‘Yes, well it was. Their grief is still very raw. More at the moment, of course. Given the anniversary. But Bernie was very open and honest. It’s powerful stuff.’

‘Sounds like front-page stuff,’ Trina says.

‘I’m the editor here and I make the decisions,’ Ryan says brusquely. ‘Write me a lead piece and a feature for four and five. Keep it focused on Kelly, not on who is responsible. We want heart, not blame. Let’s not give Jamesy Harte any more attention.’

‘Not even if Bernie Doherty has said she’ll never find it in her heart to forgive him?’ I ask.

‘I don’t want him mentioned outside of outlining the facts as they stand. He was convicted of her murder and served seventeen years in prison. No more and no less.’

‘Really? Nothing at all?’ I raise an eyebrow. It’s a strange approach, to put it mildly.

‘Don’t question me, Ingrid. Just write your piece.’

‘I’m on it,’ I tell him, trying not to sound too annoyed.

‘Well done, Ingrid. On getting the scoop,’ Trina chimes in, and I offer her a smile of gratitude.

‘Yes, good job, Ingrid,’ Ryan mutters dismissively, and I bristle.

I’d rather feel ignored by him than patronised.

‘The pictures on my phone are okay,’ I add. ‘But it might be worth blowing the budget to get one of the freelance guys out to take some decent shots.’

He nods. ‘I’ll have a look at what you’ve got then decide,’ he says.

I already know that despite the significance of the story, he won’t dare eat into his precious budget.

‘I’ll email them through when we’re done here,’ I tell him.

‘Actually, Ingrid,’ he says, nodding in the direction of his office, ‘why don’t you nip in and show them to me now. We can chat about the interview as well. Try to plan the best way to approach it.’

Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I lift my phone and notebook and follow him through to his office. I’m starting to hate spending time in here, especially when there is no one else with me to act as a buffer.

As he sits down, I open the screen on my phone and scroll through my gallery of pictures to find the snapshots I took earlier.

‘You’ve your car back,’ he says.

‘I do. Thank God. I picked it up this morning.’

‘I hope it wasn’t too expensive. Clutches can be pricy.’

‘It was grand. Stuck it on my credit card.’

‘Shame you couldn’t claim it on your insurance. Would’ve saved you a few quid.’

‘Yes, but sure, that’s life, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose. If only it had been, you know, vandalised at work instead. You know, maybe with a slur spray painted on the bonnet. I imagine that the insurance would have covered it then.’