Page 70 of Maybe Tomorrow

Saturday 5th November 1983

DC Chris Tyler wasn’t scheduled to work today, yet, after a disturbed night’s sleep with Freya’s words racing around his mind, he needed to do something proactive. He needed to uncover the truth. Whether Anthony was innocent or not, the way the interview was conducted to extract a statement from him bordered on illegal. Tyler knew DI Bishop was open to using any means possible to lock someone up, but would he really fit up an innocent man just to get the bosses and the press off his back? Tyler didn’t think his corruption stooped that low, but he needed to be sure.

Chris missed breakfast and went for a long walk to clear his head. He went down to the front and zipped up his coat against the buffeting winds. He looked out to the grey sea, with high waves crashing violently onto the beach. He understood why it appealed to Anthony Winstanley. It was hypnotic and relaxing. It was only when he shivered and could no longer feel his toes that he decided to leave.

His presence at the station out of his working hours wasn’t unusual. Detectives were often called in when they weren’t due to work and some just came in to get away from a noisy home life. There was always something that needed to be done, so there was no reason for Chris to slink down the corridors or hide in doorways if he heard someone coming.

The incident room was run on a skeleton staff at the weekend. DS Osborne was at his desk on the phone and, judging by his body language, it was a private call. Chris went over to his desk and sat down, making a play of flicking through some paperwork.

Osborne slammed the phone down. ‘Bollocks. Why can’t some women take the hint? Our Karen wants me to go to a Bonfire Night party. Why would I want to do that? It’s going to be full of sodding screaming kids.’

Chris looked over to him and smiled.

‘What are you doing here?’ Osborne asked.

‘Trying to avoid helping a friend move house,’ he lied and gave a fake smile.

‘Best thing about this job. You can say you’ve been called in and people believe you. I’ve lost count of the number of Karen’s family get-togethers I’ve missed.’

‘Yeah,’ Chris said nervously. ‘Listen, you haven’t seen those witness statements from the prostitutes, have you?’

‘What do you want them for?’

‘I… I think I recognise the name of one of the women. It’s been bugging me. I’m sure I went to school with her.’

Osborne laughed. ‘Maybe she was a one-night stand.’

‘Maybe.’

‘I think they’re on Bishop’s desk. I’m popping to the canteen. Fancy a bacon butty?’

‘Please. Do you want some money?’

‘Nah, you bought me one last week, remember?’

‘Oh yes. Thanks.’

Chris watched as Osborne took his wallet from the inside jacket pocket draped over his chair and left the room. He waited a few minutes more before checking the rest of the staff scattered around the incident room. Most were either on the phone or had their head bent over a typewriter, hammering away.

As nonchalantly as possible, Chris stood up and went over to Bishop’s office. As usual, the door was unlocked. He pushed the handle down and entered.

Bishop’s desk was a mess of used mugs, scattered files, scraps of paper filled with hastily written notes, and anything suitable used as an ashtray. He looked down and didn’t have a clue where to start. He picked up a couple of files, opened them, then immediately discarded them. He had no idea how Bishop could find anything. Nothing was related to the same case. It was a mishmash of a filing system.

Eventually, he found what he was looking for. A slim file with just a few sheets of paper inside. Four statements in total from three women working as prostitutes. His eyes scanned the statements and took in the claims of Anthony playing with himself while watching them have sex, trying to join in, and aggressively swearing and spitting at them. He was finding all this very hard to believe.

‘Can I help you with something?’

Chris jumped, turned around, and saw Henry Bishop in the doorway with Osborne loitering in the background.

‘Sir. I… I’m… I was just…’

‘Snooping.’

‘No. I…’ He stopped and took a breath. ‘To be honest with you, sir, I was having a little trouble believing Anthony’s guilt so wanted to have another look at these statements. You know, put my mind at rest.’

‘Ah. I see,’ Bishop said, folding his arms. ‘And is your mind now at rest?’

Chris struggled to find the words. ‘That’s the thing. Not really.’