‘The usual,’ Tremayne said, forgetting that it wasn’t Harry behind the bar but another man.
‘And what’s that?’
‘A pint of your best. Any food?’
‘Chicken pie.’
‘I’ll have one of those.’ Tremayne instinctively made for his favourite seat. It was unoccupied. He took a drink of beer, opened up his newspaper, took out a pen. He felt at home.
‘How did Sonny Boy go in the 2.30 at Newmarket?’ the publican asked, remembering their earlier conversation when Tremayne and Clare had rescued Bertie Winters.
‘Which horse did you choose?’
‘Flash Comet, it romped home, 10 to 1.’
‘Your skills are better than mine. Yarwood, that’s the police officer that I came in with before, she reckons I’m wasting my time.’
‘Do you ever get out to the Salisbury Races?’
‘Whenever I can.’
‘Next time you go, give me a call. We could make a day of it, have a few beers, a few bets.’
‘What about the pub?’
‘I’m not wedded to the place. I can always call in help, and my wife will serve behind the bar.’
‘She’s not here?’
‘She is when it’s necessary. Tell me about the former publican,’ Evan said.
‘Yarwood was engaged to the man. Harry Holchester was his name. I liked him.’
‘He turned out bad?’
‘Not according to Yarwood, but yes. He was one of those up at Avon Hill. Have you ever been out there?’
‘Not yet. We’re new to the area.’
‘A pretty place. Most of the stone to build the cathedral came from a quarry nearby.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Most people don’t. It’s not the same as when we were there. Back then Avon Hill was a foreboding place where you hardly saw anyone. The last time I was there with Yarwood to put flowers on Harry’s grave, it was more agreeable, children in the street.’
‘Yarwood, will she come in here again?’
‘It’s unlikely. She’d not be pleased with my being here.’
A call from the bar for service and Evan left.
Tremayne ate his pie and drank his beer. After ninety minutes he left the pub; it just didn’t feel right, almost disloyal to Yarwood.
***
Clare drank her wine. Polly Bennett and Liz Maybury were downing vodkas. Clare enjoyed their company, even though she knew their story, their willingness to use their bodies to gain what they wanted. She realised that ambition is achieved in many ways; she wanted to do it through competent policing, the two women, Polly clearly the more intelligent of the two, would use whatever was at their disposal.
‘Why are we here?’ Polly said. ‘We’re an open book, you know all about us, we know nothing about you.’
‘What’s to tell,’ Clare said.
‘Everyone’s got a story.’
The three women were sitting in the Ox Row Inn. All of them had ordered. Clare knew she would be paying.
‘You know about us,’ Liz said. ‘I don’t think you approve either. Am I right?’
‘I couldn’t do what you have.’
‘Alan?’
‘And Gerry.’
‘It was good to be chauffeured around in a Bentley. And Alan set us up in business.’
‘That’s what I don’t get. Why, if you can seduce the man, do you bother with running a business?’
‘Clare, we want our independence. Alan was fun, so is Gerry, no doubt another man will be, but we want each other, not them.’
‘We’ve assumed you were.’
‘Involved?’
‘Does it worry you?’
‘No. But why the men?’
‘We swing both ways. It’s not a big deal for us. We’re not ashamed of using men if it achieves what we want. Alan was generous, and Gerry, well, he’s a lot of fun.’
‘Humorous?’ Clare said.
‘In bed,’ Polly said. Both she and Liz laughed at Clare’s apparent naivety.
‘Clare, what’s your story? You at least owe us that.’
‘There’s not much to say. I met a man, we were engaged, preparing to get married. And then he was killed.’
‘We know more than that,’ Liz said.
‘If you don’t want to talk about it,’ Polly said, ‘we’d understand.’
‘No, you’re right. I owe you the truth. I came here from Norfolk. We were involved in a series of murders, Tremayne and me, not all of them pleasant. We became aware of a group of pagans conducting ceremonies.’
