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They have reason to believe it might have been set up sometime Saturday night into Sunday.’
    Iris’s glass was empty. She felt numb, sluggish.
    Frank stood. ‘I think you’re ready for this. I’d value your assessment.’ He started over towards her.
    Iris was up too. She scrambled the other way around the coffee table, keeping it between them. He stopped. He peered through the gloom at her. ‘We want to know if this man could have blown up the school gymnasium or if we can cross him off the list.’
    Iris was distracted by the roses. A single petal had detached. It lay, deep red on the white marble of the coffee table.
    Frank said, ‘My mistake, Iris. Rest might be best. Do you need some time off work?’
    â€˜No, I need to work.’ She met his gaze. ‘I was near an accident, Frank, but I was far enough away. It didn’t hurt me.’
    He studied her. Eventually said, ‘Good night, Iris.’
    â€˜Thank you for coming, Frank. I do appreciate your concern.’
    She waited until she heard the front door close before she collected the glasses and the fallen rose petal. She put the half bottle of very good shiraz on the counter for Mathew and put the note in the kitchen bin. He must not have heard about the school or he would have called. Unless he’d tried her mobile. That’s how she’d get her purse. She’d call her mobile in the morning and have it sent to the practice. She retrieved the bottle of wine, took it upstairs, into the shower with her.

Chapter four
    Iris woke. Her clock radio showed six-thirty, the news was all school explosion. Eleven dead. Mathew was not in bed although his side had been slept in. Iris felt heavy-headed. Her back was sore. She wondered if it was some kind of referred pain connected to the school explosion or her reaction to it. She found the empty wine bottle in the bathroom bin.
    Mathew read the newspapers as he finished his morning smoothie. It had berries, coconut water, protein, yogurt whirred into a delicious violet. He was in his riding gear, blue and black lycra. On Monday he’d take enough suits, shirts, ties into the office so he could ride to work each day when he didn’t have a trial on. He had fewer trials now, though. More strategy stuff. He was in pretty good nick for a sixty year old. Lean, muscular, tanned. His hair was dyed a convincing shade of black.
    â€˜Good morning,’ she said as she went to the fridge to find her smoothie.
    â€˜Morning.’ He studied her.
    She smiled, reassuring. ‘What time did you get in?’
    â€˜Elevenish. You were zonked.’
    â€˜Yes. Whoops.’ She would have liked to have said “Frank started it”, but this would only make matters worse.
    â€˜What have you done to your head?’
    He pointed above his own left eyebrow.
    Iris reached up to touch the plaster she’d put on. ‘Banged into something. Clumsy me.’
    â€˜Anything to do with the wine bottle I found in the shower stall?’
    Iris sat at the table, unsure about his smile. ‘Perhaps. One glass became more than one.’
    â€˜Hard day?’ He had already gone back to the newspaper. ‘There’s been an explosion at a school. Did you know?’
    â€˜Yes, I knew.’ Iris didn’t want to reach for the papers. She didn’t want to read anything about the school.
    â€˜Did you know anyone involved?’
    â€˜I expect so,’ she said. She saw the station officer signalling, arms up in the flash. She couldn’t see his face. She said, ‘Will you still be able to read newspapers when you’re a judge?’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Well, you know they don’t let juries near the media so they won’t be tainted by the false stories.’
    â€˜We’re hardly in the same category. But no, I’d probably steer away from anything I was presiding over.’
    He examined her again. Added one plus one,