by Sarah Bailey
‘I tend to focus on motive, capability and opportunity, Ms Groves. We had all three in Alex Riboni, plus her confession.’
‘There are a lot of bogus confessions. Especially right after a crime.’
‘Sure.’ He nods. ‘But like I said, we had the other things. Plus DNA evidence. Despite the public interest it was fairly open and shut from my perspective, although I do understand the fascination of a female killer.’
‘Okay,’ Oli says. ‘Okay, so say you’re right. Didn’t you think Nicole being missing was a pretty serious loose end?’
‘Yardley always thought Alex killed her,’ Bowman says matter-of-factly. ‘I figured she shot through so she could start over. I assumed she woke up during the attack, witnessed the death of her friend, or the aftermath, realised how messed up her life had become, and ran. I suspect she was terrified of having to drag her family through a trial that would not have painted her in a very complimentary light. From what we’ve pieced together so far, it seems she made her way interstate, lived rough for a few years. Changed her name. We’re not sure about the child who’s evidently in her care, but for several reasons we don’t believe she was pregnant at the time of her disappearance. She clearly never wanted to return to her former life.’ He shakes his head slightly, as if to reiterate how crazy the whole scenario is. ‘I’m aware of all the rumours,’ he continues, sounding weary. ‘But unfortunately for your mob, this is no Joanne Lees situation. There’s no evidence anyone else was there that night, no random killer. And I didn’t think Alex killed Nicole, or we would have gone after her for it. But with no body we had Buckley’s in any case.’ He flicks the end of his nose with his finger. ‘I think this was a crime of passion, fuelled by drugs. Something Alex Riboni should have served a lot more gaol time for.’
Oli baulks at his harsh tone. Thinks about the photo Cooper took. ‘I would say she paid her dues.’
‘You didn’t have to deal with Evelyn Stanley’s mother after she lost her daughter,’ Bowman says softly. ‘I’m not sure Alex paid nearly enough.’
Oli changes the subject. ‘Evelyn lent her father thousands of dollars before she died. If she was pulling in that much money, she must have been dealing.’
Bowman’s eyes flicker upwards. ‘Mitchell Stanley certainly was. That man wasted so much of our time, I had to tell him we’d serve him with a warrant if he didn’t stop coming into the station. His story changed every five minutes, and I got the feeling he was just trying to earn a dime out of the whole thing. He’s not someone I have a lot of time for, and I suggest you don’t waste yours on him either.’
‘What about the rabbit?’ Oli says, frustrated.
‘The rabbit?’ Bowman’s expression is blank. ‘You mean the pet? No idea. Someone let it out. The cage was empty by the time we got there, and it was long gone.’
‘We’ve linked it to what happened to Evelyn.’
‘Linked what?’
‘It died.’
‘Really?’ He makes an amused grunt. ‘How so?’ He turns his hands into a teepee and peers at her. ‘We never found a rabbit, dead or otherwise.’
Heat rises in her cheeks. ‘What about their computers?’
‘I checked the files after we spoke the other day. There was a shared computer we seized from the house, but nothing turned up on it.’
‘And Alex never said anything about a camera?’
‘Did you know that having a beer with a reporter kind of takes the fun out of the beer?’ Bowman says wryly, stifling a yawn. ‘I wasn’t in all of the interviews, but it doesn’t ring a bell.’ He pushes his lips together. ‘Although admittedly, getting anything out of Alex Riboni was like squeezing blood from a stone. She wasn’t exactly forthcoming.’
Oli doesn’t reply. Bowman’s dogged rebuttal has been like a millstone to her flighty theories, and she’s starting to feel both stupid and frustrated.
‘Listen.’ He glances over at Henno and shakes his head, declining another drink. ‘Like I said, I think they were naive girls who got caught up in the freedom of having a bit of money and being out of home for the first time. We see it a lot. Middle-class kids who have a bit of a wobble, maybe one of them comes from a troubled background and leads the others astray. That was Alex’s story. Perhaps it wasn’t her fault she didn’t know which way was up, but she dragged her mates down a nasty path in a pretty spectacular way. And that parting stunt she pulled off at the house this week could have been a lot worse.’
‘The fire in Crystalbrook? You’re sure that was her?’
