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

by T. M. E. Walsh

  Claire looked around the room.

  ‘The only description she could give was that the woman had, and I quote, long red hair the colour of blood.’

  CHAPTER 22

  Amelia picked at her fingers as she waited in the stuffy little interview room. She was on her own, but she knew she could leave at any time so she didn’t feel nervous and had learnt to perfect the appearance of an innocent young girl long ago.

  It seemed hours since she and the other residents had been asked to attend the station, and she realised she’d not eaten since Sunday night.

  She was surprised it had taken so long for the body to be discovered. She thought about how she could’ve taken more time to dispose of the evidence, if she’d known it would take this long. She dismissed the thought though, knowing she had been so very careful.

  She was quietly confident when Claire and Michael entered the room and sat in front of her. She stared at Claire, taking in her face, hair and clothes.

  You’re a hard-faced bitch. Amelia didn’t like those cold piercing eyes. Her attention turned to Michael and, after giving him the once over, she dismissed him.

  ‘I’m DCI Claire Winters and this is DS Michael Diego,’ Claire said, reading from an A4 sheet of paper. ‘You’re twenty years old, live in flat number 18, Swanton Place, and you live alone. Is that correct?’

  Amelia nodded. Claire looked at her delicate frame. ‘Do you understand why you’re here, and that you can leave at any time?’

  ‘Yes.’ Amelia’s voice sounded small. She kept her eyes lowered, only occasionally meeting Claire’s brutal stare.

  ‘Where were you on Friday evening through to the early hours of Saturday morning?’

  ‘In bed from about eight,’ Amelia said. ‘I had a headache so I went to bed early.’

  ‘Can anyone confirm that?’

  ‘I was alone. I didn’t wake until about nine on Saturday morning.’

  Claire paused as Michael made a few notes. He glanced up, feeling uneasy.

  Amelia was staring at him. He felt uncomfortable, especially in front of Claire.

  Claire had noticed Amelia’s gaze and pushed her jealousy deeper within, cursing herself for still feeling anything for him. Michael was an attractive man, it was perfectly normal for anyone to stare at him, but nothing could contain her jealousy for very long.

  ‘Did you know the deceased?’ Michael asked, breaking the silence.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you ever have any dealings with him?’

  Amelia lowered her face. Michael rephrased his question. ‘What type of neighbour was he?’

  Amelia scoffed at the question. ‘Vile. Anti-social. He played his music too loud and kept a vicious dog. I kept my distance from him.’ She glanced at Claire. ‘He did a lot of drugs too.’

  Exchanging glances with Michael, Claire leaned forward. ‘How do you know? I thought you kept your distance?’ Amelia’s eyes innocently wandered from Claire to Michael.

  ‘It wouldn’t take an idiot to work it out,’ she said. ‘Whenever I did see him about, his eyes were always the size of saucers. He smelt of weed and I know he had shady visitors. My guess is he pissed off the wrong man and they got revenge.’

  ‘What makes you say it was a he?’ Michael said, glancing at Claire.

  Amelia thought for a moment. ‘From what I heard, Ashe got cut up bad. He was a tough guy. No woman could overpower that.’ She smiled, smug. ‘Surely you’ve already thought of that one and ruled it out?’

  Michael sat back in his chair.

  Claire didn’t like Amelia. There was something about this girl that didn’t seem right to her.

  ‘We have a witness who said they saw a woman who looked like she was leaving Miller’s flat around the time he was murdered…a woman with long red hair.’

  Amelia’s eyes shot up to Claire’s. She grabbed a few strands of her hair, twisted them around her fingers and smiled. ‘Then I guess that means I’m guilty.’

  Claire frowned at her.

  ‘That wasn’t a confession, Chief Inspector,’ Amelia said. ‘Plenty of women have red hair. It doesn’t make them guilty of anything.’ She paused and leaned forward in her chair. ‘I didn’t go anywhere near Miller’s flat. I was afraid to. I even hated walking past it in the daytime.’

