The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  ‘Was she attractive?’ Clare asked.

  ‘As a teenager.’

  ‘What do you know about Alan Winters?’

  ‘I never really knew him. I remember him as a skinny kid, always getting into trouble, but I’m not sure if I spoke to him more than once or twice as a youth. I arrested him a few times when he became older, but we didn’t dwell on his childhood, and Mavis was never mentioned.’

  ‘Did he know about you and Mavis?’

  ‘It’s unlikely, and besides, it was just the one time at a party. After that, I’d see her on the street with her friends, but we never went out together. It was our secret, that’s all. And even if he knew, what did it matter? It was the start of the age of sexual freedom; nobody, not even Alan, would have been concerned. And besides, my private life is past history.’

  ‘It’s a murder investigation, and you know two of the main players. I don’t think it is. What about Gerry, Alan Winter’s brother?’

  ‘He was a few years younger. I knew him vaguely.’

  ‘Capable of murder?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Any other brothers?’

  ‘Alan Winters was one of seven; I knew Stan and Fred, the older brothers.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘They were closer to my age. Back then they were starting down the slippery slope. They’re both in jail now: one for extortion, the other for attempting to pull out an ATM from a bank building with a truck and chain.’

  ‘What happened to the ATM?’

  ‘It didn’t budge, ripped off the back of the truck. Fred Winters is serving time courtesy of Her Majesty. The other brother, Stan, attempted to heavy the boss of a construction company in Salisbury.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He offered to protect the man’s equipment on site, to ensure that no damage occurred to any of his construction projects. The only problem was that Stan had failed to do his homework.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The boss of the construction company had wrestled professionally a few years earlier. One night, after the man had refused Stan’s generous offer, Stan and some of his colleagues decided to visit one of the construction sites.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They found the boss there with three of his former wrestling friends. They beat the hell out of Stan and his people, put one in hospital.’

  ‘Did anything happen after that?’

  ‘Stan and his friends were arrested; there was verifiable proof.’

  ‘The other siblings?’

  ‘Cyril, waste of space, Dean made good and left the area, no idea what he’s doing now, and then there’s Margie.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She’s the worst of the lot: heroin addiction, pretty as a child, but now she’s in her early forties. I see her occasionally late at night as I leave the pub. She’s attempting to feed an addiction, and there’s only one way to get sufficient money.’

  ‘What about Alan? He had money.’

  ‘You’ll need to ask Mavis, but Margie’s still out there selling herself.’

  ‘And the children?’

  ‘Not much I can tell you there. Neither has been in trouble with the law, although the son looks as though he’s heading that way. That’s about it for now. It’s up to you, Yarwood, to find out more.’

  ‘The women who he wanted to move into the house?’

  ‘Mavis may not know who they are, not totally, and if they’re not there now, we need to find them. I’ll make some enquiries. I know where Alan Winters liked to drink. As for you, there’s the less immediate family, and what about Mavis’s siblings? I can’t say I knew if there were any, although I think she was an only child. It’s worth checking, anyway.’

  Tremayne picked up his phone and called Jim Hughes. ‘Any updates?’

  ‘We’ve moved the body to Pathology. What I can tell you is the following: one, the man was unconscious when he was laid out on the Altar Stone.’

  ‘Drugged, drunk, bashed?’

  ‘Bashed. There’s a clear sign that he had been hit on the back of the head with a blunt instrument.’

  ‘Any idea what type.’

  ‘Not at the present moment. Pathology may be able to help.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Two sets of footprints, slightly off-centre to the direction they were walking.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘They were carrying something between them.’

  ‘Alan Winters?’

  ‘Almost certainly. It would have required two men of sufficient strength.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Apart from his throat being cut, there’s not much more I can tell you.’

  ‘How would they have got the body to the site unseen?’

  ‘You’re the detective. I would have thought it would have been difficult. Even at night, there’s always cars driving by, and no doubt everyone takes a look. It’s hard to ignore. The death seems symbolic, although there were no signs of a ceremony, just the man’s body and a slit throat.’

  ‘Weapon?’

  ‘We never found one. It’s probably just a sharp knife, but we can’t be sure.’

  ‘Okay, thanks. Send me the full report when it’s ready. In the meantime, we’ll continue our investigation.’

  ‘Tremayne, how do you do it? Every time you become involved, the deaths multiply.’

  ‘Just lucky, I suppose,’ Tremayne said, which to him seemed a flippant comment, seeing that the luckiest man in England at the time of his win was dead and about to be carved up by the pathologist.

  ***

  Tremayne left the office soon after. It was six in the evening, and whereas there was plenty to do, paperwork included, they still needed to find out about any friends, as well as the women that Winters had wasted his money on. Clare had an appointment to meet up with Winters’ widow again.

  The Old Mill Hotel in Harnham, twelfth century originally, although modernised since then, had been one of Winters’ favourites. The publican knew Tremayne on sight, pulled a pint of beer for him as he entered the pub. ‘What’ll it be, Tremayne? We’ve salad or sirloin steak.’

  ‘Are you joking?’

  ‘The steak then.’

