DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 2

by Phillip Strang

  ‘Gareth Rees visited you there. I know this to be a fact.’

  ‘He was an angry man, and when he had thrown me out, he gave me nothing. The only money I had was in my bag, about five hundred pounds. It wasn’t going to last long, not to find somewhere decent to live, and I was at an emotional low, didn’t care too much what happened to me.’

  ‘Why the visit?’

  ‘He had felt some remorse. I told you about the guns. I never asked, but I was certain that he used them.’

  ‘Ian Naughton?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So how come Analyn is with the man we know as Ian Naughton?’

  ‘I don’t know. He could have met her through Gareth, but I can’t be sure. Gareth was unfaithful, I know that. She could have been one of Gareth’s women, or this Ian Naughton.’

  ‘Your husband, Mike?’

  ‘He’s listening in. As I said, no secrets. He knows the whole story. Life was tough back in the Philippines, people do what they can to survive. That’s what I had done at Mary’s.’

  ‘Is that the whole truth? Or do I need to come up to Oxford, slam you in a prison cell and give you the third degree? Lying to the police is a crime, and too many people have died, and Gareth Rees is a strong contender for some of them. A fastidious man?’

  ‘Always well-dressed, aftershave, a freshly-pressed shirt. Yes, he was fastidious.’

  ‘Gabbi, don’t lie. People have died for reasons that we don’t know, for being connected through Mary Wilton’s daughter. It’s not over yet, so be careful. We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with. Gareth? Psychopathic, a sociopath, an antisocial personality disorder?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Anti-social, uncaring, unable to distinguish between right and wrong, lies, deceives, uses false names, unable to make long-term plans.’

  ‘Not Gareth. He was meticulous in arranging the paperwork in the Philippines, and he cared, not always, but he had felt sorry for how he had treated me that day. If he was as bad as you think he might be, I can’t say I saw it.’

  ‘I suggest you don’t leave the house for a couple of days, nor your husband. I’ll phone the local police station, ask them to keep a watch on your house, and I’ll text you a couple of numbers for speed dial if you need them,’ Wendy said.

  Whereas there was no fathomable reason for the other deaths, Gabbi Gaffney had helped the police in the hunt for her first husband. If he was as dangerous as suspected, it was a possibility that he would see his former wife as someone who had betrayed him.

  Also, the death of Janice Robinson had been clinical with little blood spatter, the sign of a careful man, like Gareth Rees. Cathy Parkinson’s had been messy, which indicated either a master disguise by Rees or a different person.

  ***

  Rees continued to be a conundrum. On the one hand, decent and caring; on the other, violent and quick to anger. And it did appear that his affection for Gabbi had been genuine in that he had applied for permanent residency in the Philippines, and the documentation had required fingerprints.

  It had taken longer than expected, the bureaucracy in the Philippines, but Bridget had the prints, and they were in the database. If the man had a criminal record, it would soon be known, a list of aliases used as well.

  Wendy visited Tim and Maeve Winston, found the atmosphere in the house chilly, but more for her sake, as well as for Rose, husband and wife chatted amicably. But behind closed doors Wendy doubted if there were any signs of affection between the loyal and dependable Maeve and the philandering Tim. And Janice was probably not the man’s first dalliance, even if it came with a deviant attraction, in that he had slept with the mother when she had been younger.

  ‘We’re still concerned for Rose,’ Tim Winston said. He was sitting in one chair, his wife in another. Rose had excused herself and gone to her room, homework mentioned as the reason, although messaging to Brad had to be considered.

  ‘We believe we’ve found a significant lead on one of the men,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Men?’ Maeve Winston said. ‘We thought there was only one and the Asian woman.’

  ‘So did we, until we came across the other man in Canning Town. We’ve got a name for him; his birth name, as well as a photo. Although we’re certain that he doesn’t use that name most of the time.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘The name?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He married a woman from the Philippines, brought her to England, ensured she got permanent residency and then turned her out of the marital house.’

  ‘Charming,’ Tim Winston said. ‘Not something I could do.’

  ‘I could,’ his wife said sneeringly, directing her gaze at her husband.