  Michael’s eyes narrowed then flicked across to Claire.

  The corners of Amelia’s mouth twitched, hinting at a smile. ‘I think I’d like to leave now.’

  ‘You’re free to leave at any time,’ Michael clarified.

  Amelia stood up, scraping the chair legs back across the linoleum floor.

  ‘Just one more thing,’ Claire said, her hand raised. A flicker of rage passed over Amelia’s eyes but soon disappeared. She nodded.

  ‘Do you have any next of kin?’ Claire asked. Amelia looked at her, face blank, but offered no response.

  ‘Amelia?’ Michael prompted.

  ‘I have no one.’

  Claire’s face hardened, not believing her. ‘Where’re your parents?’

  ‘Dead.’

  Claire stared at her a few moments longer before looking towards Michael. He cast her another sideways glance.

  ‘Amelia, I need you to sign a statement before you go. If we need anything more from you, we’ll be in touch,’ Michael said in a well-rehearsed voice. Amelia looked at him from beneath lowered lashes and smiled.

  It made Claire feel nauseous.

  CHAPTER 23

  ‘I’m not buying that innocent girl act,’ Claire said, watching Amelia walk away from the station from her office window.

  Michael cast a knowing glance. ‘I can’t imagine why.’

  She ignored him and returned to sit behind her desk. She picked up a pen and played with it, twisting it between her fingers, thinking.

  ‘My mind’s been working overtime here. What links Wainwright’s murder, a priest held in high regard, to some lowlife no one dared go near?’ She paused. ‘What’s the significance of mutilating the torso?’

  Michael sat in the chair opposite her. ‘What’s the significance of anything?’ He exhaled slowly. ‘Maybe it’s just some psycho picking people at random. Maybe it’s a religious nut targeting people of the same religion.’

  Claire threw the pen down. ‘Somehow, I doubt Miller was a church-goer. Call me cynical here, but there’s no way he’s meeting St Peter at the pearly gates any time soon.’ She sat back in her chair and folded her arms. ‘The guy was scum.’

  A knock at the door startled them both. Claire waved someone to enter and Michael saw the familiar grin of David Matthews. He glanced at Michael, but didn’t acknowledge him.

  ‘I’ve taken a call from Dr Schreiber. Wainwright’s body has been released back to the family, now we’ve got all we can from him. I know it’s sooner than usual, than circumstances would normally allow… His funeral’s being planned as we speak.’ His smile was broad across his face. It irritated Michael.

  You want a pat on the back or something?

  Claire nodded and Matthews hovered briefly, before leaving. Michael shot Claire a look and shook his head.

  ‘He’s a prick.’

  Ignoring him, Claire pulled the pathologist’s report into Wainwright’s death across her desk. ‘You’ve read this too. They found a note buried inside him.’

  ‘We’re waiting for forensics to analyse it, although I doubt they’ll find any trace fibres or DNA that didn’t belong to Wainwright. We’ll have to see what it means. Could be the killer messing with us though.’

  Claire opened the report and flicked through to the page in question and passed it to him. ‘Here,’ she said, pointing to the text that was found on the note. ‘Read this for me out loud.’

  Looking at the text Michael began to read aloud.

  ‘Section 5.2. Upon further examination there appeared to be a folded piece of paper which had been printed using a computer. This was found between the folds of muscle and tissue of the abdominal area of the deceased. Text reads as foll
ows: “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.”’

  Michael looked up at Claire and frowned.

  ‘You’ve gone pale.’

  She drew a deep breath. ‘I received the same note a few days ago. It was hand-delivered to my home.’

  Scanning the report again, Michael looked shocked. ‘Are you sure?’

  Claire went to the window, wrapping her arms tight around her body. ‘Of course I’m bloody sure. You don’t forget something like that.’

  ‘Of course. Sorry, Claire, it’s just – I don’t understand. Why have you kept this quiet? Where’s the note now?’ He watched her closely as she remained at the window, her back to him.

