Detective Sergeant Mike Gordon is at his desk when he is told that Lorna Hillier is downstairs waiting to see him. A few minutes later she enters his office, wet through from the latest downpour outside.
‘I swear to God,’ she says as she hauls herself into a chair opposite Gordon, ‘I’m going to go and live by the Mediterranean one of these days. This weather . . .’ She shakes her head like a dog emerging from water.
‘Hillier,’ he says. ‘To what do I owe this honour?’
‘Not going to offer me a cup of tea?’
Gordon gives her a look bordering on contempt. He inclines his head and waits.
‘Clearly not. No problem. Anyway, I wanted to pop in and see you, to tidy up a few things on the Greenstreet case.’
‘What Greenstreet case?’ Gordon’s tone is weary. ‘As far as I’m aware, the matter is closed.’
‘Well, yes. I suppose, strictly, you could say that. But the thing is,’ says Hillier, bright-eyed, ‘I have new evidence. Evidence that proves Hazel Archer was involved in the abduction of Georgie.’
Gordon leans forward. ‘What evidence?’
‘The clock in the kitchen was running slow. Karen Page the waitress says she saw Georgie come into the kitchen at three p.m. As did Marek Kaczka the sous-chef. By the way, they’ve both quit Balcombe Court now, which at first I thought was suspicious but I heard them talking the other night and I don’t think they had anything to do with it.’ Hillier speaks quickly, her thoughts tripping over themselves, but then she halts as if the conclusion is obvious.
‘The clock?’ Gordon prompts her.
‘Ah, yes. The clock. So, Karen and Marek are convinced that Georgie was in the kitchen at three but actually it was about three-thirty-five because the clock was running slow.’ Hillier spreads her hands. Fait accompli.
Gordon stares at her.
‘Sunset was just before four that day. So it was nearly dark. Georgie said it was dark when she got lost coming out of the kitchen. Which it wouldn’t have been at three.’
Hillier nods at Gordon, prompting him to catch up. When he doesn’t speak, she sighs loudly.
‘Georgie was let go, right? Whoever took her, let her go. That’s what always bothered me. Given that most abuse happens between family members, at first I thought it meant Jane or Declan had taken her. And then they couldn’t go through with it as she’s their daughter. So I went to see Jane.’
‘You went and talked to Georgie’s mother?’ A bead of sweat appears on Gordon’s forehead.
‘Yes. Remember we thought it was odd that she was so evasive? Well, turns out it’s because she admits they can’t remember when Georgie left them in the bar because they were drunk and arguing. She felt so guilty about it – and worried that we’d call in Children’s Services – she wanted to forget the whole thing once Georgie was safe.’
‘Yes. Even though she lied about the timings. Or rather, she didn’t tell the truth about not remembering. So, then I thought – well, who else would dump her? Dump a child after they’d taken the risk of snatching her? It wouldn’t be Marek. Whatever he says, he’s got an eye for a young ’un. He’s the type who, if he geared himself up for something, would follow through, I reckon. I can’t see him just letting Georgie go.’
‘So because you can’t see him letting her go, it means he must be innocent of her snatching?’ Gordon sounds dumbfounded.
‘Yep,’ Hillier answers firmly.
‘Right. So – just to get this straight – you went to see Jane Greenstreet off your own bat?’
‘On my day off, yes.’
‘Anyone else you’ve called on?’ His voice has dipped dangerously low.
‘Just Hazel Archer . . .’
Gordon covers his face with his hands. ‘This is madness, Hillier!’ he exclaims.
She halts, breathing hard. ‘What?’
‘For Pete’s sake, Lorna! Georgie Greenstreet was found safe. She’d got lost and had sheltered in a cave. Why does it have to be any more complicated than that?’
Hillier narrows her eyes and folds her arms. ‘The only person with the necessary psychology to have let Georgie go – once she had been taken – is Hazel Archer.’
Gordon takes a minute to compose himself although, when he speaks, his voice rings with steel. ‘All right, Hillier. I’ll humour you. Explain to me why that is.’
‘Because,’ Hillier explains slowly, ‘she’s got form.’ She looks at him. ‘Kirstie Swann.’
‘That was down to her sister,’ Gordon points out.
‘Was it? Archer was never tried.’
Gordon tightens his lips.
‘So she’s got form,’ Hillier insists. ‘Proven or not. She was around, wasn’t she? She’s never denied being present when the Swann girl was murdered.’
‘So why now? Why draw attention to herself, after all these years?’ Gordon asks.
Hillier hesitates for a moment, looking to the ceiling as if she is searching for the right words. ‘Look,’ she says, ‘admittedly, I don’t know. Maybe she had some kind of mental breakdown. Maybe she’d read stuff about Laurel Bowman in the press, because of her court appeals, whatever. Maybe she’s never really faced what happened in 1997. So she has a sort of crisis. She takes Georgie – for what purpose, I don’t know, I’m not a psycho – and then, just as she’s going to harm the child, it’s like she wakes up, sees what she’s doing. And she sees that if something happens to the kid, she’ll be the obvious suspect. She can’t go through with it. She panics and so she lets Georgie go.’ Hillier sits back, triumphant.