  The underlying tension was palpable, not an ideal environment for the susceptible Rose, a young woman with illusions of perfect love, the result of her sensitive nature and a mind full from reading mushy romance stories.

  ‘This other man,’ Tim Winston said, ignoring his wife’s aside. ‘Did he kill Janice?’

  ‘He’s a fastidious man. Her death was clean and tidy, well-executed. Cathy Parkinson’s wasn’t, so we are tending to rule him out for that one, but Amanda Upton’s was neat, clinical.’

  ‘He killed her?’

  ‘Amanda? It’s probable.’

  ‘A trained killer?’

  ‘Trained at the taxpayer’s expense, possible military training, and now loose on the street. He could be a gun or a knife for hire, but we have reason to believe that he was on close personal terms with the man we know as Ian Naughton.’

  ‘Cathy Parkinson?’ Maeve Winston asked.

  ‘The woman was as low as she could get. A hopeless drug addict, she survived from one hit to the next. Janice Robinson wasn’t much better, but she was holding her head above water. With the right care and desire on her part, she might have redeemed herself.’

  ‘Statistically, or is that for Gladys Robinson’s benefit? She wasn’t the best mother.’

  ‘She was a terrible mother, still is. She means well, but she’s weak, besotted with vodka.’

  ‘I still like her, even after all that’s happened.’

  ‘So do I,’ Wendy said. ‘An open book.’

  ‘Is she?’ Tim Winston said. ‘There are enough skeletons in her cupboard.’

  ‘I’m not sure how much she knew about the abuse of Janice by the men who stayed with her.’

  ‘She must have suspected.’

  ‘Skeletons in the cupboard, as you say. But Brad’s almost adult now, no reason to rake over old coals. And besides, I’m Homicide, not social services. They haven’t proved anything, not that I’m sure they would have known. Believe me, every house has its demons, even yours.’

  It seemed to Wendy that the conversation with the Winstons was glib and of little relevance; as if she was giving them a briefing, getting nothing in return. It wasn’t the reason for being in the house.

  ‘Did either of you know Cathy Parkinson or Meredith Temple?’ Wendy asked. She didn’t expect a direct answer, not from the husband with his wife in the room.

  ‘I don’t make it a habit of associating with prostitutes,’ Maeve Winston said.

  ‘The names don’t mean anything to me,’ Tim Winston said.

  His response was direct, and to the point, Wendy noted. No determined statement that he didn’t know them, that he didn’t make a habit of killing women, the response of the usually indignant man. But Winston was impassive, and he looked straight forward, not making eye contact with either his wife or Wendy.

  Wendy knew that she wasn’t an expert at reading people, but Winston had a sheepish look about him.

  ‘Rose and Brad?’ she asked.

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ Tim Winston said.

  ‘Tell me about Gladys Robinson. We know that Hector, her husband, was with her on and off, and then he left for good after Jim had given him a good thumping.’

  ‘In particular?’

  ‘The men she went out with; the me
n who could have abused Janice.’

  ‘Maeve may know something. I certainly don’t.’

  ‘I rarely saw her,’ Maeve said. ‘Sometimes at the school, in the street occasionally, and once or twice we met, had a bite to eat, a cup of coffee. Apart from that, I never saw any of the men, although once Gladys had a bruise on her face.’

  ‘One of them hit her?’

  ‘Not that she’d admit to it. Gladys deserved better than Hector, but she was unable to rise above her lowly origins, condemned to live the life of her parents.’

  ‘She wanted better?’

  ‘She wanted Tim, but he was mine, although I’m not so sure I made the best decision.’

  ‘Rose is your primary concern. It’s for you to ensure she grows up in a nurturing environment.’

  ‘We both know that,’ Tim Winston said. ‘Brad Robinson’s not the person for her; his background, his family.’

  Wendy wanted to say the genetic encumbrance that the Winstons believed that Brad had, had been diluted, but it was the one secret she knew she would keep.

  ‘Tell me, Mr Winston, are you a fastidious man?’

  ‘Are you inferring that I could have killed Janice? I may be many things, but I’m not a murderer.’

