Luckily, thoughts don’t have unlimited energy. They can be like sugared-up children, screaming wildly and racing around, but eventually they crash and peace takes over. That kicked in halfway to Melbourne. Trees flashed past on the side of the freeway. Cows met in clusters against the cold of the wind. The kilometre numbers on road signs dropped lower and lower until the tall buildings of the Melbourne skyline appeared frostily in the distance.

I left my car in an all-day car park, got a coffee and breakfast at a cafe, then headed to the Melbourne Magistrates’ Court. A clump of reporters, rugged up against the cold, waited outside. I guessed they were there for Noah’s bail hearing. I clenched my jaw at the thought of a Shepherd family press conference. I’d seen their self-righteous indignation and their declarations of innocence too many times before.

What more did Noah have to do before his parents realised he was the problem?

Inside the courtroom, I slipped into a seat in the back row. It was chilly and I tugged my jacket around myself. Didn’t remove the gloves I’d had on since leaving home. At the left, there was a bench seat where Noah Shepherd would sit once he was brought in. At the front, the lawyers murmured among themselves—silks, as far as I could tell, on the defence side; cops on the prosecutor’s side.

I was early and one of the first in the court. It didn’t matter; I was prepared to wait. I felt edgy. The door opened and two people whom I knew well appeared—Gemma’s parents, Maureen and John Watson. They saw me and made their way to my row and edged in sideways to sit beside me.

‘So good to see you both,’ I said softly. ‘Sorry it’s under these circumstances.’

Next to me, Maureen squeezed my hand. ‘How are you? Is it better in the country?’

I met her gaze. ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘Turns out sorrow has no respect for geographical boundaries.’

Maureen nodded. She understood.

Throughout the ordeal, I had become close to Maureen and John. First, when they appeared at the hospital to support Gemma through her forensic examination, then on the countless visits to their home to explain police and court procedures. I had tried to manage their hopes for a guilty verdict, tried to make them understand the odds were never in the victim’s favour, but they clung staunchly to their idea of justice and their unwavering faith in the system.

I knew the system better and didn’t trust it as far as I could throw it.

Gemma’s parents showed me what it must be like to have a traditional nuclear family. I’d never known it so I’d never missed it, but they made me miss it just a little.