Page 29 of Maybe Tomorrow

‘I don’t know anything about him. He works at the library. That’s all.’

‘Then go back to the library and find out. In fact, all of you, I want you out there chatting to your contacts. This killer is a nasty piece of work. He’s a rapist and I’m guessing it’s not his first time. So, I want you chatting to the prostitutes and finding out if any of their regulars likes anything rough and kinky. Bring in the perverts again, shake them harder than an earthquake to make sure their alibis hold up. I’m not pissing about now,’ Bishop said, slamming his hand down on the table. ‘If I haven’t got a name I can give to the press by the end of the week, you’ll all be back in uniform, and I’ll get myself a new team.’

Bishop stood up and stormed out of the incident room, slamming the door so hard behind him the glass rattled.

‘Can he replace us just like that?’ DC Chris Tyler asked.

‘He can do anything he wants,’ Osborne replied.

ChapterThirteen

It was WPC Freya Sloan’s day off. As soon as the date for Alice Patterson’s funeral was announced, she booked the day as holiday so she could attend as a civilian and not as a member of North East Police in uniform. She sneaked into the church and sat at the back behind a woman with a young man she assumed to be her son. He was tall and big, and the woman kept asking if he was all right.

When the service was over, Freya wanted to spend some time by herself. The church had been full of people crying, but she could hear Judith above everyone else, even from the back of thechurch. She had no idea how she would cope with losing her only child. How did a parent come back from the horror of having a child stolen from them in such a violent way?

Last night, Freya called her mum and asked for some words of advice.

Gail Sloan lived in Leeds with her husband, Stan. Stan was Freya’s stepfather. Her dad died from cancer when she was only six years old. She remembered him vaguely, and seemed to be forgetting him more and more with each passing year.

‘Mum, how do you cope with the death of a child?’ Freya asked her mother. She was curled up in bed wanting to get an early night, but unable to sleep.

‘You don’t, love,’ Gail replied. ‘It’s something you just learn to live with. You have to adapt. The Pattersons’ entire world will have changed now. It’s about learning acceptance.’

‘I don’t think I want to be a parent,’ Freya said.

Gail gave a throaty laugh. ‘When you’re pregnant, you’re scared to death you’re not going to be a good enough mother. You’re worried you won’t know how to change a nappy or if you’ll know when to feed. You’re literally a bag of nerves. But the second you have the baby in your arms, it all goes out of the window, and you’re just full of love for the life in your hands.’

Freya felt herself soften. ‘Really?’

‘Really. Then, the worry sets in.’

‘Oh.’

‘Especially when they start school. You worry about everything. Will they fit in? Will they get bullied? Will they understand the lessons? And it never stops. Even when they grow up. And I had to do everything on my own after your dad died. I had to talk to you about periods and sex and boyfriends, and then there were the mood swings you went through as a teenager, and that secretive stage where you told me nothing. And then you go and tell me you want to be a policewoman and the worry intensifies. Is there any wonder I’m grey?’

Freya smiled to herself. ‘Mum, you’ve dyed your hair for as long as I can remember.’

‘Yes, to hide the grey. Remember when you fell down that mountain on the school trip and broke your leg? I honestly thought I’d lost you.’

‘It was a hill, not a mountain, and I sprained my ankle. You’re always so dramatic.’

‘You were in that A&E department with a mask over your face. I almost fell through the floor. Freya, having kids isn’t easy. But it’s the most rewarding thing anyone can do. I can’t begin to understand what Judith Patterson is going through right now, and I don’t even want to try. I just hope…’ her voice broke. ‘You make sure you look after yourself, Freya Sloan.’

‘I will. I am.’

‘Good.’

Freya drove from the church in her little red Fiesta to Geoff and Judith’s house on John Street. She parked outside and watched through the window to see if she could see any movement. She had no idea if they’d have invited any friends and family back for a wake. The road was relatively empty of traffic, and she couldn’t see silhouettes against the net curtains. After almost half an hour of watching the house, she decided to get out and knock on the door.

It was a while before Geoff opened the door. He was still wearing his black suit, but he’d removed his tie. His face was drawn, dark circles beneath his eyes, and dried tear tracks ran down his cheeks.

‘Hello Geoff. I wanted to see how you and Judith were doing?’

He stood back to allow her in.

In the living room, Judith was sitting on the sofa. She’d removed her shoes but was still wearing the black suit she had on at the funeral. She looked uncomfortable, perched on the edge of the settee, a glass of strong-smelling alcohol in both hands. She looked up when she saw Freya enter the room.

‘Freya. Is there any news?’