Nancy Bailey, the white-haired volunteer who kept Red Cross records at the shelter, testified that Caleb looked scary. The word was out before Douglas could object, and no doubt always would be. ‘He wore this strange ring,’ she continued. ‘An eyeball on his hand. Held in place with claws. My friend Sophia came over. Caleb walked off and Sophia said, He probably lit it, just like that. And I didn’t think so. I mean, we know his mother. She teaches kids how to read. But look at this. Here we are. And I did see him murder that wallaby.’

Caleb caught his breath, closing his throat as tightly as if smoke still clouded the air, as if ashes and embers still whirled around him. Douglas attempted to object but was disallowed. Nancy continued talking. Caleb remembered the tiny creature’s panic, its neck frail beneath that covering of fur, soft in his fingers. Its brown eyes reminded him of Pattern. Releasing it from agony hadn’t been a hard decision. It had been the right decision, even though it made people hate him.

Below, Mum closed her eyes. Did she remember what a kindness that death had been? Probably. Mothers were like that.

Brian Nally said he’d been praying roadside. Their signs warned Apocalypse was imminent. Mum speculated he could have lit the fires in order to get to heaven. Months ago, he’d called Caleb a freaky goth faggot who would burn in hell. Douglas reminded him of that.

Brian lowered his head. ‘God forgives me.’

From the dock, Caleb watched Jack say something to Mum, then stand and leave. Where was he going? It wasn’t the weather for a bushfire now. Could he possibly have a place to go that was more important than here?

The morning passed in a blur of slur and misrepresentation as Charles Scott obscured the truth, blowing smoke at the magistrate and circulating it around the court. Laura Price said she’d also seen him on the road, then Don Griffith, owner of a large dairy farm near Brunton, testified that he saw Caleb ‘who I knew to smoke marijuana…’

‘Objection!’

He agreed to stick to details that were actually relevant, then said Caleb indulged in suspicious activities when winds were over a hundred kilometres an hour. ‘I saw him drawing mysterious plans, in a big black book.’

‘Plans?’ Douglas asked. ‘Could they have been sketches? Why call them mysterious?’

As if reading from notes in his lap, Griffith stared downwards. ‘Well, he kept them to himself, like.’

Ms Tillman testified to what a nice boy Caleb was, learning art from her even though it meant studying on Saturdays. Mum looked relieved but it didn’t last long.

‘He changed when his parents split up,’ Ms Tillman added.

Mum frowned at her own hands. Caleb wished he could tell her the break-up was Dad’s fault, and Ivy’s. Mum made mistakes but this hadn’t been one.