Page 75 of Maybe Tomorrow
‘I see.’ Jennifer looked about her. ‘I’m guessing you don’t want to come into the office, then.’
‘No.’
Jennifer glanced at her watch. ‘It’s a little too early for the pubs to be open. There’s a tearoom on the front called Margaret’s. Do you want to go there?’
Freya thought for a moment. She knew the place and didn’t think it was the kind of establishment burly detectives and uniformed officers would go to. She couldn’t picture DI Bishop drinking out of a china cup and saucer.
‘Yes. That sounds perfect.’
‘OK. Well, let me pop into the office and I’ll meet you there in about half an hour.’
‘Thank you,’ Freya said, heading quickly back to her car.
Margaret’s tearoom was a five-minute drive away. Freya went straight there, ordered a pot of tea and a toasted teacake and found a quiet table in the furthest corner from the entrance so she wouldn’t be seen by passers-by. She doubted there would be many people out and about this morning. The mist had turned into a thick fog and a fine drizzle was falling. The only people she saw from the car to the tearoom were a few hardy joggers and the habitual dog walkers. She was pretty sure nobody she knew would see her having a chat with a solicitor.
A couple of elderly people were at random tables in the café and the Margaret of the establishment was a woman in her mid-seventies behind the counter, layered in make-up and hard of hearing. Freya doubted anyone in the café would overhear her conversation with Jennifer, even though they did know her order as she had shouted it to Margaret three times before she was understood.
A few minutes after Freya sat down, the door opened, and Jennifer breezed in. She went to the counter and ordered a black coffee.
‘I love this café,’ Jennifer said, sitting down with her cup. ‘It’s so quaint. And when the weather is fine, you can see right out to sea.’ She took a sip of her coffee and smiled at Freya.
Freya released a heavy breath. ‘I shouldn’t be talking to you.’
‘So, why are you?’
‘Because I didn’t join the police force for the wrong person to be convicted of murder.’
‘You think Anthony Winstanley is innocent?’
‘I don’t know about that, but I know the interview process was all wrong, and bordering on illegal.’
‘Illegal?’
Freya leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘I’m not working on the case, so I don’t know all the ins and outs. I was with Alice’s parents on the night she went missing. I stayed with them all night and most of the following day. DI Bishop is in charge of the investigation and– well, you know the amount of press attention that’s surrounded this– he’s been under a lot of pressure to solve it. As soon as they found out about Anthony, they made him fit the bill for the man they were looking for. The second they brought him into the station they ganged up on him.’
‘In what way?’
‘Anthony’s… well, he’s a bit… what’s the word?’ Freya struggled.
‘Simple?’
‘I was trying not to say that.’
‘Let’s use it for now until we can think of a better one.’
‘I don’t think he realised how serious this all was. After hours of questioning, he wanted to go home. He’d missed dinner so he was hungry. The detectives interviewing him promised him everything so he would confess. They said they’d get him a big meal from the canteen, that he could see his mum if he would just admit he killed Alice.’
‘And that’s how they got his confession?’
Freya looked down into her mug, then back up. ‘I don’t have proof, but I think they might have hit him.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘DI Bishop has done it before. He’s been warned many times about it. He’s got a good clear-up rate for a reason. He’s a bully and he’s not averse to using his fists to get a confession. I’ve been earwigging around the station. I daren’t ask too many questions, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Bishop had lost his temper with Anthony and lashed out.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Jennier said, looking shocked. ‘Can you get confirmation?’
‘No. I’ve tried. Bishop has cottoned on to me going into his CID room for no reason. He runs that place with an iron fist.’
