‘Aren’t they upset that your husband is dead?’ Clare said.
‘Why should they be? With him gone, Bertie believes he’s in for a share of his money.’
‘Even so, it seems sad that your husband has died.’
‘Why? The man was going to kill himself anyway, and he was burning through the money. Whoever killed him has saved us all a lot of aggravation.’
Tremayne looked over at Clare with an ‘I told you’ look.
At the rear of the house, the kitchen had marble-tiled work areas, an air of opulence. An older woman slaved over the hot stove. ‘That’s his mother,’ Mavis Winters said.
Clare could see that the woman had been crying.
‘How long before our lunch is ready?’ Mavis shouted to the woman. Clare was upset by the scene; Tremayne remained impassive.
‘Soon, very soon. I was just upset by Alan’s death, that’s all,’ the older woman said.
‘Why? You bred the mongrel. What did you expect to happen to him, that he’d live into his nineties? He was going to go soon anyway, and as far as I’m concerned, good riddance to bad rubbish.’
Clare found the situation intolerable. Tremayne glanced her way, nodded his head, a sign to keep calm; it was a murder investigation, not a social outing. Clare could only imagine the hell the neighbours were going through. She considered herself blessed that her neighbours in Stratford sub Castle were caring people, and if she were working late, one or the other of them would ensure that her cats were fed. And they were always quiet, not like the house she was in now. If this was what sixty-eight million pounds did to a family, then she was glad that she was struggling with a police sergeant’s salary. Not that it had been enough to buy her cottage and furnish it entirely. The inevitable result of the five-thousand-pound temporary loan from her parents was a visit for four days by her mother, and the constant redecorating that she wanted to force on her daughter. Clare had put up with the negativity of the woman, and once she was gone, cancelled all of her ideas and bought what she wanted. One thing she knew, that five thousand had to be paid back as soon as possible.
‘Mavis, what can you tell us about your husband’s death?’
‘Tremayne, I’ll be honest with you,’ the woman said. She was holding a can of beer, as was Tremayne. Clare, to be agreeable, had consented to a glass of wine, cheap and nasty though it turned out to be. ‘Alan was a bastard, but somehow we’d stuck together through good and bad for over twenty years.’
‘You don’t seem upset,’ Clare said.
‘You look like a gentle soul, not like your boss,’ Mavis said to Clare. ‘Tremayne knows where I’m coming from. Alan, for once in his miserable life, struck it lucky. He’d go his way, I’d go mine. I didn’t ask about what mischief he got up to.’
‘Did you get up to mischief?’
‘A lot less than Alan.’
‘And your husband said nothing?’
‘What could he say? And now that he’s Lord of the Manor, he expects to bring them around here.’
‘And you agreed?’
‘He had made it clear that if I left the house, then I wouldn’t receive any money, and I’d be out on the street.’
‘Would he have done that?’ Tremayne said.
‘Alan was easy to handle when he had no money, and I’d be out cleaning houses to help out with the bills, but now, there he is, driving around in a fancy car, screwing fancy women, buying them expensive gifts. I could control him back then, but now he’s receiving bedroom advice from these tarts. Of course he’d follow through and cut me off with nothing.’
‘You would have been legally entitled,’ Clare said.
‘Legally, yes, but he could afford the best legal advice. I’ve checked, and he could tie up my money for years.’
‘It’s not much of a relationship if after twenty years he’s willing to do that,’ Clare said.
‘Alan was a weak man. In some ways I loved him once, but since the lottery I’ve grown to loathe him. Maybe when it’s quiet, and I reflect back to when we first married, then maybe I’ll be sad, but for now, I’m not.’
‘Do you know who killed him, Mavis?’ Tremayne asked.
‘Not me, but I’ve told you the truth from my side. No doubt we’ll have a get-together after the funeral, say lovely words about what a good man he was and how he had looked after the relatives.’
‘Had he?’ Clare asked.
‘If they came asking, he’d help.’
‘Did they come?’
‘How long have you been in Salisbury? Haven’t you heard about the Winters?’
‘Nearly two years, but apart from being aware that your husband had won a lot of money, I hadn’t.’
‘Tremayne has; he’ll tell you how many have been around. You tell her,’ Mavis said, looking over at Tremayne.
‘Everyone of them, plus a few more.’
‘Tremayne’s right. There was a queue halfway around the block the day the news of his win became public. How we celebrated that night.’
‘The queues?’ Clare reminded the woman.
‘Not only that. The bags of begging letters, the onslaught of Facebook messages once they knew our eldest’s name. In the end, we moved here and made sure there was security. Not that it hasn’t stopped people trying to get in, but Gerry, he deals with them.’
‘How?’
‘He scares them, and gives them a good belting.’
‘He’s got a bad reputation around Salisbury. Do you trust him?’
‘I’m the next of kin, and I’m not stupid with money.’
‘You’ve given us the motive for your husband’s murder, Mrs Winters,’ Clare said.
‘I didn’t kill him; I wished him dead. Why do you think I’m telling you all this?’
‘To pre-empt our suspicions.’
‘There are those who wanted him dead because he was a bastard; there are others, the women, the parasites, those where he frittered away our fortune, who wanted him very much alive.’
