Page 37 of Maybe Tomorrow

‘Morning, boss,’ DC Chris Tyler interrupted as he arrived for work.

‘Chris,’ Henry acknowledged then went back to Freya. ‘People don’t just rape and murder and go back to their normal lives. That’s what I’m saying here. Has anyone stood out to the Pattersons since the murder?’

‘I don’t think Geoff and Judith will have taken any of that in, sir. They were both very distraught yesterday.’

‘But they’ll have mingled at the wake. They’ll have had people coming up to them saying how sorry they were. They’ll have known who was sincere.’

‘There wasn’t a wake, sir.’

‘Wasn’t there?’

‘No. Geoff said they didn’t want anyone back at the house. He and Judith wanted to be on their own.’

Henry frowned and sat back in his seat. A couple more DCs entered the room and said their good mornings, but he ignored them. ‘How do you know all this?’

Chatter among the plain-clothed detectives increased. Freya had to raise her voice. ‘I went round yesterday afternoon. I wanted to pay my condolences. I wanted to see how they were coping.’

‘Did you?’

‘Yes. sir.’

Freya could feel the eyes of everyone in the room burning into her.

‘Did anything strike you as odd about them?’

‘No. They’re a genuine grieving couple, sir. If you want, I can get a list of family and friends and go to see them.’

‘That might actually be a good idea,’ Stephen said. ‘If she went to see them in an unofficial capacity, they might tell her more than they’d ever tell someone from CID.’

Henry lit up another cigarette as his frown grew deeper.

‘Boss, I spoke to a few of the prozzies down near the front last night,’ DC Edward Ritter began.

‘I thought you had a smile on your face when you first came in,’ Osborne called out.

Laughter filled the room. Freya’s blood rose in her cheeks at the casual sexism.

‘Don’t be vulgar, Ste, there’s a lady present,’ Ritter said, eyeing up Freya. ‘What I was going to say, boss, is that I asked a few of them if they have any dodgy clients, you know, blokes who stand out as being a bit weird. A couple of them mentioned this young bloke. A big mountain of a man. He never does anything with them, but he likes to watch.’

‘Did you get a description?’

Ritter dug his notebook out of his coat pocket and flicked to the relevant page. ‘He’s not old, sort of in his mid to late twenties maybe. He’s tall, well over six foot, and he’s fat. A giant of a man. He’s not aggressive or anything. He’s got dark hair, bit untidy, always wears an anorak and dark clothes.’

‘There’s someone who works in Whitby Library who matches that description, sir,’ Freya said.

All eyes turned to her.

‘Who?’

‘I can’t recall his surname, but the manageress called him Anthony.’

‘You mean Whitby Community Library? The same library Alice went in?’ Henry asked.

‘Yes, sir. The manageress, Jane Wilkinson, she said he and Alice chatted all the time. He was always telling her jokes.’

‘Thank you…’

‘Freya, sir. WPC Freya Sloan.’