The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  At Betty Winters’ funeral there had been little sadness; at Margie’s it was excessive. Once the funeral had concluded, the assembled group returned to the house in Quidhampton, everyone saying their farewells to Fred, including Tremayne and Clare.

  ‘Thanks for getting me here,’ Fred said. It had been Tremayne who had supported his request to be allowed to attend.

  Back at the house, the mood, sombre initially, became increasingly lively afterwards. Bertie Winters sat in another room drinking a can of beer. Clare thought that his condition had worsened. She went and sat by his side. ‘Bertie, you’re not joining in.’

  ‘Not me. I don’t feel like it. They’re out there pretending to care, but did they?’

  Clare sensed the negativity, knew that the young man was incorrect. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They didn’t stop her, did they?’

  ‘They tried. She was welcome in this house. There was always the best medical assistance available.’

  ‘That’s easy. Just throw enough money around, ease the conscience.’

  Clare left and went back to the other room. Bertie was obviously blaming his increasing addiction to drugs on others, not himself, his negativity being directed at others as if they were responsible. It was clear that the best medical treatment would not solve his problems. Margie had had an abusive childhood; Bertie had not. It would make no difference, his genetics were inclined to addiction, his sister, Rachel’s, were not.

  Back in the other room, Clare helped herself to another glass of wine, spoke to Stan. She knew that he would like to take her out, knew that she would decline. Stan was not her kind of man, although he had proved to be kind, and had helped Mavis in the days leading up to the funeral, not once deviating from his task. Fred, on the occasions that Clare had spoken to him, even at the church, was a different kind of man; he’d cause trouble whatever happened. Tremayne, free of policing responsibilities for once, was indulging in two of his favourite pastimes, beer and cigarettes, having found a willing partner in Stan. In spite of his previous release from prison when Stan had violated the conditions and had got drunk, Tremayne had managed to organise an extra day for him. Tomorrow when both he and Tremayne were sober, Tremayne would drive him back.

  Dean was not drinking. Clare went over to talk to him. ‘How are you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ the man said. It was clear that he was still suffering trauma. He was dressed in a dark suit, the bruising on his face barely visible.

  ‘We’re still looking.’

  ‘We were happy in those early years. What went wrong?’

  Clare could see that Bertie was not the only one in a bad mood. ‘That’s life,’ she said. A flippant remark, she thought. The only one she could think of.

  ‘It was her father. With us, it was our mother. Why is it that the people who should love you end up destroying your lives?’

  She spent a few minutes with Dean, and then went and spoke to Rachel. This time, the reception was more positive. ‘It was a good send-off,’ Rachel said. Of all those in the family, Rachel was the most balanced, Clare could see that. She had inherited her mother’s good sense, her positive outlook on life, her father’s good looks. Mavis, Clare had to admit, was not the most attractive of women. She was pleasant to look at, but the symmetry of the face and her complexion were not ideal, whereas with Rachel they were.

  ‘No boyfriend here?’ Clare asked.

  ‘I’m not sure about him. How about you?’

  ‘Not at the present time.’

  ‘But one day?’ Rachel said, conscious of Clare’s former relationship.

  ‘In time, I hope so.’ Clare was genuine in her comment. She had visited Harry’s grave during the week, placed some flowers on it, said some words to him. For the first time, she had not cried, not even felt sad. She knew, standing at the grave, it was time to move on, her period of mourning was over.

  Tremayne leant against a pillar in the sunroom to the rear of the house. Clare went out to talk to him, found him to be in a good mood; Stan, a kindred spirit was keeping him company.

  ‘What is it, Yarwood?’ he said, although with a slurring of his words. She was pleased that he was taking it easy. The last few weeks had been difficult for everyone. There was still no arrest for the murder of Alan Winters, and since then two more of the Winters’ family had died, one beloved, the other not, as well as the savage beating of one of the brothers.

  ‘It’s remarkable how cheerful everyone is,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a wake. It’s not a time to be miserable. We can reflect on Margie, but we can’t allow our lives to be brought down because of it.’

  Clare had wanted to discuss the case; the fact that there were still two people who had not been found. Further research into the Garrett household and the children revealed some anomalies. The man’s treatment of his children was not unknown, even at the time. One of the schools they had attended had registered a complaint to the authorities after Barbara Garrett had arrived at the school with a broken arm; her brother, on another occasion, with a black eye. At one stage, both of the children had been removed from their father and placed in care, only to be back with him within a month.

  Clare hoped that the rules had tightened up since then and that no child would be suffering in the present day.

  Mavis was busy ensuring that everyone was fed and had a drink, even though caterers had been brought in.

  ‘How’s Dean?’ Clare asked.

  ‘He still misses her,’ Mavis said. The two women had sat down, the caterers taking over.

  ‘After all that has happened to him?’

  ‘I know we were always unkind to her, bitch that she was, but what had happened to her as a child must have twisted her.’

  ‘It doesn’t excuse her for what she has become.’

  ‘I suppose so. Do you believe that she and her brother murdered Alan?’

  ‘It seems the logical conclusion.’

