Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-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.’
‘I feel sick, Leo.’ Her bottom lip began to wobble, and she sniffled back the tears desperately trying to fall. ‘I don’t … I…’ She was unsure what to say, but her head was full of questions. ‘I just want to scream.’
‘It’s difficult to take in, I know,’ Leo said, quietly. ‘Look, I think the best thing we can do right now is to try and get a good solicitor. They’ll know all the ins and outs. They can advise us on what to do next.’
‘I don’t know any solicitors.’
‘We could use that firm I used when that council bin lorry knocked down my wall. Different scenario, I know, but they’ll have someone who specialises in crimes like this.’
‘Why wouldn’t they let me see him?’ Pauline asked. She picked up her handbag from the floor, rummaged inside for a tissue, and blew her nose loudly.
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure how these things work,’ Leo said.
‘He’ll be so scared in a police cell on his own.’
‘Pauline…’ Leo was interrupted by a loud bang on the front door. ‘Do you want me to get it?’
‘No. I’ll go.’ Pauline rose from the sofa and went out into the hallway. Usually, she checked her appearance in the mirror by the door but didn’t bother this time. She opened the front door to find six men standing on her doorstep.
‘Pauline Winstanley?’
‘Yes,’ she said, cautiously, looking from one to the other in the dim light.
‘DI Henry Bishop. North East Police. I have here a warrant signed by a magistrate to search your property for anything that may help in the case against your son.’ He handed her the sheet of paper and made his way into the house without being asked.
‘But…’
‘All legal and above board, Mrs Winstanley. Osborne, you and Tyler go upstairs. Start with his bedroom. Ritter, take Davis and Allen into the living room. Now, Mrs Winstanley, we need to have a word,’ Bishop said with a crooked smile.
In the kitchen, Pauline listened to the sounds of her house being torn apart.
She asked Bishop, repeatedly, what they were looking for, saying she’d be able to help if he let her.
He replied that his men were professionals and knew what they were looking for.
Bishop had also tried to persuade Leo to go home, but Pauline was adamant she wanted him to stay.
So, he set about making Pauline a cup of tea and made a point of not asking Bishop and his team if they wanted one.
‘Can I call you Pauline?’ Bishop asked, getting a notebook out and rummaging in his pockets for a biro.
Pauline nodded. ‘We’ve arrested your son for the rape and murder of Alice Patterson on Monday the tenth of October this year.
’ Pauline winced at the accusation. ‘Can you tell me what time Anthony came home that evening?’
‘I don’t recall off the top of my head.’
‘Was it early or late?’
She swallowed hard. ‘It was late-ish. He’d been down to the front to watch the storm.’
‘On his own?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that something he’d done before?’
‘Yes. He likes bad weather.’
‘Why?’
‘He finds it interesting. He’s always been keen on storms and winter. Hasn’t he, Leo?’ she asked, looking pleadingly towards Leo who placed a mug of tea in front of her.
‘Yes,’ Leo said with a hint of smile. ‘After a heavy snowfall, we often go for a drive out on the moors. He loves it.’
‘Did you notice anything different about him on that night, Pauline?’ Bishop asked.
‘No.’
‘What did he look like when he came home?’
‘Well, he was wet, obviously.’
‘What did you do with his clothes?’
Pauline looked at Bishop and fixed his stare. ‘They were put into the wash.’
‘All of them?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you still have them?’
‘Well, yes, but he’s got lots of shirts and trousers. I couldn’t tell you which ones he was wearing that night. I’ve done several washes since then.’
‘None have been thrown away, though?’
‘No.’
‘In that case we’ll take all his clothes to be tested.’
‘All of them? Why? What are you looking for?’ Pauline’s voice broke as she reached into her cardigan sleeve for a tissue.
‘Despite your son having confessed, we’d still like hard forensic evidence to back up the case.’
‘He wouldn’t have confessed. I don’t know what you said to him in that interview room, but there is no way he would have confessed to doing something he hasn’t done.’
‘He said he did it, Mrs Winstanley. I know it’s difficult to hear, but the sooner you face up to what your son has done, the better. We can leave this for now, but I’d like you to come down to the station tomorrow to give a statement.’
‘Does she have to?’ Leo asked.
Bishop looked at him with a dead stare. ‘No. No she doesn’t. But is there any reason why she wouldn’t, if she wants to help her son?’
‘I don’t think you should say anything, Pauline. At least not until you’ve spoken to a solicitor,’ Leo said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Pauline thought about it momentarily before nodding. ‘Leo’s right. We need professional help here. I’ll get my solicitor to contact you.’
Bishop chewed on his lip and slammed his notebook closed.
‘As you wish.’ He stood up and made his way to the door leading into the hallway.
With his hand on the handle, he stopped and turned back.
‘Oh, one more thing, just as a precaution, you know what the press are like these days. I’m afraid a few of the more militant reporters saw us leaving the station earlier so you might find one or two camped out on your doorstep. Good evening to you both.’
An hour later, and Pauline and Leo were sitting on the sofa in the living room.
Leo had had to prise Pauline out of Anthony’s bedroom.
It had been stripped of all his clothes: jumpers, trousers, shirts, even his pants and socks.
They’d taken everything. And they’d even rummaged through the drawers in Pauline’s bedroom.
The cupboards in the kitchen and the sideboard in the living room, everything had been searched.
Despite Pauline having been around with the vacuum cleaner, the house didn’t feel clean. She’d been into the kitchen, grabbed the bleach and a couple of cloths and was all for scouring the house from top to bottom, but Leo stopped her.
‘Not tonight. It can wait until the morning,’ he said, holding her by the shoulders.
‘It’s a mess, Leo. The house is a complete mess.’
‘No. It isn’t. You just think it is. You need to calm down. You need to rest and get some sleep. Tomorrow, you need to put all your energy into getting a solicitor and getting Anthony out of that police station.’
Reluctantly, she agreed. ‘Are they still out there?’ She nodded to the door.
‘I’m afraid so. There’s more of them now, too.’ Leo had kept getting up and peering around the living room curtains every time he heard another car pull up.
‘He did that on purpose. That detective.’
‘I know he did. That’s something else we can bring up with the solicitor.’ Leo put his arm around her.
‘Will you stay with me tonight?’ Pauline asked after a lengthy silence.
Leo was about to reply when they heard a loud smash from the kitchen.
They both jumped and ran into the room to see a brick on the floor surrounded by broken glass.
A strong wind was blowing in from the hole in the window.
In the distance, sounds of laughing could be heard and heavy footsteps running away.
‘It’s started,’ Pauline whispered.
A five-minute walk away from the Winstanley house, in John Street Geoffrey and Judith Patterson were sitting on the sofa in silence. The television was off, neither of them was reading a book or a newspaper, they were simply sitting together, holding hands, struggling to cope with events.
Geoff had taken an extended period of leave from work.
His manager said for him to take as long as he needed, his job would still be waiting for him.
Judith tried to call her manager several times but could never get past dialling before she burst into tears.
She didn’t care if she lost her job. She’d already lost her daughter, anything else would pale into insignificance.
Judith’s mother rang several times a day to see how her daughter was doing.
After the funeral, she’d gone back to Whitstable and said she’d come back if they needed her.
Her parting words were trite: ‘time is a great healer’.
It was something Judith had heard a lot since Alice was so cruelly taken away from her.