The Housemate

by Sarah Bailey

  For a brief moment Oli considers telling Sally about the swimming carnival, just to give her a peek into her life as a stepmother, but she fears Sally will sense her vulnerability, pounce on it and amplify her own doubts.

  ‘It must be school holidays next week already? My word, it will be Christmas again before we know it. No doubt there will be more horrible hot weather.’

  Disproportionally annoyed, Oli wonders if this is what every one of their conversations will be like until one of them dies: an awkward circling of the one thing they have never spoken about; Oli’s anger and Sally’s guilt, a dark filth that grows and festers between them.

  ‘Yes, holidays start tomorrow. I’m actually just driving back to the office now, Mum, so I can’t talk for long.’ Oli’s tone is firm.

  ‘Of course not, no.’ Oli knows Sally is sitting somewhere in the small unit she shares with Max, knees crossed, shoulders hunched, taking up as little space as possible.

  ‘Okay. Well, take care, Mum.’ Relief builds in anticipation of the call ending.

  ‘One thing, Oli.’

  ‘What is it, Mum?’

  ‘I listened to your new radio show this morning. About that horrible murder.’ Sally’s words come out in a hasty tumble. ‘It was very good.’

  At the office Oli heads straight to the studio, hoping to find Cooper so they can call a truce, but he’s not there. She tries his phone as she scans the dim room. Leaves a voice message. Since she was here yesterday, he has stuck two giant Post-it notes on the back wall and filled them with their movements since the morning Alex was found in Crystalbrook. On a third, Ep 2 is scrawled along the top with a few notes in bullet points. News headlines from Sun 7th/Mon 8th Oct. Mitchell Stanley and Miles i/views. Nicole’s parents? Oli to recount the police presser? Talk about her theories and what the public sentiment was back then? Would the case be handled differently now?

  Along the bottom of the page, Cooper has written: interesting enough??

  Oli smiles to herself and arranges her things on the desk. All she wants is to keep reading Isabelle’s notebooks, but she needs to see if she can corroborate any of Ren’s claims. She searches for mentions of a camera in the news articles and court records about the case, then checks her old notes. One of the party guests, Tanya Dukov, wrote a court statement in which she recalls Alex taking a photo in the kitchen early in the evening, but there is nothing else.

  Frustrated, Oli gathers her hair into a ponytail. What happened to the camera? She thinks about Alex yelling at Ren, snatching it off him. Was she just sick of the guys coming over all the time, or was there something on there she didn’t want him to see? Cara said the girls were arguing about a computer. Maybe both leads have dead ends.

  The quiet of the studio becomes loud, and Alex Riboni’s hanging corpse springs into Oli’s mind. She fumbles for her phone, playing the podcast episode again, typing away to her own voice and trying to emulate the style as she crafts the script for the next episode. She makes sure it flows on from the foundations they’ve laid down, writing about Isabelle’s press conference the day after Evelyn’s murder, the heated calls into talkback radio, the facts and the rumours, building to the moment in the newsroom when the call came through: Alex Riboni had been arrested.

  Pausing, Oli lets her weight fall against the chair, rotating her sore shoulders as she reads over her work. The first episode is still playing on loop, and she tunes in to catch the end: Cooper signs off with a custom email address and appeals for anyone with information about the case to get in touch. Oli gets back to work, making notes from various interviews Evelyn’s mother has given over the years.

  The studio, cushioned away from the world, has a strange effect on time. Hours slip by, and before she knows it, it’s almost five. Where is Cooper? He hasn’t called her back. Swallowing her pride, she texts him. She apologises and suggests that they meet in the morning. I have updates, she adds at the end. And a script for ep 2.

  It does the trick. Pulsing dots appear, followed by a message. Apology accepted. Sounds good. I have updates too. Also, podcast listeners over 6K already. Not bad!

  Oli smiles. He’s a lot more stubborn than she gave him credit for. She gets to her feet, white spots appearing in her vision as the blood rushes from her head. It’s almost time for her meeting with Bowman.

  JULY 2005

  ‘Fire!’ Matt’s head disappears from the top of the fence before it reappears as he hoists himself up and over, dropping down the other side. ‘You made a fire.’ He looks at it appreciatively. ‘Fuck, you’re crazy bitches.’