  ‘And no idea where they are?’

  ‘None. We know they were in Portsmouth, but since then, nothing. They must be desperate by now. They had cash, but they’re not using credit cards or withdrawing money from an ATM. It’s only a matter of time before they reappear.’

  ‘I keep telling Rachel and Bertie to be careful, to take security, but neither takes any notice.’

  ‘Rachel’s sensible,’ Clare said.

  ‘The car that rammed her up near the hospital? Any more news as to who and why?’

  ‘None. We’ve assumed it was an accident, possibly someone who had drunk too much or didn’t have a licence.’

  ‘Rachel was sure it was deliberate.’

  We don’t think it was Barbara or her brother.’

  ‘Someone else?’

  ‘We’re not pursuing that line of enquiry at the present time. Our focus is on Barbara and her brother. They’re both capable of violence.’

  ‘So’s Fred. Did you see him at the church?’

  ‘I saw him. He was pleasant, at least to me.’

  ‘Of all the Winters children, he’s the only one I can’t like,’ Mavis said.

  ‘Does he know about Dean and his problem?’

  ‘Dean told him at the church.’

  It was ten in the evening before Clare left, giving a drunken detective inspector a lift home, his vehicle left in Quidhampton. She knew that she’d be in the office the next morning bright and early; he wouldn’t.

  ***

  Archie Garrett and Barbara Winters sat in a small café not far from Salisbury. Archie had purchased a car in a private sale and had paid cash. He had not shaved since their rapid retreat from Barbara and Dean’s house. Barbara had dyed her hair blonde, cut it short. They knew they would not be easily recognised, and apart from the police showing photos in the hotel in Portsmouth, the first day after they had left Dean unconscious, they had seen no police presence.

  Archie had realised that beating Dean had been wrong, but that was what had happened to him. He knew that both he and
his father had a sadistic side. In the garden at home, he had enjoyed pulling the wings off butterflies, watching them squirm before stamping on them. With his father, it was tormenting his children, hurling them across the room, not feeding them, locking them in a cupboard or in the cellar.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Barbara said. Archie could see that she was becoming sadder. He knew that there was no hope for them. He had nurtured his career, not once having faltered in his duty. To British Airways, he was the exemplary pilot, the man who could be relied on, but outside, the uniform removed, another persona. His father had been the same. At the time he had hated him, but now he understood.

  ‘We cannot go back,’ Archie said. He looked at his sister, the one person he had loved, but she had not loved him; she had loved Dean. Maybe that was the reason he had beaten him. They had been in that house, attempting to convince him of his sins in Salisbury, attempting to bring him back the way he had been before. Barbara, he could see, had weakened during her husband’s absence.

  He assumed Dean’s belligerent attitude, his insistence that Archie was not welcome, was because of his family. They had convinced him that he had to stand up for his rights, to take control of his wife. Archie knew that could not be allowed. His father had only consented to the marriage on condition that Dean would look after Barbara in the manner to which she was accustomed, and now he was not following that order. And when Dean had stood up to him, throwing his suitcases out onto the driveway, he had reacted and hit the man. The first time with gentle force, and then with more, taking out the belt that his father had beaten him and Barbara with. The two of the children, both naked, both cowering as the man had come at them, both holding each other, hoping for relief. Relief that never came, and now Dean was resisting him. He had literally ripped the man’s clothes off him, hitting him with the belt, throwing the occasional fist. Barbara had been shouting for him to stop, not wanting to get too close, the sight of the belt frightening her, and then the doorbell rang, the sound of the police knocking on the kitchen window.

  The two of them, he and Barbara, running for the front door, jumping into the Mercedes and taking off. Archie knew the situation was grim; Barbara was not able to make any decisions. He knew that if he were not there, she would weaken and offer herself to Dean, give evidence against him to the police.

  Chapter 23

  Clare was in the office by seven in the morning the day after the funeral. Tremayne came in forty-five minutes later. Clare had not expected him to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed so was not surprised to see him bleary-eyed and with no tail at all.

  ‘Aren’t you taking Stan Winters back to the prison today? Clare said.

  ‘At 10 a.m. He’ll be ready.’

  ‘Will you?’

  ‘If you get me a cup of tea, I will be,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Just this once.’

  The two sat in Tremayne’s office. Clare was full of energy; her detective inspector was not. ‘Maybe I should drive him back?’ Clare said.

  ‘Maybe you should.’

  Clare spent her time dealing with paperwork, Tremayne started with it, put it to one side. He was troubled. There were two people on the loose who had been willing to indulge in violence, and so far there was no sign of them.

  Although the Winters maintained some security, it was insufficient. The question lingered in Tremayne’s mind as to how Archie Garrett – his sister was regarded as subservient in their relationship – managed to get Alan Winters from Polly and Liz’s place up to Stonehenge. It was known that the Bentley was outside their flat and that Gerry was driving, yet his recollection of the evening had been vague. If Alan had been dropped at home, then why was he at Stonehenge? Had he gone out again and why? Still more unanswered questions.

