Page 86 of Maybe Tomorrow

‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,’ he smiled. ‘I’d like to apologise on behalf of Anthony Winstanley for his outburst. However, put yourself in his position. You’ve been accused of the most heinous crime imaginable and you’re innocent. His emotions are bound to be close to the surface. I know mine would be. The prosecution, whose case you will hear first, will paint Anthony to be a predator, a sexual deviant, no less. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Anthony is a kind, gentle man with a good heart. Yes, he knew Alice Patterson. Yes, he liked her. They shared a great many things in common. But Anthony isn’t like other twenty-eight-year-old men. He has a childlike mentality. He didn’t see Alice Patterson as someone he wanted to romance and make love to. He saw her as someone who could be his friend. Had he seen her on the night of the storm, sheltering from the rain and the wind, he would have helped her. He would have walked her home. But he didn’t see her. A fan of storms, he was on the coastline, watching the waves crashing in. He was nowhere near the woods that night. You will see that there is no physical evidence linking him to the tragic death of Alice Patterson. The prosecution team’s case is purely circumstantial. Anthony Winstanley is an innocent man and Alice’s real killer is still out there.’

In the public gallery, Pauline took Leo’s hand in hers and squeezed it hard. He looked over to her. Tears were streaming down her face. He squeezed her hand back.

‘I’m so scared,’ she whispered.

‘Everything is going to be all right,’ he said, though he no longer sounded as confident as he did at breakfast.

ChapterThirty-Five

PC Chris Tyler was tired. He’d spent most of the day interviewing shopkeepers on Rugby Street following a spate of break-ins. He took their statements and a list of the items stolen, and when he looked at their security, he could perfectly understand why they’d been targeted. Rusted padlocks on splintered wooden doors, window latches that didn’t fully close and door frames so warped that a strong gust of wind would open them. Whenever he mentioned tightening security, they moaned about rising costs. He was fighting a losing battle.

He drove back to the station with a depressed air about him. He missed being part of CID working on murder cases, armed robberies and drug busts. Part of him wished he hadn’t opened his mouth about Anthony Winstanley, but the other part of him realised he wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night had he kept his mouth shut. He wanted to be a good, honest copper. Obviously, he wouldn’t be able to do that here. Maybe he should move to another force in another part of the country. There was one reason why he was hanging around though– Freya Sloan.

Over the last few months, they’d grown closer, and his feelings for her were deepening. Tonight, he was taking her out for a meal at a new restaurant on the seafront. He was going to suggest they go away for a weekend in the Lake District. His mum and dad had been there recently with his younger sister for a holiday, and they said how beautiful and relaxing it was. He’d marvelled at the photos of his sister smiling as she walked the hills, and she was itching to go back. He’d like to take her another time, but for now, he’d like to take Freya, just the two of them.

He walked into the men’s changing room, unzipped his jacket and threw it onto the bench. He hadn’t noticed he was followed.

‘Mr Tyler. We’ve been waiting for you.’

He jumped and turned. His sergeant, Lionel Leitch, was standing in the doorway. DI Bishop was behind him, a wry smile on his face. Next to him was DC Eddie Ritter, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than right here, right now.

‘Sorry, sir, those break-ins took longer than I expected,’ Chris said.

‘Open your locker, please, Tyler,’ Leitch said, ignoring him.

‘Sorry?’

‘You heard. Open your locker.’

Tyler looked to Eddie, whose eyes were fixed on the floor. He looked to Bishop whose grin was impossible to ignore.

‘OK,’ he said. He dug into his trouser pockets for his keys and unlocked the small locker.

‘Step back, please, Tyler,’ Sergeant Leitch said. He took a pair of latex gloves from his back pocket and struggled to fit them onto his large hands. He stepped forward and began to rummage around inside. He pulled out a little plastic bag containing white pills. He held them up. ‘Is this what you saw PC Tyler with, DC Ritter?’

‘It was, yes,’ Ritter said, not looking up.

‘Care to explain these, PC Tyler?’ Leitch asked.

Chris stood, open-mouthed. ‘They’re not mine. I’ve never seen them before.’

‘Why do they always say that?’ DI Bishop said.

‘I think you’d better come with me, lad. We’ll discuss this under caution,’ Leitch said.

‘But they’re not mine. I wouldn’t. I don’t,’ Chris said, exasperated.

Leitch left the changing rooms. Chris, bewildered, had no option but to follow.

‘It’s a shame when bad things happen to good people, isn’t it?’ Bishop whispered in his ear as Tyler passed him. He grabbed his arm and held him back in the changing room. ‘Here’s the deal, Tyler, your resignation and your girlfriend refuses to take the witness box, or you go down for drug-dealing and I make your girlfriend’s life fucking hell.’

Tyler looked at him with wide eyes. He knew Bishop was a bastard, but he didn’t think he’d stoop this low.

‘You’re a good-looking lad, Tyler. Lifers in a Category A nick are going to love passing your arse between them.’

Bishop let go of Chris’s arm and pushed him towards the open door.

‘Clock’s ticking, Tyler,’ he called after him.