Wailing pierces the quiet of the hotel restaurant where Hillier and Hazel remain sitting opposite each other. A primeval sound that seems so animalistic it can only have originated from the snowy woodland outside. But the noise draws nearer as Hazel stiffens in her seat. The door, which had been so delicately closed by Max, is thrown wide open, banging against the wall and rattling the sepia photographs of the Devon coastline in times past.
‘Where is she?’ Jane Greenstreet roars at Hazel, eyes wild, sucking in oxygen in deep rasping breaths as she advances. ‘What have you done with her, you evil bitch?’ She pulls up then, noticing Hillier. ‘And you! You let this monster come here, to this place. Knowing who she is. What she’s done. You let her come here and take away my baby . . .’ Jane is sobbing now. She rubs one hand across her face, her eyes screwed up in pain. ‘How could you? How could you?’
Hazel and Hillier are dumbstruck. Behind Jane stands Max, open-mouthed and appalled. Next to him, Declan Greenstreet flexes his hands at his thighs, as if he wants to reach out to Jane but can’t. As if some invisible shield surrounds his wife, her grief armoured against intervention. Ellis is visible behind him, a look on his face that Hillier doesn’t like. He isn’t trying to stop Jane, he’s letting her vent her fury.
‘Mrs Greenstreet.’ Hillier gets up, but it is too little, too late. Jane leaps for Hazel, flailing hands grabbing at her hair, pulling her down onto the floor. She lies on top of her, pummelling her in the chest, digging her fingers into Hazel’s face, screaming at her: ‘Where is she? Where is she? Tell me, you bitch!’
It takes a millisecond for Hillier and Ellis to react then they both dive to pull Jane off Hazel. Georgie’s mother is hysterical, her words incomprehensible, batting at the air with clenched fists. Hazel lies on her back, her arms wrapped over her head. She is breathing heavily but she says nothing. When Ellis finally manages to get his arms around Jane’s waist and hefts her away to the other side of the dining room, Hillier kneels down at Hazel’s shoulder.
‘Are you all right?’ she asks. ‘Here, let me help you up.’
Hazel lifts herself into a seated position then and removes her hands from her face, revealing the three long and bloody scratches that Jane Greenstreet has gouged on her forehead and cheeks.
‘What the hell were you playing at? Letting Mrs Greenstreet come anywhere near me while I was interviewing Hazel?’ Hillier asks Ellis.
‘How was I to know?’ he responds sulkily. ‘You didn’t tell me we had the sister of one of the world’s most infamous murderers staying at Balcombe Court.’
‘Less of the backchat, Ellis,’ Hillier snaps. ‘I’ve got about twenty years’ experience on you, so a little respect if you don’t mind.’ She sighs, sinking down into yet another empty seat at a table in the deserted restaurant. Jane and Declan have retreated to their room upstairs and Hazel is behind reception having first aid applied to the cuts on her face. Jonny had appeared at the end of the brawl, scooping her up and away from the Greenstreets.
‘How did Jane find out that Hazel is Rosie Bowman?’ Hillier asks in a tired voice.
Ellis’s mouth turns down.
‘Ah, let me guess. Marek Kaczka?’
The policeman nods.
‘Yeah, makes sense. Thought he’d take the heat off himself, didn’t he? Must have been listening to us from the kitchen. Fucking hell!’ Hillier bangs the table with the heel of her hand. ‘What an absolute mess.’
‘Forensics and DS Gordon should be here any minute,’ Ellis says, referring to Hillier’s direct superior. ‘The roads are finally clear from Torquay.’
‘I don’t need Mum and Dad to come and sort things out,’ Hillier snaps at him. ‘We should be able to handle this ourselves. You should have stopped her coming in here. You must have known she’d want to beat the crap out of Hazel Archer.’
‘In all fairness, I didn’t. She said she wanted a coffee and was coming downstairs. She must have met Kaczka in the hallway and then come storming in here. We chased after her but it was too late. And anyway . . .’
‘What?’
‘Well, I don’t blame her, frankly. If it was my kid that’d been hurt, I’d want to kill the person who did it. Stands to reason.’
‘No, it doesn’t, Ellis.’ Hillier gets to her feet and pulls her jacket straight. ‘At the moment, we have no evidence that Hazel Archer has anything to do with what’s happened to Georgie. For all we know, Kaczka could be telling all and sundry about Hazel’s true identity in order to take the heat off himself.’
‘With her background, though.’ Ellis shrugs. ‘It makes a lot of sense.’
‘Facts and evidence leading to logical deduction, Ellis.’ Hillier walks past him to reach the doorway. ‘That’s what policing is, not some gutter-press version of events.’ She pauses as she hears something, her head on one side. ‘That’s a car engine.’
‘Looks like Mum and Dad have arrived,’ he says.