Handing me a fresh cup of tea, Norma introduced Joyce Tippet, the woman she’d been sitting next to during the talk. ‘Joyce is the mayor’s wife,’ said Norma, her voice a little flat.

I shook Joyce’s hand, and got a shock as our eyes met. For the briefest of moments, I saw such desolation and despair, but it was as fleeting as a wisp of smoke. Instead of asking Joyce about her husband, I asked her about herself. ‘Local or import?’ I said.

Joyce looked wistful. ‘Melbourne born and bred. I was a scientist, happily working in a city lab, when I met my husband.’ She raised her arms a little, palms up, and looked around her as if to say: And look where I ended up.

I noted the hesitation in Joyce’s voice. ‘What was your field of expertise?’ I asked.

‘Toxicology,’ said Joyce. She lowered her eyes. ‘I even did a stint at the police Forensics lab.’

‘We rely on our scientists. They do amazing work,’ I said. ‘Were there opportunities here for a toxicologist?’ I knew what her answer would be.

‘Well … Richard’s family have been here for years. After the children were born, I guess I …’

‘Of course,’ I said quickly.

We were interrupted by a cluster of women coming to join our group and the conversation returned to family violence.

Norma floated her theory. ‘I think silence is a woman’s worst enemy.’

I immediately thought of Brett Millard; how had my childhood silence hurt him in the long run? I agreed with Norma. ‘Not only does it hurt victims, but it allows the perpetrator to get away with it.’

Joyce Tippet looked up quickly; her eyes widened.

A shy girl in her late teens stood to the side. Her tea was untouched, so carefully was she listening to the conversation. Finally, she spoke. ‘Could you teach us?’ she asked. ‘You know. Teach us karate.’ Her face turned scarlet and she looked down at her tea.

‘Oh, Kath,’ said Norma, ‘I’m sure Detective Pollard is too busy for that.’

I took in the girl and her reticence, the hopeful looks of other women in the group, and before I knew it, I’d agreed. ‘Like I said before, I don’t do karate; my specialty is judo. But I think a more general approach to self-defence is what women need. And I’m happy to help.’ The idea wasn’t entirely crazy. It might make them feel safer, and I figured if I spent time with the local women, not only might I make some new friends, I could also sound them out on who they thought might be responsible for the pub attacks.