Chapter 29 #2
‘Geoff,’ Freya said. ‘No. They were both distraught when she went missing. And when she was found, well, they both fell apart in front of me. The other thing is, there’s little to no evidence, either.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know how much you know about where Alice was found.
However, at first, they thought she’d been hit by a falling tree in the storm.
It was only when the pathologist was conducting the post-mortem that he realised she’d been strangled.
By the time DI Bishop and his team went back to the woods where she was found, there was nothing there.
Police had trampled all over it. Not only that, but Alice’s body had been cleaned.
There’s no evidence to suggest Anthony killed her.
All they’ve got is a false confession and a flimsy statement from a prostitute who places him near the scene. ’
Jennifer wanted to smile but knew how inappropriate that would be. ‘I’ve just realised I don’t know your name.’
Freya was reluctant to answer. ‘Freya. Freya Sloan. You’re not going to ask me to be a witness or anything, are you?’
‘No. Nothing like that. I assure you. However, if you hear of anything else, will you let me know?’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Anything to do with the case. I’ve met Anthony a few times and, each time, my belief in his innocence grows. He didn’t do this. But I need to know who did. I need as much proof as possible.’
‘I’ll try, but…’
Jennifer dug around in her handbag and pulled out a wrinkled business card. She grabbed a pen and wrote down a number on the back. ‘This is my home number. I’m either in the office or at home. Ring me any time. I promise, whatever you tell me will remain anonymous. Nobody will know we’ve spoken.’
Reluctantly, Freya took the card. ‘If I was a higher rank, I wouldn’t care, but I’m only a WPC.
DI Bishop doesn’t even have any women in his team yet.
He thinks all we’re good for is photocopying and making him mugs of tea.
Women have been integrated into the main force for the last ten years, and we’re still treated as second-class citizens. ’
‘You don’t have to tell me. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve turned up to see a client only for them to call the office afterwards and say they want a man representing them. Fortunately, Mr Bryce always fights my corner.’
‘I wish I had a Mr Bryce fighting for me,’ Freya said, looking dejected.
‘Freya, the force needs people like you. It needs women like you. I’m guessing you feel bad about going behind the backs of your colleagues, that you’re betraying them, but you’re not.
If you stick to your guns and fight, there’s no reason why you can’t climb the promotional ladder like any of the male officers. ’
‘I wish I had your confidence,’ Freya smiled.
‘Confidence comes with self-belief. I know I can do my job just as well as any man. I can prove it. One day soon, that brass plaque will say Inglethorpe, Bryce and Ripley. I know it,’ she said, full of determination.
Freya smiled. ‘I know it, too.’
Jennifer arrived home to a warm house and a cold atmosphere. She entered the kitchen carrying her briefcase and found Malcolm sitting at the table with a glass of red wine in front of him. He did not look happy.
‘Good evening. Bad day?’ she asked, taking in his glacial expression.
‘You could say that. Sit down. We need to talk.’
Jennifer tried to read his face but couldn’t. Slowly, she pulled out the chair opposite and tentatively sat down. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’ve been removed from the education committee.’
‘Why?’
‘And Benedict Whitehead, the twat, has said he won’t back my nomination for the independent welfare committee.’ He spoke through gritted teeth, his face red with anger.
‘Why?’ Jennifer repeated. ‘What’s happened?’
‘You.’ He looked directly at her with tear-filled eyes.
‘Me?’
‘Yes. All everyone is talking about is Anthony Winstanley and when his name comes up, so does yours. Every single person in this town knows he’s guilty, except you. People don’t want to be associated with a Ripley because of you sticking up for a rapist and a murderer.’
‘Malcolm…’ Jennifer began.
‘You’re defending a guilty man.’
‘He’s not guilty.’
‘Really? Then why is he in a remand centre? Why wasn’t he given bail? Why do the police have a cast-iron case against him?’
‘Who told you that?’ she asked, aghast.
‘I went to the police station today. I spoke to DI Bishop. He told me Anthony is guilty. He told me that he’s never had a case where he’s been so assured of someone’s guilt.’
‘He’s lying.’
‘Why would he lie?’
‘Because he screwed up,’ Jennifer shouted.
‘By the time Bishop’s team realised Alice Patterson was murdered, the site where she was found had been trampled all over.
Any footprints belonging to the killer had been lost. I also have it on good authority that he beat a confession out of Anthony Winstanley and paid a witness to falsify evidence. Anthony is innocent.’
‘How can you possibly know that?’
‘Because it’s the truth.’
‘It’s fiction. The jury will take one look at Anthony and find him guilty. You are going to ruin your career before it’s even off the ground, and you’re going to take me down with you,’ he said, standing up and storming out of the kitchen.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to meet Ralph for a game of squash. I need to get rid of some of this tension.’
‘We’re supposed to be going round to your mother’s for her birthday.’
Malcolm came back into the kitchen. ‘Oh, sorry, I forgot to tell you,’ he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Mum doesn’t want us round. She lives next door to Geoff Patterson’s mother and is, naturally, taking their side. You’re even alienating me from my own family now.’
He disappeared back into the hallway. A few seconds later, Jennifer jumped as the front door slammed.
She took a deep breath and slowly blew it out.
She knew Anthony was innocent. She had to stand by him, even though the strain on her marriage would be immense.
She doubted her marriage could survive the long wait for the trial to begin next spring.
She hoped something would happen before then and the real killer was caught, and everything could get back to normal as soon as possible.
Jennifer reached across the table and picked up Malcolm’s discarded glass of wine. She swigged it all back in one mouthful, then went over to the kitchen counter for the rest of the bottle.