‘I caught one of them sniffing around, caught him before he did anything.’
‘The others?’
‘She was always that way inclined. Always walking around in her underwear, showing off whatever she had under there. Not much I can tell you, not like me when I was her age.’
‘You were a prostitute?’
‘Not me. I was quality, not a cheap whore who put it on display, not like Janice; meat on a plate, take what you want.’
‘Your opinion of her has changed since she died.’
‘It hasn’t. She took one of my men, an accountant he was, treated me nice, bought me flowers and chocolates every Friday on the way home from work, took me to the cinema and everything.’
‘What happened?’
‘I came home from work, cleaning houses, nothing fancy, but it paid well enough; enough to feed the kids, and Jim, he was a handful, ate like a horse.’
‘You’re getting away from what we’re talking about, Mrs Robinson. Janice?’
Isaac had seen the vodka bottle when he had come in, and even though she had been drinking steadily, judging by her occasional slurring of words, she was coherent.
‘She’s there, in bed with him, only fourteen, younger than Brad’s girlfriend. Can you imagine it, seducing my man in my house, in my bed?’
‘You blamed your daughter?’
‘Who else? Not him, a professional man, educated, treated me well.’
‘She was a child, not able to understand. If she had not resisted, which you are intimating, then she had not received the proper guidance from her parents.’
‘There was only me, not that her father would have done much. He used to look at Janice as she was developing; indecent it was, and I told him so.’
‘His reaction?’
‘He hit me. That’s when Jim, growing up fast, exercising at the gym twice a week, flattened him, sent him packing.’
Isaac had heard the story more than once. The wayward child. If it was male, then crime and joining a gang; a female, and it was prostitution, at first to feed a habit, and then because there was no way back. The family home would not have helped Janice; the drugs and the lifestyle the result of her younger life.
‘Tell me about Tim and Maeve Winston.’ Isaac changed the subject.
‘We went to school together. Maeve lived next door to me, not here, somewhere better.’
‘What was she like?’
‘She liked to read books, not that I could understand why. The teacher we had that last year, he said I’d end up as a cashier at the supermarket if I were lucky.’
‘I thought they were meant to encourage you.’
‘He was. What he had wanted to say was that I’d end up flat on my back for every hard-luck case who had the money, tart that I was.’
‘Tim?’
‘He was as bad as Brad, always wanting to get his leg across.’
‘You?’
‘I was one of them, but Maeve, she was studious, not totally innocent, but innocent enough. Why is it that men want women like me when they’re younger, and then women such as Maeve when they get older?’
‘You said it. When they get older, their brain rules their groin, not the other way around. Brad’s got his head screwed on.’
‘Rose, pretty, I’ll grant you that, but what do you know about her? No virgin, not her, been around the traps a few times.’
Isaac had been willing to give the woman a chance, but it was clear that she was not a fit parent, in that she had failed her daughter, and would Brad if given a chance. Social services needed to be informed and to check out the woman, if they weren’t doing so already.
‘Brad and Rose, any problem for you?’
‘No, why should it be? He’s still young. Why should I care?’
‘Because you’re his mother. Whether you agree or not, it’s still for you to be concerned, to guide if necessary.’
Isaac could see that he was getting nowhere, and that wasn’t the reason to be in the house.
‘Was Maeve told that her future was in the supermarket?’
‘Teacher’s pet, not her. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she…’
‘Stop, sit down and start making sense. If Janice was killed because Brad saw the murderer of the other woman, then it’s not only Rose who’s a possible target, so is your son.’
‘I wouldn’t like that.’
‘We’re in agreement on one thing,’ Isaac said. He sat down opposite the woman. ‘Now, let’s get this straight. Janice was selling herself, not getting a lot of business from what we can see.’
‘Too much of it about these days. Why pay?’
Isaac did not offer a comment, not sure what to say. He’d had his fair share in his day, he knew that, and not once had he resorted to a woman whose phone number was on the internet or, in the past, on a card inside a telephone box.
‘When you weren’t drinking, which isn’t often judging by that bottle of vodka, did you ever see Janice? An honest answer, please.’
‘I kept a watch on her from time to time, not that I could have spoken to her, broke my heart she did.’
‘Don’t give me that sob story. You didn’t care, not much, and you knew that men were abusing her, probably took money off them as well.’
‘My own daughter…’
‘Answer my question.’
‘Okay, I knew she was in that bedsit, and she was doing it tough. She looked old when I saw her dead.’
‘Did you see men entering the premises.’
‘She wasn’t the only one on the game in there.’
‘We know that, and we’ve interviewed one of the women, not that she’s there now, too scared, worried that it will be her next.’
‘I never saw more than three men, but it was on the way home from seeing a friend, and I’d sometimes watch from the end of the road.’
‘Tell me about the men?’
‘You said there was another one in there selling herself.’
‘Process of elimination.’
‘Tim Winston used to visit her.’
‘You’ve not mentioned that before. Why?’
‘Why what? Why I didn’t mention it, or why he visited her?’
‘Both; start with the first.’
‘Tim was always that way inclined. When he was younger, whoever he could get, two a night, cheating on each with the other.’
