The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  Inside the church, Mavis sat at the front with her two children: Rachel, a bandage still on her arm, and Bertie, neatly-dressed, clean-shaven, and in a suit. Further back, Gerry and Cyril Winters. Alan Winters’ mother sat next to Mavis at the front, the two women pretending to be united in sorrow, but Clare noticed the space, small though it was, that separated them. In the same pew, Stan Winters and Margie, his arm around her. And in that church she seemed at ease, although her look was vacant and she did not appear to want to speak, only nodded her head if someone talked to her. In another pew, Dean Winters and his wife. Clare had noticed him speaking to his family on arrival, saw that his wife had ignored them.

  ‘Thanks, Tremayne,’ Stan Winters had said on his arrival at the church. The man had reason to be thankful. Tremayne had received special authority to take responsibility for the convicted felon during the funeral and afterwards at the wake. A prison officer, outside and in plain clothes, would wait in his car to ensure that procedures were followed. After the evening had concluded, he would drive Stan back to prison.

  ‘If you stuff up, it’s my head.’

  ‘I won’t. You’ve done right by me, I’ll do right by you,’ Winters said. He was wearing a suit as well, new by the look of it, supplied by Mavis.

  At the appropriate time, the coffin was brought into the church. Six men supported it on their shoulders: Bertie as the deceased’s son at the front, as well as Cyril, Gerry, Stan and Dean. The funeral director completed the six, maintaining equilibrium as the other five men swayed under the weight of the coffin.

  Clare could see the tears in Mavis’s eyes, even had them in hers and she had never met the man. Alan Winters’ mother held a handkerchief too, as did Margie. Barbara Winters looked impassively forward in silent prayer. Clare knew that she wanted her to be the guilty person in the murder, not because she thought she was, but because she did not like her.

  She imagined the funeral was similar to Harry’s although she did not know. His relatives had offered to send her some photos, but she had declined.

  The coffin arrived at the front of the church and was placed on a trestle, sombre music echoing throughout the church. The men resumed their seats. A few words from Barbara Winters to her husband; derisory, Clare assumed.

  Clare turned around, could see that Polly Bennett and Liz Maybury had slipped in by a side door, their presence unobtrusive. She had known they would be present, a special dispensation from Mavis Winters. ‘They wanted to come. It shows some decency on their part,’ Mavis had said when Clare had asked her why.

  Rachel gave a reading from the Bible, Stan said a few words, as did the other men in turn. Mavis did not move from her seat. She kept looking at Margie, checking she was alright. Alan Winters’ mother did not acknowledge anyone other than Mavis. She continued to look forward or at the coffin. At the conclusion of the ceremony, the coffin left, the entourage following, the Bentley at the front, the other cars, three Rolls Royces, following behind. Tremayne drove with Stan, Clare stayed back at the church.

  Tremayne, not immediate family, would not enter the crematorium, where a few more words would be said before the coffin passed through some curtains on its way to the cremation of the body. Tremayne had only joined the entourage as part of the requirement to keep Stan Winters in his sight at all times.

  Once free of the crematorium, Tremayne drove back to the Winters’ house.

  ‘Thanks, Tremayne. I’ll not let you down,’ Stan Winters said yet again.

  ‘That’s why you’re here.’

  At the house, there was security at the front gate. Tremayne drove straight through. A catering company’s van was parked to one side of the driveway; the other cars parked one behind the other. Clare, Tremayne could see, had arrived and was talking to the prison officer assigned to look after Stan Winters.

  ‘Prison Officer Dennis Marshall,’ he said. Not that the introduction was necessary as Tremayne and the officer had signed the papers earlier in the day at Bemerton Road agreeing to Tremayne accepting responsibility.

  ‘We’ll make sure to get you some food and drink,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Thanks. I’ll be back within an hour.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ Stan said. ‘I’ll do nothing wrong.’

  ‘Just following orders, you know that.’

