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Supreme Court of Western Australia

PERTH

October 15th

Mr Lowe, the barrister for the prosecution team, begins his opening speech, reminding the jury of everything I’m accused of. The courtroom is quiet. Although I’m staring straight ahead, I can tell that Jodie is watching me. Is she checking if I’m alright with all these words that define me now?

Kidnap.

Torture.

Perversion of justice.

Murder.

The jury are watching me too. Does my face fit these crimes? Jodie told me they tried to find jurors who wouldn’t remember me from your trial all those years ago, but she also said that being remembered may play into our favour.

I want to turn my head to see the gallery, see who’s here, but if I do, I’ll get another scowl from the judge. So I imagine them: friends of Louise MacFarlane from 31 Banksia Drive, front row, centre. Even if she’s not here yet herself, I feel her eyes on me. Her hate has the same force as the heat in the desert. Mum should be up there, Dad too, and the Perth detectives. It’s quite the reunion. Could Nick be there too? I listen as Mr Lowe sets out his argument to the jury, and tells them who will be called by theprosecution team to give evidence over the next few days.

First, the guy in the garage, then the tour operator, then Nick.

Three confident, respectable-looking men—against me.

But there’s no body, and no murder weapon, and I note with interest that Mr Lowe doesn’t mention either of those facts. Jodie told me that this lack of crucial evidence helps our case, but she also said that, because I lied to the police, I will seem like an unreliable witness. Mr Lowe has already mentioned my lying at least twice.

I turn my eyes to the deep brown on the wooden table beneath my fingers. I imagine my nails sinking into it, touching sand, digging and digging, my skin staining red. I see blood seeping under my fingernails, moving up my arm. I could scream the truth right now, make everyone listen. But would anyone really hear?