Both husband and wife were on their feet; both were distraught.
‘How dare you?’ Maeve Winston said. ‘We invite you in, show you courtesy. And you can say that.’
‘Good,’ Wendy said, adopting an Isaac tactic. ‘You’re both riled.’
‘You want this?’
‘Too much beating around the bush. Let’s talk honestly. I don’t think your husband is a murderer, not yet. But in his defence, he needs to convince you and me that he’s telling the truth. I, as an experienced police officer, will know from my training and many murder enquiries; you will know as you are married to him. Sorry to be blunt, but that’s the way it is.
‘Let’s get down to basics. Janice was killed by a fastidious, probably trained killer. And so was Amanda Upton. Which leaves us with Cathy Parkinson. That death was neither professional nor pleasant. Now, either the murderer was inexperienced, or he felt joy in killing her and then stringing her up, or it was professional, made to look as if an amateur had committed it. He had also had sex with her before the murder, whereas Janice’s murderer had not.’
‘Maybe the man was incapable,’ Maeve Winston said.
‘If it’s Gareth Rees, then we know that he’s capable. But we continue to assume there was a different murderer for Cathy Parkinson.’
‘Hector Robinson?’
‘He was killed by a local gang of hoodies: poorly educated, disenfranchised, the flotsam of society. Not that there will ever be a conviction and two of them are dead; one at the hand of his gang, the other by an unknown assailant, although more than likely a rival gang. Life is tough where they live, and most of them don’t live for long, violence and death come too easily. Which leaves Cathy Parkinson. It could be the man we know as Ian Naughton, but so far, we don’t know too much about him, other than DCI Cook and DI Hill met the man briefly.’
‘Are you trying to pin this Cathy Parkinson’s death on Tim?’ Maeve said.
‘I don’t want to. But what I want is the truth. Mr Winston, you knew one of the other women, which indicates that you knew Mary Wilton’s premises. Am I correct?’
‘You’re correct. I knew Meredith. I’ve told you that already.’
‘You paid for her services?’
‘I did,’ Winston said in a quiet voice.
‘Cathy Parkinson?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Don’t make me out to be a monster. Okay, I slept with Janice and the other woman. If I say I regret it now, it’s not going to make any difference. However, I draw the line that I murdered this other woman. I can vaguely remember seeing her, and if it’s the same person, she wasn’t in good shape.’
‘Analyn?’
‘Not the name.’
‘Gabbi, another Asian woman?’
‘A picture?’
Wendy took out her phone, scrolled through the photo gallery, passed it over to Tim Winston.
‘Yes, I can remember her, but no, I did not sleep with her. Only with Janice occasionally and Meredith on one occasion. Is she dead? Are you going to try and pin that on me?’
‘She’s alive and well, no longer lying on her back to make money. She’s sorted herself out.’
‘Where is she?’ Maeve Winston asked.
‘At university, doing well.’
One more suspect to consider, Wendy thought, after she left the Winstons’ house. Tim Winston’s misdemeanours were more than had previously been considered. The man, outwardly portrayed himself as a solid family man, good father, responsible citizen, but there was a dark side to him, a side that enjoyed the company of prostitutes.
Chapter 26
Wendy realised after leaving the Winstons that revealing that Meredith Temple was studying at a university may not have been wise; after all, the apparent lack of connection between the murders, and the unknown motives, might have placed her in jeopardy.
To Wendy, Tim Winston had always seemed to be a decent man, but his rating as a good husband to Maeve had suffered a few too many blows. The revelations of him and Janice Robinson, and now of his having spent time with Meredith Temple, were starting to damn the man. And if she mentioned to her DCI that she hoped it wasn’t Tim for the sake of his wife and daughter, Wendy knew that she would receive a gentle rebuke, in that it was murder, and the guilty is the guilty, with no lesser investigation of the upright and decent than of the despicable and criminal.
Wendy had phoned Gabbi Gaffney, checked on Gareth Rees and his sexual appetite; she confirmed that he was normal on that count. That meant that Rees could have killed Cathy Parkinson as well as Janice Robinson.
In the office, on Wendy’s return, Larry Hill was briefing Isaac as to what he had found out on the street, although judging by the smell of beer, the discussions with Spanish John, various informers, the destitute and despondent had been conducted in a licensed premise.
‘Nobody seems to be able to help much,’ Larry said as Wendy passed over a strong mint from her handbag.
‘Here, suck on this,’ she said.
Isaac remembered when his sergeant had first joined Homicide, and the smell of her smoking. He had had words with her on a few occasions, almost put it in writing once, and now the woman, no longer smoking, was criticising another member of the department for the unpleasant smell.
Larry took the mint, gave an embarrassed grunt in acknowledgement, and placed it in his mouth.
Isaac, choosing not to comment on Wendy’s actions, focussed back to the investigation. ‘Wendy, Tim Winston? A possibility?’
‘Remote, but can’t be ruled out. Even so, no motive.’
‘But he does,’ Larry said. ‘His wife and daughter. If the man can’t help himself and
