The DI Tremayne Thriller Box Set

by Phillip Strang

  ‘Linda, how are you?’ Baxter said.

  ‘Rupert, I’m fine. A long time,’ the woman replied.

  ‘Another of your customers?’ Tremayne said. Her status in the village, before regarded as benign and a minor player, had changed. She was a woman who had been in the underbelly of life; a woman who would know how to be devious and to exude charm and beauty while committing murder.

  ‘I last saw Rupert when we were a lot younger and a lot thinner. Inspector Tremayne, I’m not a common prostitute. I do not conduct business in my own backyard, and Rupert couldn’t afford me.’

  ‘Inspector, you’re clutching at straws,’ Baxter said. ‘Nobody’s guilty here, and we’d appreciate it if you’d go somewhere else. I’ve got a business to run, and you’re not helping.’

  ‘This pub stays closed until further notice. And if you don’t like it, you can complain to Superintendent Moulton. This case is going to be solved today, and you, Rupert Baxter, are going to start talking.’

  ***

  Clare moved through the manor house. She was accompanied by two uniforms. Margaret Wilmot had objected, even after being presented with the search warrant duly signed. Her objection had been noted, and she was now in the back of a police car. She was not restrained, but it had been made clear that any further disruption by her would be regarded as suspicious.

  Inside the house, Clare moved from the front to the back, the two uniforms taking the rooms to either side of the long hallway. Apart from a smell of damp and decay, there was nothing noteworthy. The building was old, and there were nooks and crannies in abundance, even loose wall panels, and cupboards that wouldn’t open. Clare could see a long day ahead, although the time from the attempted murder of Cuthbert Wiggins to the time that she and Tremayne had arrived in the village hadn’t been long. Clare hoped the woman’s arrogance, her ultimate belief in her superiority, would be enough to have made her careless.

  A small team of crime scene investigators were also in the house, initially conducting an exercise to see if there were any signs linking the house and the woman to any of the murders. If they or Clare and the uniforms found anything of interest, then there would be a full mobilisation and the house would be subjected to a rigorous investigation. In the kitchen, the oven was hot; inside a cake was baking. To one side of the oven, a pantry. Clare opened it to find a pair of boots on the floor; they were still muddy.

  ‘I need you up at the manor house,’ Clare said on the phone to Jim Hughes. ‘Your team will need to go through this house with a fine-tooth comb.’

  ***

  Hamish and Desdemona Foster appeared at the pub twenty-five minutes after they were summoned by Tremayne, as did the Woodcocks. Clare arrived after thirty.

  Margaret Wilmot, now aware of what had been found in the pantry, reacted calmly to the news that the crime scene investigators would be comparing the boots found to the boot prints at the river. Also, she had been informed that she would need to supply a DNA sample, as a broken nail had been found lodged under the bark of the branch, the intended murder weapon. Another court order was being obtained to make her comply, and whereas she was still a free woman, her movements were being monitored, a uniform assigned to her.

  In the end, the woman had come to the pub in Clare’s car. She had said little on the way, and Clare could see that her typical arrogance had been replaced by something more contrite.

  Inside the pub, a murderer sat. Tremayne had his suspicions, as had Clare. Cuthbert Wiggins sat quietly to one side. The others looked at him, some had asked his name. Most had been surprised to finally meet Gloria Wiggins’ phantom husband.

  ‘Never expected to see you here,’ Hamish Foster said.

  ‘I didn’t like her,’ Barry Woodcock said. ‘And you were married to her?’

  ‘I was,’ the only reply from Wiggins.

  Outside the pub were two patrol cars, another two uniforms, and some of the crime scene investigators.

  ‘I intended to conduct this investigation differently today, individual interviews,’ Tremayne said. He was standing up and addressing those assembled. ‘However, you have precipitated a different approach.’

  ‘How?’ Baxter asked.

  ‘We never expected Eustace Upminster to be in Compton, nor Linda Wilson. And as for Cuthbert Wiggins, his arrival in the village came as a complete surprise. We expect to charge one person here with murder within the next hour.’

  ‘Who?’ Hamish Foster said.

  ‘Let us go through the case so far,’ Tremayne said, purposely ignoring the question, wanting them to sweat some more.

