I told her I’d never been interested in law. Genevieve had opened one of the briefs she brought home and got back to work. ‘I don’t want sour grapes.’

‘I want to study art history.’

I hadn’t been sure she’d heard me. But she’d looked up a few moments later. ‘You might as well. I’m sure that particular university department is full of people who didn’t get into law school.’

16

16

NENIA DEA | Goddess of Funeral Music and Rebirth into the Afterlife

After cremation, rebirth could only occur if all Nenia Dea’s proper practices were followed. Like other deities connected to death, she was locked out of the city.

I couldn’t rest until Caleb was released on bail. His first appearance at the Magistrates Court would determine this. Over the phone, the night before, I begged him for reassurance that things were okay.

‘This is prison, Mum,’ Caleb said. ‘You won’t get a report card.’

I held the line open just to hear him breathe. Wondering if he knew that.

We’d received a brief of official evidence against Caleb. Brief was a strange name for the boxes containing thousands of pages. The Crown case had incremented like a history research project, like sketches gradually telling a story in Caleb’s book, each new detail capable of inflicting a new wound. Douglas noticed my shock. ‘There’s information here about over two hundred charges.’

Fourteen charges were for arson causing death. Nearly two hundred others related to criminal damage. Some witnesses who had agreed to testify, like Laura Price, were our neighbours. The day after reading her name, I passed Laura in the supermarket. Her trolley squeaked. She had the grace to look awkward. My mind flickered through everything I knew about her, like a newsreel. Until this moment my impression of her had been that she thought that, as a trained historian, I should do more to help her historical society. Now she thought I’d raised a monster.

Since Caleb’s arrest, I had stopped turning my own new evidence over to the police. It seemed they ignored evidence that might disprove their case. There was no mention of John Zynda and earlier fire-starting claims, for instance. Jack tried to defend them, saying they’d investigate my evidence. I’d hear about it in due course, if it was important. ‘So why haven’t I heard anything? It’s important,’ I insisted.

‘You wouldn’t necessarily know what the investigators have been up to.’

A strange type of dread mixed with excitement kept me awake until morning. Douglas drove me to the Caledonia Magistrates Court, promising he’d be my guide through the street protesters outside. The courthouse was a miraculous survivor of fire, and a fire for justice lit the crowd massing beneath gothic arches reminiscent of a cathedral.