Investigations over the next days and weeks will hopefully provide answers about the way republicans appeared to flout coronavirus restrictions at Bobby Storey's show funeral.
What role the police did or didn't play in the organisation of it and what went on at Roselawn as the IRA man was being cremated are just a few of the questions being asked.
The air has been poisoned over the last couple of weeks by claims and counter claims, threats of resignations and protests by bereaved families who weren't allowed into Roselawn on the same day that Mr Storey's loved ones and Sinn Fein representatives were.
It's not the first time questions have been asked about funerals at the facility. Just consider the case of child killer Robert Black, who died in Maghaberry Prison four years ago.
Back then the prison service appeared to have enlisted the help of Belfast City Council to ensure his funeral would be carried out in secret.
But the hush-hush plans were shattered after I turned up to cover the cremation for the Belfast Telegraph and council employees told me that I could be arrested.
For days the prison service had been refusing to say what was going to happen to the body of Black, who was serving 12 life sentences for the kidnap and murder of four young girls, including the horrific 1981 killing of schoolgirl Jennifer Cardy, from Ballinderry in Co Antrim.
Black's family wanted nothing to do with his funeral, but when the Belfast Telegraph got a tip-off that he was going to be cremated, I went to Roselawn, where officials were clearly in on the secrecy act.
The noticeboard at the crematorium listed the last ceremony of the day for 4pm, even though we had been told a service for Black would be held at 5pm, outside normal hours.
As my photographer Kevin Scott and I stood outside the crematorium, a van arrived with two men who said they were council employees and ordered us to leave, insisting that the cemetery was closing and that no other cremations were planned.
We refused to go, telling the pair that they could call the police to arrest us if they wanted.
The lights inside the crematorium were then switched off to give the impression that business was over for the day, but at 4.40pm they were turned back on again.
An official who had apparently consulted with his superiors then came outside and for the first time it was confirmed that Black's remains were to be cremated.
The killer's body arrived not in the usual hearse but in the back of a black Mondeo.
It was quickly taken into the crematorium and I was informed I could attend the service, though my photographer couldn't.
I was the only person who wasn't on cremation duty in the church and a prison chaplain conducted one of the briefest services I have ever seen before Black's coffin slipped out of sight.
Obviously, if it hadn't been for the tip-off, the public would never have been told about the child killer's funeral, which they paid for.
Given the prison service's ducking and diving before the service, it wasn't a surprise that it didn't come clean on the details, but what was concerning to me was the part the crematorium had played in the secrecy.
Even more questions surround Bobby Storey's cremation and the build-up to it on the streets of west Belfast, where the PSNI is alleged to have turned a blind eye or three to the show of strength and the apparent open flouting of coronavirus restrictions.
It's maybe not the done thing to say, but while the IRA has gone away, its power and influence have clearly not.
Even the dogs in the street know who was ruling the roost in Belfast on the day of Bobby Storey's funeral.