He looks down at his papers, shuffling them, then gets out a brand-new blue pad and a posh fountain pen, which Cathy likes, and writes the date along the top. He gets it right: it’s tomorrow. Just after midnight. It’s a good sign. He’s smart.

‘So,’ he says, looking at her again. ‘Why don’t you start from the beginning?’

‘The beginning is so far back,’ she says.

He makes a shrugging gesture, like, well, start there. ‘We’ve got all night,’ he says with a small laugh.

‘It started in Verona,’ she says.

‘Ah,’ Jason says. ‘The body that was just found.’

Joe told Cathy in the outhouse. ‘Right. How did they find it?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll find out,’ he says. ‘Tell me the rest.’ He reaches behind him and closes the door. ‘Tell me everything. Go.’

72.

Now

Second Day of Trial R. v. Plant

‘And that night in late August – you heard from your brother, Joe, is that correct?’

I nod, then say yes, in the witness box. I look directly at my brother, at the tufty grey hairs at his temples. ‘Yes,’ I repeat. For the first time, his eyes meet mine.

‘And what did he say?’

‘He said he’d killed Evan. And that he needed help.’

‘Thank you,’ the barrister says to me. ‘Thank you, Catherine, for your witness evidence, which has been invaluable.’ He looks towards the public gallery, where my family stand. And to the dock, where my brother stands, solo and handcuffed, at his murder trial.

‘We will continue to hear evidence in the trial of the Crown against Joseph Plant,’ the judge says. ‘On the charges of’ – he checks a sheet – ‘preventing the lawful burial of a body. Criminal damage. Perverting the course of justice. Conspiracy to bribe. Misappropriation of corporate assets.’ The charges go on and on. He finishes reading them, his face completely expressionless. This must be so mundane to him. Cathy blinks.

‘Will there be any re-examination?’ my barrister asks the other barrister.

‘No,’ he says. ‘No need, I think. Thank you, Ms Plant. Hopefully justice can now be done.’

‘They won’t need me back?’ I say on the courthouse steps to Jason, freezing in my nude tights and skirt suit. I was given a suspended sentence for my role in the crime, in exchange for giving evidence against Joe. He loosens his tie and stares down at me.

‘They shouldn’t,’ he says. ‘It’ll be a few weeks, for the other witnesses. Then however long the jury deliberate for. There are a lot of charges.’ He lights up a cigarette, seemingly in no hurry to escape the bleak March cold. I draw my coat around myself and look at the lit-up tip, a layered rosebud set on fire, remembering how much Joe smoked in Verona. ‘So you’re free to go, I’d say. What’re you going to do?’

‘Go and see Frannie,’ I say, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the town centre.

Jason nods, inhaling on the cigarette, and breathing smoke out into the blank sky, creating his own dense clouds of winter.