‘Phillipa is friends with a lot of people, and I take exception to any suggestion that I would be party to a cover-up. If it’s found that Phillipa was in any way responsible for what happened, I won’t hesitate in putting it on the front page, but until then, we report the facts as and when we know them.’

The room darkened as the glimpse of September sky through the window turned slate grey. The Courier’s offices were in the centre of Chester, renowned for its stunning architecture and most notably the black and white Rows and the Eastgate Clock. The view behind Mal’s desk comprised largely of a red-brick wall and a close-up of an air-conditioning unit. The Courier had hit upon hard times in recent years, transitioning from a daily to a weekly publication, while developing its online service to keep readers engaged between its Saturday morning print-runs.

Leanne had been aware that opportunities would be limited when she joined, but her intention was to use her time at the Courier to strengthen her CV by finding those meaty stories that could propel her career in a new direction. The theatre fire might have been one such story, but this wasn’t about personal ambition. It was simply personal. She lived in Sedgefield. She walked past the empty shell of the theatre that had been boarded up since the fire, and she suffered the effects of the devastation it had caused. She wouldn’t let this go without a fight.

‘If it’s not a matter of protecting Phillipa’s good name, what exactly is the issue with my article?’

‘You want to go through this line by line?’ Mal asked, twisting in his seat to glare at his screen again. ‘Where shall I start?’ He shook his head as he scanned the page. ‘OK, here. You say the Alice in Wonderland show was put on in response to criticism about elitism. Really, Leanne? You seem to have conveniently forgotten there was a provision for community-led events in the original proposal.’

‘Fine, cut it,’ Leanne said. It was a matter of opinion whether Phillipa had supported or simply tolerated the inclusion of the community in her project, but it wasn’t the hill Leanne wanted to die on. ‘What else?’

Mal’s ruddy cheeks glowed as he examined another paragraph. ‘How about this? You say Karin Gallagher has refused to explain why her brother was in the theatre.’

Leanne huffed. ‘And?’

‘She was on life support for three weeks and woke up with amnesia. She can’t explain something she can’t remember.’

‘And you believe that? I don’t think it’s any coincidence that she decided not to return to work at the Bridgewater Inn. She couldn’t face the town, Mal. Everyone blames Declan, it’s not just me. She’s protecting him.’

‘From what?’