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

by T. M. E. Walsh

  Inside she was numb.

  CHAPTER 19

  The early morning brought light rain, but it did not ease the humidity. There had been a violent thunder storm during the night, through to the early hours, and Claire had spent the whole time watching it sat in the kitchen doorway, not caring as the rain had lashed down, drenching her to the bone.

  She’d watched the lightning tear through the sky, the jagged light mesmerising. By the time the rain had eased, Claire had been shivering despite the muggy air, arms wrapped around her legs that were drawn up towards her body.

  It had taken every ounce of strength she had remaining to get ready for work.

  Today will be better, she told herself. I am in control.

  She’d arrived at the station early. Nothing of note had been picked up by the night shift, and as they filtered out, bleary-eyed, Claire made a start with the report the pathologist, Danika Schreiber had had expedited at Claire’s request.

  She now sat staring at it, one hand supporting her head, arm propped up on the desk.

  She frowned at the pages. She’d read and digested it several times in the last hour, and this was the last thing she needed after working all weekend with very little sleep.

  She called Michael to her office.

  She stared at him as he sat in front of her desk, his hair messy and his face unshaven. He had dark circles under his normally clear eyes and his shirt didn’t look like it’d seen an iron in a long time.

  ‘Nice weekend?’ she asked. ‘Or should I say, eventful?’ She eyed him up and down. He shot her a sleepy look but ignored her question. ‘Judging by the look of your shirt, I’d say eventful.’

  He stared down at his notepad, vacant expression on his face. Claire grew annoyed.

  Leaning forward she clicked her fingers in front of his face. ‘Are you even fit to be in work, Diego? I’ve called a team briefing in twenty minutes and you’re looking fucked.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he managed. ‘I guess I overdid it.’

  She stared hard at him and felt the slight twinge of jealousy.

  She remembered that look of his. It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d been on the receiving end of his wild nights out. It was obvious to her that this weekend he’d been showing someone else a good time, and she hated the thought of it.

  He’s got over me too quickly.

  ‘What’s her name then?’ she said after a prolonged silence.

  ‘What makes you think I was with a woman?’

  ‘OK then. What’s his name?’

  Michael laughed and looked at her. Her expression was blank and he tried to read her thoughts. It was becoming more obvious to him recently that Claire Winters, the county’s most feared ice queen, was maybe starting to regret ending their affair.

  ‘I just had too much to drink and ended up in someone else’s bed. You’ll be happy to know that my stomach is paying the price. And yes, Mum, I used protection.’

  Claire hid her irritation, flicked her hair over her shoulder and turned to her computer. The email about the Charity Ball, with its ‘plus one’ invite, still sat in her inbox, silently mocking her.

  ‘Diego, don’t confuse me with someone who gives a shit…’ She reached for the pathologist’s report and passed it to him. ‘I’ve been reading this for an hour. Now it’s your turn, but I’ll say this much, whoever did this, is one sick individual.’

  ***

  Seventy-five-year-old Lily Ward opened the tin of cat food and emptied it into Jessop’s bowl. The little black cat rubbed its head lovingly against Lily’s tired legs, before tucking into the meal of tuna chunks and gravy.

  Lily smiled, bent down and stroked the cat’s head.

  Jessop was her best friend, since she had lost her husband a few years back. Her daughter had bought her Jessop when he was a kitten to help keep her company. Now they never left each other’s side.

  The cat purred after finishing his meal and bounded after Lily as she sat in her usual chair in the living room. She picked up her knitting and switched on the television. She placed her glasses low on her nose and soon the sound of clicking needles began. Lily turned the television up loud, as her deaf ears strained to pick up the BBC One lunchtime news. Jessop snuggled down beside her feet and drifted off to sleep.

  The sound of arguing outside Lily’s flat woke Jessop soon after he’d dozed off and he darted off towards the front door, but Lily remained seated, engrossed in her knitting.

  She’d grown used to hearing everyone else’s business at all hours of the day.

  This was what life was like in one of the little flats in town, above a shop, with neighbours on two floors above.

  Hardly ideal.