  ‘But you knew one of the other women.’ Wendy had tired of skirting around the issues. She hadn’t wanted Maeve Winston to be hurt any more than she had been already, but it was a murder enquiry, not a knitting circle, and definitely not the old ladies and their Ouija board that she had chanced on early in the investigation.

  ‘You’d better answer the sergeant,’ Maeve said. ‘If I’m to forgive you eventually for Janice, then you’d better own up. Two won’t be more difficult than the one.’

  ‘I knew Meredith Temple,’ Winston admitted.

  ‘At Mary Wilton’s?’

  ‘Yes. You realise what you’re doing?’

  ‘I do, getting to the truth,’ Wendy said. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Winston,’ looking over at the wife, ‘but this is necessary. I need to know if your husband is capable of murder.’

  Both husband and wife were on their feet; both were distraught.

  ‘How dare you?’ Maeve Winston said. ‘We invite you in, show you courtesy. And you can say that.’

  ‘Good,’ Wendy said, adopting an Isaac tactic. ‘You’re both riled.’

  ‘You want this?’

  ‘Too much beating around the bush. Let’s talk honestly. I don’t think your husband is a murderer, not yet. But in his defence, he needs to convince you and me that he’s telling the truth. I, as an experienced police officer, will know from my training and many murder enquiries; you will know as you are married to him. Sorry to be blunt, but that’s the way it is.

  ‘Let’s get down to basics. Janice was killed by a fastidious, probably trained killer. And so was Amanda Upton. Which leaves us with Cathy Parkinson. That death was neither professional nor pleasant. Now, either the murderer was inexperienced, or he felt joy in killing her and then stringing her up, or it was professional, made to look as if an amateur had committed it. He had also had sex with her before the murder, whereas Janice’s murderer had not.’

  ‘Maybe the man was incapable,’ Maeve Winston said.

  ‘If it’s Gareth Rees, then we know that he’s capable. But we continue to assume there was a different murderer for Cathy Parkinson.’

  ‘Hector Robinson?’

  ‘He was killed by a local gang of hoodies: poorly educated, disenfranchised, the flotsam of society. Not that there will ever be a conviction and two of them are dead; one at the hand of his gang, the other by an unknown assailant, although more than likely a rival gang. Life is tough where they live, and most of them don’t live for long, violence and death come too easily. Which leaves Cathy Parkinson. It could be the man we know as Ian Naughton, but so far, we don’t know too much about him, other than DCI Cook and DI Hill met the man briefly.’

  ‘Are you trying to pin this Cathy Parkinson’s death on Tim?’ Maeve said.

  ‘I don’t want to. But what I want is the truth. Mr Winston, you knew one of the other women, which indicates that you knew Mary Wilton’s premises. Am I correct?’

  ‘You’re correct. I knew Meredith. I’ve told you that already.’

  ‘You paid for her services?’

  ‘I did,’ Winston said in a quiet voice.

  ‘Cathy Parkinson?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Don’t make me out to be a monster. Okay, I slept with Janice and the other woman. If I say I regret it now, it’s not going to make any difference. However, I draw the line that I murdered this other woman. I can vaguely remember seeing her, and if it’s the same person, she wasn’t in good shape.’

  ‘Analyn?’

  ‘Not the name.’

  ‘Gabbi, another Asian woman?’

  ‘A picture?’

  Wendy took out her phone, scrolled through the photo gallery, passed it over to Tim Winston.

  ‘Yes, I can remember her, but no, I did not sleep with her. Only with Janice occasionally and Meredith on one occasion. Is she dead? Are you going to try and pin that on me?’

  ‘She’s alive and well, no longer lying on her back to make money. She’s sorted herself out.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Maeve Winston asked.

  ‘At university, doing well.’

  One more suspect to consider, Wendy thought, after she left the Winstons’ house. Tim Winston’s misdemeanours were more than had previously been considered. The man, outwardly portrayed himself as a solid family man, good father, responsible citizen, but there was a dark side to him, a side that enjoyed the company of prostitutes.

  Chapter 26

  Wendy realised after leaving the Winstons that revealing that Meredith Temple was studying at a university may not have been wise; after all, the apparent lack of connection between the murders, and the unknown motives, might have placed her in jeopardy.