  ‘You love us,’ Nicole says sardonically. She’s propped up, queen-like, on an old sunlounge that Evelyn bought at an op-shop last summer, wrapped in a mohair blanket.

  Matt winks then runs at the homemade bonfire and starts doing a mock tribal dance around its perimeter. He’s as high as a kite.

  Alex laughs along with Nicole, but she can’t shake the slightly uneasy feeling that has hovered over her for months. She lights another cigarette and pulls her coat around her. It’s freezing, and she’s not close enough to the flames to catch their warmth.

  Nicole grabs a bottle of rum and sloshes some into her glass of Coke.

  ‘Where’s Evelyn?’ Matt asks in a floaty monotone.

  Alex wonders the same thing. Evelyn arrived home earlier, finished with her babysitting job, and dumped her things on the table. Headed straight into the shower. After that, she came into the yard wearing a new outfit: a coat with a fur collar, thigh-high boots. She had a cigarette and a drink but she was subdued, flatter than usual. She took a phone call then left a few minutes later.

  Alex wriggles in the wooden deckchair as the gnawing sensation returns to her stomach. She braces her wrists and pushes herself up to sit a bit straighter. It’s got dark, must be at least 9 pm.

  ‘I think she went to the movies.’ Nicole teases her long hair at the roots, throws the rum bottle onto the grass. ‘She’s probably gone out for a drink afterwards or something.’

  Alex nods but looks away. She hasn’t heard from Miles all day. He’s annoyed with her, she can tell. Last week he accused her of being secretive.

  If only he knew.

  She wishes Evelyn would come home. She doesn’t like it when they aren’t all together. No matter the configuration, when she’s only with either Evelyn or Nicole these days, it feels off kilter.

  Abandoning his stupid dance, Matt sinks onto the ground and stares blankly at the fire.

  Ren’s scruffy head appears over the fence, and he treats them all to a clumsy salute. ‘Shit, you guys made a fire!’ he remarks, before repeating the same fence-jumping entrance as his housemate. ‘Ladies, hello.’ He bows to Alex then curtseys to Nicole. ‘Hey, man.’ He and Matt execute a complicated handshake with several fist bumps.

  Nicole rolls her eyes, but Alex smiles. Ren is charming in his bumbling way, and she’s happy to listen to his inane chatter. It’s a good distraction.

  Nicole is right: everything is going well. It’s almost too easy—so far there hasn’t been a hint of risk. And it’s not like anyone is getting hurt.

  Alex can almost convince herself that what they’re doing is fine.

  Ren sits on one of the plastic chairs with legs slightly buckled from the sun. ‘You ladies need to get some nice furniture out here. Tart it up a bit. Get it party ready for summer.’

  ‘Oh, we probably won’t be here by summer,’ Nicole says breezily.

  ‘Really?’ Ren says.

  ‘Really?’ Alex echoes.

  ‘Oh well, you never know. We might move up in the world. Have a little upgrade.’ Nicole winks at Alex. ‘Right, Al?’

  ‘You never know,’ she says softly.

  ‘Is there more beer inside?’ Ren asks. ‘Otherwise I can grab some from home.’

  ‘We have beer in the fridge,’ Alex says. ‘Help yourself.’

  Ren plods over to the back door, causing a cloud of bugs to vacate the grass visible in the low glow of the outdoor ligh
t. He disappears into the house.

  ‘What’s on for the weekend, ladies?’ Matt asks. ‘Apart from conquering the world.’

  Nicole stretches her arms and her legs, yawns daintily. ‘Bit of this, bit of that. Study. I’m babysitting.’

  ‘Same,’ Alex says. Her breath makes a little white swirl in the air. ‘Fuck, it’s cold.’

  The wire door smacks noisily against the brick wall of the house. ‘Say cheese to this fancy camera I found!’ Ren stumbles outside holding the camera in one hand and a beer can in the other. ‘Hey, how do you turn this on?’ He frowns as he presses buttons. ‘Oh, got it.’

  Alex is moving before she registers it. Her chair almost flips over as she scrambles to her feet. ‘Don’t touch that, Ren! Give it to me!’

  He dances on the spot like a jester, delighted at her reaction. ‘What’s it got on it, hey? Nudie shots?’

  Nicole’s voice is ice. ‘Give it to her, Ren.’

  He holds the camera in front of him, randomly pressing buttons.