  ‘I thought nothing of it. I put it in the bin.’ She turned to him. ‘I thought nothing of it until I read the report this morning. I mean, why should I?’

  ‘But why not say anything at all…to me?’

  ‘We got caught up in the Miller murder and besides, I wanted to go home, find the note and make sure I had it right.’ She turned away from him again. Sensing she was upset, Michael joined her at the window.

  ‘I can come back and look with you.’ She stared at him hard and he raised his hands to her in defence. ‘Not that you scare easily. I just thought you could do with the company as well.’

  ‘I don’t need your help,’ she said, ‘or your company.’ She shoved him aside and started shutting down her computer.

  ‘I know, but the offer’s there all the same.’

  Claire looked at him and told herself not to give in.

  CHAPTER 24

  Father Manuela looked pale when he saw the caller ID flash across his mobile phone.

  David Hawthorne.

  He debated in his head whether or not to answer it. After it rang a few more times, he pressed the answer button. ‘I didn’t think you’d call.’

  The strain in Father Hawthorne’s voice at the other end was obvious. ‘When’s the funeral?’

  ‘Within the week. The family assured me the funeral director is dealing with the paperwork as a matter of urgency.’ Manuela paused. ‘It’s not been easy for them. It hasn’t been easy for any of us.’

  Hawthorne listened but felt nothing for Wainwright. He owed them nothing and Manuela knew this.

  ‘I’d be grateful if you could let me know the date and time. I’ll be there to show my face. After that, I want no more contact from you. That part of my life is over. Is that understood?’

  Manuela sighed and hung up the phone. He didn’t need to utter another word to Hawthorne. Enough damage was already done. He only hoped Hawthorne held his nerve for both their sakes.

  He buried his face in his hands. This had been much harder than he could ever have envisaged.

  After a few moments, he peered out the window in his study and gazed down at the Rose Garden.

  The rose bushes cut a sombre shape in the shadows under the moon, and he felt shivers creep along his spine. He shuddered involuntarily and moved from the window.

  He looked at the large cross opposite him on the wall and knelt on the floor.

  He clutched his rosary and began to mutter a prayer. Tears welled in his eyes as he gazed at the relic.

  ‘God will forgive me.’

  CHAPTER 25

  It’d been a quiet journey in the car, as Claire drove them back to her house. Michael had been observing her the whole time. She’d remained stiff in her seat, eyes staring dead ahead at the road.

  She offered no small talk, but it didn’t bother Michael.

  He could tell she was uncomfortable with taking him home with her, but he could also tell there was a glimmer of relief in her eyes.

  They pulled up the drive and she let them in the front door. There was another letter from Claire’s mother on the doormat. He passed it to her, and she stuffed it inside her trouser pocket.

  He wandered into the kitchen. ‘Still as I remember it,’ he said. He saw Claire stiffen. He avoided her eyes. ‘Sorry.’

  There was an awkward silence.

  Claire picked up the kettle. ‘Tea?’ Michael nodded. He waited until she’d made them both a cup and drank half of it before asking the burning question.

  ‘Is it in that bin?’ he asked, looking behind her at the stainless-steel barrel. She nodded. He set his drink down and lifted the lid.

  ‘You don’t mind if I take a look?’

  ‘You might need these,’ she said, throwing him a pair of rubber washing-up gloves from the sink.

  He took off his suit jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and started to delve in amongst her rubbish. He pulled aside many ready-meal cartons, tutting to himself.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Michael laughed, holding an empty bolognese carton. ‘Very healthy.’ Claire flipped him the middle finger.

  Searching deeper he then came across the squashed letter. He took it to the table and carefully rolled it out and read the message. He leaned against the sink.

  ‘No mistaking that,’ he said, pulling off the dirty gloves and tossing them aside. ‘It’s definitely the same message.’

  Claire took a seat at the table and buried her head in her hands. Unsure what to do, Michael remained where he was and stared at the floor.