  Her daughter had kept urging her to move to accommodation which specialised in looking after the elderly, but Lily had refused, being as independent as ever.

  Soon the sound of arguing had died down and Lily smiled at her knitting, admiring it. She was making a new jumper for her little grandson and had chosen a baby-blue wool.

  Then something made Lily pause.

  She thought she’d felt a light tap against her forehead. Dismissing the thought, she carried on knitting before stopping again.

  A medium-sized smudge of something dark had appeared on the wool.

  She squinted as she brought the wool closer, when another drop landed on her hand. She looked at the sticky congealed blob and slowly looked above her head.

  She cried out, her hand clasping against her mouth.

  She reached for her telephone and dialled 999.

  CHAPTER 20

  The scene looked like all the town’s residents had descended on it at once. Uniformed police struggled to keep people behind the police tape which had cordoned off part of the town centre. People began to film on their mobile phones and speculate as to why SOCOs clad in white overalls were entering the flats.

  When Claire and Michael arrived, a team of journalists pushed through the crowds to get to them. Ignoring a series of questions, Claire flashed her warrant card at a uniformed officer and he allowed her and Michael through.

  The lift to the flat was broken so Claire and Michael took the stairs.

  They were met by senior uniformed officer Inspector James Warrington at the top of the stairs. He nodded as Claire approached him.

  ‘Ma’am,’ he said and showed her through to Lily Ward’s flat.

  Claire could hear sobbing coming from the kitchen and peered around the door. She saw the old lady being comforted by a younger one, while speaking to another officer. Claire turned to Warrington.

  ‘That’s Mrs Ward in there?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  Claire nodded as she looked around the small living area. ‘And she called in the incident, but hasn’t been upstairs and seen anything?’

  ‘No. She was doing her knitting when she noticed the drops come from the ceiling.’ Warrington pointed above Michael’s head.

  They all looked above and Michael wrinkled his nose at the sight.

  Blood had seeped though from the flat above and was now a darkened stain around the light fitting, shade and bulb.

  ‘It appears to have been there for a day or two but Mrs Ward hadn’t noticed it. It’s OK for you to go up now. Officers are currently doing a door-to-door. Photography and video have been taken with the body still in situ. The pathologist is still upstairs…’ Warrington trailed off, his face looking grey. ‘It’s not a pretty sight up there, Ma’am.’

  He shifted uneasily. Claire looked at him and then turned to Michael.

  ‘I’ll speak with Mrs Ward,’ she said. ‘I’ll follow you up.’

  ***

  Climbing the stairs to the floor above, Michael passed several SOCOs, barely acknowledging any of them, until one caught his eye.

  ‘Hello again… DS Diego, isn’t it?’ Principal SOCO Jason Meadows pulled his face mask over his head and smiled.

  Michael managed a nod.

  ‘Is the SIO here? I’ll show her up.’

>   ‘No,’ Michael said, ‘that won’t be necessary.’ Meadows frowned at him. ‘DCI Winters is with Mrs Ward.’

  Meadows nodded and turned on his heels. ‘Everything’s ready for you to go in. I’ll get you a suit,’ he said, as he padded back up the stairs. He showed Michael along the corridor leading to the flats and they were met by forensic pathologist Dr Danika Schreiber’s extended hand.

  ‘Sergeant Diego, nice to see you again,’ she said, her German accent much diminished since moving to England ten years ago. Michael smiled and exchanged pleasantries.

  Her long dark hair was pulled back into the usual ponytail, she wore no make-up, and her body was clear of jewellery. She was already wearing her Tyvek suit and shoe covers. She pulled the hood up over her hair, and nodded her head towards the door of flat 15 as she put her gloves on.

  ‘We’re in there.’

  Meadows handed Michael a suit and overshoes. He pulled them on, then Danika led them through to the flat.

  Michael tried to ignore the fetid smell at his nostrils as he stepped over the threshold. ‘Jesus…’

  Several bluebottles were buzzing around the room, flying past his ears. It made his skin crawl and he longed to scratch every part of his body.

