Hillier notices Karen, the waitress from Balcombe Court, as soon as she enters the bar. It’s hot inside and Hillier removes her jacket as she walks in past garish orange walls, the music reverberating in her chest. As she hoists herself up onto a stool next to Karen’s, Hillier feels suddenly ancient, a relic of something even she can’t remember.
‘Bloody dark in here, isn’t it?’ she says, passing her badge across. ‘My ID, if you’re interested and can see it. Drink?’ she says, raising a hand to the barman.
‘Vodka and soda, please.’
Hillier orders it and an orange juice for herself. ‘Thanks for agreeing to see me,’ she says.
‘S’alright,’ Karen replies, sipping at her drink. ‘I did talk to the police already, though. When the girl went missing?’ The waitress has an open face and Hillier feels haggard just looking at her bright eyes and unlined skin.
‘Yep, I know. You were interviewed by one of my colleagues after your shift at Balcombe Court had finished.’
‘So how can I help now?’
Hillier pushes her glass away from her a little. ‘I just wanted to check on the timings with you. About that afternoon. You said in your statement that you left the hotel at three o’clock. Is that right?’
‘Yes. I was on the early shift that day as it was New Year’s, so I would have left at three.’
‘And you saw Georgie, did you, before you left?’
‘Yes. She’d come into the kitchen to see the kittens that I’d found on the beach. Poor little things. I couldn’t believe someone would just abandon them like that. Left all alone in the freezing cold to die. Shameful.’ Karen’s eyes are wide and tragic.
Hillier smiles. ‘So, your . . . boyfriend? Marek Kaczka . . .’
‘He’s not my boyfriend.’ Karen’s interruption is firm.
‘Well, your colleague then. Marek,’ Hillier says. ‘He had put the box of kittens into the pantry?’
‘Yep. After I brought them up to the hotel. I gave them something to eat. We had a tin of tuna and some milk. And then Georgie came in, wanting to see them, so I showed her where they were and then I left.’
‘And you’re certain it was three o’clock?’
‘Definitely. Shift ended at three and I could see the time on the clock in the kitchen.’
Hillier looks hard at her.
Karen nods. ‘Swear on my mum’s life. Clock said three and three it was.’ She puts her head on one side. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, why are you asking about this? The little girl was found, wasn’t she? I mean, do you think someone took her on purpose?’ Her eyes widen again. ‘Not Marek? Do you think it was Marek that took her?’
Hillier gets down inelegantly from the stool and shoots Karen a quick smile. ‘We’re just making enquiries,’ she says. ‘Thanks for your time.’
‘He wouldn’t have hurt her,’ Karen says earnestly. ‘He’s not the type. He’s a sweet guy. Wouldn’t harm a fly. He’s . . . well, he’s just not my type is all. But not because he’s dodgy. It was me that was the problem, not him. He’s only left Brixham because of all the talk. You know, about what happened to him before. It’s not fair, really. That girl was asking for it. She lied to him about her age and then he gets the blame.’ Karen’s face crumples with loathing.
‘Kaczka’s left Brixham?’ Hillier asks, her lips suddenly dry. ‘You mean, he’s quit up at Balcombe?’
Karen nods, taking a sip through the straw in her glass. ‘He jacked it in a couple of weeks ago. Couldn’t hack what everyone was saying. That’s it, isn’t it? If you get accused of kiddy fiddling, you can’t ever shake it off. I feel sorry for him, if you want to know.’
‘Where’s he gone then?’
The girl shrugs. ‘I dunno,’ she says, refusing to meet Hillier’s eyes.
‘Not in touch with him?’
‘Nope.’
‘I see,’ Hillier says, putting on her jacket. ‘Well, thanks for your time anyway.’
‘Bloody dead in this town. Nice to have a bit of excitement in all fairness.’
After Hillier has left, banging the door behind her with a cold gust of January air, Karen takes out her phone and taps out a message. The reply comes back before she has even ordered another drink.