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

by T. M. E. Walsh

  Amelia squeezed the phone in her hand tighter. She sensed there was more to come.

  ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’

  She heard the soft intake of breath.

  ‘I saw Mark with Wainwright that morning.’

  Amelia froze. ‘You said you’d been careful.’

  ‘I was!’

  ‘Keep a distance; follow towards the church, that’s what you said.’

  ‘Amelia—’

  ‘You’re giving me shit about Ashe, when Mark could’ve seen you!’ The Guardian was silent. ‘Did he see you?’

  ‘It’s not relevant.’

  ‘Like fuck it isn’t.’

  The line went dead.

  Amelia stared at the screen, her thumb poised above the call button, ready to redial. She switched the phone off instead, and pulled the duvet tight around her and was deprived of sleep for what remained of the night.

  CHAPTER 26

  The day was colder than it had been but still warm and enjoyable for those lucky enough not to be trapped inside an office. The day of Father Malcolm Wainwright’s funeral would be a glorious one.

  Claire and Michael had missed the service itself but had slipped among the procession just before the coffin was being lowered into the earth. They quietly observed the mourners, who ranged from close family and friends to members of the public, with some kind of morbid curiosity.

  Claire’s eyes examined those around her. She nudged Michael when she caught sight of Manuela’s strained face, staring hard at another man several feet from him.

  Michael followed his gaze and signalled to Claire.

  They both saw a man of medium height, slender and gaunt, staring at the freshly dug grave. He was dressed in simple dark trousers, with a white shirt covered by a dull brown cardigan.

  After a few minutes of silent prayer, the mourners started to disband and talk in hushed tones amongst themselves. Michael saw Mark Jenkins giving him a cold stare and eased himself from his line of vision. Claire followed him, and they stood beside some gravestones, away from everyone else.

  Claire watched Manuela walk over to the man in the brown cardigan.

  From their body language, she could tell neither was comfortable being in each other’s company.

  ‘Interesting that,’ she said, nodding her head in their direction. Michael ignored her, too busy watching Jenkins with his wife and Emily.

  ‘That must be the foster kid still with the Jenkins family,’ he said. Claire glanced over and nudged his arm in frustration.

  ‘Yes, but we should be more interested in what’s going on over there.’

  Michael stared at the two men.

  The one with the brown cardigan was gesturing a lot with his hands and looked sad, but there was anger in his eyes too. The other man seemed to be trying to calm him down, while looking around to see who was watching.

  ‘I think that’s Father Manuela,’ Claire said. ‘No idea who the other one is.’

  Michael grunted in agreement but he had caught sight of something else through the trees, far off in the cemetery. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  He hurried towards a path that disappeared between much older gravestones. He walked along the ragged path that led him deeper into the cemetery and stopped to look around him.

  He knew he’d seen someone darting behind the nearby trees, watching them, or at least, he thought he had.

  He stood still for several long minutes, and heard nothing but nature around him.

  Birds twittered in the lush green foliage of the trees and he could smell the strong perfume of flowers in bloom. Shards of sunlight cut through the branches overhead, the spots of light standing out in stark contrast to the green of the grass around him.

  He looked up when a bird fluttered its wings, flying from a tree and disappearing into the bright blue sky.

  He was about to turn and head back to Claire, when he heard a voice behind him.

  ‘Hello, Sergeant. Were you looking for me?’

  Michael slowly turned around and saw a familiar face with wild red hair flowing in the breeze.

  ‘What’re you doing here?’

  Amelia smiled, walking closer to him. She was nearly at arm’s length from him when he saw her face change.

  She backed away, and then hurried back to the far entrance to the cemetery. Michael turned around and saw Claire walking towards him.

  ‘Was that the Williams girl?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What did she want? What did she say?’

  ‘I don’t know… You scared her off before she could say anything.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s weird she’s here on the day of Wainwright’s funeral?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not really. There’re plenty of the curious here today…’ He glanced over Claire’s shoulder and saw a cameraman from the BBC. ‘Plenty of hacks too.’