  ‘I resent my being here,’ Margaret Wilmot said.

  ‘Duly noted,’ Clare said. ‘However, Inspector Tremayne is within his rights to conduct this interview. Miss Wilmot, in your case, I would suggest that you do not interrupt anymore. We believe that you are guilty of the attempted murder of Cuthbert Wiggins, and we will be charging you subject to a phone call from the crime scene investigators up at your house.’

  ‘Let me come back to where I was,’ Tremayne said. ‘Gloria Wiggins was killed for a reason. The assumption was that she was a difficult woman who had alienated certain people in this village. And we all know about James Baxter and his relationship with Barry Woodcock, and what the woman said about James and his subsequent death. That was an accident caused by Gloria Wiggins’ venomous tongue.’

  ‘You’ve no right to speak ill of the dead,’ Desdemona Foster said. ‘It’s disrespectful.’

  ‘It’s a murder investigation, not a memorial service for the dear departed. I’ll say whatever needs to be said. Gloria Wiggins was not a good person, and her former husband, Cuthbert Wiggins, will back this up.’

  ‘I will,’ Wiggins said.

  ‘After Gloria Wiggins died, then we had Bert Blatchford and his wife. Whoever killed Sheila Blatchford must have a sadistic nature, the sort of person who pulled the wings off butterflies as a child. Does anyone want to proffer a name as to who it may be?’

  No one spoke.

  ‘Very well, but remember that whoever dissected that woman with a chainsaw is in this room, and they could do the same to any of you here. Not today or tomorrow, but anytime in the future, and this time he may not even garrotte you before slicing you with the weapon.’

  ‘Please, no more,’ Desdemona Foster said.

  ‘Mrs Foster, you’re right. It’s not a pleasant subject, but then, murder isn’t,’ Tremayne said. ‘You couldn’t have killed Sheila, as it would have required someone with more strength, but you may know who it is. Your husband, for instance?’

  ‘I’ve killed no one,’ Hamish Foster said. ‘What about Eustace Upminster? Barry Woodcock? It was Woodcock’s chainsaw, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was, but he didn’t kill Sheila, Gwen did.’

  Clare looked over at Tremayne, wondered where he had got that notion from, before realising that he was throwing a cat amongst the pigeons. The man was looking for a reaction, for tempers to flare, and to create confusion and uncertainty amongst those assembled.

  Barry Woodcock was on his feet, his arm around his wife who was in tears. ‘How dare you,’ she said.

  ‘You bastard. My wife did not kill Sheila Blatchford, and you said before that she wouldn’t have been strong enough, whereas I was,’ Barry Woodcock said.

  ‘Did I, or was I just saying it for a reaction, the same as I am now. And yes, your wife did not kill Sheila, but we know who attempted to kill Cuthbert Wiggins.’

  ‘I fell in the water,’ Wiggins said.

  Clare went over to the Woodcocks and asked them to sit down; they complied.

  ‘Lies,’ Tremayne said. ‘We have the CSIs over at Gloria’s cottage. You’ve been in there, no doubt looking for her last will and testament. Did you find it?’

  ‘Okay, I was there. I’ll admit to it, but no. I don’t have it yet.’

  ‘But you know where it is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why under the bed? How did you know about her hiding it
there? You can at least answer that.’

  ‘Gloria always kept her important documents close to her. I remembered that the other day. I only wanted the document, and I didn’t kill anyone.’

  ‘How did you get into the cottage?’

  ‘A key buried next to one of the trees outside. That’s what she did when we lived together. I assumed that was what she would have done in Compton. I took a chance and found it within five minutes. After that, I was only interested in the will.’

  ‘It was in a cavity under the floor. It’s not going to be lying there with the insects and the dust.’

  ‘It was wrapped in plastic.’

  ‘They’ll eat through that. It must have been in something solid, a box of some sort.’

  ‘There is a metal box near where we found the boots,’ Clare said. ‘It’s old and rusty.’

  ‘That’s my property. It’s nothing to do with this investigation,’ Margaret Wilmot said.

  ‘Yarwood, get the CSIs to check it out quickly and get it over here,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘I’m already on to it.’