  Reaching him, Alex grabs it from his hands.

  ‘Hey, come on, I was only kidding.’

  She clutches the camera to her chest. Her skin is crawling, buzzing. She looks around. Matt is still sitting on the plastic chair near the fire, watching them with stoned interest. Nicole is standing a few metres away, her own chest rising and falling, fists clenched. Ren stands in front of her, opening his beer. A long lock of hair falls into his eyes and accentuates his goofiness.

  ‘Just ask next time,’ Alex mutters, trying not to cry as she storms into the house.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  OLI DUCKS AND WEAVES THROUGH THE PARADE OF BUSINESSMEN on King Street. One catches her eye, unashamedly looking her up and down before walking with exaggerated nonchalance into a strip club. Two boxy bouncers flank the door with glassy-eyed stares.

  As she nears the Lion & Ox, she feels sick with nerves. A man like Bowman rarely enjoys being the interviewee. On her way she briefly considered reinviting Cooper to join her, just to really drive home the peace-offering, but Bowman doesn’t seem like the type to appreciate surprises. Plus, there’s a chance he’ll provide more insight into what Isabelle was like, and that’s not something Oli’s willing to share.

  She pushes the heavy door open, and it closes behind her with a thud. Her pupils swell. The walls, bar, tables and chairs are all made from wood, and the clientele are, without exception, over sixty. Beer has soaked and sweated its way into both the carpet and the wooden panels, giving the whole place a stale, musky smell. A giant stag head protrudes from the only section of the back wall that isn’t covered in framed photos of vintage cars. The dead beast stares at its own reflection in the long mirror hanging opposite.

  Bowman doesn’t appear to be here yet. Oli commandeers a small table in the corner away from the communal benches, faces the door, arranges her satchel on the floor and makes sure there’s no way Isabelle’s diaries can fall out. When the door swings open, she jerks to attention. Just a pair of elderly men, one with a patch over his left eye. She’s about to venture to the bar for a beer when the door opens again.

  Bowman heads straight to her table without scanning the room. He nods and holds out his hand. ‘Ms Groves.’

  ‘Chief Inspector.’

  They shake, her fingers like jelly in his firm grip. He sits down, flicking his hand at a barman who plucks a glass from the drying rack and starts pouring a beer.

  ‘You having a drink?’ Bowman asks her gruffly, shrugging off his coat.

  ‘Just a beer, please.’

  He nods. ‘Henno will sort you out in a minute.’

  Bowman’s face is a map of peaks and dips. The lines seem to rest across a complicated grid system, not symmetrical exactly, but pleasing all the same, as if a sculptor has deliberated over every flick of their scalpel. In the buttery light, his thick hair is so white it almost looks fake. His distinctive voice cuts cleanly through the buzz of nearby revellers.

  Henno arrives with a beer, and Oli orders. Bowman curls a paw-like hand around the glass and takes a practised gulp. Oli licks her lips, swallows. She wants to start strong, establish her authority early, but Bowman beats her to it. ‘Have you noticed how everyone’s always hammering on about technology changing things?’ He doesn’t wait for a response. ‘Well, that’s utter bullshit. The tools and platforms might change, but people don’t.’

  Disarmed, Oli tries to think how to respond.

  He watches her and drinks more beer, clearly enjoying her discomfort. ‘It’s the same in your industry, Ms Groves. I’m sure there are one hundred superficial ways that your job is different now than it was when you were a fresh-faced cadet, but it’s fundamentally the same. People are still gobbling up lie after lie.’ His grey gaze is like a drill.

  ‘People do consume an incredible amount of content these days,’ she says lightly, in an attempt to conceal her irritation. ‘But we don’t lie—or at least I don’t.’

  ‘A journalist claiming integrity,’ Bowman says sarcastically. ‘How novel.’

  ‘A detective using intimidation tactics,’ she quips. ‘How unimaginative.’

  He tips his head back and guffaws, rubbing a watery eye with a pudgy finger. ‘Alright, Ms Groves,’ he says, still smiling, ‘you lured me here with the promise of a theory. Let’s have it, then.’

  ‘Do you think Alex Riboni killed Evelyn Stanley?’ Oli asks firmly. Henno places a beer in front of her.