‘Forensics thinks it was a bomb she rigged up. We’re not sure if she was trying to harm Nicole or just thought the cops would set it off. We’re lucky it didn’t go off when someone was in the joint.’
Oli thinks of Rusty. Thank god he wasn’t injured.
Sensing the conversation is running out of steam, she blurts, ‘We spoke to her last week.’
Bowman’s furry eyebrows shoot up. ‘You spoke to Alex Riboni?’
‘Yes,’ Oli says, her heart thrumming. ‘Well, my colleague Cooper did. We’re working on a podcast. She was going to be a guest.’
‘I know all about your podcast,’ Bowman says, looking unimpressed. ‘Well? Don’t keep me in suspense. Was there a deathbed confession? A dramatic accusation?’
‘Not exactly. But she definitely didn’t seem suicidal.’
He polishes off his beer and rests his hands on his slightly round belly. ‘They often don’t.’
‘I think it’s possible the girls were selling explicit photos of themselves online,’ she says, revealing her trump card.
Bowman pushes his empty glass back and forth. ‘Yardley had a hunch about that too, but she could never make it fly. She got lost down some deep rabbit hole.’
‘What do you mean?’
He looks fraught before the gruffness returns to his face. ‘Yardley fell in with some cops who were bad news. Ones who promised her the world in regard to her career. They’ve since been cleaned out of the force, but she was fed some bogus information here and there, and may have got a bit confused.’ He looks Oli straight in the eye; clearly this information isn’t common knowledge, and he’s trusting her with it. ‘But like I said to Yardley back then, even if the girls were selling nude photographs of themselves, I doubt it’s relevant to what happened.’
Oli considers this. Maybe it explains why Isabelle hid her diaries at the house. Maybe she didn’t know who to trust at work. But all she says to Bowman is, ‘What if it was linked to the prostitution?’
He seems to consider this. ‘Bring me anything you find. I’m always happy to chat.’ He checks his watch. ‘I hate to tell you this, Ms Groves, but it’s getting close to my bedtime. Old bastards like me need our rest.’
He insists on paying, and she waits at the door like a child.
Outside the cold air is shocking. Oli is surprised to discover it’s almost ten.
They face each other in the circle of light formed by the street lamp.
‘You’re a good journalist,’ Bowman says. ‘I wouldn’t have met with you if you weren’t. I’m not in the habit of wasting my time.’
‘Neither am I.’
He shoves his hands deep into his coat pockets and rocks on his feet. His white hair glows like a halo. ‘And also, I was curious,’ he admits.
Oli blinks, not sure if she heard correctly. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You’re nothing like her. Nothing like her at all.’ Bowman scans the street, his breath sending a thread of white steam skyward. ‘My wife died almost exactly twelve months before Yardley did. It was the worst year of my life. It’s stupid, really. I’m used to death. But, well, my wife, her sickness was very cruel. And then Yardley on top of that. It was, gah.’ He waves a hand as if he’s sick of himself talking, then forces a cough. ‘The guilt really knocked me for six. I used to think about it all the time, how she must have felt that morning. I always wonder if I could have done more to protect her.’
Oli observes the telltale face tics
, the pull of his jaw. Watery eyes. She speaks hastily. ‘I’m sure that—’
‘Does he ever talk about her?’ Bowman’s grey eyes shine like marbles. ‘Has he told you what she’d decided?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Oli feels the world tilt. Her eyelids are heavy, and the sound of the cars sliding past on the wet asphalt makes her skin crawl.
‘Hey!’ A security guard at the club next door steps away from his post. ‘Do you want a taxi?’ He gestures to a cab idling near the kerb.
She turns back to Bowman, who clasps her shoulders briefly. ‘My gut says this story is a dead end, Ms Groves. But at my age, perhaps they all are.’ He laughs, though he seems sad. ‘Look after those little girls.’ He dips his head, looks her hard in the eye, and walks off into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SATURDAY, 12 SEPTEMBER 2015
OLI SLEEPS LONG AND DEEP. WAKES TO A SILENT HOUSE. SHE FELL asleep reading Isabelle’s diaries, and they lie on Dean’s side of the bed next to her. She’s almost gone through every page now, but it’s impossible to know which details matter, which clues had kept Isabelle up at night as she tried to make sense of the housemates. Oli gets up and slides the diaries into her satchel and flicks on the radio in the bathroom, ducking her head in and out of the water to listen as she showers. Charges are going to be laid against O’Brien: his latest accuser allegedly told a family member about the incident all those years ago, and they are willing to back his claims. Oli rubs the mirror with her hand, staring at her cloudy reflection as she combs her hair and applies moisturiser. She dresses and heads to the garage before remembering her car is at the office.
