Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
‘I want to see my son,’ Pauline said as she stormed into the police station and up to the reception desk. Leo followed and stood beside her.
‘And your son is?’ the uniformed officer behind the desk asked, reaching for a biro.
‘Anthony Winstanley. You dragged him from his place of work this morning.’
‘Right. If you’d like to take a seat, madam, I’ll see if I can get someone to come and talk to you.’
‘I’m not leaving this station without him,’ she said firmly.
‘Pauline, come on. Let’s go and sit down,’ Leo said, placing his arms around her and guiding her to the seating area.
Pauline allowed herself to be led and sat down. Leo sat next to her. She wanted to remain strong and stoic for Anthony. He would need her to help him, to support him. But right now, she just wanted to cry.
Freya Sloan knocked on Pauline Winstanley’s front door and stood back, looking up at the house.
‘She’s not in, love,’ Hilda Meyhew’s gruff voice rang out.
Freya turned to where the voice was coming from and saw a woman in her sixties standing on her doorstep two doors away. She had her hair in a net and a flowery apron over her clothes.
‘Do you know where she’s gone?’
‘Probably to see you lot,’ she said, taking in Freya’s uniform.
‘You’ve heard?’ Freya smiled.
‘Helping you with enquiries, is what I’ve heard, but we all know what that means. I can’t say I’m surprised.’
‘Do you know the Winstanleys much, Mrs…?’
‘Meyhew. Hilda Meyhew. I’ve been here since 1963. I know everyone in this street. She doesn’t talk much, though. She’s enough on her plate.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘She works shifts and she looks after her Anthony. He’s a handful in every sense.’
‘Go on,’ Freya prompted.
‘Well, he’s not right in the head, is he?
A bit simple. You can tell that by looking at him.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice enough lad.
He’s polite. He always says hello, and he’s helped me with my shopping more than once.
But, well, let’s just say, I wouldn’t like to meet him in an alley on a dark night. ’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s got this look about him, as if he’s undressing you. I mean, it might be his way, but I wouldn’t want to be on my own with him. He unnerves me. Afternoon, Mrs Bryant,’ Hilda called out to a woman across the road. ‘I see your Paul’s got a new car. He’s doing well for himself.’
‘He got a promotion. Assistant manager now,’ Mrs Bryant beamed.
‘Good for him. Tell him I was asking after him.’
‘I will.’
‘Now, her Paul is the same age as Anthony Winstanley.’ Hilda turned back to Freya and lowered her voice.
‘He left home at nineteen and got himself a flat. Only council, but it was a start. He got a job as an office junior at the Yorkshire Bank. He went to night school, passed his exams, and now he’s assistant manager.
He’s in a two-bedroom house, private rented, got a steady girlfriend – they live together, but I don’t say anything – and he’s always dressed smart.
Now look at Anthony, still living at home, having his mother do everything for him, working part-time in a library. It’s not normal, is it?’
‘Does Anthony have any behavioural issues?’ Freya asked.
‘That’s what Pauline’s always said. What did she call it?
Learning difficulties. I think she said he was starved of oxygen when he was born.
Something like that. But she doesn’t help him.
He should be independent. I was in there once last year having a cup of tea.
I’d gone round with the catalogue. Anyway, Anthony’s there eating a chocolate biscuit.
He’s dunking it in his tea, and he’s got melted chocolate all over his hands.
Pauline literally takes him over to the sink and washes his hands for him.
I did that with my two when they were four and five.
She hasn’t cut the apron strings. That’s why he is the way he is. ’
‘Does he have any friends?’
‘I doubt it. I’ve never seen him with any.
’ She looked over her shoulder then back to Freya, lowering her voice further.
‘Leo Mulligan, three doors along, he goes round there a lot. I think he and Pauline are … you know. Anyway, he’s taken Anthony to the football a few times, but I don’t think Anthony’s too keen. He says it’s too noisy.’
‘What about a girlfriend? Have you ever seen Anthony with a girl?’
‘That’s another thing. He should have a girlfriend, shouldn’t he?
I’ve never once seen him with one. Not once.
Now, Amanda Rushbrook at number twelve, I never saw her boy with a girl either.
