It was on the tip of my tongue to promise to look into it, to promise to arrest the men responsible, but the truth was there wasn’t enough evidence to go on. The defence would make mincemeat out of Kara. I could imagine it: You were intoxicated? Surely, given that you stayed after everyone else left, you were attracted to my client? Is it true you were flirting with him all night? When you agreed to lie on the mattress after enjoying several drinks, isn’t it true that you considered sex a possibility? Your boyfriend broke up with you shortly after that night; is it true that was because you were unfaithful? In court, words twisted and curled like serpents and the worst night of a woman’s life was moulded into a story that made it her fault, something she asked for, something she deserved.

I glanced at my notes. ‘The report mentioned Lachie Murtog and James Tuffin …’

‘Jimbo,’ said Wozza.

‘Those are the two I remember,’ said Kara, ‘but I think there were more.’

I asked for DeeDee’s contact details but Kara shook her head vehemently.

‘She won’t talk. Not after what happened to me at the police station. I was having trouble convincing her to come forward in the first place. When she saw how I was treated, it was all over red rover as far as she was concerned.’

I totally understood. I knew the statistics. The best estimate was that only around twenty per cent of sexual assault victims reported it to the police. The other eighty per cent? So many reasons for not coming forward, but I reckon many of them had no faith in the system, no expectation of justice. And they were right. The system was profoundly flawed. Only one in five made it to court when they were reported. I knew the odds and understood DeeDee’s decision not to come forward. Didn’t stop me from wishing we had a legal system that women could actually trust.

I closed my notebook and stood up to leave.

Kara looked at me. ‘Why didn’t people believe us? Why did people think we were the liars?’ There was such pain in her eyes.

‘For what it’s worth, we don’t think you’re lying,’ I said.

Her smile trembled gratitude and a single sob broke from her throat before she stilled herself.

‘Poor bugger,’ Wozza said once we were back in the car. ‘The horror of being raped and then the horror of not being believed.’ He shook his head.

‘Did you notice her tattoo when she pulled up her sleeves?’ I couldn’t keep the excitement from my voice.

Wozza’s eyes widened. ‘The hummingbird! It was in one of Jack’s polaroids!’