Christine and Clifford arrived home that afternoon to find a note saying that their neighbour had accepted on their behalf a bunch of flowers and an envelope that had been delivered at about eleven o’clock that morning. After Christine had collected these from the neighbour, she went inside and opened the envelope. Inside, there was a letter.

Dear Mrs Strachan,

Over the six weeks of the trial I felt I really came to know Jean. I think all twelve of us developed a bond with your family as we all learned of the anguish and pain you have endured since the loss of such a beautiful person.

I hope you will take some comfort from the swift and unequivocal nature of our verdict.

I send you these flowers as a token of appreciation for the strength you have shown over the last eleven years. You have shown resolute determination and perseverance to see that justice is done. I believe this to be an inspiration to us all.

I hope you will also accept them as a tribute to Jean. She paid the ultimate price for her individuality. Jean had dreams and aspirations to better herself and the future for her son. All of us have such dreams in life and we will learn to treasure these all the more for knowing Jean.

I am thankful for having known her; she will always have a special place in my heart.

Kind Regards,

Juror.

Christine told me later that she held the letter in her hands and trembled, and her heart quivered as she held the letter to it. Everything, all the emotions, the fear, the anger, seemed to drain from her from knowing that a complete stranger felt so strongly about her daughter. Throughout the trial, she’d collected all the newspaper articles and kept a scrapbook. The juror’s letter would now take pride of place within the collection.

Jean’s memorial service was held on 25 September at the Holy Family Parish in Emerton, the suburb next to Tregear. Hundreds of people milled around outside as they waited for the service to begin, a testament to the fact that, after so many years of absence, Jean Keir could still touch so many people’s lives.

Father Hanna, who conducted the service, was the same priest who’d married Tom and Jean and baptized their son. It must have been a bizarre situation for him, having once seen Jean and Tom smiling at one another, the love sparkling in their eyes, standing in front of Jean’s family preparing to deliver Jean’s eulogy. In another strange twist of fate, I’d discovered that I’d attended school with one of the Hannas!

Although Christine invited both Mick and me, Mick was unable to make it, which he was rather disappointed about.

I arrived just as Father Hanna asked everyone to take their seats, and tried to remain inconspicuous. I’d done my job, and I was merely here to pay my respects. As I tried to slink into a pew at the back, Maria Boros caught sight of me out of the corner of her eye, stood up and motioned for me to come up and sit in the second row, behind Christine and Clifford. Everyone in the church saw it, and there was no way I could refuse, so I shyly made my way down the front, trying to remain unnoticed. However, I felt the weight of every pair of eyes upon me. As I sat down, I realised that my view from the back had been rather obscured, and I could now see that there were pictures of Jean on the altar, and it really hit home how young and innocent this girl had been when her life had been brutally and cruelly snatched away. I’d seen pictures of her before in the course of investigating the case, but something broke inside me when I saw all her special personal items laid out in front of the pictures. As the song says, only the good die young.

Father Hanna made his way down to the family members, shaking their hands individually with that prolonged grasp that only a priest can manage, before returning to the microphone and beginning the service.

‘Today we gather with Christine, Clifford, Heather, Fiona and Len. We are also mindful of Jean’s son, who cannot be with us today, and we pray for Tom’s salvation. We must try to integrate into our lives the lost, and sometimes forgotten, memories of the wonderful gift of life and love that was Jean Strachan. Whenever we come to celebrate and remember, as we do today, we all have a way of carefully putting our spirit, our soul and our body back together again. This is an essential part of life; reshaping and recalling. It is the work of an artist. We are all the artists and creators of our lives if we can but put ourselves into the heart of the great artist that is God. We truly remember. In coming here and celebrating the life of Jean Angela Strachan, we do so using a mosaic of signs and symbols that tell us of this wonderful and courageous woman of faith, a daughter, a mother and a victim of a violent death, taken from us long before her time. On the table, you will find photo albums, trophies, the marriage booklet, the son’s baptism certificate, a candle, some small crosses and the baptismal water in a shell. What you will not find on this table are reminders of the many years, days and nights of isolation and loneliness. You will not find the struggles, the waiting, the watching, the wondering and hoping that something will change or happen. You will not find on this table the symbols of dedication, tenacity nor teamwork of the media, police, detectives, scientists or the forensics and judicial people that did such a sterling job in search of the truth. The life of Jean Angela Strachan has changed, not ended. Her life and her light will shine forever in our midst. Her remarkable family will always carry her memory and spirit with them. She called them to get to know her anew over these past eleven years. She has brought the entire community together through her death. What a rare gathering she has designed for us. She dared us to stop, to be still and listen, to listen to each other and explore the intimacy of the pain of it all. Now she dares us to explore and keep vigil yet again, knowing the peace and rest that is now hers forevermore will one day be ours. May Jean continue to rest in peace. Amen.’

