The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  Outside the farmhouse, Tremayne lit up a cigarette and let out a sigh of exasperation. ‘The two of them are enough to drive anyone crazy. And as for Barry Woodcock’s denial about his involvement with James Baxter, I’m not so sure it was as innocent as he proclaims.’

  ‘It was Margaret Wilmot who said she saw them that time, and then Gloria Wiggins who damned them in the church. Why do the Woodcocks keep quiet on all they know?’

  ‘There’s more, but first we’ll talk to Rupert Baxter. If he denies it, then we’ll go and see Margaret Wilmot.’

  ‘We’re going to see her anyway,’ Clare said.

  ‘You’re right. Into the hornet’s nest.’

  ‘The manor house?’

  ‘You’re driving.’

  Chapter 16

  ‘What is it with this village?’ Tremayne said as Clare parked close to the front door of the manor house. Both Margaret Wilmot and Rupert Baxter were waiting for them.

  ‘It looks as if we’re about to find out,’ Clare said. The sight of the two people at the front of the house was unexpected.

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Margaret said as Tremayne went to shake her hand. She was wrapped in a heavy coat; Baxter wore only a light jacket.

  ‘Wrong about what?’

  ‘That we murdered the others to prevent them talking.’

  ‘How did you know we were coming up here?’ Tremayne said. He had a packet of cigarettes in his hand.

  ‘Barry Woodcock phoned.’

  ‘Why is another question, but Baxter, how did you get here so quick? The Woodcocks’ farm is closer than your pub, and Yarwood’s not a slow driver.’

  ‘I was already here.’

  ‘Which means?’

  ‘It means nothing.’

  ‘So why did Woodcock phone you?’ Tremayne said, directing his question at Margaret.

  ‘He told me that you’d been sniffing around his place again, annoying Gwen.’

  ‘You’re evicting the Woodcocks, and they make a damning indictment that you and Baxter are carrying on a clandestine affair, and then Barry phones you up to tell you what he’s done and that we’re on our way.’

  ‘He didn’t tell us of his accusation. However, he did tell us you were on the way.’

  ‘It’s true, this affair?’

  ‘It’s not clandestine. The fact that we choose not to broadcast the fact does not make it illegal or immoral. We’re both single, over the age of consent, and it’s our business, not yours or anyone else’s in this village.’

  ‘You’re the purveyor of decency and morality. Hardly the actions of a devout woman,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘I’m still a woman. Rupert’s a sinner, but he’s a decent man, and he told you nothing, nor did anyone else who knows.’

  ‘Who else knows?’

  ‘It’s not a subject for general conversation.’

  ‘The Woodcocks? Why would they tell us about you two, and then forewarn you?’

  ‘Gwen may have seen us, but neither of them is too bright, and as to why, then you’d better ask them.’

  ‘What will you do?’ Clare asked.

  ‘The Woodcocks will need to tell me why,’ Margaret Wilmot said.

  ‘No more than that?’

  ‘No. The Wilmots and the Woodcocks have a shared history. No doubt some interbreeding, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a shared ancestor between us. I’ll evict them if I must, but I’ll not throw them to the wolves.’

  ‘That makes no sense,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘They will feel the full force of the Wilmot anger, but they will remain unscathed. A frank and honest admission of what they’ve done may go in their favour.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Loyalty and honesty are two virtues that reap rewards. If they admit to what they’ve done, then I will reconsider their eviction.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It would be charitable, and Rupert and I are beyond concealing the truth. He’s asked me to marry him. I don’t know why as I am a dragon, and I’ll make his life hell.’

  ‘Will you?’ Clare asked.

  ‘I will, although I’ll not live in that pub, and he won’t live here.’

  ‘We’ll argue, I know that,’ Baxter said, ‘but with Margaret, life will be interesting.’

  Tremayne and Clare saw the two most unlikely lovebirds briefly touch hands. Clare thought it romantic; Tremayne thought it was too daft to contemplate.

