She found it strange that he was the only person, after all this time, who still doubted her guilt. Who still believed in her. He was the juror who’d put her in here. And yet he kept coming, more determined than ever, more in love with her than ever. She could have sent him away, but the loneliness would have driven her mad. She looked forward to seeing him. She even had a degree of fondness for him. The humane thing would have been to insist that he not waste his life on a foolish quest, but eight years hadn’t changed everything about her. She was still selfish.

‘Janine,’ Howard said.

She’d been far away, and he was standing above her. She smiled at him, got up, and shook his hand. His skin was clammy, as it usually was. She had the feeling that shaking her hand was the most erotic experience in this man’s life.

‘How are you?’ he asked as they sat down.

‘Much the same.’

‘It’s hot out. But nice.’

‘Good.’

‘You look great,’ he said.

‘Oh, well. Thanks.’

It was the usual small talk, followed by the usual silence. She didn’t mind. Years ago, she’d thought that Howard Marlowe was the most boring person on the planet. She still thought so, but boring didn’t seem entirely bad anymore. After a while, you looked forward to the predictable things. It was summer, so Howard wore his summer clothes, a collared short-sleeve shirt, black jeans, white tennis shoes. He’d had his curly brown hair cut before coming to see her, as he usually did. Five years ago, after consulting with her, he’d had LASIK surgery done, and he didn’t need glasses now. He had a suburban paunch that he tried to suck in when he was with her.

She knew he fantasized about her. He’d admitted it. She found it a little pathetic, but every now and then, she would make some coquettish gesture that she knew he’d remember. A meaningful look in her eyes or a tiny puckering of her lips. Or she would tug at her denim shirt in a way that emphasized the swell of her breasts. Harmless, but she felt she owed him something.

‘The book’s going well,’ he said.

‘Good.’

‘You don’t mind my doing it, do you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘I run chapters by Mr. Gale. Should I run them by you, too?’

‘No, you don’t have to do that.’

‘I understand.’

‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, Howard. It’s just that I don’t want to relive it.’

‘Oh, I get it.’

‘That doesn’t mean I’m telling you to stop.’

‘No, I’ll keep going,’ he assured her. ‘When I publish it, it will bring lots of new attention to your case.’