Page 19 of Maybe Tomorrow

Pauline covered her mouth and shook her head.

‘She was, you know, special, but she was a lovely little thing. Always had a smile on her face. It makes you wonder what the world’s coming to, doesn’t it?’

‘I’m going to get off, Leo,’ Pauline said, edging away. ‘I don’t want to miss the bus.’

‘Are you going into town? I can give you a lift in if you like?’

‘No. You do your shed,’ she said, turning on her heel and walking away. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Pauline paid her fare and sat down. She placed her shopping bag on her lap and held onto it tight. Alice Patterson had been raped and strangled. Alice Patterson, the girl Anthony spoke about often. He said she was sweet and always laughed at his jokes. He said she loved books, especiallyAlice in Wonderlandand some others he couldn’t remember the titles of. She always came into the library on a Monday after college and sometimes on the weekend with her mum. He memorised jokes from his comic books to tell her and said her face lit up when she smiled. It was obvious Anthony was attracted to this Alice. He never spoke about other people who came into the library in the same way, apart from Susan Livesy.

Pauline tried to think about what would happen next. The police would talk to everyone Alice and her family knew, that included friends and neighbours. Would they knock on their door? They lived three streets away, would they come that far to ask questions? Alice was at college, so they’d go there and talk to her tutors and fellow students. Would they go to the library? Would they talk to Mrs Wilkinson and to Anthony? Pauline hoped not. Anthony didn’t do too well when dealing with people in authority. Even Mr Graham scared him slightly.

Pauline didn’t bother getting off the bus in town. She stayed on until close to where the bus terminated near Robin Hood’s Bay. She got off the bus, found a litter bin and wedged the carrier bag with Anthony’s torn trousers down to the bottom. Hopefully, they’d be in a landfill by teatime.

ChapterEight

Detective Inspector Henry Bishop waddled into the smoke-hued incident room. He ignored the chatter and went over to the top desk where he set his files and his mug of coffee down and lit up a fresh cigarette from one that was almost down to the tip. He took a lengthy drag from the new one and let out a satisfied exhalation.

‘Right then, can I have everyone’s attention?’ he said above the din.

Slowly, the noise died down and everyone took their seats.

The CID incident room at Graves Road Police Station was a busy one. This was where all the major investigations covering Whitby and the surrounding areas were run from and DI Bishop had a team of more than thirty detectives beneath him. He didn’t run his unit with an iron fist and approached work how he approached his life in general, on the fly. He gave out the orders but, at the end of the day, as long as the perpetrators were caught, he didn’t care how his team went about it. The end result was what mattered.

‘Uniform have dropped a bollock and it’s down to us to sort it out.’ He handed the top file to newish recruit DC Chris Tyler. He’dbeen there long enough to know not to wear his best suits unless he wanted the smell from cigarette smoke to cling to the cotton, but not long enough to have seen all the underhand tactics Bishop and his team practised in order to achieve murder convictions.

Chris began sticking photos to the murder board with Blu-tack.

‘Alice Patterson, age eighteen. She was reported missing on Monday night during the storm and found dead the next morning in woods opposite Whitby Cemetery. Uniform thought she’d been crushed by a falling branch. Turns out she was raped and strangled.’

‘Not much difference,’ someone called out. ‘I didn’t know we had Stevie Wonder working in North East Police.’

‘Precisely. But we know what uniform are like. Now, this is where she was found.’ He turned to the board to find Chris hadn’t put all the photos up yet. ‘Come on lad, shake a leg.’

‘Sorry,’ Chris said. He selected a photo of the woods and stuck it up with the others.

‘This branch was placed over her to make it look like an accident. So, the bloke who killed her saw an opportunity and took it. What does that tell us?’ He looked out at the sea of blank faces. ‘It tells us that this Alice lass wasn’t targeted. It tells us she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘Or maybe the killer used the opportunity of the storm to go out and kill someone knowing that there would be very few witnesses about,’ Chris added.

Bishop turned to him. ‘Which means that she wasn’t targeted,’ he said more slowly and clearly as if talking to a child. There was a ripple of laughter around the room and Chris reddened in embarrassment.

‘Now, Alice Patterson. There’s something wrong with her… what’s it called?’

‘Down’s syndrome,’ someone called out.

‘That’s it. Anyway, the press is circling and they’re picking up on the fact she’s got this thingy syndrome, so we need to act fast. Now, a WPC spent Monday night and the best part of yesterday with Alice’s parents. She thinks they’re acting the normal grieving parents, but we need to get them in and find out where they were around the time Alice went missing. Also, Alice was a student at Whitby Community College and Alice’s mother said she went there on Monday as usual. Again, we need to speak to her teachers and pupils and find out who her friends were, who she hung around with. I doubt very much she had a boyfriend, so it shouldn’t take up much time. Now,’ he paused while he lit another cigarette. ‘Alice was eighteen, she’s classed as vulnerable, so we need a presence on the streets. Uniform is increasing patrols but I want you all to put the feelers out. I want every weirdo and pervert questioned. The sooner the scum from the press leave the better. Any questions? Didn’t think so. Go on, piss off.’

There was a wave of noise as Bishop’s team began allocating themselves with jobs to do. Bishop turned to look at the board where DC Tyler had stuck photos of Alice and the scene where her body was found. He looked at her smiling face and frowned.

‘What is it she’s got again?’

‘Down’s syndrome,’ Chris replied.

‘And what is that?’ he asked, taking a drag on his cigarette.

‘It’s a genetic condition where a person has an extra chromosome.’