Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Judith was in the kitchen making breakfast. Geoff was sitting at the table, struggling to keep his eyes open.
There was a heavy knock at the front door.
As Freya was coming out of the living room at the time, she was the closest so answered.
She turned back to look at the expectant faces of Geoff and Judith in the doorway to the kitchen.
‘It’s my boss,’ she said. ‘I’ll be right back.’
She stepped out into the cold daylight and pulled her jacket around her to keep warm.
‘How are they?’ Detective Inspector Henry Bishop asked.
He walked away from the house and expected Freya to follow him.
He lit up a cigarette and took a long drag.
He was in his late forties but looked much older due to his chain-smoking and heavy drinking.
His unkempt hair was thinning, his waist was expanding, but he always smelled clean and fresh thanks to copious amounts of aftershave he sprayed on himself.
‘Not good, sir,’ Freya said, staying downwind of the cigarette smoke. ‘Judith managed to get a few hours’ sleep in the early hours. I think it was through exhaustion, mainly. Geoff’s been awake all night.’
He stopped and turned to face her. ‘We’ve had a call from our friend the dog walker. A body’s been found in woodland opposite Whitby Cemetery.’
‘Oh God,’ Freya said, looking down.
‘You said Alice was wearing a knitted red and black checked jumper?’
Freya nodded.
‘Then she’s our body.’
‘Oh no.’ Freya paused, dreading to hear more but needing to know. ‘Was she murdered?’
Bishop took another lengthy drag on his cigarette. ‘It doesn’t look like it. Lots of trees and branches down. It looks like she was just in the wrong place. How are you getting on with them?’
‘Geoff and Judith? Fine, I think.’
‘Good. They’ll need to make an identification to confirm it. Give it an hour then drive them to the hospital.’
‘Me?’
‘Who else?’ he said, walking away.
‘I’m only a WPC, sir.’
‘They need someone they know to break it to them. You’ve been here all night. It’ll be good practice for you. Only, don’t take too long over it, there’s a good girl.’
‘Sir…’ Freya began.
‘She wasn’t murdered, Fiona. This has nothing to do with me.’
Freya baulked at him getting her name wrong, but couldn’t correct him.
Bishop threw his half-smoked cigarette onto the ground, opened the door to his Astra and climbed in, slamming it closed behind him.
Freya remained on the pavement and watched it drive away. She’d never given the death message before. She didn’t know where to begin. She turned and slowly made her way back to the house.
Outside, she took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and walked in.
Geoff and Judith were back in the kitchen, sitting at the table. There was toast and a couple of bacon sandwiches in the middle and a cup of tea waiting for Freya. The smell alone made her feel sick. They looked up at her with wide eyes as she entered.
‘Any news?’ Geoff asked.
Freya couldn’t look at them. She could feel herself getting hot under the pressure and blood was thundering through her brain.
She tried to speak but couldn’t find the words, her mouth opened and closed several times before she chose something that would be truthful but not too severe.
‘Erm, this morning, a few hours ago, a dog walker found a body.’
Judith cried and let out a glass-shattering wail. Geoff jumped up and ran to her, folding her into his arms. He looked up at Freya to continue.
Freya could feel the tears crawling up inside her. She needed to remain professional. ‘There needs to be an identification, but DI Bishop seems to think, from the description you supplied of what Alice was wearing, that it is most likely Alice. I really am so sorry.’ Her bottom lip began to wobble.
‘How did she…?’ Geoff left the question hanging.
‘They don’t know. They seem to think it was from a falling branch in the storm.’
‘Where was she found?’
‘In woods opposite Whitby Cemetery.’
Judith looked up. Her face was red from crying, her eyes bulging. She was physically shaking. ‘What was she doing out there?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘She wouldn’t go into woods on her own.’
‘I don’t know what to tell you. I really am so sorry.’
‘She can’t be dead, Geoff, she can’t,’ Judith cried. ‘Please, don’t let it be her.’
Freya watched as Geoff comforted his wife.
They were both crying. There was nothing more she could do here, and she felt as if she was intruding on their grief.
She stepped out of the kitchen and went into the living room.
Once she was alone, she released the grip on her emotions and allowed the tears to fall.
A five-minute walk away on Crescent Avenue, Anthony Winstanley was late getting up for work.
Downstairs, in the kitchen of the mid-terraced house, Pauline was preparing the table for breakfast. The white bowls and plates were set for two.
A mug for Anthony and a cup and saucer for herself.
Pauline didn’t believe in starting the day with anything cooked and fatty.
The oats and milk were in the saucepan waiting for when she heard Anthony start moving around upstairs, then she’d set about making him a large bowl of porridge.
Pauline would have her usual breakfast of two slices of brown toast followed by a piece of fruit from the bowl on the side.
She looked at her watch. It was ten past eight and there was still no sound from upstairs.
She flicked on the kettle and headed out of the room.
She paused at the bottom of the stairs and angled her head for a better listen, not that she needed to strain her hearing, Anthony wasn’t the quietest of people.
She went upstairs and knocked on his closed door. There was no sound from within. She knocked again, louder.
‘Anthony, are you awake? It’s almost quarter past eight.’
She knocked again.
‘Mum, don’t. I’ve got a banging headache,’ Anthony answered from inside.
‘Are you getting up?’
‘I don’t feel very well. I’ve been awake since four. I keep shivering but I’m sweating.’
Pauline rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not surprised if you’re going to go out walking in a storm. It sounds like you’ve got a fever. Do you want me to call Dr Pratt?’
‘No.’
‘Are you going to work this morning or not?’
‘I don’t think I can, Mum.’
‘Shall I call Mrs Wilkinson and tell her you won’t be coming in?’
‘Yes please,’ he croaked.
‘You’ll need to make it up to her, Anthony. This isn’t on.’
‘I know. I will.’
‘Don’t forget to take your tablet.’
‘I won’t.’
Pauline shook her head and went downstairs.
Anthony catching a cold from walking in all that rain last night reminded Pauline of the washing in the machine.
She’d set it and gone straight to bed. Before she rang Mrs Wilkinson, she went into the kitchen, pulled open the washer door and took out the clothes.
Hopefully, if the weather held, she’d be able to hang them out.
She looked at the trousers and held them up to the light.
The scuff-marks of mud had come away from the bum, but there was still that red stain around the pocket.
She put them back in the washer, slammed the door closed and selected a boil wash.