The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  The tension between Samantha Dennison and Fiona Dowling was palpable. Both women had dressed for the occasion. Cheryl Milledge had arrived wearing a tee-shirt and a pair of jeans. Clare could see that Cheryl and Gary Barker were hitting the beer and were becoming drunk. She let them continue, knowing that both could drink a lot, and tongues loosen with alcohol. Fiona Dowling was steering clear of alcohol, as was Samantha Dennison. Clare did not like Fiona any more than her senior did, but Samantha had acquitted herself well. For a woman who had had no involvement with the dramatic society except on infrequent occasions, she seemed to know a lot about them, especially Len Dowling and his inability to keep his wife from straying.

  ‘Samantha,’ Clare said, ‘you told me about your past once. Are you willing to reveal it here?’

  ‘What’s there to tell. I was working in an office, being accosted by every rampant male. One day in comes Phillip, we start talking and then soon after we are married.’

  ‘This is a night for warts and all. Why Phillip? Was it love or his money?’

  ‘His money initially, but after that love. Phillip treats me well, I am content.’

  ‘The need for a younger man must remain. My apologies to your husband, but you’re young and full of vitality, your husband is at the age of slowing down.’

  ‘I look as though I need a man constantly in my bed, but that’s not the case. I’ve enjoyed the ability to spend, to live well, but there are times when I could stay at home and read a book.’

  ‘Are you well read?’

  ‘Yes, and well-educated.’

  ‘Then you, as the only bystander here tonight, let us have your opinion as to who the murderer is.’

  Samantha focussed on those assembled in that elegant room with its paintings on the wall, the flat-screen TV, the expensive furniture. ‘There are three deaths,’ Samantha commenced. ‘Gordon Mason, Geoff Pearson, and Bill Ford.’

  ‘I did not murder Geoff,’ Fiona shouted. Clare looked over at her, holding a finger to her mouth in a gesture to be quiet and sit down.

  ‘Let me deal with Gordon Mason,’ Samantha continued. ‘The man was an obnoxious bore. I did not like him, but his comments meant little to me. I know that is how most of you see me, a cheap slut selling herself to an older man, but you’re too polite, or not committed enough, to say anything. Mason was, as you say, killed at Old Sarum, probably by two men. Neither Fiona nor Cheryl are involved. Those who killed him must have had a close relationship to consider such an option. Alternatively, there was one man with two daggers.’

  ‘Impossible to swap in a frenzy,’ Clare said.

  ‘Then it was one man on the stage, another off the stage. Was the body visible at all times?’

  ‘Yes, and he was dead by the time he was placed on the stretcher by Mark Antony.’

  ‘Then it’s two of the men on the stage, but which two? Phillip tends to be a loner, and not involved with the other men in the dramatic society. Len could be involved with Peter Freestone, complementary professions, and Gordon Mason would have been able to see through any crooked deals they had hatched together.’

  Freestone made a move to open his mouth. Tremayne looked over at him, a clear sign to keep quiet and to let the woman talk.

  ‘Geoff Pearson, from what I can see, had no reason to kill Mason, no collusion, no special relationship with anyone else in the group,’ Samantha continued. ‘The man was attracted to women, not men, and as we can see with Fiona, he was not averse to seducing Len’s wife. He was a young man full of libido, and he must have had a great deal of satisfaction acting on that stage with Len, the unknowing husband. Geoff, for all his virtues, was a shallow man, bereft of true emotions, other than for self. He is not a murderer, but not a person of true substance either. Len, for all his faults, is. He’s a man who stands by his wife, the most devious of all of us here tonight. The woman has not handled herself well, and those that she calls her friends, are not. They’re fair weather, not visible when times are tough.’

  ‘Not like me,’ Cheryl said.

  ‘Cheryl is a decent person, and, as she says, she is a true friend. The only one who was with Fiona when she was arrested after Geoff’s death. However, I don’t believe that Fiona wanted the man dead, although she would not have been upset to have seen him in the hospital. Regardless of what I’ve said, I don’t see Fiona as a murderer.’