I bowed my head, and could feel the emotions welling up inside me. I was particularly pleased that Jean was being referred to as Strachan, and not Keir, as if that final hold he’d had over her had been removed. Maria took my hand and smiled at me. Through a teary haze, I watched Leonard take the stage.

‘Together, we are gathered to celebrate the life of Jean Angela Strachan…

‘In fact, we have been celebrating her life and remembering her, even more so, over the last few weeks. Volumes of legal transcript now describe her life and the person she really was; active, fun-loving, caring, close to relatives and friends, a true innocent by nature. Those volumes describe her undying love for her son, her carefree persona and her deep-seated want to please all those around her. It is these qualities by which we will always remember her.

‘From my own point of view, I remember the occasions when she would come to my aid when I needed help. She listened when I needed to talk, and she would always manage to spring me when I was stealing a drink of milk straight from the bottle. She was a valued member of her basketball team, respected by coaches and players alike…

‘The close bond she formed with her friends at school continued through her marriage, and through all the bad times. The strengths of those friendships have become even more evident throughout the last few weeks, and even today. The support Jean’s friends have given the family, in my view, is unparalleled. Jean left us eleven years ago, in suspicious circumstances, shrouded in doubt and mystery. It is only now that we can say goodbye and, in a way, be glad that she can now rest in peace. Justice has been done.

‘I would like to extend my gratitude to the detectives. They went that extra mile in circumstances that were not easy, and displayed unequalled dedication. Although they never knew Jean in life, their investigation led them to know who Jean really was, the type of person that Jean was. Their presence here today and their show of support indicates that the world lost a very special person back in 1988.

‘Each one of us who knew her has a memory of Jean and a story to tell. Some are saddening, but most are good. Keep those memories close, and feel relief, as I do, that she can now rest in peace.’

There was a profound silence as Leonard made his way back to his seat, his head bowed. After a few moments, Father Hanna resumed the service. He called Shona McDonald up, and she told some funny stories about her and Jean. When she’d finished, Father Hanna concluded the service. As everyone began to rise from their seats, I moved into the aisle and tried my best to keep out of the way as the family mingled, but Maria noticed me standing on my own, my hands placed respectfully in front of me.

‘You need to come and join us,’ she said. ‘You’re part of this family now.’

I gave her a shy smile as she grabbed me by the arm and led me over to Christine and Clifford. Once again, Christine gave me that smile of hers, and embraced me. ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said. ‘It means a lot.’

‘I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. It was a beautiful service and I think Jean would have loved it,’ I whispered into her ear, not wanting the others to hear the tremor in my voice. They asked me to join the family gathering, but I declined, telling them I had things to do, and that those kinds of things should really be left to the family.

As I went to leave, Christine said, ‘You know, I always wonder about that large bone I found in the backyard when I was helping Tom to clean up before he moved in with Rosalina.’

No sooner had she said it than I stopped her. ‘Christine, don’t go wondering about that. It may not be what you think. I’ll keep in touch with you, and let you know when Tom will be sentenced. Thank you for inviting me to the service; it was very special.’ I hugged Christine once more, shook Clifford’s hand and turned to Maria.

‘Thank you for everything you’ve done,’ she said as she held my hand.

‘I’m just glad we got the right result,’ I said. ‘Take care of Christine, and I’ll see you at the sentencing.’

I turned and walked towards the huge doors at the back of the church. They were splayed wide open and, as I moved towards them, I could see the rays of sunshine beaming down onto the carpet. I stopped and turned back to see all the people inside the church talking and hugging, some of them still wiping the tears from their faces. I turned again, and as I headed towards the exit, I bowed my head. ‘Now you can rest in peace,’ I said to Jean.

I emerged from the church and walked to the top of the steps, the blinding sunshine causing me to stumble a little, and then stood there for a few moments before looking up to the sky and saying, ‘Well, Jean, my job is done. It’s all over.’