‘And what about those who had benefited by his generosity?’
‘The women, Gerry has already dealt with them, nothing violent.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Whatever Alan gave them, he’s taken back.’
‘Such as?’
‘Cars, clothing, accommodation.’
‘They’ve been thrown out on the street?’
‘That’s up to them. I’m not supporting them.’
‘Your children, his relatives?’
‘It depends, but I’ll support those that deserve assistance; the others can go to hell.’
Tremayne took another beer from the woman who was now friendly after her earlier outburst. Clare was not sure who the real Mavis Winters was, although she was sure that she did not like either. The woman looked tired for someone in her late forties, the effects of a lifetime of smoking reflected in her voice, the sagginess in the body indicative of a fast food diet, the discarded KFC and Big Mac containers still visible in a rubbish bin in the kitchen. The old woman, the mother of the dead man, continued to slave away. Clare could tell that she had led a hard life.
In the other room, the stereo played loudly, the singing of the occupants all too clear. Clare did not like the house and its occupants; Tremayne took no notice and continued with his questioning.
‘Now that your husband’s dead, what are your plans for the future?’
‘We’ll bury him first, give him a good send-off, Winters’ style.’
‘A lot of drinking?’ Tremayne said.
‘Of course.’
‘And then?’ Clare said.
‘I’ve already started. Those who deserve help will receive it, the others won’t. It’s as simple as that.’
‘Then whoever killed your husband will target you,’ Tremayne said.
‘Alan was weak, I’m not.’
‘Are you strong enough to have dragged him up to Stonehenge and killed him, Mavis?’
‘Tremayne, don’t try your tricks with me. I r
emember when you lived two doors down from us. You weren’t so high and mighty then, always trying to look up my skirt, mentally undressing me.’
‘A long time ago.’
‘That didn’t stop you grabbing me at that Christmas party and dragging me off into the other room, did it?’
‘We were both over the age of consent.’
‘Am I shocking your sergeant?’
‘Nothing shocks me, Mrs Winters,’ Clare said.
‘You’re prim and proper. I’m surprised you can put up with Tremayne.’
‘He’s a good man, but that doesn’t alter the fact that your husband has been murdered, and you act as if it’s not important.’
‘Sergeant, Alan was going to kill himself anyway. The man continued to drive when he was drunk, even though he had no licence, the women he fooled around with would have given him a heart attack, and his friends, if you could call them friends, were determined to fleece him. He put two hundred thousand pounds into the lame-brained idea of a friend to open a used car dealership not far from your police station, and what did the man do?’
‘It’s your story, Mrs Winters.’
‘I’ll tell you what he did. The bastard took off to the South of France with the money. Gerry found him shacked up in a fancy hotel with a couple of tarts.’
‘He took the money back?’
‘What was left off it.’
‘And the man who took the money?’
‘He’s not shown his face in Salisbury since.’
‘Does he still have a face?’
‘Gerry didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re asking. He just won’t be so pretty now, that’s all.’
‘I’ll need to conduct interviews with all those close to Alan,’ Tremayne said.
‘Start with my family first.’
‘Are you confident that they’re all innocent.’
‘Of killing Alan? I’d say so. Some of them are villains, not averse to violence, but none are that stupid to kill the golden goose.’
‘You’re the golden goose now,’ Clare said.
‘Maybe I am, and if anyone thinks otherwise, they’ll find my foot in their arse.’
‘Who’s living in this house?’
‘I am, plus our two children – Rachel, she’s the eldest at twenty-four, and then there’s Bertie, he’s twenty-two – and Alan’s mother.’
‘Good children?’ Clare asked.
‘Rachel’s sensible, takes after me, although it didn’t stop her getting pregnant at sixteen, and landing me with her son to look after.’
‘And where is the child now?’
‘He died. He was a nice boy, but that’s how it is.’
‘And your daughter, how did she take it?’
‘She was upset for a while, but now she’s fine. Even with all our money, she still goes to work every day. According to her, she likes her job, although I made sure that she had a decent car to drive.’
‘Bertie?’
‘That’s him next door, celebrating. He’s as useless as his father. He thinks I’m going to be a soft touch, the same as his father, although his father wouldn’t let him have an expensive car, just gave him a Toyota to drive.’
‘Could he handle an expensive, no doubt powerful, car?’ Tremayne asked.
‘He’s the same as his father. He’ll be dead in a week.’
‘And you intend to indulge him?’ Clare said, appalled by the wife’s callousness towards her dead husband, uncaring that her son was likely to commit involuntary suicide due to her generosity.
‘Not a chance, Sergeant. He’s still my son. He’ll be lucky to keep the Toyota, and as for lying around the house snorting cocaine with his so-called friends, that’ll stop once I’ve secured legal control of all of the money.’
‘Any dispute over that?’
‘None that I can see. It was Alan who bought the ticket in the first place, and he only spent two pounds. Not a bad return on his investment, don’t you think? Although he must have spent plenty over the years on lottery tickets. It was about time for our luck to change.’
‘Any idea how much money is left?’ Tremayne asked.