‘What sort of ceremonies?’ Liz asked.
‘Human sacrifice.’
‘In Salisbury?’
‘I’ve told you the story,’ Polly said. ‘I know all about it, Clare. You don’t need to say anymore.’
‘It’s fine. It’s good to talk. You’re local, Liz isn’t. Harry, he was the publican of the Deer’s Head. We were in love, moving in together. And then DI Tremayne and myself are trapped out at Avon Hill, along with some others, and they’re coming for us.’
‘Who?’ Liz said.
‘Let Clare talk,’ Polly said.
‘Some of the others go for help, some try to make a run for it across the fields. Not all of them made it.’
‘And then what?’ Liz said. Clare could see that she enjoyed the macabre.
‘We make a run for it. We take one of the police cars, there are four of us. We make it up the hill, no more than a mile, they catch us, tie us up.’
‘And?’
‘The chief elder invokes his gods, the others become desperate for a sacrifice. They decide I’m the first. They prepare to come for me, then some of them decide that it’s gone too far. They start fighting amongst themselves. Some are killed, those left come for me. Harry, I didn’t know he was one of the elders, releases me, tells me to get out of there with DI Tremayne and two uniforms. Harry then kills the elder, and they dissipate. Most are in jail now for murder.’
Liz had wanted to hear the ghoulish details, did not expect to be moved by the story. ‘How sad,’ she said.
‘You must have read about it,’ Clare said. ‘It was the headline story on the television for a few days.’
‘I remember it, but you were there. You were a witness.’
‘I was meant to be dead.’
‘And Harry?’ Liz said.
‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It brings back painful memories.’
‘You can’t bottle them up forever,’ Polly said. ‘Maybe you see us as uninvolved. It’s not something you can tell your parents, probably not even talk to the others who were there.’
‘We have the same problem,’ Liz said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘We want to tell our parents about us.’
‘It may be best to sit them down and tell them the truth. It’s never as bad as you imagine. I wanted to ask you about Alan’s death,’ Clare said.
‘A few drinks and we’ll talk, confess to the crime,’ Polly said.
‘I don’t think you two did it, but you’ve been close to certain members of the family. You’ve been around to Alan and Mavis’s house. The smallest piece of information helps in the final analysis. Something obscure may bring his murder to a conclusion.’
‘We didn’t kill him, although we slept with him. I suppose you see us as promiscuous.’
‘Promiscuous is a term I would use.’
‘You’ve been honest. We’ll not hold it against you.’
The three women ordered more drinks.
‘You never finished your story,’ Liz said.
‘We’re safe, the four of us. Harry’s still in the wood; he’s killed the chief elder. Tremayne doesn’t want me to go back, but I have to. I find him sitting down. He’s guilty of murder, I can’t ignore the fact, and he would be arrested. Before that can happen, a branch falls from a tree, hits him, and hurls him away from me. I saw him die.’
‘It must have been awful,’ Liz said.
Polly said nothing initially, overcome with emotion. ‘I read about it. It seemed unreal then, but with you being there, your fiancé,’ she said.
‘It feels better for telling you. You two are the first people I’ve told the story to, probably the last. Now tell me about Alan and Mavis Winters.’
‘There’s not much to tell,’ Polly said. ‘We had a good time with the man. He looked after us, we looked after him.’
‘Did he have other women?’
‘He may have, but not that we’re aware of in Salisbury. It’s unlikely, though.’
‘Why’s that?’ Clare said.
‘Clare, don’t be naive. One man in his late forties, two women. We were always available. He’s unlikely to have had the energy for any others.’
‘His relationship with his wife?’
‘He was fond of her, even loved her. You can’t blame the man, he was only human.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘We’re there and willing. What man could resist, especially if he had that much money?’
‘Not all men are like that,’ Clare said.
‘They’re all like that,’ Polly said. ‘It’s part of the human condition; man, the hunter, woman, the mother of his children. Alan was just fortunate that he could indulge his fantasy.’