  To Wendy, Tim Winston had always seemed to be a decent man, but his rating as a good husband to Maeve had suffered a few too many blows. The revelations of him and Janice Robinson, and now of his having spent time with Meredith Temple, were starting to damn the man. And if she mentioned to her DCI that she hoped it wasn’t Tim for the sake of his wife and daughter, Wendy knew that she would receive a gentle rebuke, in that it was murder, and the guilty is the guilty, with no lesser investigation of the upright and decent than of the despicable and criminal.

  Wendy had phoned Gabbi Gaffney, checked on Gareth Rees and his sexual appetite; she confirmed that he was normal on that count. That meant that Rees could have killed Cathy Parkinson as well as Janice Robinson.

  In the office, on Wendy’s return, Larry Hill was briefing Isaac as to what he had found out on the street, although judging by the smell of beer, the discussions with Spanish John, various informers, the destitute and despondent had been conducted in a licensed premise.

  ‘Nobody seems to be able to help much,’ Larry said as Wendy passed over a strong mint from her handbag.

  ‘Here, suck on this,’ she said.

  Isaac remembered when his sergeant had first joined Homicide, and the smell of her smoking. He had had words with her on a few occasions, almost put it in writing once, and now the woman, no longer smoking, was criticising another member of the department for the unpleasant smell.

  Larry took the mint, gave an embarrassed grunt in acknowledgement, and placed it in his mouth.

  Isaac, choosing not to comment on Wendy’s actions, focussed back to the investigation. ‘Wendy, Tim Winston? A possibility?’

  ‘Remote, but can’t be ruled out. Even so, no motive.’

  ‘But he does,’ Larry said. ‘His wife and daughter. If the man can’t help himself and his wife had him on short rations, who knows? And then Janice is killed, and he knows that it’s only a matter of time before we find out about him and her, so he could rationalise, no matter how obscure it seems, that others who know about his needs have to be removed.’


  ‘He’s right,’ Isaac said, looking over at Wendy.

  ‘I know. It’s Cathy Parkinson that concerns me. He said that he hadn’t slept with her, only Janice Robinson and Meredith, so why kill her?’

  ‘The man would have been frantic; secrets were about to be revealed.’

  ‘Cathy Parkinson might have spoken, mentioned to someone that she knew about Janice and some of her clients. Her brain was probably addled, functioning on highs and lows, a loose cannon.’

  ‘And one of Janice’s clients could have been Gareth Rees or even the mysterious Ian Naughton.’

  ‘Except, that Naughton had Analyn, or so we believe,’ Isaac said. ‘Why would he have wanted any of the other three? And we met him, remember. He didn’t seem the sort of man to go down market.’

  ‘Don’t discount someone on what you believe,’ Wendy said. ‘Your mantra.’

  ‘I can’t argue with you, and besides, what we saw might have been a veneer.’

  Bridget entered Isaac’s office, handed each of the three already there a folder. ‘Inside, Gareth Rees, what I could find out.’

  ‘Criminal record?’

  ‘When he was younger, and he used the name of Rees. But as he was a minor, his fingerprints weren’t kept on file, a way to give the young man a chance at life, untarnished by a troubled childhood.’

  ‘The précised version,’ Isaac said. Larry had opened his folder, so had Wendy. Isaac’s sat closed on the desk.

  ‘He was court-martialled out of the military after an incident somewhere in the Middle East. No details and it’s unlikely we’ll ever find out what it was.’

  ‘Violence?’

  ‘His record in the military had been exemplary. You’ll find the usual: where he was assigned, countries overseas, commendations, and so on. But after the court-martial, nothing, not from the military. It seems that he had been found guilty and bundled out of the service, no time in a military prison.’

  ‘Suspicious?’ Isaac said.

  ‘Highly,’ Larry said, ‘but it proves one thing, he would have been capable of murdering Amanda Upton.’

  ‘There’s more,’ Bridget said. ‘I found a fingerprint match. Gareth Rees used an alias, Peter Hood. That name has a criminal conviction against it for grievous bodily harm. This is before he entered the military.’