He went off to university in Manchester, came back with his hair dyed blond and a boyfriend.
Well, I always knew he was funny. You can tell, can’t you?
And he’s a lovely lad, always sends his mum a bunch of flowers on her birthday, so I don’t mind.
But Anthony, well, there’s nothing there.
And to be honest, who’d have him? Man or woman.
So, did he kill that Alice Patterson then? ’
‘Would it surprise you if he did?’
‘Nothing surprises me anymore, love. I wouldn’t put it past him, though. There’s definitely something loose in his head, trust me on that one.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Meyhew. You’ve been very helpful.’
Freya turned and walked away. She wanted to knock on another door, glanced back and saw Hilda Meyhew still watching her from her front doorstep.
She decided to walk the brief journey to the library and talk to the staff who knew him away from home.
She had a feeling Crescent Avenue was full of narrow-minded people like Hilda Meyhew, and suddenly, she felt increasingly sad for Anthony and the situation he found himself in.
Pauline looked at her watch. She had been waiting in the reception area of the police station for almost an hour.
The door kept opening and closing, letting in a blast of cold air, and despite sitting close to a radiator and wearing a thick winter coat, Pauline was literally shivering.
She stood up and went back to the front desk.
‘Excuse me,’ she called out. The man she’d introduced herself to was long gone and replaced by a female officer who spent most of her time standing by the door chatting to anyone who came in.
‘Yes, madam. How can I help you?’ she said giving her a fake smile.
‘I’ve been sitting here for almost an hour. You have my boy back there and I need to know what’s going on?’
‘I see. And your son’s name?’
Pauline sighed in frustration. ‘I’ve already told your colleague all this. He’s Anthony Winstanley. Look, some of your lot went to his work and dragged him out like he was the Yorkshire Ripper or something. I need to speak to someone in charge. I need to know what’s going on.’
Pauline was almost shouting now. Leo went over to her and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders.
‘Pauline, calm down,’ he said, his voice low.
‘I can’t calm down. How can I calm down? Look,’ she said, going back to the WPC. ‘You don’t seem to understand. Anthony’s … well, he’s different from other lads. He won’t understand what you’re questioning him about. He needs me.’
‘OK.’ The WPC held up her hands in a placatory gesture. ‘I’ll go and have a word with my sergeant and see what’s happening. Please, take a seat.’
Pauline didn’t move. Leo practically had to pull her away from the spot.
‘Pauline, come on. Let’s go and sit back down.’
‘He’ll be so scared, Leo,’ she said to him, struggling to fight back the tears.
‘I know he will. But shouting isn’t going to do him, or you, any good. These things can take time. We just have to be patient.’
‘But why are they interviewing him? He doesn’t know anything.’
Leo opened and closed his mouth a few times. He couldn’t give her an answer so remained silent.
Pauline reached out and grabbed his hands, squeezing them hard for comfort. She was glad he was here with her.
‘Anthony, sorry to keep you waiting,’ DI Bishop said, entering the interview room with a stained cardboard folder under his arm.
He slapped it down on the table, making Anthony jump.
‘I had to go and see a man about a dog. Or, in this case, a dog about a man.’ He gave him a smile and sat down opposite him, opening the file.
‘Can I go to the toilet?’ Anthony asked quietly.
‘Not just yet.’
‘I really need a wee.’
‘We’ll let you go in a while, Anthony. I need you to answer a few more of my questions.’
DS Osborne and DC Tyler were standing by the closed door, watching on.
Osborne’s face was expressionless. His arms were folded and he looked more like a club bouncer than a detective sergeant.
Tyler, in contrast, looked worried. His arms were plunged deep in his trouser pockets and his heavy frown showed he would rather be anywhere else in the world than in this interview room.
‘Can I have something to eat?’ Anthony asked.
Bishop crossed his fingers and leaned forward on the table. ‘As soon as we’re finished up here, you can go to the toilet, have a big mug of a tea and a plate of pie and mash. How does that sound?’
Anthony smiled and sat back in his chair. ‘Thank you.’
‘Good. Now, I’ve been talking to this young lady,’ Bishop began. He removed a photograph of Tania from the file and placed it in front of Anthony. ‘Do you know her?’
