Page 26 of Maybe Tomorrow

The hearse carrying the white coffin pulled up outside the church. It was a cold day, and a stiff wind was blowing in off the coast. The sky was heavy with cloud, but no rain had been forecast. Hopefully it would stay dry for the mourners lining the pavements.

Behind the hearse, a car came to a halt, and Geoff and Judith Patterson stepped out. Geoff was in a black suit while Judith wore a long black dress and black hat with a veil covering her face. In her left hand, she was holding a teddy bear while her right hand held her husband tightly. They were greeted by the vicar, a tall, slim man, looking resplendent in his get-up. He leaned into them and gave a few encouraging words. They smiled their thanks.

The pall-bearers stepped forward to bring the coffin out of the hearse. Geoff was about to step forward to help carry his daughter on her final journey into the church, but Judith pulled him back. She needed his strength.

The coffin was carried into the church and the Pattersons followed behind, heads bowed. Geoff wrapped his arm around his wife, holding her close to him, while she held her daughter’s teddy to her chest and audibly sobbed.

‘Good morning, everybody,’ the Reverend James Adamson began. ‘We are gathered here today for a sombre occasion. One of God’s children has been taken from us far too soon and in such a dark and violent way. Everyone is grieving. The number of people crammed into this church shows how much we’re all hurting, but it is also a show of faith, of how much we are banding together as a community to collectively say goodbye to a kind, funny, beautiful young woman.’

Judith sat next to her husband and leaned against him, tears falling, emphasising the agony etched on her face. Geoff was trying to remain strong. In his final act as a father, he wanted to do Alice proud by being the supportive dad and husband.

Behind them, well-wishers, neighbours, distant relatives and friends cried, sniffled and blew their noses. The atmosphere was dark and heavy and, even though the Reverend Adamson tried his best to get the congregation to remember Alice Patterson as she was, with a funny story Geoff had given him to use about thetime Alice tried to pose for a photograph with a donkey on the beach at Bridlington only for the donkey to steal her ice cream, the levity was lost. This was a crowd in serious mourning.

‘None of us should be here today,’ the Reverend continued. ‘An eighteen-year-old woman should not die such a cruel death, and no parent should ever have to bury their child. This community is shattered. Nobody here can comprehend what has happened. But now is not the time for hatred to enter our hearts. We must not allow the evil of others to harm those of us, the majority of us, who are good. We are here today to remember Alice Patterson and the joy she brought to her family, her friends, and everyone who knew her. I’ve known Alice since she was a baby, and I don’t think I ever saw her without a smile on her face. That is how I will always remember her. Her life was cut short, but she will live on in all of our memories.’

Further back in the church, Pauline held onto her son’s hand tighter than ever before. She kept stealing glances towards him and was on a knife-edge waiting for any sign of an outburst of emotion. His cheeks were dry. He seemed completely untouched by the occasion. On one hand, Pauline thought this was probably for the best. On the other, she wondered why he seemed so unmoved by the ceremony.

Standing at the back of the church, DI Henry Bishop stood with two members of his team, DS Stephen Osborne and DC Edward Ritter.

DC Ritter was emotional as he listened to the reverend. His head was bowed so as not to show his tears. Osborne and Bishop were scouring the congregation. They were aware that killers sometimes embedded themselves within the community and often returned to the scene of the crime, but would this killer come to the funeral of his victim?

Bishop didn’t want it to look too obvious, but he was studying as many faces of the congregation as he could. Who was crying too much? Who wasn’t crying enough? Who looked like a genuine mourner and who looked out of place? Who was fidgeting and looking around? Who couldn’t wait to leave the church? Who seemed to be enjoying themselves?

The church was packed, and it was impossible to see them all.

When the service was over, and everyone began to file out, Bishop, Osborne and Ritter stood to one side and watched, but there were just too many for any of them to stand out.

‘They all look like they’re mourning, to me,’ Ritter said.

‘The killer might not actually be here,’ Osborne said. ‘Maybe the reason why we’ve nothing to go on is because the killer was just passing through. He could be long gone by now and eyeing up his next victim in a city in bloody Scotland for all we know.’

‘No,’ Bishop said after a long silence. ‘He’s here. I know he is.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ Osborne asked.

‘Because I know. I’ve been doing this bloody job long enough to know that whoever raped and killed Alice has done something like this before. I’m not saying he’s killed before, but he’s definitely some kind of pervert. Now, he’s gone too far, but he’sbeing protected. We need to go that one step forward and get whoever is shielding him to open up.’

‘How do we do that?’ Ritter asked.

‘By starting again. Only this time, we go in hard. Come on,’ he said, turning on his heel and heading for the cars. Once he was away from the church, he raised his voice. ‘I want that bastard in custody by the end of the week and I don’t give a fuck how we do it.’

ChapterTwelve

Henry Bishop walked into the fug of the incident room. The clatter of typewriters and the noisy chatter died down, temporarily, as Bishop grabbed the newspapers from a spare desk and threw them into the bin.

‘If one more person brings another rag into this room with Alice Patterson’s face on the front, I will personally throw them through that sodding window.’

With that, everyone knew what kind of a mood the detective inspector was in, so returned to their work, albeit a little quieter.

Bishop took a packet of Benson and Hedges from his pocket and fumbled for his lighter. He flicked it several times, but it wouldn’t light. He slammed it into the metal bin.

‘Bastard lighter. Has anyone got a box of matches?’

Ritter tossed him a small box.

Bishop lit his cigarette and took a long, deep drag as he sat down. He held the smoke in his mouth before releasing more toxins into the air. He needed that. It helped him relax.

‘We’re starting again,’ he called out to his team. ‘Stop what you’re doing and gather round. We’re going to go through this from the beginning and you’d all better be paying attention.’