Grave Passion

by Phillip Strang

  Wendy remembered the love she had felt at Brad’s age, the love that Rose felt for Brad, for a farmer’s son not far from where she lived on the Yorkshire Moors. She had given herself to him, the same as Rose intended to with Brad. The farmer’s son, Wendy knew, was now married with five children, struggling to survive financially, and his health was poor. She had fared better with the man she eventually married, even though he had been singularly unambitious. He had, however, given her two fine sons and grandchildren.

  ‘The Winstons?’ Wendy asked of the mother.

  ‘Maeve’s still with Rose’s father, for her sake more than anything else. That’s what she says.’

  ‘She keeps in contact?’

  ‘We meet occasionally, and she’s often on the phone. She probably won’t forgive her husband, but she’s not the type to take off and find another man, and besides, she’s got a good life, better than mine.’

  ‘You’ve got Brad,’ Wendy reminded her.

  ‘And Jim, soon enough. He’s got another five months, and he’ll be free.’

  ‘Keep to the straight and narrow?’

  ‘He might want to, but temptation will get in the way. Who’s going to give a job to an ex-prisoner, and he’s got no skills, other than what he picked up in prison.’

  ‘It’s up to Brad to bring respectability to the family,’ Wendy said.

  ‘It’s too early to know, but I do like Rose. She’s the same as her mother, dependable, and Brad’s more like Rose’s father than his own father.’

  ‘I had some concern that you and Tim…?’

  ‘At school. No, Tim’s not Brad’s father, even though they look the same in some ways.’

  ‘Janice? Do you think about her?’

  ‘All the time. In time she might have straightened herself out, but it doesn’t matter now. She’s gone, a plot at the cemetery next to her father.’

  ‘Kensal Green?’

  ‘Not there, too expensive. I find myself talking to Hector. Strange, we get on better now that he’s dead than when he was alive. I can pour out my heart, not have to listen to him shouting back at me.’

  ‘We’re close,’ Wendy said as she sat back in her chair. As rundown as the house was, it was inviting, a place to make yourself comfortable, whereas up at the Winstons, a person felt that they should sit upright, fearful of making the place look untidy.

  ‘Is Brad safe?

  ‘I hope so. We’re still troubled by the murders. There’s no rhyme or reason for Janice’s death, nor for your husband’s. And then there are the other women, a Cathy Parkinson and an Amanda Upton.’

  ‘I met Cathy once, not that I can tell you much about her. She was with Janice in Notting Hill. I bumped into them on the street.’

  ‘Prostituting?’

  ‘Not there, not where all the tourists are. But yes, the two were selling themselves, not that Janice would admit to it, not back then.’

  ‘Cathy Parkinson?’

  ‘As I said, I met her, passed the time of day, nothing more. I could see that she was in a bad way. Just hoped that Janice would get through it, not that she did.’

  ‘Are Brad and Rose meeting up?’

  ‘At school. Who knows where else? Tim Winston might be neurotic about protecting his daughter, and Maeve will go along with him, not that she’s as severe as him, but Brad’s responsible, and Rose won’t allow anything to get out of hand. She won’t be coming home pregnant, not before marriage, not like with Jim, barely made it to the church in time.’

  ‘Amanda Upton?’

  ‘She was the body at the cemetery, wasn’t she?’

  ‘It was the woman that Brad and Rose saw. We know more about her, sold herself, high-class escort, not the sort to tarry on a street corner.’

  ‘Not like my daughter.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘It was true, nothing to apologise for. I only hope that Brad survives, and he doesn’t succumb to drugs and drink.’

  ‘A possibility?’

  Gladys Robinson’s voice went low. She came over close to Wendy and whispered in her ear. ‘He’s not Hector’s.’

  Wendy had seen it before, even commented on it, that Brad was tall for his age and slim, whereas Hector Robinson and the other son, Jim, were short.

  ‘Does he know?’

  ‘Nobody knows. It was one of those times when Hector and I were having difficulties, more often than not if the truth’s known.’

  ‘The father?’

  ‘I’ve told you that confidentially, woman to woman. You see, I have hope for Brad.’

  ‘Wouldn’t he benefit from the truth?’

  ‘One day, but not now. He was close to Janice, good friends with Jim. It would destroy Brad to be told.’

  ‘But it would make it easier with Rose’s parents.’

  ‘The son of an illicit affair, I doubt it.’

  ‘And he’s not Tim’s?’

  ‘Not a chance. I know who the father is; let’s leave it at that. Nobody needs to know, do they?’

  ‘I can’t see it as being relevant,’ Wendy said.

  Chapter 25

  Sean Garvey hadn’t been sure that the photo of Gareth Rees was the armed man in the car in Canning Town. However, the waitress at the café in Godstone, as well as the estate agent who had let the house, were certain when Larry showed them the photo. The man they knew was Gareth Rees.

  Wendy met up with Meredith Temple at a restaurant close to Meredith’s university. The woman was doing well, had just passed some exams and was full of herself.

  ‘I’m planning to move in with my boyfriend,’ Meredith said.

  ‘Long-term romance?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Does he know?’

  ‘My past? Not yet. Do I need to tell him?’

  ‘The past never leaves us totally. One day, a former client, the wrong word from him and your boyfriend’s gone. Men can be unpredictable when faced with reality.’

  ‘Don’t I know it. Another man, while I was on the game, he knew, made out that he didn’t care, but they all do to some extent. It’s natural, I suppose.’

  ‘When you were at Mary Wilton’s, did you meet any other women from the Philippines?’

  ‘Some, but I can’t say I spoke to them, not that much.’

  Wendy pushed a photo across the table. ‘Her, for instance?’

  ‘I can’t remember her name, or maybe I never asked, but yes, she was there around the same time as Analyn.’

  Wendy had hoped that Gabbi Gaffney had been truthful about her past, but Meredith had contradicted her. It had been Gabbi’s photo that Wendy had shown.

  ‘Does the name Gareth Rees mean anything to you? Or this photo, do you recognise the man?’

  ‘He came in once, not sure who he saw.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Wendy said. She liked Meredith Temple; she hoped she wasn’t further involved, as Gabbi Gaffney appeared to be.

  The two women ate their meals, drank their glasses of wine, and talked about this and that, nothing in particular. Wendy wasn’t anxious to leave; another trip to Oxford didn’t appeal that night. It was one of her grandchildren’s birthdays, and she wanted to go over to her son and daughter-in-law’s house to give the child his present. But, if duty called, then it would have to be another night.

  Once out of the restaurant, and not wanting to delay further, Wendy phoned Gabbi, the phone answered by a man with a Glaswegian accent.

  Wendy asked for Gabbi, not wanting to elaborate on the reason for the call, not sure how much the husband knew.

  ‘This is about Gareth Rees, I assume,’ Mike Gaffney said.

  ‘Yes.’

  After a brief interlude, Gabbi picked up the phone. ‘Sorry, the baby needed feeding. Always a performance.’

  ‘How much does your husband know?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘He knows everything, no secrets between husband and wife, not in this household.’

  ‘But there is. Mary Wilton ne
ver told me, but another of her women did. You didn’t find a job in a shop straight away. Why didn’t you tell me you had worked for Mary Wilton?’

  ‘Shame, I suppose. It wasn’t for long, and yes, back in Manila I had done things that I regretted. I thought that Mary Wilton’s would tide me over.’

  ‘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.

&nb
sp; ‘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 men 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.’