Page 40 of Maybe Tomorrow

WPC Freya Sloan was in the corridor, pinning up a notice about the staff Christmas party. Tickets were one pound, there was to be a raffle where the first prize was a turkey, and all proceeds were being donated to a local homeless charity. She had already bought her ticket.

‘Is there a second and third prize?’

She jumped, turned and saw DC Chris Tyler standing behind her.

‘Second prize is a bottle of wine that you really don’t want to win.’

Chris smiled. ‘Why not?’

‘Sergeant Willis found it next to a radiator in the lost property room.’ Freya laughed, feeling a warmth rise within her as he stepped closer.

‘And the third prize?’

‘That’s still to be decided. At this rate, I’m guessing it’ll be a Christmas cracker,’ she smiled. ‘Are you going? Plenty of tickets left.’

‘That depends,’ he said, plunging his hands in his pocket and rolling on the balls of his feet.

‘On what?’

‘On whether you’ll come with me.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m already going.’

‘I gathered that. But… you know, maybe we could gotogether? I doubt the food’ll be up to much. We could go somewhere first for tea. There’s a new Bernie Inn just outside town. You up for it?’ he asked, avoiding eye contact with her.

Freya was flattered and didn’t need long to consider her answer. ‘All right. Yes. Sounds fun.’

He looked at her and flashed her the smile that made her stomach flutter. He opened his mouth to speak, but there was a commotion from the end of the corridor. They both turned towards it.

Three uniformed officers were manhandling a huge man who Freya recognised straight away as Anthony Winstanley from the library. Even from so far away, she could see the distinct look of horror and fear on his face. They marched him towards one of the interview rooms, opened the door, and practically threw him inside.

‘What’s going on?’ Freya asked Chris.

‘Person of interest.’

‘Anthony? But he’s harmless. He was sweet on Alice. The manageress said so. Surely, you don’t suspect him?’

‘DI Bishop does.’

‘I can’t see that,’ she frowned.

‘You wouldn’t say that if you heard what the local sl— er… prostitutes said about him.’

‘What are they saying?’

‘I’m about to find out,’ Chris said. He gave her a half-hearted smile before heading towards the interview room.

Pauline was due at the nursing home at one o’clock. After Anthony went to work, she cleared away the breakfast things, dusted the living room and hoovered throughout the downstairs. The storm had made a mess of the back garden, so she’d gone out and picked up the broken twigs and leaves. After that, she vigorously washed her hands and had a cup of tea and a biscuit before running a bath.

She had just sunk herself into the hot water when the phone started ringing. She pondered whether to get out and answer it but knew she wouldn’t get back in afterwards. She wanted to be fresh for work, so decided to ignore it. It probably wasn’t anything important. It never usually was.

Anthony Winstanley was sitting alone in an interview room. It was cold and there was a horrible smell of strong disinfectant, but not the lovely pine-smelling one his mum used. He’d been thrown inside the room and the door had slammed behind him. He had no idea how long ago that was, but it seemed like hours.

There was a table full of marks and dents with four chairs around it. He pulled one out and sat down and waited.