She waits out the front for her cab. Kicks a few stones from the driveway back into the garden bed with the tip of her boot. Her insides feel mushy, as if she’s about to get on a plane.
In the cab she texts Dean, who calls her immediately. ‘You didn’t sleep at the office, did you?’ he says, teasing.
‘What? No, why?’
‘I just know how hard you work.’
‘I actually slept pretty well last night,’ she says. Dean’s voice has triggered the uncertainty she felt after she left Bowman outside the pub. Has he told you what she’d decided?
‘Maybe I should go away more often, then,’ he jokes.
They fall into a brief silence. A couple in the adjacent car are arguing. Oli asks about the girls.
‘They’re loving it here,’ replies Dean. ‘We’ll probably go to the beach today. It’s not hot but it’s warm enough.’
Oli looks up at the grey sky. ‘Sounds nice.’
‘How was Bowman?’
‘Not particularly helpful in the end,’ she says.
‘I’ve always thought he was a fraud. And what’s on for today? More work?’
‘Just a bit. I’m heading in now. I left the car there anyway, but I’ll probably be in the studio for a few hours sorting out the next podcast episode. And I need to get petrol. Go to the shops.’
‘The studio sounds cosy.’
The cab jerks to a stop outside the office, and Oli fishes around in her bag for her wallet. ‘More stuffy than cosy.’ She hands over her credit card.
There’s an awkward pause.
‘Anyway, I better let you go,’ Dean says eventually. ‘I love you. Call me later.’
‘Love you too.’
The cab drives off. The weight of Isabelle’s notebooks makes her bag strap dig painfully into her shoulder. Her gaze drifts to the office, then over to Breakers. Food first.
‘It’s not an olive branch, but it does have a lot of vitamins in it.’ She places a bottle of juice on the desk in front of Cooper and hands him a paper bag bulging with freshly baked muffins.
He peeks inside. ‘For me?’
‘One for you, one for me.’
‘So, we’re good?’ He fiddles with his watch. His shirt. The cuff of his jacket.
‘We’re good,’ she confirms. ‘Let’s break bread. Or apple muffin.’ She tears off a piece with her teeth.
‘You eat a lot,’ Cooper says tentatively. ‘I completely forgot to eat all day yesterday without you around to remind me.’
Their eyes lock, and Oli bursts out laughing. She drinks her coffee, more relaxed than she’s felt in days.
‘People are going crazy over your voice on the podcast,’ he says. ‘There’s a Facebook group dedicated to it and everything. Twelve fan emails so far. One marriage proposal.’
‘I don’t want to know,’ she says, shaking her head. She gestures at the wall. ‘I wrote up a script for episode two based on your outline.’
He looks pleased. ‘Can I see?’
‘Sure.’ She gets her computer from her bag, loads her email and sends it to him. ‘In your inbox.’
‘Got it,’ he says, dark eyes darting around as his fingers fly across the keyboard.
He plays her the grabs he’s edited from his conversation with Mitchell Stanley yesterday, then proudly reveals an interview he recorded with Amber Halcon, one of the other party guests. The one Oli couldn’t track down. As Oli listens, she can see how it will all weave together—the news snippets, her script. It’s the same way her mind locks down the pieces of her stories before she starts to write. ‘It’s going to be good,’ she says, eyes gleaming.
‘I know.’ Cooper is unable to keep the excitement from his voice.
She tells him about her meeting with Bowman.
‘I had to stop myself from texting you to ask how it went,’ Cooper admits. ‘I even put my phone in a drawer so I wouldn’t be tempted. What did you think overall?’
Oli laces her fingers and pushes her hands away from her body until her knuckles crack. ‘He seems pretty sure about Alex’s guilt. But he did say if we turn anything up about the girls selling pornography to let him know.’