  ‘If it’s the box, then why is it at your house? What else is in that box? Blackmail, is that it? But you were friendly with the woman.’

  ‘I was never friendly. We shared a common belief in what was good for the village, and I had seen Rupert’s brother and Barry Woodcock.’

  ‘And now Rupert’s your lover. We’ve never understood you and him. You two have nothing perceivable in common. You’re an embittered woman, he’s an academic who prefers village life, the lure of a fish and a pint of beer.’

  ‘Our relationship is not your concern,’ Baxter said.

  ‘It is when Margaret attempts to kill Wiggins, and the three of you cook up a story to cover what’s happened. And why? It’s what’s in that box, and now we have it, and you three are going to be charged either with attempted murder or perverting the course of justice. What is it, Wiggins? So far, you will avoid a prison term and will more than likely be held over for community service. Do you want to go to prison for concealing an attempted murder? You’ve nothing to gain now from holding out on the truth.’

  ‘I only want what is rightfully mine, and my wife deserves a better life.’

  ‘The box at Margaret Wilmot’s, is it Gloria’s box?’

  ‘If it’s rusty and red, then yes. I only went along with the two of them as Margaret Wilmot said that she’d let me have what was mine once she had opened it.’

  ‘He’s lying,’ Margaret Wilmot said.

  ‘The box is on its way over now,’ Clare said. ‘One of the CSIs has opened it.’

  ‘My property, is it in there?’ Wiggins asked.

  ‘We don’t know yet. And what will be found of yours, Margaret Wilmot?’

  ‘I’ve nothing to say. This is pure conjecture, and I will not say another word without my lawyer present.’

  ‘Very well. The CSIs are confirming that your boots were down at the river with Wiggins. They’ll be passing them on to Forensics for further examination. Also, a court order will force you to give a sample of your DNA. We have enough to charge you with attempted murder.’

  ‘Ask one of the uniforms to come in,’ Tremayne said to Clare. ‘We’ll charge Margaret Wilmot in the other room and inform her of her rights.’

  ‘I’m innocent.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ Wiggins said. ‘I only went along because you said that you’d give me what I wanted out of that box, and I’ll testify that it was the same box that Gloria had all those years ago when we were married, and that you, Margaret Wilmot, admitted to my attempted murder. And Baxter was present.’

  ‘Mr Baxter, you’re an accomplice after the fact to the attempted murder of Cuthbert Wiggins. You will also be charged,’ Tremayne said.

  ***

  After forty minutes, Clare and Tremayne returned to where the others were sitting. Margaret Wilmot, now charged with murder, sat separately from the others, as did Rupert Baxter. Margaret was handcuffed, Baxter was not.

  ‘That’s two of the major crimes solved,’ Tremayne said. ‘We have a murderer for Stephanie Underwood, but not for the others. Gloria Wiggins was unconscious when she was strung up, and the contents of the box will reveal why Cuthbert was attacked. However, Gloria’s death is unrelated. You, Margaret Wilmot, wanted the woman alive, at least until the box had been found. Wiggins coming to this village was fortunate for you, in that he was the only person who knew where the box was. His finding it condemned him. The box is here with us now. Do you want to tell us what is in it?’

  ‘I’ve no more to say. I need my lawyer to be here.’

  ‘You are no longer needed. There is a patrol car outside, and you will be transferred to Bemerton Road Police Station. We will talk again, either today or tomorrow. You did not kill any of the others. Baxter will stay here as he is still involved.’

  One of the uniforms took hold of Margaret Wilmot and led her out of the pub. Inside, the others sat silent.

  ‘We still have two murders to solve,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Don’t you mean three?’ Eustace Upminster said.

  ‘We know who killed Gloria. It’s only the Blatchfords who concern us now.’

  ‘I didn’t kill her,’ Wiggins said.

  ‘You did not. We did not find her last will and testament. However, we did find a photo of your wife.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You do. Gloria Wiggins and your wife knew each other. And judging by the photo, they were friends. It looks to be after you and Gloria divorced. What did your wife know and for how long?’

