After a few long minutes, Jeremy Gill walked onstage. He was greeted with deafening cheers and another standing ovation. What does that kind of adulation do to a person? Even if they start out half-decent which, according to Colm O’Donnell, Gill hadn’t. And what would happen if someone tried to tell a different, less praiseworthy, story about him? I remembered what Deirdre’s note had said: ‘He’s too strong now.’ It was up to me to prove her wrong, to show that, with enough evidence, even the most powerful can be beaten. It hit me that I had strayed very far from my initial plan: to seek evidence of Gill’s innocence as well as his guilt, but I shelved that thought as Tiernan signalled for quiet.

He opened by listing Gill’s films in chronological order, with the audience clapping and hooting to varying degrees, according to their favourites. I had been expecting to learn something about Gill by being here but he had hardly said a word so far, apart from mouthing thank-yous and nodding and doing the joined hand namaste sign. My mood was sinking into seriously pissed off territory when, at last, there was a diminution in applause, and the interview began.

In many ways, Gill’s behaviour was nothing I hadn’t seen before, on TV chat shows or in promotional interviews. There was a recital of well-worn facts, and well-practised anecdotes, that the audience hailed as if he were Moses conveying tablets of stone from the mountain top. No matter what the question, Gill was in control at all times, but the long format of the interview meant that, for those watching closely, and it seemed to me that I was the only one who was, there was useful information to be gleaned.

He was wearing the same suit as the night before, but today he had on a plain black T-shirt, unbranded but expensive-looking, under the suit, instead of last night’s white shirt. He looked slick but, even so – observed at length, in all his pomp – Gill was downright weird: a combination of hubris and petty cruelty that, had he not been rich and famous, would have rendered him friendless. It got even more interesting when the Q & A started. An audience member asked Gill about Another Bad Day at the Office.

‘Mister Gill, I remember seeing your first fillum here in Cork back in 1998 and we all knew then that a star was born. But how hard was it to get that fillum made and do you have any advice for young fillum-makers? I’m sure there’s loads of them here today.’

‘Well I don’t know anything about fillums,’ Gill said, imitating the man’s heavy Cork accent and not getting much of a laugh from the audience for a change. ‘But if you want to know about my first film, ask this guy.’

He pointed at Tiernan McDevitt.