‘She was one of the last to be pulled out of the building alive. She must have seen what he was up to in there.’

‘What he was up to was looking for his sister! As interesting as it might be to create some kind of conspiracy theory, the simple fact is that Declan lived on the high street. He had received an automated message when the alarm went off. Hell, he was close enough to have heard it. He would have reached the theatre easily before the first responders, plus we have anecdotal reports of a man pushing his way through to get inside. He went in there for Karin.’

‘In that case, why didn’t he find her until it was too late? What if he’d decided to go to the back office first to destroy evidence? He was in charge of the installations and all the safety checks. When he saw the fire, he would have known it was his fault.’ She leant forward when she added, ‘And his death is the only one that the coroner hasn’t been able to fully determine yet.’

A coroner’s inquest had been opened for each of the twelve people who had died in the disaster, but because there was an ongoing public inquiry, all of the inquests had been opened and immediately suspended pending the outcome of the broader investigation. Despite these limitations, the coroner had indicated that eleven of the fatalities were consistent with death caused by either the fire itself, the subsequent collapse of the roof, or as a result of the crush as people tried to escape. Only the death of the man who had been responsible for the restoration works remained ambiguous. Declan Gallagher had suffered internal injuries, but the coroner had been reluctant to suggest how those injuries might have been sustained until all investigations were complete. That was too much of a coincidence.

Closing down Leanne’s file, Mal faced front. ‘I don’t disagree that there are questions to be asked, but your article doesn’t get us any closer to the answers. I’m sorry, Leanne. You’re a good reporter. You can do better than this.’

Leanne picked up a single strand of lilac hair that had fallen onto her not-so-skinny jeans. Mal was right. She could do better, and she would. ‘Fine, delete it.’

‘There are other ways we can help Sedgefield,’ Mal said, not taking Leanne’s surrender at face value. ‘In the last eleven months, people have been torn apart by this sort of blame game. I appreciate you’re not alone in wanting those responsible to be marched in shackles down the high street so you can throw rotten veg at them.’

‘Or stones,’ Leanne interjected.

‘Or whatever,’ Mal said. ‘But that isn’t how it works. For a start, one of them is dead.’

‘So you do think Declan is to blame?’