  ‘Correct, well done, not half cooked as you normally serve it up to the trendies.’

  ‘The trendies are into the salads. What is the reason for you gracing our premises so early?’

  ‘Alan Winters.’

  ‘Salisbury’s richest inhabitant.’

  ‘I never thought about that,’ Tremayne said, ‘although he must have been.’

  ‘Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person.’

  ‘Mike, you may serve the best beer in Salisbury, but you’re full of hot air. What’s your genuine opinion on Alan Winters?’

  The publican drew a pint for himself and sat on his side of the bar, Tremayne on the other. An open fire burnt in one corner. It was still early, and apart from Tremayne, there was only a couple in one corner snuggled up close to each other, which caused the detective inspector to reflect back to his recent trip to Spain with Jean, his former wife.

  He had to admit the trip had been a success, in that they had both enjoyed it, but both were set in their ways, although they were meeting up again next month, which seemed an ideal relationship to both of them. The occasional getting together, the romantic weekends, and then back to their regular lives.

  ‘Winters, quite frankly, was a pain in the rear end. All that money and he’s still an ignoramus,’ the publican, a red-faced man, said. He downed his pint, drew another for himself and Tremayne. ‘On the house,’ he said.

  ‘We need to know who he was friendly with, the people bleeding him for money, the ones who didn’t get close, the women.’

  ‘The who’s who of the city’s ratbags, is that it?’

  ‘Are they?’

  ‘I’d say so. He used to bring me plenty of business, but I’ve tried to go upmarket here
. Anyone not into drunkenness and whores wouldn’t stay in the bar for very long when Winters was here.’

  ‘Were the women whores?’

  ‘They weren’t here for Winters’ charm, were they?’

  ‘I suppose not. What else can you tell me about his friends?’

  Another pint appeared in front of Tremayne, along with his steak. As he commenced to eat his meal, the publican continued to talk. The Old Mill had not been his favourite pub, Tremayne knew that, but since the Deer’s Head had lost his patronage, he’d been looking for somewhere to visit on a regular basis, although he assumed the pints on the house would not occur every time he visited.

  ‘Three to four nights a week, Winters would breeze into here, his retinue in hot pursuit.’

  ‘Describe them,’ Tremayne said between mouthfuls of food.

  ‘His brother, Gerry, as well as Cyril.’

  ‘Any sign of the sister?’

  ‘Margie?’

  ‘The only one that I know of.’

  ‘No. I’ve never seen her in here.’

  ‘You know her?’

  ‘Professionally, yes.’

  ‘Is she still heavily into heroin?’

  ‘She’s still injecting herself. I hope I haven’t shocked you.’

  ‘You’d be surprised what people will tell a police officer. If I were charging for confessions, I’d be a rich man by now. And besides, I’m interested in solving a murder before there’s another.’

  ‘Will there be?’

  ‘More often than not, although this case is unique.’

  ‘The Altar Stone?’

  ‘That’s it. Does it mean anything to you?’

  ‘Not really. It’s odd though. People always want to attach significance to Stonehenge that’s not there.’

  ‘Tell me about the men who came in with Winters?’

  ‘Apart from the brothers, there were a few others from where he lived before he won the money. I don’t know their names, although they looked as though they were bad news, and then there’s a loose group of drunks looking to con Winters out of a drink.’

  ‘Did they?’

  ‘Not always. He could be a moody bugger. Some days he’d only buy for his inner group, other days he’d buy for everyone. He splashed the money around like there was no tomorrow, which in the case of last night, there wasn’t.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘He was in here. In a good mood as well. He must have spent a thousand pounds in here, fed everyone as well. I had to call in extra staff at short notice, cost me plenty due to penalty rates. Not that I’m complaining as it was profitable.’

  ‘Any reason for the good mood?’

  ‘Not that I could see. I know he was shouting off at one stage that he had dealt with a major problem.’

  ‘Any idea what he was talking about?’

  ‘With the workload behind the bar? You’ve got to be joking. I was exhausted, glad when he left.’

  ‘What time did he leave?’

  ‘About ten in the evening. The man had had a few drinks by then, hardly seemed up to the task.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He had a couple of women draped around him. They got into the back seat of the Bentley, the three of them. His brother Gerry was driving. I assumed his idea of a celebration was a threesome with the two women, not that I can blame him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Both of them were very tasty.’

  ‘Do you know who they are?’

  ‘Neither of them is on the game, I know that.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘If they were, I would have found them and treated myself.’

  ‘Who were they? They’re important. We believe that Winters died between the hours of three and four this morning. It may be that they were the last two people to see him alive.’

  ‘Or passed out on a bed.’

  ‘As you say, but I need to find these women.’

  ‘They’re not the only women I’ve seen him with. Bees round a honeypot, they were. Mind you, he looked after them well.’

  ‘Let’s focus on these two women. Who were they?’

  ‘The blonde, she goes by the name of Polly Bennett. You’ll find her working during the day at a furniture store out on Devizes Road.’

  ‘I know it. If they’re not on the game, then what were they doing cheapening themselves with Winters?’ Tremayne asked, realising that he was on his fifth pint.

