Page 54 of Maybe Tomorrow

‘Sir, I… I think you might have arrested the wrong man. I really don’t think Anthony Winstanley killed Alice Patterson.’

‘Oh. What makes you say that? Women’s intuition?’ Bishop smiled and looked to Osborne who laughed.

‘No, sir. I’ve been speaking to his colleagues at the library, and they all say he’s a good man, that he’d never hurt anyone.’

‘That’s very admirable of them, but it doesn’t trump a signed statement from the accused himself, admitting to raping and killing Alice Patterson.’

Freya composed herself. ‘With all due respect, sir, that statement wasn’t taken under normal circumstances.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ he said, ice running through his tone. He walked up to her until they were almost nose to nose. ‘Are you questioning my methods of detection, WPC?’ he asked, overemphasising her rank.

‘No, sir, I’m not. I just think?—’

‘Let me tell you what I think,’ he interrupted. ‘I think you need to remember your rank and who you’re talking to. I am a detective inspector. You are a WPC. You’re not paid to think. You’re paid to knock on doors and reassure little old ladies it’s safe to sleep in their beds at night. If you want to get on in this station, I suggest you go back to doing what you do best, making mugs of tea and taking statements from people who’ve reported their dog missing. Do I make myself clear, WPC?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, looking down at her feet.

‘Now, I’m aware emotions are running high at the moment. This has been a very distressing case, so we’ll say no more about it. But I suggest you go home, think about your place in this station, and come back tomorrow knowing your role and doing it to the best of your ability. Understood?’

‘Sir,’ she said.

Bishop walked away with Osborne and Ritter following.

Freya remained where she was. She turned to look at Chris Tyler. ‘I could have handled that better, couldn’t I?’

‘Just a bit.’

‘What do we do now?’

‘We?’

‘You don’t think Anthony’s guilty any more than I do. We can’t just let him go to prison on the basis of a corrupt interview.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ he urged. ‘Don’t let anyone hear you say corrupt around here. Look, Freya, I’m as pissed off about this as you are, but there really isn’t anything we can do right now. Let’s just hope Anthony gets himself a good solicitor who can tear through that statement and show a jury that there really is no evidence against Anthony Winstanley.’

‘And what if he can’t?’

‘Let’s not think about that right now. Come on, let me take you for a drink.’

ChapterTwenty-Two

Pauline and Leo were sitting in Pauline’s pristine living room in complete silence. It was dark outside; the curtains were drawn, and the fire was on. Normally, at this time of the evening, the house should be alive with noise. Pauline would be in the kitchen making the tea, listening to the radio, and Anthony would be bounding about upstairs, changing out of his work clothes and into tracksuit bottoms and a baggy comfortable jumper. He’d come barrelling down the stairs and over tea he’d fill his mother in on what he’d been up to at work, who’d been into the library, any gossip the women had shared, and how he was looking forward to doing it all again tomorrow. He really did love his work.

There was none of that tonight. Pauline was on the edge of her armchair, chewing on a fingernail, heavy frown on her face, staring into the distance, wondering how they hell their lives could have changed so dramatically and so quickly.

‘Pauline, do you want me to pop round the corner and get us some chips?’ Leo asked.

She didn’t say anything.

‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?’

She looked up. ‘Huh? Sorry, Leo, I was… what did you say?’ She looked ashen, as if she’d aged twenty years.

‘Is there anything you want? You’ve missed dinner.’

‘I couldn’t eat anything.’

‘You need to keep your strength up, Pauline.’