Anita tucked herself into one of her little secret alcoves on the ground floor where she could have some privacy to phone Rohan.

‘What can you tell me? Off the record?’ she asked.

Rohan puffed out a breath. ‘This really does have to be off the record,’ he warned.

‘Sure, sure.’

‘Looks like an accidental overdose of hydromorphone. We found traces of it in the syringe.’

‘Hydro-what?’

‘Hydromorphone.’ Rohan pronounced each syllable distinctly, as if he was reading off his notepad. ‘Heavy-duty painkiller—used for cancer patients mostly, I think, but there are people who use it recreationally. Can be lethal, especially mixed with alcohol.’

‘Right, so you think Santino was drunk?’

‘Pretty sure the tox report’s going to show he was full of booze as well. He’d been drinking at Protozoa for hours the night before.’

‘So then he goes back to his place, pissed, and injects too much of the party painkiller?’

‘A not-so-tragic accident,’ said Rohan. ‘Remember, me saying that is so off the record it’s in outer space.’

‘Of course. Are you considering—I mean, he would’ve had a lot of enemies …’

‘No forced entry, no sign of a struggle. And look, I’ve seen the photos—the guy injected himself.’

‘Suicide possibly?’ Anita asked.

‘Possibly. But did he seem the type to you?’

‘No.’ Anita felt sure of that, but then again, she was also sure that you could never be sure what was going on in people’s heads.

‘Nah, look, this was an accidental overdose on top of booze,’ Rohan said.

‘Yeah, yeah, makes sense. Are you sorry?’

Rohan paused for a moment. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t get the conviction. I’m sorry he’s not sitting in jail. But no, I can’t be sorry about this.’

Anita spent the afternoon in the newspaper office, writing up background material on John Santino that could be published now he was dead, plus as much about the conduct of the trial as she thought she could get past the lawyers and into the paper. She kept an eye on the bank of TV screens in the corner of the room. Whenever anything popped up connected to the case, she darted around the desks so she was close enough to hear the soundtrack.

Early afternoon, camera crews had footage of Marina Santino emerging from the Lidcombe mortuary and being bundled into a black car by a clutch of family members.

Marina stopped behind the open car door to address the cameras. She looked wretched, no make-up, face puffy from crying.

‘My beautiful brother had finally cleared his name, which makes this terrible accident even more heartbreaking. Please respect our family’s need to grieve in privacy.’

Then Marina ducked her head and disappeared into the back seat of the vehicle, hidden behind tinted windows.