‘It’s that family. They’ve turned Dean.’
‘You were warned about allowing tainted blood into our family.’
‘What was I to do? You may be able to embrace a life of celibacy, I cannot.’
‘The man was poor material.’
‘He was pliable. I had controlled him for so long. If his brother had not won all that money, he would still be with me.’
‘And you tried to kill him?’
‘No, I didn’t. I was angry. I wanted to make him pay for leaving me and joining with them again. He rejected the one true path, embraced depravity and ignorance and the way of the devil,’ Barbara said.
‘We have suffered for our beliefs. What hope was there for Dean? He has brothers in jail, a sister prostituting herself. And as for Alan Winters’ wife, what a bitch. How I would like to deal with her. The anguish she would feel, the pain, the suffering. As for your Dean, if you are ever free of here, we will deal with him. He will not stray again.’
‘How?’
‘We will destroy his will to resist. Now, what do we need to do to get you out of here?’
‘We need to convince them that my actions towards Dean were out of anger, not out of a desire to harm him.’
‘But how?’
***
Betty Winters was not accorded the same degree of reverence that was shown to her son. This time just her coffin at the crematorium, the immediate family, a priest that Mavis knew to say a few words. Tremayne and Clare had been invited. Tremayne declined, Clare accepted as a special favour to Mavis.
The open casket, the woman’s children filing past. Stan was allowed to attend, but not to drink, not that he wanted to. There had been trouble when he had arrived back at Pentonville the previous time. It had taken Tremayne a couple of phone calls to deal with the warden and to ensure that Prison Officer Marshall did not receive a warning.
Tremayne had put in a special request for Fred Winters to attend. It had been granted, although Fred would have to stay with a prison officer at all times. The man was listed as violent, whereas Stan was not. None of the other members of the Winters family was pleased to see him when he arrived.
‘The man’s trouble,’ Mavis confided to Clare.
Stan Winters had spoken to his brother on his arrival, as had the others. Rachel Winters had given the man a kiss on the cheek and a hug. Bertie, her brother, had shaken his hand.
Dean Winters, dressed in a suit, sat on the front row of the chairs. There was a small pulpit to the right of the casket, now closed after everyone had filed in. Rachel stood up, took her place in the pulpit and said a few words in honour of the dead woman. Clare could hear the sincerity in her voice, the only one that day. Fred, although the eldest child, declined to say a few words, but Stan was willing to stand up. He chose to read the Bible. Clare asked Fred later why he had not followed on from Rachel. ‘I couldn’t, that’s all.’
Dean Winters said a few words, read them straight from a piece of paper, never once looking up at the people in the small chapel. His words sounded insincere to Clare. She noticed that his wounds had healed. Bertie Winters fidgeted in his chair, a clear sign that Mavis Winters had wasted her money on trying to get the man off drugs.
Gerry and Cyril sat quietly throughout the service: some emotion on Cyril’s face, none on Gerry’s. Margie Winters sat impassively, the previous ability to communicate, temporary as it had been, gone. She did not utter a word, only nodded her head, not even wiping her eyes. Clare went up to her afterwards as everyone stood around drinking tea, eating cakes, attempting to talk about the dead woman who was now on her way to being prepared for cremation. Margie responded warmly when Clare put her arm around her, snuggled in close. The woman was skin and bones, in need of nourishment, but she was not even willing to eat cake. ‘I hated her,’ she said, the first words she had said that day.
‘Today’s not the day to talk ill of the dead,’ Clare said.
After the ceremony, it was back to the Winters’ house, now host to Dean as well. He was making the occasional trips to Southampton, but apart from that he was staying close to Barbara. Her brother had brought in their lawyer; he had argued his case for her to be released on bail. Tremayne would oppose it, but it would be up to a court hearing. The woman was unstable as far as Tremayne could see, and there remained a possibility that she would strike out at her husband or another member of the Winters family. He thought that she would get bail, as the lawyer was competent.