  Claire looked behind her and frowned.

  ‘Well, while you were playing hide-and-seek, I’ve been doing some police work.’ She gestured with her head for him to follow her. ‘That man with Manuela is called David Hawthorne. Father David Hawthorne, or at least he used to be. He was an old friend of Wainwright’s until he suddenly took off, turning his back on the priesthood. He used to help Manuela run Shrovesbury, then one day he just left.’

  ‘Who told you this?’

  ‘One of the church-going coffin-dodgers. It’s funny how the so-called pious ones are the first to dish up gossip to a perfect stranger.’ She grinned. ‘There’s some irony in that.’

  ***

  Back in her car, Claire turned to him. ‘We’ve been invited back to Jenkins’s home for the wake. I said we’d be delighted.’

  Michael turned towards her. ‘What the hell did you do that for? How shit is that going to be?’

  ‘Just an hour, I promise.’

  ‘I can just imagine the reception we’re going to get once they all find out who we are.’

  ‘Look,’ she said as she switched on the engine, ‘I want a chance to talk to that old woman again. She said Hawthorne left after a tragic event. I want to find out what that was.’

  She was about to pull out and follow the rest of the cars heading towards the Jenkins’ home when she felt Michael’s fingers close around her wrist. It caused her to stall the engine and it whined to a halt.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I don’t see what this has to do with anything.’

  ‘Call it a hunch.’

  Michael released her wrist and shook his head. ‘Whatever’s going on in your private life is affecting your judgement.’ He looked at her hard in the face.

  Claire half laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re actually worried about me?’

  ‘I’m worried about this investigation, and yes, actually, I do worry about you. Why wouldn’t I?’

  She stared hard into his eyes, trying to find any hint that he was stringing her along. To her surprise, she couldn’t. She felt a knot form in her stomach, and her throat felt like it was going to seize up.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re lost for words,’ he said, a smile playing on his lips.

  Feeling uncomfortable, determined not to let him see she still had some feelings for him, feelings she didn’t quite understand herself, she gripped the steering wheel and looked ahead, eyes focused on anything but his face.

  ‘I said we’d follow the rest of them,’ she said at length, gesturing to the other cars that had manoeuvred around them, heading in the direction of the Jenkins’ home.

  Michael placed his hand over hers, locked on the steering wheel, knuckles white. He felt her flinch, just a little. ‘You do know that despite everything, I do still care about you, don’t you?’

  She swallowed hard. ‘Don’t turn this into something it isn’t.’

  ‘Turn what?’ She stole a look down at his hand over hers, looked away just as quickly. ‘You used to like me touching you.’

  Claire started the car again, flicking his hand off hers in the pro
cess, moved forward a little, then stopped abruptly.

  He studied the side of her face, admiring the curve of her lips. He saw her swallow hard, the veins in her throat pulled tight under the skin.

  ‘I can’t deal with this,’ she finally said. She shot him a look. ‘I’ve got—’

  ‘Too much going on?’ he said, cutting her off. ‘Yeah, you keep saying that and to be honest, you need to tell me what it is, otherwise…’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Otherwise what?’

  Michael sighed, propping his elbow on the side of the door, and let the side of his head rest in his palm. He looked straight ahead.

  ‘Otherwise what, Diego?’

  Michael risked a glance in her direction. ‘I’ll be forced to tell DSI Donahue that you’re letting your personal life get in the way of things.’

  Claire shifted around in her seat, turning to face him face on. ‘You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?’ He avoided her stare. ‘This,’ she said, gesturing between them both, ‘whatever it is we have going on between us, is hard enough to ignore, without you adding any pressure on me, and empty threats.’

  He twisted in his seat to face her. ‘So you admit there is something we need to get out in the open, about us, and whatever else is going on with you right now?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, we’re not going to turn this into some psychological study. It’s none of your business what I do outside of work.’ He went to speak, but she cut him off. ‘It stopped being any of your business a long time ago.’