  Meadows pulled his face mask up again. ‘In this heat, if no one had noticed the blood in the flat below, someone would’ve soon noticed the smell.’

  ‘No shit,’ Michael said from behind his own mask.

  The front door was open wide and he saw the huge blood spatters covering the back of the front door when it was closed after them.

  He saw smeared bloody hand prints dried onto the door and surrounding walls. Meadows made eye contact with him and nodded towards the stains.

  ‘The spatter marks across the door would indicate the victim was already bleeding before being hit and with some ferocity. There’re even spatters on the ceiling.’

  Michael looked up. The yellowing Artex was spattered with arcs of dark lines.

  ‘I think the fingerprints will match the victim’s here,’ Meadows continued, gesturing towards the door again. ‘The victim must’ve made for the door and these smear marks are where he was clutching for anything to stop himself from being pulled back into the kitchen.’

  Michael followed the dried bloodstains across the bare floorboards with his eyes.

  The stains led in thick trails into what Michael assumed to be the kitchen.

  ‘Is that were the body was found?’ he said, gesturing towards it.

  ‘Yes. On inspection of Mrs Ward’s flat downstairs, the layout of her flat is exactly the same as this one,’ said Danika.

  ‘But the blood in here isn’t enough to leak through the floorboards onto her light fitting though, is it?’ he asked, looking around the floor. Danika pulled a sad face as she showed him the other side of the coffee table.

  ‘Christ!’

  Michael took a step back when he saw what was left of the Rottweiler.

  ‘The floorboards are old. It’s the dog’s blood that has leaked through to Mrs Ward’s flat.’

  ‘The dog must’ve been killed first, but the mutilation would’ve happened afterwards. After whoever did this was finished with our friend in the kitchen, I mean,’ Meadows said.

  Michael took a deep breath. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  Meadows nodded. ‘I’ll leave you two to it,’ he said and left the flat.

  Danika let Michael enter the kitchen first.

  What he saw could only be described as a mess of blood and flesh. He scanned the kitchen walls, which seemed alive with dried blood. Fat black spots buzzed past his ears – bluebottles, feeding on the decaying blood.

  The floor was stained a deep brownish red, which led to a heap of flesh, blood and bone.

  Ashe Miller’s face was battered, almost beyond recognition, and his head lay to one side, his eyes open in a glassy cold stare.

  Danika slowly approached Michael and pointed towards the body. ‘Now you know why we called you and Claire in for this.’

  Michael nodded. He recognised the obvious similarity instantly.

  Ashe Miller’s chest had been cut open, his muscle mass and flesh roughly peeled back, exposing parts of his ribcage.

  ‘I’ve inspected the throat already. There’s nothing obstructing the windpipe that I could see, but I’ll do a thorough check during the PM.’

  Danika tried to gauge Michael’s reaction but his face was now expressionless and turned away from her. He stared down at the body, looking for a stab wound.

  ‘What happened? Do you have a time of death?’

  ‘It appears he was beaten about the face before being slashed repeatedly with a very sharp instrument. You can see some of the slash marks about his torso, legs and arms.’ She paused and gulped in some much needed air, albeit putrid in smell.

  ‘On examining the hands, I found various lacerations, indicating he tried to protect himself. It appears loss of blood would’ve killed him eventually, but his killer cut his throat in a left to right movement, suggesting the murderer is right-handed. Desecration of the chest was done after the victim died. I’ve estimated the time of death between one and three Saturday morning.’

  Michael gave the body one last look and left the room. He stripped off the overalls and handed them to a SOCO to bag, as Danika followed after him. He stood in the corridor with his hands on his waist.

  ‘Wainwright’s throat wasn’t cut,’ he said, clarifying the fact for himself more than anything.

  Danika moved in closer. ‘Do you need me to see Claire?’ she asked. ‘Sorry, DCI Winters,’ she corrected herself when Inspector Warrington appeared in the corridor. Danika and Claire had known each other for many years but Danika always made sure she kept the professionalism when officers were in earshot.

  Michael shook his head. ‘She’ll be up to see the body when she’s finished downstairs.’

