Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Leo called Jennifer Ripley from a phone box close to the prison and she agreed to see them as soon as they arrived back in Whitby. Once inside her warm office with a cup of tea in front of them, they told her everything.
Jennifer, dressed in a red jacket and matching skirt, listened with wide-eyed horror, and took extensive notes.
‘I am so sorry, Pauline.’ Her voice made it clear she meant it.
‘They’ll kill him in there,’ Pauline exclaimed.
‘The prison won’t allow that to happen,’ Jennifer said, her tone calm and measured. ‘They’ll keep him segregated from the rest of the inmates. Look, Pauline, I can’t go into too much information right now, but I am incredibly confident that we can win this case.’
‘It shouldn’t even be going to trial,’ Pauline said.
Leo reached across and placed his hand on top of hers.
‘Pauline, I’m really sorry,’ Jennifer said.
‘I can’t even begin to understand what you’re going through.
I will put another plea to the magistrate and say that Anthony will be safer at home, but I’m certain it will fall on deaf ears.
The police believe they have a strong case, but I believe we have a stronger one. ’
‘I’m not sure how much longer I can cope with this,’ Pauline said.
‘How long, do you think, will it be before the trial begins?’ Leo asked.
Jennifer hesitated. ‘I won’t lie to you – we’re talking several months. It may even be the summer.’
Pauline’s mouth fell open. ‘And Anthony will be in prison all that time?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘But … he won’t last that long. I know it. He won’t … he can’t…’ Pauline collapsed. Leo pulled her towards him and held her tightly to him.
Leo looked to Jennifer with questioning eyes. She shook her head. There was nothing more she could do.
Later that evening, Jennifer arrived home to an empty house.
The meeting with Pauline and Leo was stuck in her mind.
It had been a week since Jennifer had last seen Pauline and, in that time, she seemed to have aged twenty years.
Is this what being a parent was like? Anthony was twenty-eight years old, yet Pauline was still heartbroken over what was happening to him.
When did that sense of parental responsibility fade? Did it ever?
Malcolm often spoke about having children and Jennifer was open to the idea.
She often pictured their future in a big house somewhere with a huge kitchen and a sprawling back garden with two or three children and some dogs running around.
Now, she wasn’t so sure. She didn’t think she’d be able to cope with a lifetime of worry even when they’d grown up and left home and started families of their own. Was it selfish not to have children?
The front door opened and slammed closed. Jennifer jumped. She was sitting at the kitchen table with an empty glass of wine in front of her. She didn’t remember drinking it, but she must have done as the bottle was half gone.
‘You don’t look like you’ve had a good day,’ Malcolm said. He was wearing jeans and a pullover and carrying a sports bag. He wasn’t working this week so had filled his diary with squash games and rounds of golf with the great and the powerful of East Yorkshire to help raise his profile.
‘Anthony Winstanley’s been beaten up,’ Jennifer said, pouring herself another drink.
There was silence for a minute before Malcolm finally replied. ‘Oh God. I suppose it was bound to happen. You know what some of these prisoners are like when they find out one of their number has raped and murdered a young woman.’
‘He didn’t…’ She stopped herself. She didn’t want that argument to resurface again. ‘How was your day?’
‘Wonderful,’ he said with a smile. He grabbed himself a glass from the cupboard and went to sit at the table next to his wife.
‘I beat Clive Jackson hands down. My game has never been as powerful. It’s the new racquet, it has to be.
Best present ever. Thank you, sweetheart,’ he said, leaning over and giving her a kiss.
She gave him a smile as she smelled the aftershave he’d slapped on himself after a shower. He poured himself a generous glass of wine. ‘By the way, Clive and Geraldine asked us over for dinner tonight. I told them we didn’t have any plans. I said we’d be there for seven thirty.’
‘Really?’ she asked, pulling a face.
‘I know Geraldine’s not the most sparkling personality in the world.’
‘No kidding. Over an hour she spoke about weaving last time I had coffee with her.’
Malcolm smiled. ‘But Clive is very well connected. And he does have an impressive wine collection.’
Jennifer perked up. ‘That’s true. In that case, I suggest we take a taxi.’
‘Good thinking, Batgirl. I’ll ring for one now.’
‘Right then, let me go and have a soak in the tub and mentally prepare myself for more of Geraldine’s fascinating chat,’ she said, filling up her wine glass, grabbing the bottle, and leaving the room.
As Jennifer sank into a luxuriously hot bath with bubbles all around her, she inhaled the aroma from a scented bubble bath her mother had bought her for Christmas. She felt herself relax. This was just what she needed.
She tried to let her mind go blank so she could unwind, but it wasn’t working.
She pictured Anthony Winstanley being beaten in his prison cell, his mother feeling heartbroken and powerless.
Jennifer believed in the British justice system.
She believed an innocent man would be freed.
She believed she would send Anthony back home to his mother. She just had to make sure it happened.