Cooper looks at her. ‘Funny how he said Detective Yardley thought the girls might have been involved in porn.’
Oli’s phone rings from the depths of her bag, making them both jump. It’s Dawn. Oli answers on speaker.
‘There’s been a sighting of Nicole Horrowitz and her kid,’ Dawn yells. ‘In Bendigo. Channel Nine are running with it right now.’
‘What exactly are they running with?’ replies Oli.
‘Melissa bloody Warren is shoving a microphone in the face of some convenience-store worker who claims she saw Nicole and her kid last night.’
‘Do you want me to head out there?’ Oli says reluctantly. ‘I can.’
‘It’s fine. TJ’s going.’
‘TJ?’
‘He got word from a source that something was brewing, so he’s already on his way. There’s nothing new on O’Brien today, and he was happy to step in on this. I just wanted you to know in case it blows up.’ In a slightly gentler tone, Dawn adds, ‘The podcast is going well. The sales guys have been inundated with advertising interest, so just focus on that, okay?’
‘We’re on it.’ Oli hangs up with a flourish. ‘Fuck,’ she mutters.
‘She gave TJ the scoop?’ Cooper asks.
‘I think he gave himself the scoop.’
He shrugs good-naturedly. ‘All the more reason to make this second episode incredible. You ready?’
‘Now?’ she says, wiping coffee off her lip.
‘Why not? Now we’ve created the hunger, we need to feed the beast!’
She attempts to put aside her bruised ego, clears her throat and fixes headphones over her ears.
It takes longer this time. They re-record several sections as Oli loses her way a few times and Cooper stumbles over some questions.
Three hours later, she pulls off her headphones. The hair around her ears is damp, and she rubs her eyes. ‘No chance of forgetting lunch today. I’m starving.’
They pack up and head downstairs, walking in silence to a Vietnamese restaurant around the corner. The city is different on the weekend, full of tourists who have their eyes trained to the sky, exclaiming over buildings and landmarks that Oli barely ever notices.
&nb
sp; After the steaming food is placed in front of them, she raises her chopsticks and eats while Cooper babbles away, laying out various ideas for the third episode. She welcomes the chance to sit and listen, to block the nagging worry about work and Dean.
Cooper pauses for breath and water. ‘We need more,’ he says, wiping his mouth. ‘We don’t have much that’s new. Miles will be interesting, but we need more.’
‘Ren will add some flavour, but you’re right, it’s not enough. Maybe I really should ask Bowman. He knows about the podcast.’
‘As long as he keeps an open mind,’ Cooper says earnestly.
They eat in silence for a few minutes, Oli watching Cooper navigate his way around a plate of dumplings. ‘I found something,’ she blurts out. ‘Some old notebooks.’ She imagines Isabelle’s words escaping from the pages and sprawled across the table, and she immediately wants to collect them up and cram them back in. ‘They might help us with the story.’
‘You found them at work?’ Cooper wrinkles his nose.
‘No. At my house.’
His eyes widen. ‘Isabelle Yardley’s?’
Oli doesn’t reply, letting her eyes provide confirmation.
‘Police diaries,’ he whispers, jumping as a waiter appears behind him to clear his plate. Cooper’s Adam’s apple punches in and out of his throat.
Oli nods. ‘Three of them.’
‘Holy shit, are you kidding? Oli, this is nuts!’ His voice drops. ‘Is it legal?’
‘I found them in my house,’ she says, dodging the question.
He moistens his lips. ‘Have you read them?’
‘Some.’ She zips open her bag, hands him the 2006 diary. ‘I haven’t looked at this one yet. I’ve barely had a chance to look through them at all.’
He sticks out his neck, gaze shifting all over the restaurant. ‘You want to do this here? Are you crazy?’
‘I don’t think Chilli Town is under police surveillance,’ she says drily. ‘We’ll order some green tea, read some old diaries. No big deal. Bowman might be right, this whole case might be a fizzer, but what if he’s wrong?’ Isabelle’s face hovers in her mind. ‘Because the thing is, I don’t think Alex killed her friend over drugs, and I don’t think Isabelle Yardley thought she did either.’
