For All Our Sins: A gripping thriller with a killer twist (DCI Claire Winters, Book 1)

by T. M. E. Walsh

  She stifled a yawn as she turned the key in the door and let herself in. She stepped over the day’s mail, which was sprawled across the mat, and kicked off her shoes and went to the kitchen.

  She flicked the light switch and dumped her bag on the kitchen table, as the spotlights came to life above her head. She found the last of the supply of ready-meals in the freezer and put it in the microwave, then retrieved the mail.

  She flicked through it: some pizza leaflets, a water bill, a letter from her mother Iris and a small white envelope with just her name, printed by a computer, on the front.

  She frowned, inspecting either side of it with suspicion.

  It had obviously been hand delivered.

  She carefully opened it and pulled out a thin piece of paper, folded in half. Her eyes narrowed as she folded it back and read the contents, which had also been typed on a computer.

  What revelation lies within the beauty of a rose? With its thorns sharp yet perfume so bewitching, you must breathe in the scent, be it foul in its reason for being.

  Claire frowned as she took in the words. She repeated the whole verse in her head and out loud, trying to make sense of it.

  She heard the microwave finish, and headed back to the kitchen. She left the letter on the table and dished up her food, the scent of the shepherd’s pie making her mouth water. She realised then that she hadn’t eaten anything since that morning, which would explain her terrible headache.

  She shovelled most of the food into her mouth before returning to the table. She poked at the rest of it with her fork while reading the letter again. Ten minutes passed and she ran out of patience. She slammed her fork down on her plate and screwed the letter up and put it in the bin.

  Putting it down to nothing but kids playing a prank, she went upstairs to change.

  ***

  Claire tied her dressing-gown tight around her waist as she returned to the kitchen. She pulled out her BlackBerry, notepad and her personal file she’d already compiled on Wainwright.

  She poured herself a glass of wine, then headed for the living room, collapsing on the cream-coloured sofa. She sat for several minutes, sipping from her glass, before checking her BlackBerry for any new emails and found there were three new messages.

  There were several missed calls and voicemails relating to what had happened at Gladstone Court the previous day.

  She certainly didn’t need the stress of it right now. That visit she’d tried hard to conceal to Michael had zapped her energy. She longed for the day that she could wash her hands of the whole sorry mess.

  Claire deleted the call list and the voicemails without listening to them properly.

  She drained the last of her wine from the glass in one large mouthful and she looked across at the one photograph of herself with both her parents, which sat on a bookshelf in the corner. It was taken when she was first in uniform. On that day, even her father had managed to behave himself and her mother had managed to curb her bitter tongue.

  They were both still married then, although Claire never really understood why.

  They hated each other.

  But still, it had been all smiles that day.

  Claire drew her attention back to her work. She checked through her emails.

  The first was from Michael saying he’d spoken with Mark Jenkins, who would be providing a statement, but he’d discuss it with her tomorrow. He’d sent it shortly after he had disconnected her call earlier.

  The second was from Matthews, thanking her again for letting him take over the Hargreaves case.

  Claire grimaced as she read it. Pull your tongue out of my arse, Matthews.

  It hadn’t been a difficult choice to reassign the Hargreaves investigation to Matthews. Claire knew it was a case below what Michael should be working on, despite Matthews’s seniority over him. Michael was wasted on this one.

  She often thought he should’ve been recommended for Inspector, before Matthews, despite his ego.

  She remembered the third email and deleted Matthews’s message from her account before opening the final one. It was a reminder about the up-coming Charity Ball being held in a few weeks’ time in Covent Garden at the Mayflower Hall.

  Claire winced as she read it was a ‘plus one’ event.

  The dress code was black tie and the ladies were expected to wear stunning evening dresses as well as meet and greet with the Mayor of London. This part didn’t faze Claire – she’d met the Mayor before – but the thought of turning up without a special guest in tow did.

  Her thoughts drifted back to Michael.