  Michael felt a twinge inside him. It didn’t take him long to realise it was the pain of being struck by her words. Did he really mean nothing to her?

  He was too proud to show her that she’d touched a nerve. He looked ahead. The silence seemed to drag on for several seconds before he said, ‘Don’t assume that I’m dishing out idle threats.’ He paused. ‘I’m a man of my word, you know that.’

  A small queue of cars was now building behind them and someone honked a horn in frustration. They were blocking the way out. Claire ignored it and looked Michael hard in the face.

  ‘You’re talking about Donahue?’ She leaned in closer. ‘Tell him what you like.’ She let the sentence hang in the air for a moment. ‘I’ll be sure to tell him that you’ve disobeyed my command, potentially hindering this investigation.’

  ‘This is pathetic. You’re being petty now.’ He laughed then, riling her further.

  ‘We are going to the wake.’ She paused. ‘You’re refusing to go?’

  Michael flinched as he heard a barrage of more car horns. ‘I’m not refusing anything.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re attitude is pretty shitty, Diego. I’m SIO on this investigation—’

  ‘And don’t you like to keep fucking reminding me.’ He looked at her face as it slowly grew redder. ‘You know what?’

  ‘Oh, this ought to be good,’ she said, staring ahead, and gripping the steering wheel tighter again.

  ‘You weren’t worth anything.’

  Her eyes flicked to the side, to stare at him. More car horns were sounded behind them. ‘We’re holding up the queue, Sergeant. If you’ve got something to say, spit it out.’

  Michael’s face was serious. ‘You weren’t worth risking my job over. If I’d known this is what I’d be putting up with when I ended it, I’d never have touched you.’

  ‘You know what, Diego? Get over yourself. You want to make Inspector one day and it’s this attitude that’s going to stop you.’

  ‘And you, if you can.’

  ‘If I have to.’

  He paused, then opened the passenger door and got out. As more car horns sounded behind them, he leaned back into the car. ‘Go fuck yourself, Claire.’

  He slammed the door hard behind him.

  Claire watched him disappear from view. She was seething as she pulled out onto the main road, narrowly missing a car coming from the opposite direction.

  CHAPTER 27

  David Hawthorne waited until Manuela had closed the door before reaching out and grabbing him roughly by the collar. He forced him back against the wall.

  Manuela’s eyes bulged as Hawthorne tightened his grip. He brought his face up so close to Manuela’s that he could smell the faint stale aroma of whisky creeping from David’s mouth.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re prepared to do nothing!’ Saliva sprayed Manuela’s face. ‘Even after Malcolm’s death, you act like what we did never happened.’

  They were in Mark Jenkins’s bedroom, while the celebration of Father Malcolm Wainwright’s life had commenced downstairs and the house was heaving with guests.

  Manuela struggled to release David’s iron grip. ‘My dear friend, please understand we must remain dignified through this terrible time.’

  David’s face screwed up tight in anger and he released his choke hold on Manuela’s neck. ‘Someone knows,’ he said, pointing a shaky finger in Manuela’s face. ‘Someone knows what we did and we’re next.’

  ‘How could anyone know? After four years, David, nothing has happened.’

  ‘Look what has happened to Malcolm!’

  ‘His murder could easily be a random case. Tragic, but random. They found the body of a young man in the same state. He’s unconnected to the church. See reason, David!’

  ‘I saw Chloe in recent weeks.’

  Manuela froze at his words. Mark Jenkins had told him the same thing. After all these years, Manuela had only seen her once, despite living in the same city. Even then, it’d been he that had seen her. She’d been preoccupied with food shopping.

  Then the obvious struck him.

  ‘You’ve been back here, to Haverbridge?’

  David gave a slight nod. ‘I visited my sister. I had hoped to go unnoticed.’

  ‘You never tried to contact me?’

  David’s voice rose. ‘Why would I?’