  ‘Everyone will have their say after Mrs Dennison has finished,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Gary Barker is a man who lets life pass him by, not interfering with its flow,’ Samantha said. ‘He’s now got Cheryl to look after him. The two of them complement each other, and Gary could not kill anyone; it’s not in his nature to take himself or life too seriously. Cheryl has a kind heart and the anger to kill Mason, but not the opportunity, and she would not have been capable of killing Bill Ford, a former lover, and still a friend of hers and Fiona.’

  ‘What about the relationship between Peter Freestone and Len Dowling?’ Tremayne asked. He had changed his opinion of Dennison’s wife. Regardless of why she had married her husband, she was an articulate woman. He was willing to let her continue, although he had a shrewd idea where she was heading.

  Samantha, emboldened by her new-found importance, stood up and moved to one corner of the room. ‘Len would not be capable. He’s able to run a successful business due to Fiona’s support and pushing him on, but he could not kill anyone. Maybe if Fiona had pushed him hard enough, but she wouldn’t. Not that she would have any issues with doing that, a good woman on your side in a fight, but her social prestige is all important to her. She’s admitted to sleeping with Mason, and whereas she may say he’s an odious man, it would have only been a case of lying on her back, opening her legs, and thinking of England, or whatever she thinks off. Probably her social standing, as that is more important. Apart from that, she’d have no reason to kill Mason. She is not a likeable person. Sorry, but there it is.’

  Fiona Dowling sat in her chair, saying nothing. Tremayne looked over at her, could see the anger directed at Samantha Dennison. ‘Mrs Dowling, I suggest you digest what Samantha has just said,’ Tremayne said. ‘Harsh words, but she’s just given you the best alibi possible.’

  ‘I don’t like what she said,’ Fiona replied.

  ‘Maybe you don’t, but we’re here to solve a murder, not to make friends. After tonight, you can all go your separate ways, but for now, Mrs Dennison has the floor.’

  Samantha continued. ‘Len could not kill Mason without his wife’s direction, and even if he had known about her and Bill Ford, he would have done nothing, or maybe remonstrated with the man, attempted to push him around, but that’s all. The man does not have the backbone, I believe we’re all agreed on that.’

  Len and Fiona Dowling sat close to each other again, holding hands.

  ‘And if Len and Peter were involved in something illegal and they wanted Mason dead, there’s no way that Len would act without his wife’s encouragement, which would then mean that Peter Freestone knew of Fiona in the background, and besides, Peter did not kill Mason.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ Tremayne said. ‘He had only one stab at Mason. If it was to be a murder, it has to be those who stabbed him more than once.’

  ‘There are only two left,’ Samantha said. ‘Does anyone want to take over or shall I wrap up this night?’

  ‘Carry on,’ Clare said.

  ‘You’re doing a fine job,’ Tremayne said. No one else said anything. Phillip Dennison looked at his wife in admiration. Cheryl and Gary were no longer drinking. Trevor Winston and Jimmy Francombe sat motionlessly.

  ‘Doesn’t anyone else see it?’ Samantha said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Clare said.

  ‘Jimmy, he’s gay.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Jimmy protested.

  ‘Let Mrs Dennison continue,’ Tremayne said. ‘Everyone else sat quietly while she was denouncing or exonerating them. You will do the same,’ he said, directing his gaze at the young man.

  �
��The over-attentiveness to women, the need to chat them up, to show off how manly he is in front of his friends. I’ve seen it before. I’m sure he’s tried it on with Clare and Fiona.’

  ‘He has with me,’ Clare said.

  ‘He got a smack from me for trying to look down my blouse,’ Fiona said.

  ‘Trevor Winston is gay. The two of them are lovers.’

  ‘That’s not fair. I’m straight,’ Jimmy said.

  ‘Let me put it to everyone here,’ Samantha said. ‘When has anyone here seen Jimmy with a woman? He’s eighteen, the city of Salisbury is awash with teenage girls looking to be taken out. He’s an attractive young man, and he’d have no trouble seducing a few, but where are they? Has he ever brought any to your rehearsals? He’s a show-off, but he never shows a woman. The man is gay, and so is Trevor.’