Tremayne went to Betty Winters’ wake, had a terse but polite conversation with Fred. The man was a habitual criminal, and Tremayne represented the law, even though he had helped the family when he lived nearby. ‘It’s nothing personal, Tremayne, you know that.’
‘Fred, leave well alone. Take the money and move away when you get out,’ Tremayne said, knowing full well that he was wasting his time.
‘I only wish I could, but I’m committed to farming. I’ve got a few ideas. I’ve been in the prison library, learning what I need to know.’
‘Mavis has done well by your family.’
‘I know that. A fine woman, better than Alan deserved. I wouldn’t mind her alongside me.’
Tremayne knew that trouble was coming, but it was sometime in the future. He moved away, found Stan drinking a beer. ‘I thought you weren’t allowed.’
‘Only the one. It’s a miserable atmosphere in here. I’ve got to do something.’
‘Give me one,’ Tremayne said.
‘You’re a good man, you know that.’
‘Don’t tell the criminals, will you? And don’t tell my sergeant.’
‘Why? What will she do?’
‘A smart comment.’
‘But you don’t mind?’
‘Don’t let her know, that’s all.’
‘How is she? After Holchester’s death?’
‘She’s bearing up, the same as all of us.’
‘Aye, that’s true. All the money in the world, and it doesn’t solve anything. Life’s a bitch sometimes. Look at me, all those years in jail, never married, nothing.’
‘That was your decision.’
‘I know that, but it’s a waste.’
‘You’re not that old.’
‘As rich as any family could be, but what do you see? A room full of long faces, and outside in the driveway, Mavis’s Bentley. What for? What does it do that an old bomb doesn’t? I’ll tell you, nothing. I’ll take my two million, buy myself a small house and invest the rest. Maybe I’ll take up a hobby.’
‘Not robbing banks?’
‘I’m not Fred. Maybe golf, maybe fishing.’
‘You’d be bored.’
‘Not me. I’m not an ambitious man, the need to chase young women doesn’t interest me, well, not much anyway. I’m an emotional vacuum; it must be our mother that did that. We’re all emotionally stunted. That one woman destroyed our lives.’
‘What about those men who abused Margie and the others?’ Tremayne asked.
Stan Winters took a seat. ‘It was a long time ago. Do you want to bring up the past? Think of Margie. She’s had a rough time, unpleasant memories. You’ll only make it worse for her.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘We beat them up, put them on a train, one way, that’s all.’
Tremayne knew it was not the truth; he decided to say no more on the subject. As Stan had said, it was a long time ago, the men’s names lost in time, the chance of proving murder or otherwise was long gone.
‘Fred will cause trouble,’ Tremayne said.
‘I’ll be around. I can control him.’
‘Can you?’
‘I’m the only one who has a chance. We’ve a lot of history between us.’
Tremayne walked over to Clare. ‘I’m taking Margie home,’ she said.
‘How is she?’
‘Not good, but she’ll talk to me, not the others. Her emotions are raw. She should be in a hospital, but she’ll not go.’
‘Her family could get
a court order.’
‘They’ll not do that. For all their faults, they all love her, and she won’t be around for much longer.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘No. But the woman doesn’t look after herself. She’s addicted, probably not selling herself, not too often that is, but the men she’d go around with wouldn’t treat her too well.’
‘I’ll stay for a while. I’ll see what the other brothers have to say, also Mavis and her children.’
‘Don’t expect much from Bertie.’
‘I won’t.’
Chapter 19
Tremayne left the wake. It was ten in the evening, and he was sober. He phoned Clare, she was back home in her cottage. ‘Margie?’ he asked.
‘I sat her down, made sure she had some tomato soup.’
‘It’s hardly a meal.’
‘It was the best I could do. How about you?’ Clare asked. One of her cats sat on her lap; it was purring. The television was on, and she turned down the sound.