  ‘She knew how Gloria treated me, and yes, they were friends once. I didn’t know that when I met my wife. Gloria didn’t come straight back to the village after taking my money, and for another six to nine months she worked in another bank, but you know this.’

  ‘We do, but we didn’t know about the friendship. You told us that your wife had seen Gloria’s cottage briefly once, but never Gloria. Why did you lie?’

  ‘It didn’t seem important, and if you knew, you’d suspect my wife. I’d do anything to protect her.’

  ‘Even murder?’

  ‘Even that.’

  ‘Your wife knew about Gloria burying a spare key in the garden. The key has been retrieved and is on its way to Forensics. The CSIs have checked it out first. There are fingerprints on the bag it was in, not many and they’re difficult to identify, but they believe they’ve found your wife’s. She had been at the house, she killed Gloria.’

  ‘No, never. Not my wife.’

  ‘Your wife is house-proud, and she’s a loyal wife living in a bad neighbourhood. You may have planted the seed in her mind that if your former wife died earlier rather than later, then your lives would be better.’

  ‘She would never kill anyone.’

  ‘Unfortunately, she’s been confronted with the truth, and she has admitted to her crime. Why we didn’t pick up on this before is unclear. Apart from the key, we found no other evidence of her being at Gloria’s cottage.’

  ‘I want to be with her,’ Wiggins said.

  ‘After further questioning at Bemerton Road Police Station, but not today. Your wife will be formally charged at the police station nearest to your house. Tomorrow morning, she will be transferred to Salisbury. You can see her then.’

  ‘Gloria was a big woman; my wife is smaller than her.’

  ‘An angry and desperate woman can summon an unknown strength. If your wife was desperate enough and hated the woman as much as you did, then it’s possible. How Stephanie Underwood failed to hear what was happening next door, we can’t be sure. She may have been involved, but that seems unlikely.’

  ‘That still leaves the murders of Bert and Sheila Blatchford,’ Clare said.

  ‘Are you saying one of us sitting here is guilty?’ Hamish Foster asked. He had his arm around Desdemona, almost concealing her from view.

  ‘There was more than one photo in the box. In fact, over the years the woman had
compiled a photographic dossier of those of interest. Eustace, there’s a photo of you with Linda, but it’s not recent. We’ll check, but it goes back about ten years, and it was at your farm. Was your wife away at that time?’

  ‘It’s not a reason for murder.’

  ‘It’s not. And Linda Wilson is innocent of the crime of murder, although if bad judgement were a crime, then she’d be guilty. For whatever reason, she’s fond of you, and I’m not sure that you deserve it.’

  ‘I loved Eustace. If he hadn’t been so loyal to Gladys, then we’d be together.’

  ‘Let’s backtrack,’ Tremayne said. ‘We know that in their youth, Baxter, Eustace Upminster, and Hamish Foster used to go out and about and that Stephanie Underwood and Gloria Wiggins, possibly Margaret Wilmot, were receptive to their inherent charms. Barry Woodcock was not involved, as he wasn’t interested in women, only Gwen, but he’s not a man with a strong sex drive. Is that correct?’

  ‘How dare you insult my husband,’ Gwen Woodcock said.

  ‘I deal in facts, not insults,’ Tremayne said. ‘The photos in the box confirm some of the relationships, even Barry and James Baxter. A distant shot and not focussed, but it’s clear who it is and what they are doing. We’re assuming that Gloria took the shot, although it may have been Margaret. Besides, it’s not important at this time. What is more important is that Gloria had a copy of a document disputing the Wilmots’ claim on some of the land in this village, in particular the Woodcocks’ farm. How she obtained this document and when are unknown, but Margaret Wilmot would clearly have wanted it.’

  ‘So would we,’ Gwen Woodcock said.

  ‘Margaret did not kill Gloria or the Blatchfords, although Gloria, judging by her bank statements, received small amounts into her account from unknown persons. We suspect that she may have been using her knowledge of this village and its inhabitants to coerce payments.’

  ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘She would have said it was gifts, and no one would have complained to the police. As I said, small amounts, and not sufficient to cause anyone financial hardship, but over the years the money has added up. She knew about Barry and James. She knew about Eustace and Linda. Did she ever contact you, Miss Wilson?’