Kathryn hadn’t taken her eyes from her daughter, who was sitting on a swing. She was watching the two women talk, checking that her mum was being true to her word.

‘She was calling for me,’ Kathryn continued, her voice catching. ‘I should have been there.’

‘When did you find out Amelia was safe?’

Kathryn took a deep, juddering breath. ‘I stayed in the foyer until the firefighters ordered me to leave. There was more chaos outside. A crowd had gathered at the front of the theatre, blocking access for the emergency services, so they herded us towards Victoria Park. There was no way I was leaving, so I sneaked around to the side of the building. There were only stragglers coming out of the fire doors by then, and I saw paramedics working on someone. As I got closer, I realised …’ Kathryn made a choking sound. ‘I thought she was dead.’

‘She was lucky.’

‘No thanks to me,’ Kathryn said, straightening up. ‘It’s the people who got her out that need to be recognised, although I think Rex is fed up with me trying to thank him.’

‘That would be Rex Russell, the man who carried her out?’

‘He’s a lovely man,’ she said, managing a smile. ‘We’ve met a few times since, but he refuses to take any credit for helping Amelia. He says she was simply thrust into his arms.’

‘Hopefully, he can give me a better description of whoever it was. Do you think Amelia would ever recognise the woman if we did find her?’

‘I honestly don’t know. Amelia’s counsellor can’t tell us if the gaps in her memory are from when she was unconscious, or if she’s simply blanked some things out.’ Kathryn chanced a glance away from her daughter when she added, ‘I know Amelia wants to find her saviour, but I don’t hold out much hope. We’ve tried before. We even did a couple of TV interviews, but there was no response. Rex says he didn’t notice if the woman followed him out or not.’

‘You think she’s dead?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘I aim to find out.’

5

It was a blustery Friday morning and the clubhouse café was relatively quiet; perfect conditions for two journalists who had sensitive matters to discuss. The air was thick with the smell of crispy bacon and fried mushrooms, but Leanne and Frankie had settled for coffee and Danish pastries so they could eat with their fingers as they worked.

Frankie was Leanne’s senior by ten years and had joined the Courier straight from university. She had a round, open face, and deep brown eyes that gave an intensity to her stare. She was good with people, much better than Leanne.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Frankie asked. She had arrived with a bundle of files, one for each of the Empress Theatre fatalities.