  ***

  Little was said on the drive back into Salisbury, as the conversation at Margaret Wilmot’s house had left both Tremayne and Clare unsure of what it all meant. Back at the police station, Tremayne retreated to his office, Clare to her laptop. She entered the name Wilmot into Google Search and pressed enter. A check of the land records stretching back at least five hundred years showed that the Wilmots had been the major landowners for most of that time. There was no mention of the Woodcocks, reflective of their lowly status.

  Tremayne came out and sat next to Clare. ‘Are you sure you’re alright? You were out cold yesterday after Wiggins hit you on the head.’

  ‘He’s innocent of murder,’ Clare said. ‘And yes, I’m fine. Jean looked after me well.’

  ‘Left me on my own. No doubt you were fed well.’

  ‘Hungry?’

  ‘Starving,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Very well. I’m treating. The Pheasant Inn. You can have one of their lunches.’

  ‘We’d do better out at Baxter’s pub.’

  ‘I’m not sure what to say after that revelation at the manor house.’

  ‘Nor am I, but it’s confirmed. We should find out who else knew and if it’s a motive. And what about Tichborne and his mentioning Lazarus? The man rose from the dead, the same as Margaret. Was he trying to give Woo and Sutherland a lead?’

  ‘Tichborne first, the lunch afterwards.’

  ‘We can deal with both at the same time. Get Tichborne to meet us at the pub, twenty minutes. We’ll use the backroom to interview him,’ Tremayne said.

  At the pub, the jovial host held sway. What had been said out at the Wilmots’ ancestral home was not mentioned. Tremayne ordered a steak, Clare only a sandwich. Reverend Tichborne came in, ordered a small sherry and entered the backroom at Clare’s beckoning. No one else was in the pub, other than Baxter.

  ‘Reverend Tichborne, you mentioned Lazarus at the interview yesterday with Sergeants Woo and Sutherland. Why?’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘You did. We have a recording of the interview. Is it because of Margaret Wilmot and her miraculous recovery?’

  ‘It wasn’t miraculous.’

  ‘Then why Lazarus? No one else has returned from the dead, and Stephanie Underwood’s not coming back, or do you believe she might? Are you a closet fire and brimstoner, the same as Margaret Wilmot, Sheila Blatchford, and Gloria Wiggins?’

  ‘I believe in what is written, if that’s what you mean?’

  ‘A literal interpretation or a belief in the divine?’

  ‘Those that died did so for a reason.’

  ‘Is that a way of justifying your actions? Could you have killed them?’

  ‘I’m a minister of the church.’

  ‘That doesn’t prove your innocence, Reverend.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ Tichborne said. Clare could see that he was a nervous and fragile man as he sat in front of Tremayne.

  ‘Okay, some starters. The truth about Margaret Wilmot,’ Tremayne said. Clare knew that he was trying to get the vicar to reveal hidden unknowns. If Margaret and Rupert were involved, then what else was going on in the village, and was it relevant to the case? Four people had died so far, and yet there was no clear motive connecting them. Tremayne was pinning his hopes on the vicar, the one man in the village who had not been born there, not grown up there, not played hopscotch with the other children, not gone to the same schools, dated and married each other.

  ‘Margaret Wilmot is a wealthy woman, and she controls a lot of lives in this villa
ge.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That’s the way it is.’ Tichborne squirmed on his seat. Tremayne focussed more intensely, looking directly into the man’s eyes, not blinking.

  ‘What about Margaret? Men, boyfriends, lovers?’

  ‘It’s not my place to condemn a person.’

  ‘Four of your parishioners, zealots or otherwise, have died, and you’re sitting there telling us that it’s not your place to condemn. Reverend Tichborne, it’s up to you to clear up this sorry mess and to start telling us the truth. Once again. Margaret Wilmot, men, boyfriends, lovers?’

  ‘Very well,’ Tichborne said as he sat back on his seat resignedly. ‘Margaret has a special relationship with Rupert Baxter.’