Gordon is silent, his nostrils flaring.
‘I saw a painting her mother did in Archer’s flat,’ Hillier continues. ‘It looks like some kind of emotional explosion. What was their relationship exactly? Why did the parents never see Laurel Bowman again? It doesn’t make sense. How could you abandon your own child?’ Hillier stares at him. After a lengthy few seconds, the ticking clock the only sound in the room, she drops her eyes.
‘I get it, Hillier,’ Gordon says at last. ‘I understand. ‘I know that you want to be recognised, acknowledged for the very important work that you do . . .’
‘That’s not it, Sarge.’
‘Oh, it is, Hillier. It is. You’re haring around the countryside, determined to find some – any – kind of evidence to prove your theory about Hazel Archer. But, as you admit yourself, it doesn’t stack up. It doesn’t make sense. Why would she deliberately bring this attention to herself? She’s led a private life for near-on twenty years. Why would she want this fuss? Why would she want the police crawling all over the place, looking into her and her life? And . . . no, let me finish.’ He waves his hand at Hillier, who is spluttering at him, trying to interrupt. ‘Let’s say you’re right, and she did take the child. Isn’t it convenient that she wakes up from her fugue or whatever just in time so that she doesn’t kill her? Everything you’re saying is based on theory, there’s no proof.
‘And the main point you haven’t answered is why Georgie didn’t say anything. Why wouldn’t she say it was Archer? Eh?’ Gordon steeples his fingers and draws breath. ‘It’s all conjecture, Lorna. All of it. Listen to me. Take my advice. Go back to Brixham. Get back to your not inconsiderable paperwork. Please – for the sake of your career – please, just forget this now.’
‘Georgie never said anything because she was never given the chance! We barely spoke to her. Her mother shut us down and we couldn’t even interview the girl properly, never mind putting her in a position to identify anyone.’ Hillier grips the arms of her chair, her face filled with conviction. ‘Hazel Archer is a danger to children. She needs to be locked up. I’m not obsessed, whatever you think. I just want what’s right. She’s outside, preying on kids while her sister’s in prison. It’s the wrong way round. It’s not right.’
Gordon glances at his door, wondering how long he’ll have to listen to this. ‘OK then. Where’s your evidence?’
Hillier swallows hard.
‘Where is it?’
Her shoulders droop. ‘I’ve had fifteen years on the force. If that doesn’t give you an instinct for what’s true, I don’t know what does.’
‘It doesn’t work like that, Lorna, and you know it. We need more. You got to the scene first, sure. But things move on from that. It’s not always about first impressions.’
‘I disagree, sir. First impressions are everything in this job,’ she says, persisting, trying to make him understand. ‘That’s where life is. It doesn’t just happen when you come in with your reports and forecasts and projections. It’s there!’ She jabs her finger. ‘It’s in the pub, it’s in the school playground, it’s in the hotel. And I get there first. I see it when it’s raw and I’ve been doing it for a long time. And I know that Hazel Archer is guilty. I know that she is dangerous. I’ve looked her in the eye. I’ve seen where she lives. The woman isn’t right. I know it.’ She stops talking, breathing heavily, her lips pressed tightly together as if to stop more tumbling out.
Gordon sighs again and angles his chair to look out of the window. His voice turns persuasive, as if honey coats his tongue. ‘Look, I can see you’re very passionate, Hillier. And that’s something I’m grateful for. Your work, when you arrive at a scene, is crucial to the rest of us who come along afterwards. We rely on you, we really do.’ He spins back to face her, his eyes kind. ‘You’re a good copper. I know you are. But . . .’
‘But?’ she says bitterly.
‘But you have no evidence. What’s the CPS going to do with what you’ve told me today? They’d have nothing to show in court apart from your instinct.’
‘I know it, sir.’
He shakes his head, thinking. ‘She hasn’t said anything more? The little girl.’
‘Because Jane Greenstreet told her not to say anything. Once Georgie was found, Jane got scared. She thought Declan would lose his job and then they wouldn’t be able to meet their mortgage payments. They’d been drinking. Fighting. She thought Children’s Services would get involved. I’ve said this . . .’
Hillier gets up and stands with her hands behind her back, her feet apart. She brings one alongside the other one in a manoeuvre reminiscent of a salute. ‘Never mind, Sarge. I see I’m wasting my time here.’
She turns to leave and has her hand on the door when Gordon says, ‘I’m sorry, Hillier. I really am.’
She looks back at him, sitting behind his desk in shirt-sleeves. Outside rain continues to lash against the windows and she will be back in it soon.
‘I get there first,’ she says quietly as she shuts the door behind her.