‘Joe was pinned in too,’ Frankie said. ‘They were packed so tight that his arms were trapped at his sides. He watched her die, Leanne, and he thought he was going to die too. When I interviewed him, he told me he wished he had. He loved her.’

‘He didn’t know her. They’d been going out for less than a year.’

‘He loved her, and so did you,’ Frankie said softly, choosing not to remind her that Lois and Joe had been about to move in together. It was a mere detail. ‘You should speak to him.’

‘I’m not sure there’s anything we could say that would make either of us feel better.’ Leanne checked her watch again. If she stayed long enough, there was every possibility she would find out one way or the other. This had been Joe’s favourite watering hole too.

‘I’m worried about you,’ Frankie said. ‘Joe wasn’t to blame for Lois’s death. And neither was Phillipa.’

Ice cubes knocked against Leanne’s teeth as she gulped her gin. She had gone over the report line by line, and she had read Frankie’s article. She couldn’t fault a word of it. One by one, the people she had held accountable for her friend’s death had been vindicated. There was only one person she could never forgive. And it wasn’t Joe.

‘If I had been there …’ Leanne started. She felt her cheeks burn with anger. She should have been there. That was the problem. Claudia wasn’t the only one capable of lying.

‘If you had been inside the Empress, you would have been one of the victims, or one of the survivors,’ Frankie said.

‘Neither a hero, nor a villain,’ Leanne mused, wishing it were true. She had a villainous streak.

‘I wish you’d consider talking to someone, like a counsellor.’ Frankie played with the stem of her glass. ‘Mal said he’ll pay if you need to go private.’

‘Did he now?’ Leanne replied, not liking the idea that the state of her mental health had been a topic of discussion between her colleagues.

‘If not a counsellor, talk to someone else. Lois’s parents have said they miss you.’

‘No,’ Leanne said before Frankie had even finished. ‘I’m sick of talking about the fire. Let’s talk about something else. What about Declan Gallagher?’

Frankie gave her a wry look. ‘Yeah, that’s a change of subject.’

Leanne pursed her lips and waited for Frankie to continue.

‘Fine,’ Frankie conceded, ‘but I’d say Declan is becoming less of a mystery, wouldn’t you? He definitely wasn’t working inside the theatre before the fire started.’

‘I know,’ Leanne said. When the findings had been published, CCTV footage was released showing Declan running down the high street towards the theatre soon after the alarm had sounded. ‘But Mrs Brody was right. He had been upstairs.’