  ‘At last, the truth.’

  ‘You knew?’

  ‘Not from you, and we only found out yesterday. What is it with these people? Don’t they want to solve the murders, to prevent any more?’

  ‘Are there going to be more?’

  ‘Why not? Margaret Wilmot and Rupert Baxter are sleeping together. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you, as a vicar, what do you think about it?’

  ‘It is not for me to comment.’

  ‘You’re the vicar of the church, a man. You have a right to an opinion. Whether you voice it out loud or not is not the issue, but what is your view?’

  ‘I counselled Margaret to exercise caution.’

  ‘What’s the truth with the Wilmots and the Woodcocks? Why do the Woodcocks hide what they know about Margaret and others, and then tell two police officers about the lovers up at the manor house?’

  ‘It’s complex.’

  ‘Complex we can deal with. Concealment, we can’t. Reverend Tichborne, the truth. What was the issue with Stephanie Underwood? Why were you so agitated at her cottage? Why the scene because they wouldn’t let you in? And don’t tell me that you were having an affair with her. We’ve had enough surprises as it is. Did you murder her? Did you want to say a prayer for her to atone for your sin?’

  ‘No, yes. I’m confused.’

  ‘Confused about what? Confused that you killed her, and now you can’t remember why, or maybe you’re not sorry for what you did.’

  ‘She was going to say something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘About me. It was too horrible, I couldn’t let her.’

  ‘What was she going to say?’

  ‘She was going to tell the village that I killed my wife.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘It was an accident, but I told no one. Stephanie found out.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I was standing next to my wife’s grave. I loved her, but she used to have these periods when she’d accuse me of the most heinous things, things that no man should be accused of. If I spoke to another woman, even though she was a parishioner, my wife would become fiercely jealous, threaten to stick a knife into me during the night.’

  ‘The view in the village is that your wife was a gentle kind soul.’

  ‘She was, but behind closed doors, she could become violent. Well, sometimes it just became too much.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘My wife had tablets to calm her down. Most times she’d take them, but sometimes she wouldn’t.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I used to crush them and put them in a drink. One day, I gave her too many. It was an accident, I swear it. Her death was deemed as natural, purely because the tablets had diluted in her system, but I know it was because I had made an error. I’ve chastised myself since then, and I would stand by her grave and talk to her. I’m sure she heard and forgave me. Stephanie overheard me once. It was not long ago, and she was threatening to tell if I didn’t stop the other killings.’

  ‘Did she believe you were responsible?’

  ‘She thought I was.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’

  ‘Because I killed Gloria.’

  ‘Rubbish. Who are you protecting?’

  ‘Nobody, it’s the truth.’

  ‘Reverend Tichborne, you may be a good vicar, but you’re a lousy liar. You could not have killed Gloria Wiggins. It would have required someone stronger than you to move her body out to the garage where she was strung up. Who are you protecting, and did Stephanie see you?’

  ‘I deserve to be punished for what happened to my wife.’

  ‘Did you kill Stephanie Underwood?’

  ‘I saw her there, sitting in front of her television. I wanted to explain to her, but she was right. Why should I not be punished for my wife’s death?’

  ‘Reverend Tichborne, we’ve read the report into the death of your wife. You did not kill her, and there were no signs of any unusual levels of drugs in her body. You may blame yourself, but no court would convict you. No doubt there are those in the community here in Compton who would blame you, especially if Miss Underwood had said something, but it would be hearsay, nothing more. Did the woman deserve to die?’

  ‘I couldn’t help myself. She was sitting there, her back to me, and there was the cable on the ground. I picked it up and wrapped it around her neck. She barely moved.’

  ‘And how did you feel afterwards?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Gratified. As though a burden had been lifted.’

  ‘Yarwood, get a patrol car down here,’ Tremayne said.

  Tichborne offered no resistance as he was placed in handcuffs and taken out of the pub. On the street, a smattering of the locals stood, aghast at what had transpired.

