Tonight we spare a thought for the families of the victims of flight 519, which the coroner has found crashed as a result of mechanical failure and not pilot error, contrary to the initial Australian Transport Safety Bureau investigation.

‘Mayday Mayday Mayday … two engine failures … we’ll be ditching … Request someone come out and help us please.’

Pilot Matt Berkowitz, Ruth and Paul Harvey, Elizabeth Gibbs, Violet Patterson, Mark Neilson, David Richards, and Stewart Cope perished when the Piper Navajo Chieftain aircraft in which they were flying suffered twin engine failure, and plunged into Spencer Gulf.

During an investigation spanning three years and two continents, Life and Times journalist Nicola Harvey made a number of crucial discoveries. Not only did she uncover a raft of questionable business practices by operator SAR Airlines, but she found that the Australian Transport Safety Bureau had itself played a significant part in the disaster, and then tried to cover it up. This discovery changed the course of the investigation and helped clear the young pilot’s name.

‘… And the winner for television current affairs feature, documentary or special longer than twenty minutes is …’

Chapter One

‘Me, me, me,’ Nicola yelled into the pillows, beating them with her fists, the announcer’s words bouncing back and forth between her ears.

Leaning back into the plush pillows, hands clasped behind her head, she couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. Not that she was trying to. Stuff being humble, she thought. I deserve this.

Steam drifted from under the ensuite door, rolling towards the end of the bed like a fog, accompanied by the damp musky smells of masculine body wash and shaving foam. She could hear the heavy beat of water on the glass screen, the occasional stomp of wet feet and squelch of a soap-filled sponge rubbing briskly on skin.

‘And the winner is … Nicola Harvey,’ Nicola whispered. A Walkley and a Gold Walkley – could life be more perfect?

She could hear Scott padding about on the smooth, damp Carrara marble, the opening and shutting of vanity cupboard doors, the buzz of his electric toothbrush. Scott always followed the same routine. Soon would come the brief roar of his hairdryer – there it was. And finally the slap, slap of hands as he applied aftershave.

Nicola imagined the astringent stinging and wondered why you’d bother every day. But it did smell damn good, she thought, as it accompanied Scott past the wardrobe and around to his side of the bed.

She rolled over for a better look as he bent to retrieve his Tag Heuer watch from the bedside table, admiring the muscles of his smooth, toned back and strong shoulders. Damn he was in good shape; almost forty and not an ounce of fat in sight.

Nicola fixed her gaze on the section of olive skin that disappeared under the roll of white towel around his waist, licking her lips hungrily. God she wanted to tear his towel off. What better way to celebrate than to make love with the man you loved?

She sighed. How long had it been? Nicola had tried to coax him when they’d got home from the ceremony, but he’d said he was too tired. And she really had been too drunk.

Though as he inspected himself in the mirrored door of his wardrobe, she saw that he hadn’t been too tired to hang up all his clothes.

Of course he hadn’t, she thought, feeling a little annoyed.

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