ She starts packing her things. ‘I think I should do the interview with Miles.’
‘Alone?’
She nods. Meets his gaze.
Cooper physically deflates. ‘But he knew that Alex had been in contact with me. That’s why he got in touch.’
Oli stands up. ‘I know, but you have work to do here, and this is important. We need Miles to tell us something new. We can’t risk it going wrong.’ She thinks about her strange conversation with Dawn earlier. ‘There’s a lot riding on it, and I have a lot more experience with this kind of thing.’
Cooper busies himself with the microphone, swivelling it around. ‘Okay, I’ll get this all edited. Cut in some of Alex’s comments, and grabs from the news the night Evelyn was found.’
‘That would be great. Keep working your cop contact from yesterday too and try to find out if Nicole was telling the truth about splitting with a boyfriend. Pia will let us know if anything official comes through. I’m going to try to set up a time to talk to McCrae on my way to see Miles. I’ll be out of action for a few hours this afternoon, but you can just text if you need anything.’
‘Cool,’ Cooper says glumly.
She pauses at the door, watching him. Disappointment is written all over his face. ‘Once we have the podcast sorted,’ she says, ‘we can prep for tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ He lifts an eyebrow quizzically.
‘My meeting with Bowman. You should come.’
She leaves Cooper in the studio struggling with his mixed emotions, and takes the lift down to the car park. Just when she reaches the Audi, TJ calls out to her.
She waits by the open car door as he jogs over. He’s wearing his outfit from this morning’s TV footage; he looks polished, trustworthy. He really should have ditched print and gone into TV—he would have made a fortune. Last year he was a panellist on a news show, and after it aired bunches of flowers with women’s phone numbers attached to them arrived at the office.
‘Nice work on O’Brien’s neighbour,’ Oli offers. ‘It clearly prompted the other guy to come forward.’
‘Thanks! I’m paying for it today, but it came together well. The claims are pretty damning.’ TJ doesn’t look like he’s paying for it: he’s clear-eyed and clean-shaven, the Ken-doll version of a journalist.
‘They are.’ Oli senses he hasn’t sought her out for a casual chat. ‘I’m just on my way out to speak with Alex Riboni’s ex.’
He nods, impressed. ‘Good get.’
‘Thanks.’ She moves to hop into the car. She’s not really in the mood to talk to TJ.
‘Oli, something is going on.’
She whips her head around. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Here.’ He lifts his hands, gesturing to the building. ‘I think they’re going to sell, for real this time. To one of the TV networks, probably. This podcast stuff is only the beginning. You can forget real news, we’ll just be serving up a kind of reality TV.’
Oli narrows her eyes. Is TJ pissed she’s so involved in Joosten’s pet project? ‘I think the podcast will actually work out okay. I’ve put an investigative bent on it.’ As she says this, she realises it’s true. What she recorded with Cooper is good, and she’s excited about their plan for the next episode. Making a podcast is not that dissimilar from writing a feature; the storytelling elements are the same.
TJ shrugs impatiently. ‘This is serious, Oli.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘I just do.’
‘Did Dawn tell you? Or was it Joosten?’
TJ doesn’t say anything for a few moments. ‘Oli, I’m not sure Dawn can be trusted.’
‘Really?’ She crosses her arms. ‘Because the other day you told me you thought she was doing a good job.’
He looks annoyed. ‘It’s not exactly an easy environment to navigate. But there are a few things that have me worried.’
‘Like what?’
Pressing his lips together, he doesn’t reply.
‘TJ, I—’
She startles when he grips her shoulders. ‘It doesn’t matter. Listen, I reckon we should think about getting in front of it. Go out on our own, maybe. Do it our way. Stop having our stuff edited by people with an agenda.’
Oli shifts out of his grasp. ‘Are you talking about Dawn?’
‘I’m talking about everyone.’ He rubs his eyes. ‘It’s going to turn into a land grab around here, and I’m not sure where people like us will end up. Even though we get paid shit, we’re still considered expensive.’
‘You’re the one having secret meetings with management,’ Oli says stiffly. ‘I just want to keep my head down and do my job. I’m not interested in the politics.’
‘Jesus, I’m not—’ He puffs out his cheeks and walks in a frustrated semicircle. ‘Look, you should consider what I’m saying. Things are different for you now, right? Dean will support you. Having a safety net will allow us a few months to find our feet, try a few things and work out the type of content we want to focus on.’
Heat floods her face. ‘That’s a bullshit thing to say. You have no idea what my personal circumstances are.’
His eyes dart to the Audi then back to he
r. ‘I’m just being practical. I’ve spoken to Angela. We have some money put aside that we can fall back on for a while. I just think you and I have a chance to say up yours to the fat cats and take a crack at creating something really special before we get swept up in a situation neither of us wants to be a part of—or before we’re screwed over.’
Charisma radiates off him, and Oli feels herself relenting. But then doubt flickers in her core. She’s seen him do this a thousand times: coaxing out a connection and getting the outcome he wants. She has a sinking feeling that she’s being played. Tested. That if she articulates her lack of commitment to the paper, it will somehow be used against her.
‘I appreciate the heads-up, TJ, but I’m sure everything will be fine. I’m not worried—it’s business as usual for me. I’ve got a great feature to write, and I’m determined to make this podcast as good as it can be.’
His expression loses some of its easy charm. ‘We should stay tight, is all I’m saying. I’m sorry if this isn’t coming out right.’
She gets into the car. ‘I’m not going behind your back, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can assure you that no one is having secret meetings with me.’
‘Cool, Oli, I get it,’ TJ says, backing away in defeat. ‘Just remember you can’t opt out of the politics. At some point you’re not going to have a choice.’
‘I’ll talk to you later, okay?’ She starts the car. Stares straight ahead.
TJ lifts his hand in a half-hearted wave as she exits the car park. What the hell is going on? First Dawn, now TJ. Tears of frustration well in her eyes. She’ll be devastated if the paper is sold. It’s her touchstone, important in a way that’s hard to define. No matter what is happening in the world or in her life, the paper ticks along.
She turns onto Flinders Street, blinking the tears away. Breathes. She calls the number Pia tracked down for McCrae.
A woman answers on the second ring. ‘Hello, Diana speaking.’
‘Diana McCrae?’
‘Yes, who is this?’ Her tone is light, friendly.
‘My name is Oli Groves. I would like to speak to your husband if he’s available, please.’