  She knew she’d been out of line towards him lately but couldn’t help herself. They had too much history between them for it ever to be normal again. She thought back to the moment she’d first met him and how she’d fallen completely in lust with him.

  She’d resented being married from that moment on but it’d been a few years after that first meeting before they’d struck up an affair.

  Now it was over and Claire knew she had to push him from her mind, no matter how reluctant she was.

  She put the BlackBerry aside and began reading over her notes.

  All she had to go on so far with regard to Wainwright’s murder was Mark Jenkins. He’d been the last to see him alive. She read over her notes thoroughly; Jenkins was married with one biological child but had previously fostered three other children. One called Emily still lived with him, but the other two had since moved on leaving no forwarding addresses. There was no documented reason as to why they had left and Claire thought it strange. They seemed to have vanished.

  Then of course there was his biological child.

  What was Jenkins like behind closed doors?

  She thought about this for a few minutes before making a call to the station. DC Gabriel Harper answered the phone at the other end.

  ‘Harper, it’s Winters. Just a shot in the dark here but can you run a name for me? Chloe Jenkins. See if anything comes up?’

  ‘Didn’t you go home already?’ he asked.

  Claire sighed. ‘You know how much I enjoy taking my work home with me.’ Harper laughed as he typed the information into his computer.

  ‘Right…we have a Chloe Jenkins. Twenty years old, lives at 52 Boston Court, Haverbridge West. She was brought in last year for minor drug offences but released with a caution.’ Harper paused. ‘Is that who you’re after?’

  Claire wrote down the address. ‘Anyone listed as next of kin?’

  ‘No. No one listed.’

  Claire had thought as much. She rang off and glanced at the clock opposite her; it was 9:00pm Tomorrow morning she’d pay Chloe Jenkins a visit, but for now tiredness was overcoming her.

  It was only while brushing her teeth that Claire remembered the letter from her mother that she’d not opened. She retrieved the letter from downstairs and opened it when she eventually climbed into bed.

  When her parents had divorced Claire’s mother had emigrated to Spain. The only time Claire saw her was when she came back to England, which was only when absolutely necessary. Even when Claire had gone through her own divorce she’d only come over once.

  Hardly the doting mother.

  Instead, Iris wrote to Claire at least once every two months, since she didn’t believe in emails or text messages. Even the ability to pick up the phone was alien to her, and Claire wondered why she defended Iris so much whenever her father launched into a tirade of abuse about her.

  Claire frowned as she skimmed over her mother’s delicate handwriting. This letter was nothing more extraordinary than usual.

  It read predictably; her mother asked about her work and hoped she wasn’t doing too much all at once. She enquired about Simon, Claire’s ex-husband, and if there was any possibility of them at least becoming friends again. No chance there, Claire sniffed. Then she asked the one question Claire dreaded: how was her love life?

  Groaning out loud, Claire tossed the letter onto her bedside cabinet and switched off the light.
<
br />   CHAPTER 14

  It was 9:30am when Claire arrived at Boston Court the next morning. She’d overslept but it didn’t bother her too much, considering all the late nights she was beginning to notch up.

  She glanced up at the twenty-odd-storey tower block in front of her. It looked depressing, with its grey brickwork and dirty-looking windows. The parking area didn’t look like somewhere Claire felt comfortable leaving her Mazda either, even if very briefly.

  She saw a group of teenage boys dressed in hoods and baseball caps kicking a ball around and up against the wall of the block. They were right in front of the entrance. Claire sighed inwardly and headed towards them.

  One of the teenagers looked up, staring at her as she approached. He nodded to his friend, who turned and spat on the floor in front of Claire, narrowly missing her boots. She paused and looked up at him, but the youth just stared back with a vacant expression on his face.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be in school?’

  The youth squared up to her. ‘Mind your fucking business.’ His friends laughed.

  Claire shoved past him. ‘You kiss your mother with that mouth?’ she said as she walked inside the block.

  ‘Only yours, love,’ came the cocky reply. Claire ignored him.

