Hazel opens the door to Hillier in surprise. So taken aback was she by the announcement of the name through the intercom that she pressed the buzzer with barely a second’s thought. Now she is regretting her impetuosity as she steps back to allow the policewoman to cross the threshold.
‘Hello,’ she says, backing into the flat as if she is a gladiator in the ring. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Thanks for letting me in, Miss Archer,’ Hillier says as she steps in quickly as if worried Hazel will change her mind.
‘Uh, no problem.’ Hazel walks into the sitting room and gestures towards the sofa. ‘Have a seat.’
‘Thank you,’ Hillier replies. ‘No chance of a glass of water, is there? I’m a bit parched from walking from the Tube.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Hazel says, leaving the room to go to the kitchen.
The flat has an unused air, Hillier thinks, her eyes scanning the surfaces and walls for evidence of Hazel’s past, her character. One wall is covered in bookshelves but there are no photographs or pictures apart from a single painting on the opposite wall. Hillier stares at it. It is small, showing a woman with dark hair, wearing a red jumper, in the middle of a dark green background. The woman has her hands up next to her cheeks and her mouth is open in the circle of a scream. The expression in her eyes is so visceral that Hillier thinks she can hear that scream, feel the pain that lies beneath.
‘My mother painted it,’ Hazel says from behind, handing Hillier a glass of water. ‘Years ago, when I was a child. I always liked it. When she died, my dad gave it to me. I didn’t want anything else.’
‘I don’t know much about art,’ Hillier admits, wondering at the same time what could make Hazel possibly like this painting, want to look at it on a daily basis when all it conveys is panic and fear. ‘But that is striking.’
‘Yes,’ Hazel says, taking in the picture as if for the first time. ‘I must bring it with me to Jonny’s.’ She sits down in a leather club chair to the left of Hillier. ‘We’re getting married,’ she says, a faint smile playing at her lips. ‘He proposed just yesterday. It’s been such an emotional time. We went to court for my sister . . . You’ll hear about it soon enough, I would think. I suspect Laurel will be unsuccessful in gaining parole again, sadly.’
‘Ah, I see.’ Hillier’s eyebrows lift, her tone carefully neutral. ‘Congratulations on the engagement. Things are really working out for you.’
‘I think he meant to ask me at New Year’s,’ Hazel continues as if Hillier hasn’t spoken. ‘But, what with Georgie going missing, well, you know . . .’
‘Yes indeed,’ Hillier says, taking a sip of water. ‘May I?’ She indicates her jacket and, on Hazel’s nodded assent, removes it and places it carefully on the cushion next to her.
Hazel looks at her. ‘Have you seen Georgie lately? Is she OK now?’
‘Oh, yes. Fit as a fiddle and bright as a button. Apart from her toe obviously . . . She was out of hospital not long after she went in.’
‘That’s good. And . . . does she remember much about what happened? Must be traumatic for a child as young as that.’
‘It was indeed. She remembers parts. Not all of what happened. But bits of it.’
‘Oh, that’s good. I’m pleased. It must have been so frightening for her parents.’
‘Yes, it was.’ Hillier leans back with a congenial expression on her face. ‘So! Can’t move without seeing you on a front page these days.’
Hazel colours. ‘I can’t say I’m happy about it. It’s been very difficult actually.’
‘I’m sure. Still,’ Hillier says, ‘you’re quite the person of the moment.’
Hazel’s face clouds over. ‘There has been a great deal of pressure . . . I’m not comfortable with it, as I said. For poor Jonny – and Evie – as well. It’s been a tremendous strain.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘So, why is it you’re here, Detective Hillier?’ Hazel asks, shifting on her chair and changing gear. ‘What can I do to help you?’
‘Oh, yes! Sorry, almost forgot myself,’ Hillier says, reaching into her jacket for a small notebook and flicking through the pages, the end of her biro in one corner of her mouth. ‘Ah, yes, that’s it. Just on the timings. On that afternoon Georgie went missing . . .’ She falls silent, apparently reading her notes.
‘Yes?’ Hazel prompts after a moment.
‘Yup, hang on. Here it is. Now, on the day that Georgie went missing, we established that she went into the kitchen and disappeared from there at three o’clock. Where were you at that time, Ms Archer?’
Hazel screws up her face. ‘I think . . . I told you this before. I was having tea with Jonny in the hotel lounge.’
‘You’re sure about that? It wasn’t later?’
‘I think so. It’s hard to remember exactly this far on, Detective.’
‘Sure, I understand. And you were together until four?’
She looks unblinkingly at Hazel. Sees the merest second of hesitation before Hazel shakes her head. ‘I was with him all the time. We went up to our rooms at five and that’s when the hotel manager came and knocked on our door and said that Georgie was missing.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Hillier taps her biro on the notebook. ‘That’s right, of course.’ She glances up and smiles. ‘You’re sure it wasn’t later? Even by perhaps half an hour? Was it dark outside by then, when you went up to your room? Do you recall?’
Hazel folds her arms. ‘I don’t.’
‘No. That’s OK. No problem.’
‘Why are you asking me this? Has something come up? Didn’t Georgie just go wandering off? Why are you still asking questions?’
Hillier gets to her feet. ‘Just a few end-of-the-case enquiries,’ she says, reaching for her jacket. ‘And Mr Newell? He would corroborate that, would he? That you were together all afternoon? That the timings you mention are correct?’
‘Yes,’ Hazel answers coldly. ‘He did before when you questioned us at the hotel. And he would do so again.’
‘Your fiancé now, isn’t he?’ Hillier says lightly.
‘That’s right. Is that all, DC Hillier?’
‘Yep, that’s it. Thanks for talking to me, Ms Archer, I appreciate it. Funny old business, wasn’t it? What happened to the little girl . . .’
‘Kids will run off, I suppose.’
Hillier looks at her sharply. ‘Seem to run off a lot around you, if you don’t mind me saying.’
Hazel draws herself up. ‘I do mind actually. I think it’s better if you leave now.’
Hillier smiles, making her way into the hallway, glancing at a photograph of Hazel and Jonny on the wall. She taps the glass covering his face. ‘Nice photo. Seems a decent chap.’
‘Goodbye, Detective Hillier,’ Hazel says at the door.
‘Look after yourself, Ms Archer.’
Hazel shuts the door behind the policewoman, standing in the entryway for a long while before she finally turns and heads back into the body of the flat.