‘Of the sixty-eight million. I reckon there’s still thirty, maybe thirty-two. Not bad for two years, is it? Between us, we’ve spent over thirty million pounds, or mainly squandered it.’
‘Have you, Mavis?’
‘Not me. I have always worked. I know the value of money. This house is in my name, for one thing, and there are a few other properties that I’ve bought. Regardless of how much is left, there’s still money. Alan never had a clue with money. What he brought home from his council job, half was gone at the end of payday on alcohol and gambling. Financially, we’re sound.’
‘Who would want him dead?’
‘I would, but then you know that. As for others, I’ve no idea. There were some he refused to help: relatives, friends. They won’t be sad that he has died.’
‘Will they receive any assistance from you now?’
‘Some will, but I’ll want security. I’ve no intention of handing out vast sums of money with no surety, that’s for sure.’
‘Would they know that?’
‘Probably not.’
‘We’ll need their names.’
‘I’ll help you,’ Mavis Winters said.
‘Why?’ Clare asked.
‘I want you to find his murderer as soon as possible. No doubt the transfer of full financial control will be delayed until the murder investigation is concluded, and I don’t want any doubts over my involvement remaining.’
‘And Alan’s mother?’
‘She’ll be looked after. I can’t say I like her, but she’ll have a place to stay.’
‘She works hard.’
‘She can go and sit in her room for all I care, but if she wants to look after the place, I’ll not stop her.’
‘And your son?’
‘His day of reckoning is coming.’
‘He has a motive,’ Tremayne said.
‘Bertie? Too bone idle to commit murder. He can find his way to the fridge for a beer, but Stonehenge, I don’t think so.’
‘Why the change of attitude? You were belligerent when we arrived.’
‘Tremayne, we go back a long way. I’m still angry with you from that party all those years ago.’
‘Why?’ Clare asked.
‘A woman doesn’t forget her first man, and there he is, the next day, pretending that nothing happened. Mind you, he’d have been in trouble. I’d only just turned sixteen, and he was a police officer. No doubt seducing the neighbour’s daughter after she had drunk a few too many would not have looked good up at Bemerton Road. Sergeant Yarwood, your DI is not the saint he pretends to be.’
‘Saint Tremayne, I don’t think so,’ Clare said. The two women looked over at Tremayne. He shrugged his shoulders and turned away. ‘Come on, Yarwood, we’ve got work to do,’ he said.
Chapter 3
Back at the station, Tremayne focussed on the board set up in the Homicide department. He had purposely avoided talking to Clare on the drive back from Mavis Winters’ house, knowing full well that she’d attempt to wind him up. Not that he had anything to regret, he knew that, and back then Mavis has been a pretty young thing, mature for her age, and he’d been in his twenties, starting to make his mark at Bemerton Road. The most that he would have received, if it had become known, would have been a rap on the knuckles from his senior and a pat on the back with a ‘we’re only young once’ comment.
And now Yarwood wanting to make a sarcastic comment was not what he needed. It also brought in another complication, Tremayne knew, that he had some involvement with one of the suspects, even though it was almost thirty years ago. Superintendent Moulton may have some issues with it, but Tremayne didn’t.
‘Yarwood.’ Tremayne decided to speak to her in the office. ‘Mavis and me, it was a long time ago. Do you have any issue with it?’
‘Not me, guv.’
‘But it amuses you
.’
‘I might remind you occasionally.’
‘A joke at my expense, is that it?’
‘You’ve got to admit it’s not what an innocent young sergeant expects to hear.’
‘What? That her senior was young and foolish once.’
‘It must have been a hell of a party.’
‘It was. Now drop the subject. Where do we go from here?’ Tremayne said, noticing the smile on Yarwood’s face.
‘We need Jim Hughes’s report, see if he can give us the number of persons up at Stonehenge.’
‘And why Stonehenge? That just doesn’t tie in. If we accept that he was murdered for his money, then why up there, and why was his throat cut?’
‘Mavis Winters, could she be involved?’
‘She has the strongest motive, but it’s unlikely that she murdered him.’
‘Why? She’s the one who’d gain most from it.’
‘We’ll check of course, but you’ve met the woman. What do you think of her?’
‘She’s not stupid.’
‘Exactly, and she knows that we’ll find the murderer eventually.’
‘Involved?’
‘If she is, she’ll have covered her tracks well. We’ll not find a link back to her, or, at least, not easily. For now, she’s our best means of uncovering the truth. You’ll need to go back to the house and interview her again, get a list of all known relatives, all friends, all the women that Alan Winters was messing around with.’
‘And Mavis?’
‘Check on who she was involved with. She seems to place a lot of reliance on her brother-in-law, Gerry. Check him out and see if they were up to something.’
‘A bit close to home,’ Clare said.
‘It’s a big home, and if Alan was bringing his women there, then Mavis could have been fooling around with Gerry.’
‘Does she have a history of other men?’
‘Not that I know of. Apart from running into Alan and Mavis on an occasional basis, I’ve not seen much of them for more than twenty years. I know that she latched on to Alan when she was eighteen, going on nineteen, but apart from that, I can’t help much.’
The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set Page 50