  ‘We have to have forensics look at this…and maybe you should consider getting someone watching over you and the house.’

  Claire bolted upright. ‘Have you lost your mind?’

  ‘Just a precaution.’

  ‘I’m not living my life under surveillance. I can take care of myself.’

  She grabbed the letter and stormed into the living room. Michael followed her at a distance. He watched her pull a clear resealable bag from a drawer and put the note inside.

  ‘That’ll do for now, although it’s already pretty much ruined. You won’t find any trace evidence on it we could use. I’ll hand it over tomorrow. For now I just want to rest.’

  She flopped down on the sofa.

  ‘Have the last few days been better for you?’

  Claire’s eyes flicked towards him. ‘What do you mean?’

  Michael perched on the arm of the sofa. ‘Well, you’ve not had to run off on something that’s top secret,’ he said, miming inverted commas at the last two words. ‘And I’ve not seen you all jumpy, ignoring personal phone calls.’

  Claire looked away, her eyes wandering towards the photograph of herself with her parents. She had an innocence about her then, despite everything.

  ‘I hope you’ve got everything sorted now,’ he said.

  ‘You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?’

  ‘That it’s none of my business?’

  ‘It isn’t.’

  ‘Well, it is when we’re working on a tough investigation.’

  ‘What happens in my personal life doesn’t affect you any more, now does it? You gave all that up.’

  Michael sighed, and shifted awkwardly on the sofa. ‘I just want to know if you’re OK.’ He glanced at her. ‘That all right with you?’

  Claire felt her stomach knot, but couldn’t tell if it was because of anxiety or that pang of excitement he used to induce in her.

  There was silence for a few minutes before anyone spoke again.

  ‘I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone,’ he said, wary of her reaction. She glared at him, but then her face softened.

  ‘I’ll be fine. Go home, Diego.’

  Michael thought for a moment, then sat next to her. ‘Slight problem there.’ She frowned at him. ‘My car’s still at the station. It’s a bit far to walk back to get it, you being slightly out in the sticks.’

  She sighed. ‘Sorry, I was so wrapped up in everything, I didn’t even think about how you’d get home.’

  He looked around the room, avoiding her face.

  ‘I didn’t.’

  They stared at each other before her professional judgement came into pl
ay.

  ‘I’ll call you a cab.’ She reached for her phone. Michael was testing her resolve and she knew it. ‘There’re worse things than a psychotic killer out there, Diego,’ she said, waiting for the taxi line to pick up.

  He smirked and looked at her. ‘Really?’

  She smiled. ‘Yeah.’ She paused. ‘Your libido.’

  ***

  It was nearly 4:00am when Amelia awoke to the sound of her mobile ringing. She sat up in bed and realised she was in the comfortable hotel room she’d decided to check into.

  She couldn’t bear the thought of going back to her own flat right now. There was too much police activity in the block.

  The mobile was still ringing.

  She saw the ‘G’ flashing on the screen and answered it quickly. She listened to the static on the line with bated breath.

  ‘What did you think you were doing?’ came the familiar voice she had longed to hear.

  ‘I’m sorry. He overheard things from the other day, when we spoke over the phone. He was hiding in the stairwell and the money was drying up. The last time I fucked him, he refused to pay. I need more than you’re giving me to keep this up, you know that.’

  The Guardian was seething deep within.

  ‘You could’ve blown the whole plan, you stupid bitch!’

  Amelia jumped. Sweat began to bead on her forehead. ‘I’m sorry, I was very careful. Be proud of me, I did it like you taught me, covered my tracks. They’ll find nothing to lead back to me or you, or any evidence I’ve been in his flat, I swear.’

  The caller was silent, calming themselves.

  ‘If anything can be traced back to you, I’ll cut all ties. I’ll leave you to face the consequences if you deviate from the plan again, do you understand me?’

  Amelia stifled a whimper. She knew what the Guardian was capable of. She’d been witness to it living under the same roof as them.