When Stacey moved into Paula’s house, Matt was securely in jail in Queensland (refused bail, charged with assaulting Stacey, driving a car through a shopfront window and assaulting a police officer). But four months later, he was released and no one informed Stacey. That piece of information had accidentally fallen into the crack along the Queensland–New South Wales border.

‘Of course,’ Paula added, ‘if we’d known he was out of jail, we could’ve helped her find somewhere to hide for as long as she needed to.’

Anita felt a flush of rage burn up her neck. ‘Why should Stacey have to live like a fugitive because of him? Why should she have to drag her kids around and hide out like—fuck … it’s just …’

Paula responded in her measured doctorly tone. ‘Because you have to be realistic and do what works in practice. Whatever can keep people safe.’

Anita pulled herself more upright on the sofa and suddenly realised how woozy drunk she was. ‘I understand that. I’m just saying—’

‘And the thing is,’ said Paula, ‘Matt must’ve been mentally ill.’

‘Was he? Was he?’ Anita could hear her own voice coming out sharp and hectoring. ‘I guess he was. But what the fuck does that mean? He planned this. It wasn’t some temporary brain snap. He planned this for fucking weeks.’

Anita had, properly, avoided covering the case for the newspaper because of her personal connection, but she’d been talking unofficially to the cops and the other journos, gathering every detail about the days leading up to the killing.

‘Matt kept watch on this house, knew everybody’s schedule, knew you were usually late on Tuesdays so he’d have time alone with them. He rented three different cars to avoid making Stacey suspicious. Before he headed to Sydney, he drove back to the Maryvale property to pick up the gun he’d hidden. This wasn’t impulsive. It wasn’t some kind of blind uncontrolled explosion.’

‘No, clearly not. But for someone to do what he did—’

‘No. Fuck him. I don’t want to understand Matt. Or wonder about Matt. I don’t want to psychologise this. I don’t want anyone to explain this away or analyse it in a way that drains the blood out of the primal bare fact of it: a man murdered his own children and their mother. All I want to do is shoot that monster dead.’

Paula exhaled heavily. ‘Come on, revenge doesn’t do anyone any good—well, it might give you a burst of immediate satisfaction. But it doesn’t fix anything.’

‘Okay. Yes. True. Revenge isn’t the answer. Okay. I want to go back in time and shoot him before he had a chance to do it. That would’ve done some fucking good, wouldn’t it? We just need to kill all the dangerous men.’