‘Fred went back to prison, so did Stan. As for the others, Dean was upstairs by the time I left, so was Bertie. Gerry and Cyril were there, didn’t have much to say, only that Cyril was glad to have his house to himself again. Gerry, I think he phoned up the two women.’
‘Polly and Liz.’
‘What about them? They’re easy with their favours, especially with Gerry.’
‘What do you make of Gerry?’ Clare said.
‘He makes sure that Mavis is safe. I believe the man is genuinely fond of her.’
‘Yet she prefers you.’
‘Yarwood, don’t go down that road. Don’t try to be the matchmaker, and besides, I’ve got Jean.’
‘Have you?’
‘I think so. We get on well. She’s not coming to live with me; I’m not going to live with her. We’ll meet every few weeks, have a weekend away. Mavis realises that I could keep Fred under control, but I’m not going to babysit the family. There are enough men there as it is.’
‘Dean won’t be much help.’
‘Not at all, and his wife’s bail hearing is coming up.’
‘What do you reckon?’
‘She’ll get bail,’ Tremayne said.
‘And then what?’
‘She’ll be quiet for a few days, so will her brother.’
‘He’s as devout as her.’
‘Possibly worse. A few days and Dean will be in their line of fire again.’
‘Violence?’
‘Coercion more like. I think Barbara Winters blew it down in Quidhampton. She’s held the man in check for years, and then all of a sudden, he’s with his family. They’re in the background egging him on, telling him to stand up for his rights.’
‘He’ll not continue to stand up to her.’
‘Not him. He likes to be told what to do. We’ve always assumed that all seven have the same father.’
‘The differences in their characters, is that what you mean?’
‘Dean is not like Fred, although Cyril is like Alan. There are similarities between Gerry, Fred, and Stan.’
‘Margie?’ Clare asked, as the woman concerned her more.
‘She’s similar to Dean, weak personality. Another woman may have eventually shrugged off what happened to her, but she’s susceptible to drugs, same as Bertie. I’d say that Alan, Cyril, and Margie, probably Dean, had the same father, although there’s an age difference of eight years between Alan and Margie.’
‘Is it relevant?’
‘Probably not. The father or fathers are not around.’
‘They’re not important,’ Clare said.
***
Dean Winters visited his wife, found her in an ebullient mood. ‘My hearing’s coming up soon. I’ll make it up to you, I promise,’ she said. ‘It’ll be like it used to be, just you and me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Dean said. He knew he wanted Barbara back and if that came with her funny ways, then he would accept them, even embrace them if it was required. He remembered the early years, the early nights, the passion. Back then, she had been firm in her beliefs, had told him about her father and how he had pushed her and her brother. How he had made them stand for hours on end reciting passages from the Bible. And then, the standing on street corners, a banner in one hand, a Bible in the other, attempting to waylay the pedestrians as they walked past, most taking a wide berth, others coming in too close, only to be caught. Even in winter, they’d be there at the weekend. How her school friends had ridiculed her, not invited her to their parties, not that she would have been allowed to attend. Her father would have seen to that, and now the man did not even recognise his children.
Dean knew he had been a lonely man, lacking in confidence, even a slight stutter at the first signs of nervousness, but with Barbara he had been articulate, with her always there building him up. The change in their relationship, imperceptible at first, dramatic afterwards, had occurred the day after Alan had won the money. There he was, outside Dean’s house, in a red Ferrari. He had gone out to see Alan, even driven it at one stage, and inside the house, Barbara, unwilling to come out, was condemning his brother.
Up until then, he had not seen Alan for many years. He couldn’t admit to missing his family that much, apart from Margie.
Apart from his isolation from his family, the relationship with Barbara had been great and the saying of prayers at meal times, the two visits to the church on a Sunday were only minor encumbrances. Yet with the Winters’ wealth, his brother’s insistence on him taking some for himself, his wife had changed.