  ***

  Claire sat opposite Lily Ward and watched the scene unfold with ever-growing annoyance. She’d asked the old lady what had happened and whether she’d heard anything unusual in the last few days.

  What were straightforward questions to Claire seemed altogether too difficult for Lily.

  ‘I’ve told her time and again to move, but she won’t listen,’ said Gina Moore, with her arm around Lily. Claire stared hard at the woman she’d ignored for the last five minutes. Her eyes narrowed and her face hardened.

  ‘I’m sorry but you are?’ Claire asked.

  Gina looked affronted, open-mouthed, as Lily continued to cry into her tissue. ‘I’m her daughter.’

  Claire offered no apology and returned her attention to Lily. ‘Mrs Ward, again, in your own time please.’

  There was another barrage of sniffles and Claire noticed Michael standing in the doorway.

  He motioned his head to her.

  She looked towards DC Harper sitting next to them. ‘Could you finish with Mrs Ward, please, Gabe?’ She left the room without waiting for a reply and followed Michael out into the corridor.

  She listened, anxious, as Michael explained to her about Ashe Miller’s body.

  After digesting the information she went upstairs to view the body. Michael waited for her. There was no way he was going back to the carnage unless he had to. When Claire returned to him her face was pale.

  Michael shrugged. ‘Copycat on our hands, or the real deal?’

  ‘None of the information on Wainwright’s mutilation has been given to anyone outside the investigation, and I doubt his housekeeper would’ve voiced it to anyone. She couldn’t even speak when officers found her.’

  Claire saw Warrington appear on the stairs above them. Her face hardened. ‘I want residents in the blocks down at the station to give statements.’

  CHAPTER 21

  A team briefing was called as soon as Claire was back in the incident room. She needed to bring her team up to speed on the developments of the Wainwright investigation and the possible connection to Ashe Miller, making sure e
verything was recorded in the Policy Book, in the event of a review process.

  ‘I want the statements we have so far on HOLMES and any inconsistencies flagged up,’ Claire said, as she attached a photograph of Ashe Miller to the board, next to Wainwright.

  The Home Office Large Major Enquiry System (HOLMES), developed in the 1980s, contained all the information on the investigation, allowing for very sophisticated searches, and it could eliminate the possibility of any important links and information being missed due to human error, providing the information was inputted correctly.

  Claire looked around the room. ‘I want you, Harper and Cleaver,’ she said, pointing at the two constables, ‘to take statements from the residents in Ashe Miller’s block.’

  They nodded.

  ‘I want mobile phone records for Miller, a list of known associates and their addresses. Where were they when Miller was killed? Miller was the stereotypical Haverbridge lowlife. He has a previous conviction for possession of drugs with intent to supply and a list of enemies a mile long. Even the Council have a file on him regarding anti-social behaviour complaints by other residents.’ She looked around the room. ‘You get where I’m going with this.’

  ‘Sounds like he got what was coming to him,’ Matthews said.

  Claire shot him a look. ‘That’s not helpful.’ She looked at DC Richard Lloyd. ‘Lloyd, I want you to get me the CCTV footage from the communal areas. Sadly there’s no cameras on Miller’s floor. You can work with DC Harper and I want more officers going into the local shops. See if anyone saw anything unusual.’

  Lloyd made notes and nodded. ‘Yes, Guv.’

  Claire’s eyes returned to Matthews. ‘I want you to speak to the town centre management team to get access to the CCTV footage for the rest of the town centre.’

  He nodded.

  Looking down at the witness statement from Lily Ward, Claire’s eyes narrowed. She looked up and addressed the whole team.

  ‘There’s one shred of evidence we’ll use as a starting point. Mrs Ward said, when asked if she saw anyone near Miller’s flat the night he was murdered, that she’d gone upstairs to the third floor. Another elderly resident is in hospital and Mrs Ward had promised to check in on their pet bird. She took the stairs because the lift was broken and on her way down from the third floor, she caught a glimpse of a woman who appeared to be leaving Miller’s flat.’ She paused for breath. ‘There happens to be one resident that somewhat fits her description.’