Tugga's Mob. Stephen Johnson

      It was on Hackett’s second circuit of the office that he realised this was a conversation that Curly shouldn’t be hearing. ‘Where are you, Reg? Okay, I’ll be there in a moment.’

      Hackett slammed the mobile on the desk and reached for the door handle. The Board’s failure to rubber stamp his AFL broadcasting rights coup was more critical than talking to a journalist about three dead travelling companions.

      ‘Look, something important has come up. I’ll have to catch you later.’ Hackett said as he exited the office, crossed the hallway to the other corner suite and entered without knocking.

      The meeting exceeded Curly’s expectations. Journalists don’t need much to inflame suspicious natures: three accidental deaths among the same group of friends in a matter of weeks, plus a possible ‘missing’ fourth person, was like throwing a can of petrol onto a bonfire for the Spotlight producer.

      Mac’s going to love this!

      Curly knew The Hatchet was rattled by the news about his former travelling companions, but didn’t want to suggest, yet, the deaths were more sinister than accidents. That change in tone on the phone and Hackett’s subtle deferment didn’t escape the current affairs producer. Curly surmised it must have been the boss as Hackett didn’t even apologise for disrupting their meeting. He turned his eyes to appreciate the view again while absorbing the one-sided conversation. The Hatchet wasn’t happy.

      Curly could still hear The Hatchet venting as he returned to the reception area and waited for the lift. Zara didn’t bother acknowledging his departure. If she had, she might have noticed Curly was leaving with something extra. The Volendam picture was overlapping Curly’s notebook held against his thigh.