She already knew what Karin Gallagher looked like, there had been photos of her plastered across local and national press for weeks after the fire. The family tragedy had sparked a brief media frenzy as the nation waited with bated breath for Karin to come out of her coma and be told the heart-breaking news that her brother had died trying to save her. By the time it happened, however, the tide of public opinion had turned. Declan was no longer a hero. He was a suspect – if not officially, then in the court of social media. The article that Leanne was not allowed to publish had reflected the current mood of suspicion. Why had Declan been there? What did Karin know?

Karin’s spokesperson was more of a mystery, and it was Beth McCulloch’s name that Leanne typed into Google, along with her current location to limit the results. She found what she was looking for on the first page. Beth was on Facebook and, although her privacy settings limited visibility to a handful of profile picture updates, it was enough. One photo was of two young women proudly showing off a set of keys. Karin was sporting a bobble hat and multi-coloured scarf that pulled in long hair the same shade of brown as her brother’s. The other woman was blonde, wrapped up equally well, and around the same age. They were standing in front of a rust-coloured brick wall that looked identical to the converted warehouses. Was this the day they moved in? Leanne could imagine their excitement. She had a similar photo of her and Lois standing on the stern of their boat.

Leanne was staring at the image of Karin and Beth when her phone rang. She didn’t recognise the number, but she had spent the last couple of days responding to messages, and it was likely to be someone returning her call. Conversely, it might be someone she didn’t want to speak to, but with just over two weeks until the anniversary, time was running out in the search for Amelia’s rescuer, and Leanne was willing to take the risk that the caller wasn’t the man who had stood by and watched her best friend die.

‘Hello?’ she said, more cautiously than she would like. She strained her ears, alert to the background noises that might reveal the caller’s identity. She could hear the chirpy voice of an actor selling the virtues of whatever product was being advertised on TV.

‘Oh, yes. Hi. Is that Leanne Pitman?’ a woman asked. Her voice had a rasp that gave away her years.

‘Speaking,’ Leanne said. She was no wiser as to who it was, which was fine. At least it wasn’t Joe.