No more was she dismissive of his family, not talking about them. Instead, she would bring up the subject at every opportunity, criticising them: the lazy, the incompetent, the criminal, the prostitute. He had reacted as any man would; he had fought back. With words at first, then with threats, and then by walking out on her, but not before hitting her. Not that she didn’t deserve it as she’d beaten him enough times, and he had stood there and taken it. As he sat with her in that small room, he knew that the good outweighed the bad and by a large margin. He wanted to be with her, and if that meant that all the cutlery, all the plates and cups and saucers had to be in line, the food cans as well, then it was a small price to pay. And now, she was promising to go back to what she had been before.
‘What about this two million pounds that Mavis has offered? he said.
‘We will accept it. We will use it for charitable purposes. At least the evil will be of some good,’ Barbara said. The two of them shared a warm embrace, the policewoman in the corner of the room saying nothing, only smiling. She was a sucker for a romance book, and here, in the room, there was true love, a happy ever after. She did not see the look in Barbara Winters’ eye, nor did her husband.
***
Bertie Winters had been seen around Salisbury of a night time on a few occasions, invariably minding his own business, getting drunk or drugged, although the latter was unproven. What was clear to Tremayne was the man was too sullen when sober, too vocal when drunk, not that anything could be done about it, and the fact that the subject of his vexation was his mother did not bode well for family relationships. Tremayne, sitting in the Pheasant Inn one night, had taken the man to task, attempted to tell him that he should be grateful that his mother was making an effort to look after the family’s interests. All Tremayne received in reply was a comment to mind his own business. Tremayne wondered why he had become involved; Clare, when Tremayne had told her, reckoned it was a guilty conscience, in that he had seduced the man’s mother when he was younger. Tremayne told her she was talking nonsense.
Barbara Winters’ hearing had been a formality, with her husband having made an impassioned plea for the love of his life to be released. He’d also given an account of the dangers of infinite and immediate wealth and how it impacted otherwise decent people, his wife included.
Clare had attempted another date with the police officer that she had been out with before. The same routine: the meal, the wine, the attempt at luring h
er back to his place. The same result, a goodnight kiss. She had wanted to invite him in, the need for a man to make love to her, but he had not been Harry, never would be. It worried her that she was heading down the Tremayne road of relationships.
Whatever the future held, it was certain that for now it was her and her two cats, though one of them was starting to age, struggling on its back legs.
Tremayne caught up with Mavis Winters after her sister-in-law’s bail hearing. ‘What do you reckon?’ she had asked.
‘I’m against it,’ Tremayne said. ‘The woman and her brother have some strange ideas.’
Mavis had been surprised at his appearance: a new white shirt, a freshly-pressed suit. She made no mention of it. ‘Dean’s gone back to Southampton with her,’ she said.
‘Let’s hope he’s okay.’
‘For a few days, but she’ll have him standing to attention soon enough.’
‘What is it with Dean? The other brothers stand up for themselves.’
‘No idea. He was the closest in age to Margie when they were growing up. He probably saw more of what was going on in that house than anyone else, no doubt some of his mother’s men were abusing him, violently probably. One thing’s for sure, he rarely talks about it.’
‘The two million pounds?’
‘I’ve signed it over to Dean. The other brothers will get theirs soon enough. With Fred, I’ll want some further safeguards.’
‘Such as?’
‘I’m not sure. That’s up to the solicitor. Fred has to take the money on his release on the condition that he does not ask for more.’
‘He’ll agree, take no notice.’
‘Then he won’t get the money.’
‘That’s a dangerous game.’
‘I know it is, but what else can I do? Believe me, this money’s a curse. So far, I’ve a son who’s out of it and a dead husband.’
Tremayne did not want to get into a conversation about having too much money. It wasn’t a condition he had ever suffered from, nor would he have wanted it. He preferred the uncomplicated life, and money only complicates. The solution for the Winters was straightforward, although none of them would ever take it. It had come up in the bail hearing that one of the brothers and his wife were going to devote themselves to charitable causes, how they were going to use the money for good.
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