  There was a main corridor leading to a stairwell but she decided to take one of the two lifts in front of her. She went into the nearest one and immediately a waft of urine hit her. She held her hand to her nose and looked at the panel listing the floors. It had some sort of clear beaded slime covering it. On closer inspection she deduced that it was spit, and fresh.

  She swore when she saw the button for floor ten, flats 50-53, was covered in it. Pulling a tissue from her pocket, she wrapped it around her finger before pressing the button.

  When she reached the tenth floor she noticed the smell of urine followed her to flat 52. She knocked on the door and noticed it was decorated with a red graffiti tag.

  A few minutes passed before she knocked again, harder this time, but still there was no sound of movement.

  Then the lift behind her opened, making her jump. A young girl, no more than sixteen, appeared pushing a pram, which was laden with shopping bags. She was struggling to get the pram out of the lift, and the doors began to close.

  Claire rushed over to help and noticed that the girl was heavily pregnant. The girl looked at her and smiled.

  ‘Thanks. Can’t wait until I don’t need this pram any more.’

  Claire gestured towards her stomach. ‘Looks like you’ll need it for a while yet.’

  The girl glanced down at her stomach, pulling her top down over her. She pulled a face. ‘Yeah, worse luck.’

  Claire faked a smile. She saw the girl go to open the door to flat 53 and her eyes flashed instantly. ‘You don’t happen to know the girl who lives here, do you?’ she asked, pointing over her shoulder to flat 52. ‘I’ve knocked but I’m not sure if someone’s in or not.’

  The girl glanced up. ‘The Jenkins girl.’ She nodded. ‘Yeah, I know her.’ Claire waited for any further information but it was not forthcoming.

  ‘Well, is she in or does she work during the day?’

  The girl looked Claire up and down. She was nervous. ‘Why? What you want with her?’ Claire held out her warrant card and the girl’s eyes widened. She began fishing out her keys from her bag. ‘You might’ve said you were filth.’

  Claire looked her up and down but stayed silent.

  ‘Usually I can guess you lot straight away.’ She avoided Claire’s eyes. ‘Chloe works nights. She’s probably sleeping.’

  The girl shrugged and opened her front door, manoeuvring the pram inside. Claire helped her when the wheels caught against the door frame. The girl smiled and nodded a thank you. She began to close the door but Claire caught it with her hand and pushed it back.

  ‘Sorry, it’s important that I speak with her. Do you know where she works?’ The girl paused and stared at Claire, unsure of her motives. ‘I asked you a question.’

  The girl sighed. ‘I don’t know if I should say really.’ Claire shot her a hard look. The girl was trying her patience. The look prompted the girl to cooperate. ‘She’s one of them dancer girls.’

  ‘Dancer girls?’

  ‘She’s a stripper.’ The girl’s demeanour came over all superior. ‘She, you know, prances around in front of men who’re married and should know better.’

  The girl seemed to have an afterthought.

  ‘It pays real good money apparently. I could do that, you know, I don’t wanna live on benefits forever.’ She glanced down at her stomach and frowned. ‘’Course, no one’s gonna pay for me to shake this thing around, not when I’m this big.’

  Claire knew there was an exotic dancing club in town but had no idea what it was called or where it was exactly.

  ‘Do you know the name of the club she dances at?’

  The girl thought for a moment. ‘It’s behind the leisure complex somewhere and I think it’s called Paradis or something like that. His father used to go there a lot,’ she said, gesturing to the toddler in the pram. ‘One of the reasons we split up.’

  Claire knew she could find out more back at the station so she thanked the girl and headed for the lift. Since their conversation, someone had called the lift a few floors up.

  A sly smile spread across the girl’s face. ‘I remember the way he used to look at Chloe.’

  Claire glanced towards her as she pressed the button to call the lift back down. ‘I’m sorry?’

  The girl’s eyes met hers, something in them this time that was different from before. ‘My ex,’ she said. ‘He used to give Chloe this look when he saw her. He still lived here with me, but that didn’t stop him flirting. He was wasting his time though.’