  ‘So is Tremayne. I’ve known the man since my teens, a family friend. If you don’t mind driving someone who’s drunk some alcohol back to Pentonville.’

  ‘That’s fine, not that I’ll be drinking.’

  Dennis Marshall got into his car and drove off down the road. ‘He’s got an aunt who lives not far from here. He’s gone to see her,’ Clare said.

  ‘He seemed a decent man.’

  ‘He is. It appears that he and Stan Winters get on well enough in Pentonville. That was why he volunteered to bring him down here today.’

  Stan Winters left the two police officers and went inside.

  ‘Any observations?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Nothing especially. The two women were at the church.’

  ‘Are they here?’

  ‘No. Mavis wouldn’t allow them, and besides, I doubt if they’d want to come.’

  ‘They know the house well enough.’

  ‘Barbara Winters?’

  ‘She briefly hugged Mavis, more out of obligation than anything else.’

  ‘And Margie?’

  ‘Vague, staring into space. Apart from that, nothing to say. She’s been cleaned up for the occasion.’

  ‘She’ll be the next funeral,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘That’ll be a lot sadder than this one. I doubt there’ll be a wake for her.’

  ‘There will be, only it won’t be a time for getting drunk and remembering the deceased with humour.’

  ‘Not much humour from Barbara Winters, nor Alan’s mother.’

  ‘They’re both a pair of miseries.’

  Tremayne and Clare left the front porch of the house and went inside. Clare felt a little out of it, knowing full well that she was not a family friend, although she had become friendly with Mavis since her husband’s death. Dean Winters sat in one corner, a glass of wine in his hand, his wife keeping a close watch on him. Clare could see that he wanted to join in.

  Tremayne, a man who would have drunk more than his fair share but cognisant of his responsibilities, kept to the one beer. ‘Damn nuisance,’ he said to Gerry Winters. ‘I can’t drink.’

  ‘Stan will do nothing. We’ll not let him. Have a drink, more than what you’re drinking now.’

  ‘You’re right, but he’s my responsibility. Once he’s on his way to prison, I’ll be into it.’

  ‘I’ll join you if I’m still sober.’

  ‘The way you’re hitting it, I don’t think so.’

  ‘It’s a good send-off for Alan. Did you see Polly and Liz at the church?’

  ‘Are you still getting around to their place?’

  ‘Occasionally. They know that I’ve been putting in a good word for them with Mavis.’

  ‘They’re using you, you know that. If it’s not you, it’ll be another man.’

  ‘I’m using them. Polly and Liz are a lot of fun.’

  ‘Mavis has clipped your wings; any animosity?’

  ‘At the time, but she’s easier to deal with now. I’ll soon have the Bentley.’

  ‘You were there when Mavis indicated that she’d pay off Fred. What did you think?’

  ‘We’ve had a family meeting. At least, Mavis, Cyril, and me.’

  ‘What was decided?’

  ‘Fred wants two million, so do we.’

  ‘Mavis?’

  ‘Now she’s got control of the money, she’ll be agreeable. You’ve met Fred?’

  ‘We have.’

  ‘What did you think, be honest?’

  ‘He’ll cause trouble.’

  ‘With two million?’

  ‘He’s a bully, even if he was polite to Yarwood. He’ll aim to take control of Mavis, of your family.’<
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  ‘We’ll stop him.’

  ‘How? Murder?’

  ‘Mavis has a smart lawyer.’

  ‘Fred won’t listen to lawyers, nor police officers, you know that,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Stan’s fine. We’re grateful for what you did.’

  ‘He was eligible to come. I just added my weight to his application.’

  ‘You did more than that. You acted like a friend. The Winters family will not forget.’

  ‘They may. One of you is a murderer. It can only be people close to him.’

  ‘I don’t see it. What about Polly and Liz?’

  ‘Where’s the motive?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it can’t be his own flesh and blood.’