  ‘We’ve not seen him with a girlfriend,’ Fiona said.

  ‘Nor have I,’ Cheryl said.

  ‘Mrs Dennison, Samantha, please continue,’ Tremayne said. ‘And Trevor and Jimmy, please be quiet. Samantha has the floor, and we intend to hear her out.’

  ‘But–’ Jimmy started to say.

  ‘You’ve heard the police officer,’ Trevor said. ‘Let Samantha have her say. You’ll get a chance afterwards.’

  ‘Trevor is openly gay and proud of it,’ Samantha said, ‘but he’s a mature man in a liberated society. Jimmy is still concerned about how his friends see him, not willing to tell his parents either. There is only one conclusion.’

  ‘Which is?’ Tremayne asked. Everyone in the room was listening with bated breath. No one was eating or drinking.

  ‘Trevor and Jimmy killed Gordon Mason.’

  ‘And Bill Ford?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Mason knew about them. The man was vindictive enough, bigoted, willing to tell Jimmy’s school friends that he was gay, as well as his parents. Neither he nor Trevor could allow that to occur.’

  ‘It’s a lie,’ Trevor Winston said, jumping to his feet.

  ‘Mr Winston, please sit down. You’ll have a chance to offer a defence. Mrs Dennison, please continue,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Bill Ford would not have been interested, and the man’s discretion was well known. He knew about Fiona’s and Cheryl’s past histories, the fact that he had slept with both of them. The fact that Jimmy was gay and sleeping with Trevor would not have concerned him. He may have had a word in Jimmy’s ear to tell him to be more careful, but he would have done no more. They killed Bill Ford, but not because he threatened their cosy love nest; they killed him because they enjoyed it.’

  ‘Only one of them killed him,’ Clare said.

  ‘One dagger and the place was cleaned afterwards.’

  ‘Spotlessly.’

  ‘You’ve been to Trevor’s hairdressing salon. How would you describe it?’

  ‘Spotless.’

  ‘Precisely. One of the two stabbed the man, the other was present, and may or may not have taken an active part.’

  ‘It was Trevor’s idea,’ Jimmy Francombe said as he stood up and moved to the other side of the room.’

  ‘Shut up, just shut up. They can’t prove anything,’ Trevor Winston shouted at him.

  ‘I didn’t want to kill Bill Ford. It was Trevor’s idea.’

  Clare went over and stood next to the young man. ‘Why did you kill Bill Ford?’ she asked.

  ‘It was Trevor; he stabbed him. I wasn’t in the room. Bill was a good man, my friend.’

  ‘Yet you let the man be murdered. Why?’

  ‘Trevor thought it would be fun, but I didn’t.’

  ‘Why Mason?’ Clare asked. She looked over at Tremayne, saw him signalling out of the window for a couple of uniforms to come in.

  ‘Gordon was going to tell my parents. I couldn’t let him do that.’

  ‘But why murder?’

  ‘You don’t understand. You’re young and pretty. I hate being what I am, but I can’t help it. Trevor knew what I was six months ago. He put pressure on me, I reacted.’

  ‘Reacted?’

  ‘Okay. I slept with him.’

  ‘And how did that feel?’

  ‘Dirty, but I couldn’t stop. And then Gordon Mason was threatening to tell my parents if I didn’t stop sleeping with Trevor.’

  ‘How did he know?’

  ‘He saw us once in Trevor’s car after rehearsals. The man was nosy, that’s how he knew about Geoff and Fiona. He observed, prowled around, probably a peeping tom as well, getting his kicks watching others screw.’

  ‘Did he enjoy watching you and Trevor?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. I don’t know. Trevor said we had to kill him, make it look as if it was an accident.’

  ‘And you agreed?’

  ‘What could I do? I want to finish school, go to university, and now what?’

