I once saw a film where soldiers were interrogated after being deprived of sleep. Insomnia made them more honest. If only the entire Magistrates Court, the entire town, were awake like me. If only I could rely on the truth. I’d read Victim Impact Statements in the prosecution brief, and everything else I could get my hands on trying to find a defence. If only I could keep Rosie awake. If only I could compel her to tell the truth. If only my insomnia could creep over the fence and through her blinds and keep vigil by her bed and torture her into forgetting her anger and vengefulness. But she was free to say what she wanted. And she’d never forgive Caleb.

Some witnesses were the parents of children I’d taught. Darren Doonan, for instance, was the father of Hayley Doonan, Grade 6 of two years back. His testimony would be damning. Vanessa Thornton was planning to say that on the day of the Brunton fire, near ignition time, she had seen Caleb at our place. Joe Green would say he’d seen Caleb on his bicycle. Constable Dave Briggs would limp to the stand, probably in his police uniform, burn scars visible on his hands and his face. And it would be worse when they spoke to Michael Gillan. The prosecutor would bring the tragic loss of Shelly and Violet Gillan into the case, adding oxygen to the belief in Caleb’s guilt. I couldn’t help myself. I imagine Michael arriving home, his house alight, bursting through the front door, fighting his way to the family bathroom, discovering his wife and daughter already dead. Just how angry was he with himself for losing Caleb’s urine sample after the accident? It had been such a little incident at the time, such a small amount of money to have to change hands. But afterwards, how much did Michael blame Caleb for the loss of his own family?

CALEB

He woke early Wednesday, in flames. Fire’s movements weren’t simply a response to the wind. He knew fire itself did battle with fire. Fire told lies and was tricksy. Caleb learned in his training that, though you might want to read fire, it didn’t want to be read. The Yarra Valley had many hills and gullies. Fire loved to go uphill but the gullies also influenced its behaviour, acting as funnels. Convection plumes pulled the flames in opposing ways. People got confused when embers in the convection plume flew a different direction from surface winds. You could be in the direct path of the fire and also be in clear air. Fire snuck up. People were the prey. Fire is the hunter. Clever. Stealthy.