  ***

  A banging of a metal tray, a hushing of the hubbub in the house. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming,’ Bertie Winters said. He was standing on a chair, a glass of champagne in his hand. ‘As sad as this occasion is, my father would want us to be here and to have a few drinks on his behalf. My mother, Mavis and my sister, Rachel, thank you for coming. Please enjoy yourselves. There is plenty of food and drink for everyone.’

  Tremayne could see the caterers in the large kitchen. He joined the queue, as did Gerry, two people behind him. He was talking to Clare. In front of Tremayne stood Dean Winters. ‘Your wife, she’s not eating?’

  ‘My wife is here under duress, you know that.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Outside in the car.’

  ‘A tough woman.’

  ‘She came here out of an obligation, to pay her respects to the dead. Apart from that, she wants nothing to do with this family.’

  Tremayne could see that the man had a stiff drink in his hand, and he was on his way to being drunk, the reason for his loose tongue. ‘Why do you let her control your life?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘You’ve only seen her bad side,’ Dean Winters said.

  Tremayne knew after years of policing that people such as Barbara Winters only have the one side. Dean Winters’ life was a living hell. He knew that later on, when they drove back to Southampton, Dean would be on the receiving end of a severe ear-bashing and that he’d be in the dog house for weeks. And every time there was an argument, his behaviour at the Winters’ home that day, his family of criminals, his mother, would be brought up.

  Tremayne took his plate, full to overflowing. He knew he couldn’t drink, but he could eat. ‘Ten o’clock,’ he said as he passed Stan.

  ‘Don’t worry about me, Tremayne. I’ll be there.’

  ‘Sober?’

  ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘Not a chance. We need to make sure Prison Officer Marshall gets fed.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take it out for him. He’s decent, that is for a screw.’

  ‘Margie?’

  ‘We’re trying to look after her. She seems better for being here. We’re hopeful of getting her to move in.’

  ‘Would that be okay with Mavis?’

  ‘There’s a small cottage at the end of the garden. Mavis will fix it up for her.’

  ‘Will she come?’

  ‘We remain optimistic.’

  Tremayne walked through the group of people, stopping to converse as he went. He saw Yarwood sitting down, eating her meal. ‘Barbara Winters is outside in her car. Once you’ve finished, go out and see if you can get her to talk.’

  ‘She’s missing out on this food?’

  ‘As far as she’s concerned, it was prepared by the devil.’

  ‘Instead of a catering company.’

  ‘You know that someone here is probably a murderer?’

  ‘It’s a shame. The Winters may be rough around the edges, but I like them, even Fred.’

  ‘He’s trouble. Stan’s been a fool, getting involved in crime, but he’ll probably go straight after his release. Fred won’t.’

  ***

  A tap on the car window, a reluctant opening. ‘Mrs Winters, do you have a minute?’ Clare said. She could see Barbara Winters in the driver’s seat, dressed in black. Her hair, as always, immaculate, her makeup perfect, her mouth pinched and unsmiling.

  ‘If you must.’ The door lock was released. Clare got in and sat in the front passenger seat.

  ‘The food is excellent,’ she said as a way of opening the conversation. It was not a formal interview, more a way of getting to know the woman better, to see if there was anything remotely agreeable about her.

  ‘I’ll eat at home.’

  ‘You’re unable to be in their presence for more than a few minutes?’

  ‘I honoured the Lord at his place. I care about him, not these people.’

  ‘It’s not mushy peas and soggy chips.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt. They don’t have to worry about the cost.’

  ‘Your husband was offered a substantial amount of money.’

  ‘He refused. Money derived from gambling is a sin. If you’ve read your Bible, you’d know that.’

  ‘And now your husband is drinking alcohol.’

  ‘He has defied me, defied God.’

  ‘The priest who conducted the ceremony, he’s here having a drink of beer.’

  ‘He is not a true disciple of the God that I serve.’

  ‘Then what is he?’

  ‘He is a blasphemer, the same as those others. He will pay for his sins in the fires of hell.’

