During his trial, Jeffery broke down when questioned about his mother, who left the family home when he was eleven, leaving him and Darleen to live with their abusive father, who died three months before the first murder.

Darleen, who penned the bestseller My Brother is Innocent, has campaigned for her sibling’s release for almost six years. She claims her brother’s DNA was found on Bronwyn Bray’s body because they had been in a relationship, and that this wasn’t taken into account fully at the trial. She also insists the court should re-examine Isla’s statements of what happened the night of her brother’s arrest, suggesting there is no proof that he started the ‘bloodbath’ that unfolded that night.

Canberra’s High Court granted permission today for an appeal, agreeing there are sufficient grounds for further consideration of the case. The hearing will take place on 30 September.

Leaving court today, Darleen, wearing a two-piece royal-blue skirt suit, told reporters, ‘I’m over the moon. I believe we have a sound case, and I can’t wait for my brother to be released.’

We contacted Isla Johnson in her hometown of Letchworth Garden City, England. She told us she wouldn’t be attending the hearing. ‘They have my original statements, and I’ve no more to offer,’ she said.

PART 1

Chapter 1

Tuesday, 26 July

It was hot.

Not the kind of heat you bask in on a Majorcan beach. No tickle of a warm breeze caressing your cheek. This was clammy, and had crept out of nowhere mid-afternoon, long after Isla had travelled into London in long sleeves and leggings, her camera over her shoulder, her notepad in hand.

Now Isla was crushed against a bosomy woman reading a freebie newspaper, on a packed, motionless train waiting to leave King’s Cross. The air was heavy with stale body odour and – what was that? – fish? She looked towards the door. Should she wait for the next train?

She took two long, deep breaths in an attempt to relieve the fuzzy feeling in her chest. She rarely let her angst out of its box anymore – proud of how far she’d come. But there were times when the buried-alive anxiety banged on the lid of that box, desperate to be freed. It had been worse since she’d received the letter about the appeal. Carl Jeffery had crawled back under her skin.

She’d hidden the letter, knowing if she told Jack and her family they would worry about her. She didn’t want that. She’d spent too much time as a victim. The one everyone worried about. She was stronger now. The woman she’d once been was in touching distance. She couldn’t let the appeal ruin that.

She ran a finger over the rubber band on her wrist, and pinged it three times. Snap. Snap. Snap. It helped her focus – a weapon against unease.