When the jury deliberations spilled over to a second day, Anita took her laptop to work in a cafe close to the courthouse. The moment word came through that a verdict was imminent, she would be ready to dash over there.

To justify the time she was occupying the cafe table, she ordered beverages every hour, and at lunchtime she paid for a big healthy salad. Probably just as well from a nutritional point of view too. Given the volume of caffeinated liquids sloshing around her body, it felt good to chomp through a bowl of greens and feta and grainy bits.

She forked in salad with one hand, scrolling through notes on her laptop with the other, so focused on the computer screen that at first she didn’t register the woman standing right by her table. When she finally glanced up and realised it was Trish Lester, Brooke’s mother, Anita smiled—an invitation to talk.

‘Hello,’ Trish said. ‘I’ve seen you going into the court.’

‘Yes. I’m a journalist. Anita Delgado.’

‘So you’d know how the system works for this next part?’

‘Basically, yes. You’re Brooke’s mum?’

‘That’s right.’

The father, Rob, came over to join his wife, holding a metal stand with the number nine for the food he’d ordered.

‘Don’t bother her, Trish,’ he said. ‘The woman’s having her lunch. And working.’

‘It’s okay,’ Anita assured him and quickly scooped her belongings into a corner of the table to make space. ‘Would you like to join me? There’s plenty of room.’

Trish threw a look to her husband. ‘She might be able to help us understand what’s going to happen.’

Rob pressed his lips together. He was reluctant, but at the same time keen for any help they could find.

The two of them sat down at Anita’s table.

‘If the jury say he’s guilty, will he be sentenced straight off?’ Brooke’s father asked.

‘No. There’ll be sentencing submissions and other procedures,’ Anita said. ‘But almost certainly, he would be taken into custody straight away.’

Rob Lester nodded soberly.

‘You know you can come into the courtroom,’ Anita explained. ‘Any member of the public can watch the trial.’

‘Well, we didn’t know that to start with,’ said Rob. ‘Doesn’t matter, though. The trial isn’t really why we’re here. Really, it’s, uh …’

Anita nodded and waited for him to fill in the rest of the thought. That was a habit she had learned as a journalist—don’t swoop in and finish people’s sentences with what you assume they were going to say. Don’t be afraid to let a silence run. People usually felt obliged to fill the silence and more of the truth would tumble out of their mouths.

‘We don’t care about the trial,’ he said. ‘We just want to talk to our daughter.’