  Clare shivered in the woman’s presence. To her, God was meant to be a benevolent, forgiving entity; to Barbara Winters, he was vengeful, looking for retribution, punishing those who did not maintain his ideals.

  ‘What will you do with your husband after tonight?’

  ‘He will pay for his sins, offer up prayers for forgiveness.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll stand up to you and refuse.’

  ‘He will not. The Lord will give me the strength to deal with him.’

  ‘Tell me, when you had heard that Alan Winters had died, what did you think?’

  ‘I praised the Lord that there was one less sinner in this world.’

  ‘No sadness for your husband that his brother had died.’

  ‘Why should there be? Dean is better off without him.’

  ‘And when you were told that he had been murdered?’

  ‘It does not concern me how he died.’

  ‘But you must have had some feelings.’

  ‘All those who have benefited from the money will die. That is the Lord’s will.’

  ‘He’s told you this?’

  ‘Yes, in the Bible: “for what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?”’

  ‘Their souls are lost?’

  ‘The Lord will reclaim them in their repentance. Otherwise, they will burn in the fires of hell.’

  ‘And your husband.’

  ‘There is still time to save him.’

  ‘After a few drinks?’

  ‘Constant vigilance, constant praise of the Lord, constant piety.’

  ‘Mrs Winters, could you kill a sinner?’

  ‘If the Lord commanded it.’

  ‘In the Bible?’

  ‘Yes. It is the word of God written down for us to obey.’

  Clare wondered what planet the woman came from. She made her excuses and retreated back to the sanctity of regular people.

  Chapter 14

  Back in the house, Clare found Tremayne in conversation with Mavis Winters. She saw Bertie, the son of the household, sitting on his own, orange juice in his hand. ‘Can I sit here?’ she said.

  ‘Sure. Why not? Have you found out who killed him yet?’

  ‘We’re continuing our investigations. How about you?’

  ‘After time in prison?’

  ‘A centre to deal with your addiction.’

  Clare could see that the man’s initial respectable appearance at the church was waning. His suit jacket was flung to one side, his tie loosened, the top shirt button undone, and the shirt hanging out of his trousers. It was clear that the young man
preferred to be a slob.

  ‘I’m only sticking it out at Mum’s insistence.’

  ‘You’d prefer to be on drugs?’

  ‘Life’s for living. What’s the point of worrying if you’ve got plenty of money?’

  ‘Your mother has.’

  It’s mine as well. He was my father.’

  ‘Your father never worried about life, did he?’

  ‘Not at all. Rich or poor, he was always the same. He’d still have time for a drink, and with me he was generous.’

  ‘But he wouldn’t let you have the car you wanted.’

  ‘That was my mother. She was always in his ear.’

  ‘If you had it, what would have happened?’

  ‘I’d have pranged it, but so what? There’s plenty more where it came from.’

  ‘And if you were dead?’

  ‘At least I would have had some fun, pulled some women.’

  ‘You’re aware of your father’s mistresses?’

  ‘Polly and Liz?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’d have to listen to them sometimes in the room down the hall.’

  ‘With your father?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did you feel about that? Your father with other women, your mother in the same house.’

  ‘Horny.’

  ‘Nothing more?’

  ‘Why? Should I? Should I care about my mother when she’s controlling the money? She knew he was playing around, did nothing to stop him. Not that I blame him. That Polly’s a bit of hot stuff, so are you, come to think of it.’

  ‘Don’t try it, Bertie. I’m a police officer. I’ll break your arm if you come near.’

  ‘I’m even sober, and I can turn you off.’

  ‘You’re the indulged son of a wealthy family, one of the idle rich.’

  ‘It’s better than being one of the idle poor. That’s what my father was and what did it get him?’

  ‘A lottery ticket,’ Clare said.

  ‘That’s justice for you, and the man knew how to enjoy it. Those two women were classy.’

  ‘If you had the money?’

  ‘What he was doing, a better class of women.’