‘But he married Maeve.’
‘Tim was bright, smarter than all of us, a man destined for better, and he knew it. And Maeve, she wanted to improve herself. A matched pair the two of them, but she could be a cold fish, saving herself for marriage. Tim, he would have liked that, but he hasn’t changed, not if he was seeing Janice.’
‘Could he have killed her?’
‘I don’t think he’d be that stupid, and why? He had it made. The loyal housewife at home; my daughter, whenever he paid the money.’
‘Your daughter? A substitute for you?’
‘He would have seen the humour in it. As long as Maeve didn’t know, it wouldn’t have worried him, and she’d have him on short rations. Sometimes, we used to tease her that she fancied women more than men.’
‘Did she?’
‘Just childish nonsense. She was more sensible than us.’
‘Tim?’
‘What does it matter? It’s what men do. They can’t help themselves, can they?’
‘Your daughter? Tim Winston or the men you had here?’
‘They’re all the same. No doubt you were in your day.’
Isaac chose not to answer.
‘One final question. Winston’s with your daughter, then overly protective of his. What do you think of that?’
‘He was doing his duty. It would have helped if Janice’s father had done his.’
‘Did he touch her?’
‘Not him, barely able to get it up.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘In hell, I hope.’
‘And Rose?’
‘If Br
ad wants her, that’s fine by me, not that he’ll stick by her.’
‘We’ve marked him as a decent young man, good moral values. Where do you think he got them from?’
‘Not from me; not from his father, and certainly not from Janice or Jim. We’re not good people,’ Gladys Robinson said. ‘Not evil, but none of us is like Maeve or Tim Winston and their precious daughter.’
‘Tim Winston’s not looking so good now,’ Isaac said.
‘Don’t let Maeve know. She was a friend once.’
‘I’ll try,’ Isaac said, although he knew it would not remain a secret. It was a murder enquiry; the truth is always revealed.
The relationship between Brad and Rose, Isaac knew, would be strained when it became known that the father of one had been paying the sister of another for sex. Isaac personally wished he hadn’t found out; professionally, it was another line of enquiry.
Chapter 9
Gladys Robinson could not be regarded as a credible witness: the ease with which she had accused Maeve Winston of giving herself to their teacher when they had been younger, ignoring or even condoning the abuse of her daughter. However, regardless of what anyone thought of her, she had made a serious accusation about Tim Winston.
It was early afternoon the next day when Isaac and Wendy met with the man. Isaac had broached the subject in the morning with Winston, and he had agreed to come into Challis Street.
Sheepishly, the man sat across from the two police officers in the interview room.
‘A disturbing development,’ Isaac said. He was prepared for a reaction. Hopefully, it would not be outright denial, the man indignant and storming out of the police station, huffing and puffing, threatening legal action. Wendy hoped he wasn’t involved, purely for Rose’s sake.
‘I’m willing to help, not sure that I can,’ Winston said. He wore a suit, a white shirt and a blue tie.
‘Tell us about Janice Robinson,’ Isaac said.
‘There’s not much to tell.’
‘You used to see her?’
‘We don’t live far from them, and sometimes we’d see them at the shops, not that I spoke to them much, just the usual courtesies.’
‘No wish to associate?’
‘Why? Do you keep in contact with those you went to school with?’
‘Mr Winston, we have reason to believe that you have seen Janice Robinson more recently,’ Isaac said, ignoring Winston’s previous response, a question with a question.
Wendy sensed a feeling of panic across the table.
‘Not for five or six years. The last time she was wearing a school uniform, hanging out with a group near McDonald’s.’
‘What were they doing?’
‘The usual. Playing with their phones, smoking, flirting with the boys.’
‘Incorrect behaviour?’
‘We’ve all been there. I didn’t think much about it. I only looked because I recognised Janice, the spitting image of her mother at that age.’
‘You took out Gladys Robinson?’ Wendy asked.
‘I’m not sure I’d call it that; nothing official. We’d meet up, watch a movie, and then I would walk her home. We were young, finding our way.’
‘You were a good student, hoping to improve yourself; Gladys was never going to be up to your standard.’
‘We were fourteen, fifteen. I don’t think I gave it too much thought, not Gladys, that is.’
‘We’re deviating,’ Isaac said. ‘The reason that you had an intimate relationship is not what we’re here for.’
‘Intimate? I’d hardly call it that. Gladys was putting it about something dreadful. I would have been a fool not to take advantage,’ Winston said, a man too much at ease in the interview room.
‘Back of the bike shed, the cinema?’
‘Something like that, although I don’t ever remember a bike shed.’
‘If you had had sex with the mother,’ Isaac said, ‘why then the daughter?’
‘Janice? Is this what this is about? Are you accusing me of murdering her?’
A calmer reaction than expected.
‘Paying for her doesn’t make you a murderer.’
‘I deny it.’
‘That’s your prerogative. However, you’ve not answered the question. It could be an aspersion, a slanderous accusation made against you, but we still need to check, to know the truth.’