‘Mavis Winters?’
‘She saw us at the house once. Alan thought she wasn’t there.’
‘What happened?’
‘She was upset. We were as well.’
‘What about Alan?’
‘He seemed to enjoy the spectacle, made up some story about she had another man.’
‘Did you believe him?’
‘Not really. We assumed it was Gerry, but we don’t think it was.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘He’s been around to our place a few times. After a few drinks and us, he likes to talk. We know all about his family, the mother, the brothers, even Dean.’
‘And Alan’s children?’
‘We asked Gerry why he’d never married.’
‘What did he say?’
‘After his childhood, his parents, he had never wanted to form a lasting relationship.’
‘But he slept with you two.’
‘He likes women. He was more active than Alan, but then he was a few years younger. Maybe that was the reason. He liked Alan’s daughter, not so much his son.’
‘You know his son?’
‘We’ve seen him around. Spaced out, the same as his aunt.’
‘You know her?’
‘Not really. We know of her; Alan told us.’
‘What did he tell you?’
‘That she was in a terrible state, and not even he with all his money could save her.’
‘Any more?’
‘Not about his sister. We knew Cyril; he’d sometimes be with us.’
‘Drinking?’
‘We didn’t sleep with Cyril. He didn’t seem interested in us anyway.’
‘What did Alan say about Dean?’
‘He couldn’t understand why he had married his wife; said she was a dragon.’
‘Did you know her?’
‘We saw her at the funeral, but apart from that, we’d never seen her, nor Dean and his other brother, the one in jail.’
‘Stan.’
‘If you say. We only went to the funeral. After that we came home.’
Chapter 17
Tremayne met up with Clare at Bemerton Road Police Station the next morning, 6 a.m. sharp. Clare realised that she had drunk more than she should have the previous night, even willing to admit that she had enjoyed herself. Tremayne had drunk a couple of beers at the Deer’s Head and gone home. For once, he was looking the better of the two.
‘Any further insights?’ Tremayne said.
‘No secrets revealed. The women are honest about why they were with Alan Winters, honest about their relationship and their plans for the future. Polly’s the smarter of the two, but they’re both well educated. I liked them.’
‘That’s the trouble with you, Yarwood, you like people. They could have been playing you for a fool.’
‘I’ve not said they were not involved in the murder, have I?’
‘No. Were they?’
‘There’s no reason. We’ll need to look further afield for an answer.’
A phone call; Tremayne answered. ‘Mavis Winters’ house,’ he said to Clare. A short drive and they were in Quidhampton, Tremayne having driven for once.
‘It’s Dean,’ Mavis said.
‘What’s up? Tremayne asked.
‘She came up, angry, out of her mind.’
‘His wife?’
‘Who else?’
‘Where is she? Where is Dean?’
Clare had already moved into the house. Inside, lying on the floor of the kitchen, was Dean Winters. ‘She went mad, she had a knife,’ Rachel Winters said.
‘From where?’
‘From here. We’ve a drawerful.’
‘Your uncle?’
‘She stabbed him in the arm. She was aiming to kill him, but I pulled her away. She nicked me with the blade, but it’s only a minor wound. Uncle Dean needs to be in the hospital.’ Outside, the sound of an ambulance.
‘Where’s the patient?’ the medic said.
‘Over here,’ the faint voice of Dean Winters said.
‘Put out an all-points for Barbara Winters,’ Tremayne said to Clare.
‘Right away.’ Clare made a phone call to instigate the process, opened her laptop and sent a photo and a description.
She returned to the kitchen to find Dean Winters sitting on a chair. ‘It hurts like hell, but I’ll survive.’
‘Are you up to making a statement?’ Tremayne asked.
‘It was Barbara, not used to me standing up to her. It’s the same with her family. They’re all aggressive.’
‘Why did you marry her?’ Mavis said.
‘I didn’t know what her family was like.’