  ‘As I said, bees round a honeypot, hoping he’d spend it on them.’

  ‘Would he?’

  ‘The man had won sixty-eight million pounds. There were plenty more women ready and willing after he had tired of Polly and her friend.’

  ‘The friend’s name?’

  ‘Liz worked at the same place, a double act.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Both of them were attractive. One was blonde, the other brunette. Winters wouldn’t know what had hit him.’

  ‘And you never will.’

  ‘Not unless I win the lottery,’ the publican said. ‘Mind you, I’m not complaining, but it’s always good to dream.’

  ‘Winters had the dream, and now he’s dead and on a slab.’

  Tremayne phoned Clare on leaving the pub, the fresh air making him realise that he had drunk more than he should: six pints eventually, a good steak, and it was nine thirty in the evening. It was a murder investigation, and he should have continued, but he knew it would have to wait for tomorrow, early. ‘Where are you, Yarwood?’

  ‘I’m just wrapping up in the office. I’ve been to see Mavis Winters again. She was friendly, tried to set me up with her brother.’

  ‘Gerry?’

  ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘You can do better, Yarwood.’

  ‘Another compliment. You’ll have to watch yourself, guv.’

  ‘None of your lip. I’ve just had to spend a tough three hours in the pub at Harnham interviewing the publican.’

  ‘What did he have to say?’

  ‘We’ve got to meet a couple of Winters’ women in the morning. Meet me in the office at six, and we’ll go over what we’ve got.’

  ‘At 6 a.m. I’ll be there bright and breezy. And you, guv?’

  ‘I’ll be neither. How I suffer for the police force,’ Tremayne said.

  Clare knew his kind of suffering.

  Chapter 4

  Polly Bennett was not pleased to see two police officers at the door of the furniture store.

  ‘Detective Inspector Tremayne and this is Sergeant Yarwood,’ Tremayne said to her, the first of the women to arrive. Clare couldn’t see what Winters would have found attractive in her, as the woman was showing dark roots in her hair and her fashion sense was woeful in that her skirt rode too high, her blouse was too tight.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ Polly said as she grabbed herself a cup of coffee. ‘Do you want one?’ she said.

  ‘White, two sugars,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘I’ll pass,’ Clare said, noticing the dirty cups in the sink.

  ‘Alan Winters,’ Clare said after the other two were settled. Tremayne, she could see, liked the look of the woman. A man thing, Clare thought.

  ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘Yesterday morning, early.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘He gave us a lift home. Just after midnight.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Liz and I.’

  ‘Did he often do that?’

  ‘Sometimes. It’s nice to be driven home in a Bentley.’

  ‘And after he dropped you home?’

  ‘I went to bed.’

  ‘Where is Liz Maybury?’

  ‘She’ll be here soon. She’s not an early morning person.’

  ‘Alan Winters was found dead. Are you aware of this?’

  ‘He was alright when I last saw him.’

  ‘You don’t seem concerned,’ Clare said.

  ‘He was a generous man, plenty of money.’

&nb
sp; ‘You and Liz Maybury spent a lot of time with the man. If he was so generous, why are you working here? And what time did you last see him? The truth this time. We are well aware that you and Liz were involved with Winters.’

  ‘Okay, what if we were? He had plenty of money; we had what he wanted. There’s nothing wrong with what we were doing.’

  ‘We’re not your mother. We’re police officers, we only want the truth,’ Clare said. Tremayne could tell that she did not like the woman, did not approve of her behaviour.

  Polly Bennett shifted in her seat and went and made herself another cup of coffee. She returned and sat facing Clare, giving a sideways smile to Tremayne. ‘Sometimes Alan likes to come in.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Clare said. ‘He comes in for what? To play games, watch the television?’

  ‘Games – I suppose you could call it that. Liz and I, we’ve got an agreement with him. He pays for our accommodation, and we look after him.’

  ‘Sex, is that it?’

  ‘We’re not prostitutes. It’s just an agreement we have with him.’

  ‘This place?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘Alan owns the business. He promised to put it in our names.’

  ‘We were not aware that the man had any business sense.’

  ‘Alan, not a clue, but Liz and I have. We dealt with the purchase; he supplied the money.’

  ‘But not as a gift to you?’

  ‘If he’s dead, I suppose it won’t happen. That cow will see us out on the street soon enough.’

  Clare thought that was where Polly Bennett belonged anyway but said nothing.

  The door to the store’s kitchen burst open. ‘I slept in again,’ a woman said. The two police officers had just had an abrupt introduction to Liz Maybury. ‘Oh, sorry. I thought Polly was here on her own.’

  ‘I’m DI Tremayne, this is Sergeant Yarwood,’ Tremayne said, eying the woman who had barged in.

  ‘Oh, okay.’

  ‘Alan’s died,’ Polly said to her friend.

  ‘Not Alan. I don’t believe it,’ Liz said. Clare took stock of the woman: early thirties, shoulder length hair, brunette, seemed natural, firm figure, medium height, attractive even if the makeup was laid on too thick. She judged the woman to be the more attractive of the two.