  The others in the room said nothing. Fiona sat close to Len, Samantha near to her husband. Peter Freestone relaxed back in his chair. Tremayne was on his feet, as were the two uniforms who had entered through a door at the rear.

  ‘You damn fool,’ Trevor Winston said. ‘If you had only kept quiet.’

  ‘Mr Winston, why did you kill Bill Ford?’

  ‘Jimmy did, not me.’

  ‘You liar, you bloody liar. You enjoyed every moment up there at Old Sarum.’

  ‘Mr Francombe, are you willing to confess to the murder of Gordon Mason?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘Yes, but I did not kill Bill Ford. I liked the man.’

  ‘You’ve said that already,’ Tremayne said. ‘You will be taken from here and formally charged with murder.’

  ‘What will happen?’

  ‘That depends on a judge and jury, not me. Yarwood, can you accompany Francombe to the police station, let his parents know?’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Clare said.

  Tremayne turned to Trevor Winston. ‘You will be charged with the murders of Gordon Mason and Bill Ford. Do you have anything to say?’

  ‘You can’t prove it.’

  ‘Jimmy Francombe is young. He’ll get off with a shortened sentence due to his youth. As long as he maintains his story, he’ll be out in a few years. You, Mr Winston, will not. The only hope you will have is to plead guilty, hopeful of a reduced sentence due to insanity.’

  ‘They’ll not believe me,’ Winston said.

  ‘Killing a man just because you enjoy the thrill of it is hardly the act of a sane man.’

  ‘You may be right. I’ll take legal advice first.’

  ‘That’s your prerogative. Mine is to arrest you for the murders of Gordon Mason and Bill Ford,’ Tremayne said. ‘Take him away,’ he said to one of the uniforms.

  Clare left with Jimmy Francombe, Tremayne returned to his seat. ‘A successful evening,’ he said.

  ‘Successful, is that how you’d describe it?’ Peter Freestone said.

  ‘I’m sorry for what has been said here tonight, but it was necessary. Murder is a crime that brings out the worst in people, that makes emotions raw. Hopefully, you can all forgive what was said, what was revealed.’

  ‘I can,’ Fiona Dowling said. ‘Trevor would not have stopped. He’d have chosen another target, any one of us.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Cheryl Milledge said. Samantha Dennison came over and gave Tremayne a kiss on the cheek. The DI sat back, complacent, knowing full well that it would take a week to wrap up the paperwork, and then it was a holiday in Spain with Jean, his former wife. He had to admit that he was looking forward to it.

  The End

  Death and the Lucky Man

  PHILLIP STRANG

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapt
er 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 1

  Someone had once told Detective Inspector Keith Tremayne that some people were lucky and some weren’t. Tremayne knew only one thing: the man lying dead in a pool of blood had qualified on the lucky after winning sixty-eight million pounds on a lottery ticket, but now his luck had run out.

  Tremayne knew the victim, Alan Winters; even knew his family.

  The man with all his new wealth had not hidden behind closed doors, fending off the scrounging relatives, the newly-found friends. That wasn’t Winters’ style. He had been out and about, driving expensive cars, living well.

  It had been big news at the time in Salisbury, a small city to the south-west of London with its imposing cathedral, the spire at four hundred and four feet the highest in the United Kingdom. Tremayne remembered the day Winters had won his prize: the front page of the local newspaper, interviewed on the radio and the television. He recalled the next week when Winters, drunk after treating all of the patrons of his local pub to copious rounds of drink, wrapped a Ferrari that he had purchased the previous day around a lamppost. The car had been written off, yet the alcohol-sodden multi-millionaire had staggered away with no more than a scratch. He had lost his driving licence as a result of the escapade, not that it stopped him from driving, often with a chauffeur, one of his numerous relatives.

  Tremayne knew how many relatives he had, no more than could be counted on one hand, but Winters had hundreds. He was going through the money at a rapid rate, but still had plenty to go, and the man, not the most attractive in that he was in his forties, balding and overweight, had plenty of friends as well, plenty of female companions.