‘Until they’d trapped you in their web.’
‘Maybe I was, but it was good for a few years.’
‘Not that we ever saw you.’
Clare looked around the kitchen. Apart from the blood on the tiled floor and the upturned chair, there was not much to see. ‘Where is your wife?’ she asked.
‘Back in Southampton, I assume.’
‘Mr Winters will need a few stitches.’
‘We’ll take him,’ Mavis said. ‘Unless he wants to go in the ambulance.’
‘That’s fine. I’ll go with you,’ Dean said.
‘We’ll need to take statements from everyone here,’ Tremayne said.
The violence from Barbara Winters had not been expected by Tremayne and Clare. The woman’s invective, her views on the Winters family, were well known, but a knife attack represented a new development. It was the second knife attack in the current investigation; the first one, fatal, the second, almost. Tremayne thought it was circumstantial, Clare was not so sure.
‘We need to find Barbara Winters,’ Tremayne said. ‘I’ve phoned her local police station. They’ve been round to her house; she’s not arrived yet.’
‘We need her today,’ Clare said. ‘We need to know if her husband’s stabbing is pre-meditated or an act of violence in the heat of the moment.’
‘The latter, almost certainly, as the woman did not arrive with a knife, only found one in a kitchen drawer.’
‘What do we know about this woman?’
‘Enough to know that she’s not pleasant.’
‘Capable of murder?’
‘Dean Winters would have been dead if Rachel hadn’t interceded.’
The injured man left with Mavis and Rachel in the Bentley; Tremayne and Clare returned to Bemerton Road. At the station, the two police officers discussed the case. Clare was all for driving to Southampton; Tremayne was more circumspect.
‘If she’s not at the house, what then?’ Tremayne said.
‘We can check out her family.�
��
‘What do we have? Have we interviewed them before?’
‘She has a brother, two years older than her. Her father is retired, living in a home, dementia. We’ve just compiled the standard report on her, the same as the others in the investigation.’
‘The father, any chance that he’ll know where she is?’
‘According to the report, he’ll not be able to help. The brother is not far from Southampton.’
‘Have you phoned him?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Then I suggest you do it right now.’
Clare dialled the number, no answer. She tried two more times, no success.
‘Suspicious?’ Tremayne said.
‘Not really. He’s a pilot. He may be out of the country.’
‘Can we get the local police around to check him out?’
‘It’s only twenty minutes from here,’ Clare said.
‘Why didn’t you say so?’
‘You weren’t listening.’
‘You’re driving. If she’s not there, then we come back. When’s the mother’s funeral?’
‘One week, maybe.’
‘They’ve not set a date yet?’
‘They need a death certificate. Her body is in Pathology.’
‘Okay, first the brother’s house and then Pathology.’
‘Yes, guv.’
***
Clare took the A36 out of Salisbury, heading in the direction of Southampton. Ten miles from the centre of the city, she turned off to the right, and took the B3079 to the village of Landford, twenty-two minutes’ driving time. The brother’s house was not difficult to find. It was neat and tidy, the same as all the other houses in the village. In the driveway and on the road there was no sign of the car that Barbara Winters had used when she had driven to Salisbury. ‘Wasted trip,’ Tremayne said.
‘We’ll wait for twenty minutes. I’ll park the car out of sight, and then have a look in the windows.’
‘I’ll stay in the car, in case she arrives. If she parks in the driveway, I can block her exit.’
Clare parked the car, made sure that the brother’s house was visible. The owners of the house on the other side of the road, fifty feet away, expressed concern about a strange vehicle in their driveway. Tremayne flashed his ID, gave the lady a brief synopsis of the situation. ‘They’re a strange family. Arrest the lot of them for all we care,’ she said. ‘He’s not sociable. If one of the children kicks a football over the fence, it comes back slashed with a knife, and if someone’s dog defecates on the footpath outside, you’d think it was a criminal offence.’
The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set Page 63
