Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
Time spent in prison: five years, six months
Jennifer had been in the newspaper before, but this time was different.
She looked at the double centre-page article, skimmed the words, and studied the photograph.
She had spent hours choosing the right outfit for the photoshoot and now wished she’d gone for the navy jacket rather than the red.
She hadn’t noticed how big the shoulder pads were before.
And what was wrong with her hair? It looked huge.
However, ignoring her disappointment in the photo, this was a success story.
Following the failure of two appeals to try to get a retrial for Anthony Winstanley, Jennifer’s resolve never wavered.
She knew he was innocent. She also knew that Anthony wouldn’t be the only person languishing in prison for a crime they didn’t commit.
With the backing of Inglethorpe and Bryce, Jennifer set up Wrongly Accused, a charity that offered free legal advice for those with a legitimate case against their conviction.
During the early days of the charity finding its feet, she was inundated with hopeful prisoners jumping on the bandwagon, desperate for a chance at freedom.
It took time and many hours to sort out the chancers from the genuine cases.
When she found a legitimate one, it was a laborious process to track down the original files, court transcripts, witnesses, defence barristers and retired detectives to put together a case to show that the conviction was unsound.
Now, four years later, she was reading her first success story, and she could not be happier.
In 1982, Margaret Cox was sentenced to life in prison for the brutal murder of her husband, Leonard. She had stabbed him one Friday night in February, before calling the police and telling them what she had done.
There was no trial as she had pleaded guilty and, without any help or defence, Margaret Cox calmly went to prison.
In the months and years that followed, the truth about Margaret’s motive became clear.
Lenny was a violent man, especially after having a drink, and his wife was a virtual prisoner in her own home.
Margaret had been suffering, both physically and mentally, until she couldn’t take the pain anymore.
There were only two outcomes – either Lenny eventually killed Margaret in one of his drunken rages, or she protected herself by fighting back.
When Jennifer Ripley heard that Margaret had been acting in self-defence, she worked tirelessly to put together a case that would be ground-breaking for the British legal system.
Four years later, Margaret Cox walked away from prison a free woman.
The photograph in the newspaper showed a relieved woman outside the prison, stood next to a grinning Jennifer.
Two women had taken on the might of the justice system and had won.
‘Have you seen this?’ Jennifer asked when Malcolm entered the kitchen.
‘What’s that?’
‘I’m in the paper. Centre page, double-page spread. I can’t believe it,’ she smiled, turning the paper around to show him as he came over to the table to have a look.
‘I don’t think I like the jacket you chose.’
‘No. I’m having second thoughts about that one, too.’
‘What’s wrong with your hair?’
‘Ignore my hair, Malcolm,’ she said, annoyed that he wasn’t seeing the feature for what it really stood for.
‘Don’t you see, this is a huge success story.
This will do the charity so much good.’ She breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed in her seat.
‘I’ve put so much hard work into this in the past four years. This will prove that I’m right.’
‘Right about what?’
‘About the fact that there are people in prison who shouldn’t be. That there are many more Margaret Coxes in this country. One of whom is Anthony Winstanley.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake, Jen, when are you going to let that one go?’ Malcolm said, exhausted. ‘I thought we’d heard the last of his name when his second appeal failed.’
‘Why would I stop?’
Malcolm came over to the table, placed his coffee mug on a coaster, pulled out a chair and sat down. He took her hand in his. ‘I can’t keep having this same conversation with you. Jennifer, I love you. I love how committed you are to this charity, and your work, but you need to let Anthony go.’
‘I can’t do that, Malcolm. I can’t.’
He looked at her, studied her worried face. ‘Jennifer, do you remember when I lost the vote for leadership on the council, and I spent weeks moping? Do you remember what you said to me?’
‘Not off the top of my head, no.’
‘You told me to get over it. You told me to admit that I’d lost and find something else to get my teeth into.
I took your words on board and now I’m MP for Whitby.
If it hadn’t been for you, I’d still be battling with the council and pissing about with building permits and parking restrictions.
But I’m now a backbencher in the House of Commons, within a hair’s breadth of being in the Cabinet at the next reshuffle.
You have done that for me. Now, I beg of you, take your own words on board.
Seek out more Margaret Coxes but leave the Anthony Winstanleys where they belong. ’
He stood up and went back to the worktop where the kettle had just boiled.
‘Tea?’ he asked.
Jennifer sat at the table, silent.
‘Jennifer? I asked if you wanted a tea?’ he asked again when she didn’t answer him.
‘Oh.’ She came back to reality. ‘Yes. I may as well. Thanks.’ A frown settled on her face as she took in her husband’s sage words.
‘Are you still coming down to London this weekend?’
‘Of course,’ she said, looking back down at the newspaper article, though her enthusiasm for it had waned.
‘George has let me have his penthouse apartment for the weekend, overlooking the Thames. I thought a king-size bed, a sunken bathtub and all the luxuries would help us relax. It might just be what we need to help us try for a baby.’
‘Sorry?’ She looked up.
‘I thought we could try for a baby again. I’ve been wearing these baggy boxer shorts for over a month now. Fingers crossed that might have freed something up down there.’
‘Right,’ she smiled. ‘Yes. Of course. I’m just going to jump in the shower.’
‘I’ve made you a tea.’
‘I completely lost track of time.’
Jennifer ran out of the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time.
From the bottom of her wardrobe, she took out her handbag, rummaged inside, and found the squashed box of contraceptive pills she hid at the bottom.
She snapped one out of the blister pack and dry-swallowed it.
She did want a child. She would love to be a mother, but right now, her career was far more important.