  ‘That’s a question, not a theory,’ he says, eyes twinkling. ‘But yes, I do. The evidence always suggested she did. Even without her confession, we were certain.’ He leans forward. ‘I’m not going to lie to you, though—we were under a lot of pressure back then. We wanted it to be her. We were still in the throes of the gangland killings, and our track record was poor. We needed a conviction. That wasn’t a secret, so I’m not surprised there was a bit of speculation about Alex being our only real suspect. But I was never concerned we put the wrong person away, not for a moment.’

  Oli falters at this unexpected revelation. ‘Why would she take her life now?’

  ‘Guilt?’ he suggests gruffly. ‘Her life wasn’t much fun after she left gaol. According to her colleagues, she was depressed and self-medicating.’

  ‘Can I report that?’

  He lifts his boxy shoulders. ‘As long as I’m not the source.’

  Oli nods.

  ‘Suicide doesn’t discriminate, especially when you lot get involved. It’s the shame that does it—shame can eat away at a person even years later. Hard to move on from something like that once it’s been splashed across the front pages. Just look at Julie O’Brien.’

  A loud posse of older men file into the pub, red-faced and jeering, football scarfs hooked around their thick necks. Oli raises her voice to be heard over the din. ‘I hardly think you can blame the media for Julie O’Brien’s death.’

  ‘We can debate that another time, but all I’m saying is no one is immune. An individual dealing with remorse and mental health issues is hardly a surprise suicide statistic.’

  ‘Okay, what about Nicole Horrowitz, then? Did you know she was still alive?’

  ‘Your voice really is something, isn’t it? Very unusual.’ Bowman’s eyes glitter, but there’s no malice. He sighs, nods to himself. ‘Look, what I think is that those girls got in over their heads. Both back then and probably now as well.’

  ‘In what way?’ Oli says.

  He sniffs loudly, an old-man sound. ‘Drugs. And we’re almost certain they were dabbling in prostitution.’

  ‘But that angle never went anywhere. We were all running around for days trying to validate the rumours about Evelyn working at Calamity Jane’s, but only one woman claimed to remember her. No paper trail, nothing.’

  He shrugs. ‘Doesn’t mean she wasn’t there. I know for a fact she was at the brothel more than once. And you have to remember, by that stage the sex industry was on edge. There’d been the two murders a few months before, which we never solve
d, and multiple assaults on working girls. I think everyone had decided to keep their mouths shut.’

  Oli considers this; maybe the calendar Ren saw was mapping appointments the girls had with clients. ‘Do you think the housemates were all involved in prostitution?’

  ‘It’s likely. After they moved out of home they worked up quite the debt. We had some solid leads—they were mixing with some pretty unpleasant characters. They were young and foolish, and it’s a shame they didn’t have the chance to grow out of it.’

  ‘Young and foolish doesn’t often lead to murder.’

  ‘No, not often. But sometimes.’

  ‘I still don’t get why Alex would kill Evelyn?’

  Bowman folds his arms and rests his forearms on the table, making his chair squeak against the wooden floor. One of his elbows sits in a ring of moisture, but he doesn’t seem to notice. ‘I think Alex was high, off her head on drugs, and I think she was angry. They had been fighting for weeks, probably over money or drugs, or both, then I think she got it in her head that her boyfriend was fooling around with the Stanley girl and that their little world was about to be blown apart.’ He pushes his weight away from the table again. ‘These things are not always as exciting as everyone wants them to be.’

  ‘You don’t buy the self-defence claim?’

  ‘Depends on how far you want to stretch the definition. I think Evelyn fought back, but in my book what happened at that house was murder.’

  ‘I have a witness who saw Nicole and Alex heading toward the foreshore that night. I think Alex was telling the truth about that part of the night.’ Oli rocks back against her chair and folds her arms.

  Bowman looks doubtful. ‘Really? We could never find anyone to confirm it. But regardless, I don’t think it changes anything.’

  ‘Well, it would mean that Alex was telling the truth. Which might mean she was also telling the truth about Nicole suddenly running off.’ Oli pauses. ‘But why would she disappear before Evelyn’s murder?’

  Bowman seems to think about this. Oli imagines she’s Isabelle, sitting across from him, her long slender fingers gripping a dewy beer, or perhaps a wine, her diary open in front of her as they debate the case. She wonders if Bowman is finding her dull in comparison to his former protégée.