Anthony frowned as he looked at it. ‘I don’t know. I … I think so.’
‘You should do. You’ve been watching her have sex for months.’
Anthony didn’t say anything.
‘She’s not a bad looker. She doesn’t have enough meat on her bones for my liking, but I can see why you like her. She’s given us a statement, Anthony. Shall I read it to you?’
Anthony swallowed hard. ‘OK.’
Bishop picked up the single sheet of paper and cleared his throat.
‘“I’ve worked Canal Street for years. I’ve seen a lot of weirdos and strange things in my time, but none come as strange as Anthony Winstanley.
” Oh dear, that doesn’t put you in a good light, does it?
“He’s a watcher. He doesn’t touch. He doesn’t talk to us.
He stands in the shadows, watching us while we’re doing things with our clients.
I can see he’s enjoying it. I can see him playing with himself.
I didn’t mind at first. I thought he was just shy.
A lot are, for the first few times. But over the years he’s got closer while I’m doing my job.
He’s scared a few of the punters off before today.
He’s a big bloke. He looks moody. The way he goes at himself, really pulling at it, violent, like.
And the noises he makes, real grunting and heavy breathing. It’s scary.”’
‘Who is she talking about?’ Anthony interrupted.
‘She’s talking about you, Anthony,’ DS Osborne chimed in.
‘But … no, that’s not right,’ he said, looking up, almost white with worry. ‘I’ve never done anything like that. Honest. I just … I just watch.’
‘You do play with yourself, though, don’t you?’ Osborne asked.
‘No. I don’t,’ he said, forcefully.
‘Let me continue,’ Bishop said. ‘Yadda, yadda, yadda, here we are. The night of the storm. The night of Alice’s murder.
“I wasn’t planning on going out on that Monday, the tenth of October, the weather was awful, but I needed the money.
There weren’t many men out. Bad weather always puts them off, but there’s always a couple hanging around.
I was in the back of this Mercedes with a bloke.
We’d steamed up the windows, but I looked up and there was this flash of lightning and I could see Anthony stood right at the window, looking in.
You could tell by his arm movements that he was really going at himself.
His face was all contorted and angry. I screamed.
This put the punter off who turned around and slammed his fist on the window, telling Anthony to piss off.
He ran.”’ Bishop placed the statement on the table and looked up at Anthony.
‘Why is she saying that? That never happened,’ Anthony said.
‘She’s not the only one saying it, Anthony. There are at least two other hookers who say you scare them.’
‘I wasn’t there on that Monday night. I didn’t see them. I swear.’ He put his hands between his legs and began rocking back and forth. ‘I don’t know why she’s saying all that. It’s a lie.’
‘Are they all lying, Anthony?’ Bishop asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Why would they do that, Anthony? Why would they all lie like that?’
‘I … I don’t know. But I wasn’t there. I promise.’
Bishop took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh.
‘Anthony, how long are we going to sit here with you denying anything happened? It’s getting late.
I’ve had a long, hard day and I want to go home.
Why don’t you just tell me you killed Alice Patterson, then I can let you go to the toilet and get your pie and mash from the canteen? ’
‘But … I didn’t kill her. I liked her.’
Bishop was running out of patience. He loosened his tie. ‘You know your mum’s out in reception?’
‘Is she?’ His eyes lit up, momentarily.
‘Yes. She’s with a friend of yours, Leo. They’re waiting to see you. The thing is, I can’t allow them to come in and see you.’
‘Why not?’
‘There’s this police rule about interfering with witnesses during the interview process.
It’s all very long-winded. The thing is, though, Anthony, if we wrap this up in the next half an hour, you can see your mum and Leo, have a cup of tea, while DS Osborne here gets you pie and mash. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?’
Anthony, a look of hope in his eyes, looked up to DS Osborne who smiled back at him. He turned back to DI Bishop. ‘Can I really see my mum?’
‘Yes.’
‘And have pie and mash?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And a cup of tea?’
‘And a cup of tea. All you need to do, is tell me you killed Alice Patterson, sign a piece of paper, and that’s it. It’s all over with.’
Anthony thought for a while. ‘All right,’ he said with a smile.