She was glad to see Paddy’s other half had turned up when they reached the hotel bar. It gave her an excuse to return to her room for an ‘early night’. Steve and Gary had already gone ahead to a busier pub in town. Molly’s jaw tightened as she imagined them enjoying their so-called celebrity status. She wasn’t gorgeous or toned or athletic. She was forgettable. But the upshot of it was that she could blend in with the crowd. She was making the most of her time in Clacton. Not for sightseeing, but to find out where these possible witnesses lay. According to her boss, Carla had been talking to some teenagers who might have witnessed previous crimes. She needed to speak to them and find out how much they had seen. Molly hadn’t told anyone where she was going, but she was able to look out for herself.
She had been wandering around for twenty minutes when she came across a group of teenagers beneath the pier. Molly could have felt intimidated by the half-dozen teens, but she could talk herself out of almost anything. She quickly scanned the group. There were five girls and one boy drinking from bottles of cider, or ‘Jaywick Champagne’ as it was called around these parts. The boy was dressed in a hoodie and tracksuit bottoms, the girls in jeans and sweatshirts. A girl with clipped brown hair cupped her hand over her mouth as she whispered to an older baseball-capped girl. She nodded a response before checking her watch.
‘Be careful,’ Molly heard the older girl murmur, as her friend stood up and took one last swig of cider. She looked like a tired child, her face slack as she turned and walked away. Molly wanted nothing more than to follow her, but by the way the girl was checking behind her, she would never get away with it. She watched the lone young figure leave. She could not have been any more than fourteen or fifteen.
The tide was out, which meant they were safe beneath the wooden structures that held up the weighty pier. It was eerie down here, and the damp sand stuck to Molly’s Converse trainers as she walked. Was this the group that Carla had been talking to? Had she come down here, fishing for information on the murders? Perhaps she had kept it to herself for fear of being outdone by her colleagues. Molly could empathise with that. Sometimes you had to take risks to stay ahead.
She fished her lighter from the pocket of her denim jacket, making sure it was the blue one, which she knew was already dead. She swore beneath her breath as the flint failed to produce a flame then looked at the group as if only just realising that they were there.
‘Got a light?’ she said, trying to keep her accent neutral. A dark, brooding boy with a lip piercing swaggered towards her. He could not have been more than thirteen. Molly’s maternal instincts kicked in at the sight of him. He was trying to act tough, but his puppy-dog brown eyes betrayed him.
He held out his lighter. ‘Gis a fag.’
A smile crept on to Molly’s face. ‘A fag for a light? That’s peak, man.’ She handed over a cigarette just the same. Ignoring her quip, the boy flicked a flame into life as Molly dragged on her cigarette. ‘You live round here?’ Molly said, unperturbed by the eyes all focused on her.
‘What’s it got to do with you?’ The baseball-capped girl stepped towards them. It was evident from her mannerisms that she was the leader of the group. She stood next to the wooden pillar, her body tensed. The air was cooler beneath the pier, and a light breeze played with the ends of her dark hair.
Molly shrugged. ‘Just wondering where I can score some weed.’
‘I’ll sell you a baggy . . .’ the boy began to say before the girl silenced him with a look.
‘We ain’t no dealers,’ she said, eyes narrowed. ‘Are you the filth?’
Smoke peppered Molly’s breath as she blurted a laugh. ‘Do I look like a cop?’ Her gaze roamed over the rest of the group. They had grown bored of Molly’s surprise appearance and were talking between themselves. ‘What’s there to do around here?’ she said, returning her attention to the boy with the lip piercing.
‘Who are we, the tourist fucking information?’ the baseball-cap girl sneered.
Molly looked from one to the other, sensing fierce protectiveness. Was she his sister? Girlfriend? From the vibe they were giving, she guessed a family member of some kind.
‘Chill your beans. I was only asking.’ She took a drag from her cigarette before turning back to the boy. ‘How many cans you got? I’ll swap you the rest of this pack for a tin.’ She held out the pack of Benson & Hedges, unfurling a sly smile. ‘I nicked them off my dad. He won’t even miss them.’
‘Good skills.’ He grinned, handing her a can of cider.
Molly pulled her hair from her face as she chuckled. ‘He’s had so many packs of fags go missing, the old fucker thinks he has dementia.’
Her comments brought a ripple of laughter in the group. They relaxed in her presence and only now could she lay her jacket on the damp sand and sit. In reality, she would never have spoken about her father like that. But her behaviour served to grant her quiet acceptance.
‘How old are you?’ The girl placed a hand on her baseball cap as the wind began to pick up.
‘Seventeen,’ Molly replied, cradling her can. ‘Why? Do I look older?’ She gave them a hopeful look, remembering how keen she had been to be accepted as an adult when she was a kid.
The girl snorted. ‘With those freckles? Hardly.’
Molly’s face fell. In reality she was comfortable in her skin,