  Tremayne did not have long to dwell on the matter. Realising that he was not in the best condition from the night before, he took a walk around the police station. Superintendent Moulton was in the hallway.

  ‘Tremayne, what’s the latest?’

  ‘We’re following up on all possible lines of enquiry. It’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but these two have been on the loose for some time. Do you regard them as dangerous?’

  ‘Not to the general public, only to the Winters.’

  ‘It’s amazing what all that money can do.’

  ‘It is. Not that you and I will ever find out.’

  ‘Not me,’ Moulton said. ‘A police pension is all I’ve got to look forward to.’

  ‘The same for me.’

  ‘Don’t you ever feel like throwing in the towel?’

  ‘Are we talking retirement here, sir?’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Not at all. All the negativity of a murder investigation, the sorrow, the anger, the senseless taking of life by another, that’s all.’

  ‘It gets to me sometimes, I’ll admit to that, but I’ve become inured to it. The Winters are an exception in that I’ve known them a long time.’

  Tremayne could see the subtle attempts to talk about his retirement; he had no intention of rising to the bait, and besides, he had one man to return to his prison, two suspect murderers to deal with, and Jean, his former wife, to phone. The first responsibility he saw as an obligation, the second as confusing, the third as pleasurable.

  Tremayne returned to his office; Clare was waiting. ‘Yarwood, time to go?’

  ‘If you want to pick up Stan Winters at 10 a.m.’

  The two walked to Clare’s car. She could see the look on her senior’s face. ‘What is it?’

  ‘How did they get Alan Winters to Stonehenge?’

  ‘He was unconscious.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. We know that he left Polly and Liz’s place, with a car outside. Did he drive or did someone else? And where was Gerry?’

  ‘Are you having doubts about the Garrett siblings?’

  ‘Not in itself. They’re both capable of violence, or at least, Archie is, but from what we know, his violence comes from anger.’

  ‘And taking a man up to Stonehenge to kill him does not. It’s a calculated act spread over a few hours.’

  ‘Precisely. And there was no anger in Alan’s murder.’

  ‘We’ve been down this road before. We have a murdered man, two violent people. Do you need more?’

  ‘It may be enough to ensure a conviction, especially if they can place the Garretts in the vicinity of Salisbury.’

  ‘But how? According to Dean, Archie was overseas at the time.’

  ‘We have proof that was the case, but it’s not conclusive. He could have flown back using a different name, committed the murder and then left the country again.’

  ‘It’s not logical.’

  ‘I know, but why kill the man? They despised him and what he represented, but why murder? And then, why accept the two million pounds, and reject the one hundred thousand? Archie Garrett is a logical man, firm in his beliefs, as is Barbara. Why did they change?’

  ‘Seduced by the money?’

  ‘Not them. I just don’t believe it.’

  ‘But the car in the driveway?’

  ‘That’s unclear. We know they had purchased a Mercedes. According to Dean, he had signed over sufficient money to Archie, and that he had bought the car.’

  ‘Dean’s word.’

  ‘There’s no proof that the car was the result of the Winters’ money. Archie Garrett must be paid well. He may just have bought it for himself.’

  ‘We’ll need to talk to Dean and Gerry on our return.’

  ***

  Neither Tremayne nor Stan Winters said much on the way up to Pentonville. The previous evening, the police inspector and the convicted felon had both drunk excessively. That morning, of the two, Tremayne seemed the better, although it was marginal. For the first fifty minutes of the trip, both of them slept soundly; the only noise in the vehicle was the snoring of the two men. Clare could see the humour in the situation. Her phone rang. ‘There’s been an incident,’ Moulton said.


  It was unusual for him to phone her. ‘What kind of incident?’

  ‘Rachel Winters is missing.’ Clare woke Tremayne. She handed her phone over to him.

  ‘The woman never reported for work. They phoned her mother to check. Apparently, Rachel Winters is known for her timekeeping. The mother went looking, found the daughter’s car a mile from the hospital.’

  ‘They knew our phone numbers. Why didn’t they phone us?’

  ‘They didn’t think it was suspicious at the time.’

  ‘But now?’

  ‘They’ve received a phone call,’ Moulton said. Tremayne looked at his phone, flat battery. ‘Your phone didn’t ring?’ he asked Clare.

  ‘Not mine. It’s been with me all the time.’

  ‘You’ll need to come back. We’ve put out an all-points.’

  ‘The phone call?’

  ‘Ransom. One million pounds or else.’

  ‘Understood. Archie Garrett?’

  ‘That’s for you to find out.’

  ‘And Mavis Winters has told the police?’

  ‘She’s an astute woman. She knew that the best chance of her daughter being returned alive was to let us know.’

  ‘I’ve got Stan Winters with me. He’s due back in Pentonville.’

  ‘I’ll phone the relevant people. He’s under your control. Just make sure he abides by the conditions of his release.’

  ‘I trust Stan. He’ll do the right thing.’

  Clare turned the car around and headed back to Mavis Winters’ house. Bemerton Road was not the best place, other than for setting up a search.

  At the Winters’ house, there was surprise at seeing Stan again, concern over Rachel’s safety.