‘Try me.’
‘Getting older isn’t easy, you know,’ Henry said belligerently.
‘Don’t tell me this is your mid-life crisis!’ Mark snorted. ‘Bit late, isn’t it?’
Henry’s next verbal blast pushed Mark back with such force that their roles were instantaneously reversed. ‘You little shit!’ he shouted. ‘You think you’re so clever, sneering at your father because he’s old. Relative youth doesn’t give you any advantage, you idiot, except a false sense of security that is soon enough undone.’
‘Dad, I…’
‘DON’T YOU DARE,’ Henry growled, leaping up and heading for Mark’s bedroom.
Mark’s hands were balled into tight fists, but he kept them on his lap. He ceded this argument for now, and changed tack as he called after Henry.
‘Dad, I need to get ready for work.’
‘I’ll be out of this place as soon as possible, don’t you doubt it,’ Henry raged, slamming the bedroom door behind him.
Mark leaned back into his chair, looked down at his shoes, and sighed.
76
To get to the Supreme Court you had to walk through glorious lush gardens, where lemon gums and umbrella trees sheltered you from the fierce midday sun, and brightly coloured flowers lined your way. For Amy, it was like walking through the Garden of Eden to get to the Gates of Hell. She wondered if the gardens made it worse for all those who knew they walked this way in their last moments of freedom – a stark reminder of what they had forfeited their right to.
The court building itself was one of a cluster of historical buildings incongruously sandwiched between modern skyscrapers and laissez-faire pubs and sailing clubs by the river. Thick white pillars supported the porticoed entrance. It was at these pillars that Amy’s step faltered, and she would have stumbled if Alex’s hand hadn’t been there, grasping her elbow.
She hadn’t slept much over the past few days, but her brain seemed to have decided that now was a good time to shut down. Her mind was foggy, her eyes bleary, and all she really wanted was to go back to bed.
A couple of security guards turned suspicious gazes on her. She smiled feebly and righted her stride, allowing them to check her bag as she heard Alex asking in hushed tones for Court Number Two. The entrance hall was full of people, a babble of noise. The guard asked why they were there, and Alex quickly told him they were related to the victim. She supposed it wasn’t even much of a lie. They received instructions on general court etiquette, such as bowing to the judge, which her sluggish brain did its best to remember.
There was an extravagant staircase ahead of them, which, while more suited to the frippery of a stately home than the practical environment of a court of law, made the place seem all the more foreboding. Amy grasped the thick wooden rail tightly as they climbed. She felt as though she were hyperventilating. Her heart was beating erratically – strong beats staccatoing against her chest. She desperately sucked in air. The surroundings swam before her eyes and she thought she was going to faint, but the twisting molasses inside her head continued. Alex’s arm was firmly around her waist, and he was marching them on. There was no way he would let her back out.
When they got through the doors to the upper gallery, there were people already seated in the public viewing area: a middle-aged woman with tired, sad eyes; a quartet of girls in their early twenties; three police officers; and two court security officials. Amy was surprised. She’d thought there would be more people here. The press must be somewhere else.
Alex took her hand and guided her to seats at the front. She held on tight, feeling a small pulse throbbing through his fingertips and connecting with her own.
From where they sat they could clearly see the front of the courtroom. She took a tentative look down at the lawyers’ desks, vertigo like a slow spinning top in her head, but was then distracted as the jury filed in. They were followed by the judge, who strode confidently to his chair as they all stood for him. As he sat down, his expression was unreadable and Amy marvelled at how this could be. He reminded her of her dad – she’d be embarrassed to use a mild swearword in front of this man and yet he’d just spent days digesting the most obscene details of this case.
Before she sat down she automatically glanced over the railing again. And saw three men, besuited, standing in a line. As she watched, one of them turned briefly to look up at the gallery and she quickly strangled the squeak of shock that escaped her. The judge glanced up, and people nearby turned to stare at her. Alex’s grip on her hand tightened, but she sat down quickly, outwardly quiet, even though her heart was thundering.
It was overwhelming to see them in the flesh, she thought, trembling. They might be evil cloaked in skin and bone, but they were just three men. So ordinary, yet she had recognised the one who looked up as the man who had pinned her in the back of the van – Dregs, she’d never forget that name. He was a lot thinner now, and his hair was shorter, but his features were more memorable. She stared at her feet, trying to shake off the thought that they were so close to her.
Nevertheless, she didn’t last long after the first defence witness of the day was called. The man described seeing the victim, Vanessa, smiling at the men as they chatted to her in the bar where she had last been seen alive. He recalled that she didn’t look too worried. But under cross-examination, the man admitted that he played football with the brother of one of the defendants.
Amy was shocked. Surely no one would choose to defend these animals because of such a tenuous link with them.
And then she realised with a start that there might have been a trial like this for her own murder, but for their botched attempt at killing. If the knife had cut her throat as deeply as they had meant it to, then Alex would be here alone, her mum at his side, maybe her dad, watching on as people who had never known her talked about her. Or maybe her body would still be lying under the trees somewhere, like Vanessa’s had been for six weeks, decomposed, half-eaten by bush animals.
Her first retch was dry, because she hadn’t eaten anything that morning, but on the second she disgorged thick white sputum into her hands. She got up hastily, even remembering to make a weird attempt at a bow to the judge, who, she half-noticed, was looking up again, before hurrying towards the door, which a security guard opened for her. Although she had said nothing to Alex, she was certain he was behind her, and, sure enough, as soon as they were outside, his arm came around her shoulder, and she shrugged it off.
‘Amy!’
It wasn’t Alex who had just spoken. She was frozen like a hunted animal, fearing to look behind her, but her body responded like a reflex to her name and turned anyway.
Alex was turning too. And she was still registering the man’s face as he said, looking pale with shock, ‘I thought it was you.’
77
As she stared at the man, who was looking at her intently, it seemed she was destined to become Amy again. Everyone around her was forcing her back into her weak, tremulous body. It really was too much.
She recognised this man, but didn’t know from where, until Alex said, ‘Detective Thompson?’
The man turned to Alex. ‘Yes,’ he said, his features opening as he smiled, as though he were mightily pleased to see them. He looked from one to the other. ‘I didn’t expect to see you two here. Amy, the last time I spoke to your mother, you were still missing. Does she know you’re okay?’
Amy’s mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. She and Alex exchanged glances, each of them willing the other to talk, to tell the detective of their harebrained plan for her to find ‘closure’. It was ridiculous, Amy thought now – she would never find closure. She had done better in the last ten years through denial than she ever would by raking over the past again and again.