  Manuela’s face screwed up as he spoke. ‘You’re tasking this too far, David.’

  ‘Chloe saw me. What if she knew more than she ever said? I have to wonder—’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Manuela dismissed him with a wave of his hand. ‘Think about what you’re saying!’

  ‘I won’t wait around to be hacked to pieces. We must do what we should’ve done four years ago. I should’ve done it years ago.’ He reached for the door, but Manuela pushed him back.

  ‘Are you mad?’ he said, just above a desperate whisper. He inched the door open a crack to check no one was outside. ‘We made a pact, David. The secret goes to the grave.’

  ‘We may be in ours soon enough and I know where our souls will be. Damned for eternity.’

  Manuela closed the door again.

  David sank down on the bed and held his face in his hands. A few moments passed in silence. ‘I can’t live with the guilt any longer, Jeremy. I can’t wrestle with my conscience. Even if it means imprisonment for the rest of my wretched life, I don’t care any more.’

  Manuela felt the cold sting of betrayal deep inside him, as he dissected David’s words carefully inside his head. With little emotion, he watched as his old friend wept before him. He pushed his own guilt deep down, convincing himself that what they did had been necessary.

  ‘Are you suggesting we move her?’

  David looked through his tears and nodded. ‘Maybe we should think about her. She had no Christian burial. In the eyes of God she’s in limbo. Her soul will never be at peace if we do nothing.’

  Manuela pursed his lips in anger, but tried to control his rage.

  ‘I’m sure nature has done its job in these four years. Why cause more hurt to us and the church? Think of Malcolm’s legacy. He’ll have none if we speak out now.’ He sat beside David on the edge of the bed. ‘What’s hidden must remain so.’

  David went to utter a protest but saw the cold look in Manuela’s eyes. He’d seen what this man was capable of and even now it scared him to the core.

  ‘Besides, if you speak out now, I’ll deny any involvement.’

 
David turned his face to Manuela, fear in his eyes.

  ‘And who do you think they’ll believe?’ Manuela said, placing his hand against his chest. ‘The man who has held this community together these thirty years, devoted to the one true faith, or the man who turned his back on God, deserting his post and obligations?’

  He let his words sink in.

  ‘Think carefully, David.’ He walked to the door and opened it slightly. ‘What you choose now will make or break you. Either way, I beg you, choose wisely and dare not cross me.’

  Manuela left the room and David heard him join the mourners downstairs.

  He sat on the bed for some time, unmissed by those below. He contemplated his next move and began to pray for the salvation of his soul.

  1998

  Chloe waited by her mother’s side as the girl with hair the colour of flame walked up the path towards the house, hand clasped in her father’s.

  Chloe squeezed her mother’s hand when the little girl in front of her stopped dead in her tracks, pulling on Mark Jenkins’s arm, staring Chloe hard in the face.

  Samantha Jenkins gave her daughter a gentle push towards the girl. When Chloe resisted, coming behind her mother’s legs and wrapping her arms around them, Samantha turned and knelt down to her daughter’s eye level.

  ‘What did I say to you earlier?’ She spoke softly, but there was an edge to the words that Chloe, even at her tender age, understood all too well. ‘Be nice, Chloe.’

  Mark had encouraged the girl beside him to walk the rest of the short distance to the front door.

  Watchful green eyes looked at Chloe from head to toe.

  ‘Here she is,’ Mark said, smiling at his wife.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Samantha said, and with more force than before, manoeuvred Chloe from her until she stood directly in front of the girl.

  The girl’s eyes widened, taking in every inch of her. She hugged a teddy bear under one arm. Squeezed it tighter.

  Chloe held her breath.

  Here we go again. Another like the first, she thought.

  She swallowed hard as the girl let go of Jenkins’s hand, fingers reaching out towards Chloe’s face.

  Chloe flinched as soft fingertips brushed her cheek. She went to take a step back, but felt her mother’s legs behind her digging into her back.