  The lift arrived at their floor, and the doors pinged open. ‘Sounds like you’re well shot of him,’ Claire said as she entered the lift.

  ‘She’d never have looked twice at him,’ she said, voice smug. ‘She only shags girls.’

  Claire just looked at her as the lift doors closed. She pressed the button for the ground floor, and shook her head. Chloe’s sexual preference didn’t bother her, but her choice of job did. She’d only been in a strip club once, and that was to arrest a suspect.

  It hadn’t been a pretty sight.

  As Claire exited the building she saw the youths had moved on, and she walked back to her car. As she approached the Mazda she noticed one of her brake lights had been smashed.

  You little fuckers.

  She looked around but knew the youths could be anywhere, so she climbed in her car and drove back to the station.

  CHAPTER 15

  Claire’s office was quite large but cluttered with filing cabinets and chairs, making it appear smaller. She’d left the blind up the night before, so the early morning sun had flooded the office with intense light, leaving the room stifling.

  Claire placed her coffee on the desk, opened the window wide, and then lowered the blinds. She picked at her nails, waiting for her computer to bring up the internet.

  She accessed Google and typed “Paradis” in the search box. She hit enter and it brought up lots of links. She glanced down the page and saw the link to the main website.

  She looked through the glass partitions.

  The incident room was busy. She doubted anyone would need her for the next ten minutes or so. She felt embarrassed at what she was about to look at.

  She clicked the mouse and a half-naked lady popped up on the screen, accompanied by dance music, as the menus for the website dropped down in a fancy animation, followed by a swirling title appearing on the screen in the shape of green ivy.

  It formed the words ‘Welcome to Paradis’ and pulsated on the screen. The woman had changed position and was now holding a red apple, about to bite into it seductively.

  Claire cocked an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

  Just then Michael pushed his head around the door. Claire glanced at him then back at the screen, looking f
lustered.

  ‘Is now a bad time to compare notes?’ he asked. Claire tried to turn the volume down on the monitor. Michael frowned then walked towards her. ‘What’s that shit?’

  She tried to turn the monitor off before he saw the screen but he grabbed her hand as she went to hit the standby button. He saw the half-naked lady with the apple.

  He looked at Claire.

  ‘Whatever you’re thinking, Diego, you’re wrong.’

  Michael held up his palms in defence. ‘Hey, it’s your lifestyle choice, not mine.’

  ‘Piss off, it’s work-related. Mark Jenkins’s daughter works there.’

  Michael sat in the chair opposite her and swung back on it. ‘Jenkins has children? He doesn’t strike me as the type.’

  Claire clicked on the link to the ‘How to find us’ page on the website and brought up a map. ‘Have you ever been to Paradis?’

  ‘No. Not my thing… You didn’t answer my question.’

  She avoided his eyes, feeling the weight of his stare. She hated this tension between them. Every time they were together it was there, even when she tried to forget they had never been anything but work colleagues. She wanted to bury her head in the sand, and hope everything would sort itself out.

  Claire sighed and rubbed her forehead.

  ‘Chloe Jenkins is the only biological child. He used to foster children and they left the family, for unknown reasons. Their whereabouts is unknown. I think it’s strange, and it might be nothing, but I think it’s a good idea to see Chloe and ask her about her upbringing. I need some more background on Jenkins before I rule him out as a suspect.’

  Claire highlighted the page of directions and hit the Print button. Her printer whirred into life next to her and produced the page. She picked it up and shoved it towards Michael. He glanced at it.

  ‘Want to check it out with me later?’

  Michael looked again and shook his head. ‘No thanks. I’m not working late tonight anyway.’

  He passed the page back to her. He noticed her staring at him.

  ‘It’s Friday night…you remember Friday nights, don’t you? Going out drinking too much, dancing like a moron and trying to pull someone, then regretting it the next day with a massive hangover?’