  On his return from the patrol car to the pub, Tremayne took hold of Baxter’s collar. ‘The next time you feel like telling the neighbourhood what is going on in your pub, you’ll find yourself in a cell at Bemerton Road Police Station. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘You do,’ Baxter said.

  Chapter 17

  Superintendent Moulton was delighted, so much so that he patted Tremayne on the back. Neither Tremayne nor Clare was pleased with what they had had to do, but the Reverend Tichborne had admitted his guilt. Forensics were checking the evidence from the murdered woman’s cottage, and Tichborne had supplied a sample of DNA, as well as a description of what he had been wearing that night. Jim Hughes had sent out a team to the vicar’s rectory to look for further evidence.

  ‘That’s still three more murders to solve,’ Clare said after Moulton had left, and it was just the two of them in the office again.

  Tremayne stood up and looked out of the window. ‘Let’s get out of here. I could do with a pint.’

  Neither spoke much in the pub, not in Compton this time. Tremayne was seriously annoyed with Baxter for telling others what was going on. The wall between the back of the bar where Baxter stood and the room where they had conducted the interview was thin, and the conversation had obviously been heard. Even so, Baxter should have kept his mouth shut, and he was still a strong contender for a charge of murder.

  The two officers called it an early night, and by seven in the evening, Clare was back in her cottage and Tremayne was back home in Wilton. Clare’s head, though still a little sore, gave her no more cause for concern, and she went to bed early, hopeful of a peaceful night, knowing full well that out in Compton another murderer was still on the loose.

  Tremayne phoned her up just as she was dropping off to sleep. ‘We’ll interview Tichborne tomorrow morning. He knows more than he’s told us so far.’

  Clare closed her eyes. Her cat slept at the bottom of the bed, but for her sleep came later. In her mind, all that had transpired so far in Compton: the murders, the people, the vicar’s confession, and Cuthbert Wiggins, a man with a wife who had so far not been seen. Clare could see her as a possibility, especially if she was a jealous woman, as was Tichborne’s wife supposedly. More research into that woman’s death was needed, and if there was any doubt, then she would have to be exhumed. Finally, at eleven o’clock, Clare fell asleep. The alarm, the next thing she knew, rang at six in the morning.

  Seven i
n the morning and Tremayne was already in the office when Clare arrived. She poured herself a coffee and went and sat with her senior. Downstairs, the Reverend Tichborne was enjoying his breakfast, better than the one that Clare had prepared for herself.

  In Compton, another day dawned, the day when hopefully all the pieces would come together. If Margaret Wilmot and Rupert Baxter could keep a relationship, if not entirely secret, then at least discreet, then what else lurked in that village?

  At eight-thirty, the Reverend Tichborne was brought up to the interview room. He had a lawyer with him. Tremayne knew the man, Bob Exeter. Competent, decent, and a man who would not allow police badgering of his client.

  The formalities completed, Tremayne led off with the questioning. ‘Reverend Tichborne, what other secrets lie in the village of Compton?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be a man of the cloth for much longer, do you?’ Tichborne replied. He looked despondent and lost, a not unusual condition for a person after their first night behind bars.

  ‘A man is innocent until proven guilty.’

  ‘I am guilty. I’ve admitted to the crime.’

  ‘We’ll still want Forensics to confirm that you were in Stephanie Underwood’s cottage. Honestly, you’re not the person we expected to arrest for murder.’

  ‘Murderers come in all shapes and sizes,’ Tichborne said.

  ‘They do. Moving on from that one murder, what do you know about the others?’

  ‘Suspicions, that’s all.’

  ‘Whom do you suspect?’

  ‘Rupert Baxter had a motive, the death of his brother. So did Barry Woodcock, and his wife will do anything to protect her man.’

  ‘Protect him from what? Gloria and her cohorts were only casting aspersions. Not a crime in itself, although unpleasant to the person on the receiving end. Murder is criminal, and there’s a prison sentence for the perpetrator. Would either man have risked that?’