‘Maeve?’ Winston said. The previous cockiness was no longer apparent. Wendy could see the sweat beads on his forehead, the shaking of his left hand as it rested on the table.
‘No guarantees. Not in a murder investigation. We need to isolate you from the murder scene, and for that we need a sample of your DNA, a strand of hair.’
‘I didn’t kill her.’
‘We’re not accusing you. To be honest, we don’t think you did it. There was a lot of blood at the murder scene, and we saw you later that day. Unless you’re a methodical man, a good planner, it’s unlikely you could have pulled it off.’
‘I wouldn’t have done that. The sight of blood.’
‘Germ phobia? Cleanliness freak?’
‘An accident when I was a child, three days in the hospital.’
‘Not good enough, but we’ll accept it for now. The DNA?’
‘If you want.’
‘When did you start paying Janice for her time?’ Wendy asked.
‘I can’t just deny it, and you leave it at that?’ Winston said.
‘If you do, then we will need to check further, follow up on your movements, talk to your wife as to whether she has any suspicion that you’ve been with another woman.’
‘Maeve hasn’t known up till now.’
‘Which is yes. You did pay for Janice Robinson’s services.’
‘Two, possibly three times.’
‘The truth,’ Wendy said.
‘Every week on a Thursday at seven in the evening. Maeve was always out with friends, a regular get-together at a restaurant, and Rose would be busy with schoolwork.’
‘Any reason why Janice?’
‘If you think it was a substitute for her mother, you’d be mistaken. Janice was agreeable to look at, and her price was reasonable. Nothing more than that.’
‘Did she know who you were?’
‘She did, not that we’d talk about it. It was sex, nothing more.’
‘How long did these sessions last for?’
‘Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. There were no meaningful discussions. I didn’t ask her about why she whored, nor did I ask her about her family. I should be regretful, but I’m not. A man’s got needs. Sometimes they aren’t satisfied.’
‘Is this why you don’t want Rose associating with Brad Robinson?’
‘She’s fifteen, what do you think?’
‘We’re asking the questions,’ Isaac said.
‘She’s still too young. Okay, I was with her boyfriend’s mother when we were both under sixteen, but that doesn’t mean I would agree to my daughter doing the same.’
‘It doesn’t help that you’ve known Brad’s mother and sister.’
‘That’s not the point. We want better for Rose, that’s all. We don’t want her with a family that has never amounted to much. Brad’s better than the others, but he’s tarred with the same brush. In time, he’ll revert to type, and I don’t want Rose to be dragged down, to get pregnant before her time.’
‘Why not put her in a better school?’
‘There are no guarantees. Young people push boundaries. It’s for us to guide them.’
The man was a good parent, both Isaac and Wendy conceded. He was, as is so often the case, a hypocrite, who had taken advantage of Janice Robinson’s degradation, and she had only been six years older than Rose, only two years older when she had first sold herself. Yet, he wanted to protect his daughter at all costs.
He hadn’t murdered Janice, that much was known, but he was guilty of other crimes, not criminal, but moral.
Isaac was willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt; We
ndy wasn’t. To her, he was a typical example of selective reasoning, able to absolve himself from his wrongdoings but not to give others their chance, to see Brad Robinson as suitable for his daughter. Although he had been right on one score: Rose was still a child, even if she wanted to be an adult.
***
The village of Godstone in Surrey was mentioned in the Domesday Book of 1086, although it was named Wachelstede back then, and then in 1248 it was recorded as Godeston, suggesting an etymology of the Old English personal name Goda, who was the daughter of Aethelred The Unready, and ‘tun’, which is loosely translated as farm.
As to why a former king of England would be unready, Larry Hill wouldn’t have known or have cared.
It was his third visit in as many days to the last address from the store in Knightsbridge.
Number 156 High Street, Godstone, a detached two-storey house, was well maintained, not cheap to purchase, and within commuting distance of London.
Larry had taken up his position in a coffee shop across from the house, not at the White Hart, the closest pub.
Yet again, he asked the waitress if she had seen anyone at the house; the answer always the same. ‘Not for a few weeks, but then, they keep to themselves, never come in here, barely give you the time of day.’
‘Describe them.’
‘I’m not sure I can. He looked older than her, although I couldn’t be sure. Just average, I suppose.’
The local police hadn’t been able to help, nor had the estate agent who had leased the house to them; average was the most oft-quoted description. The agent, a garrulous man, told Larry that they had come into his office seven months previously, taken one look around the house, and had deposited funds into his account and set up an automatic credit for each month.
‘We’re managing it for them, not that there’s much to do, as they’re not here too often.’
The photo of the dead woman rang no bells with anyone; they had all been clear that the woman at the house had been blonde, tanned and under thirty. Either way, those in Godstone had seen the man’s face, the woman shielding her face when anyone looked her way.
On his first visit, Larry had knocked on the door of the house, checked around, looked in the windows, and spoken to the local police; on his second, he had obtained a warrant and the house had been opened by the estate agent. Inside, no sign of habitation, no food in the fridge or the pantry. The beds were not made up, yet outside the house, the lawn was mown, and in the garage at the side of the house, a late-model BMW.
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