The vision of red become brighter, moving closer to him, and after a few seconds he saw it was shades of red hair, on top of a face so delicate, it hurt to behold.
His eyelids tightened when he realised it was the image of a girl, walking closer to him, her eyes burning into his, inside his skull, inside his very being. Her eyes shone an emerald green and soon he saw the shape of her mouth, and she seemed to speak to him, whispering in a sweet voice, like a siren.
I won’t tell, if you won’t.
Jenkins’s eyes popped open with fright.
He found himself gasping for breath, and realised he was drenched in sweat, his underarms wet, with stains seeping through his shirt.
He whisked his body around several times to make sure it was nothing more than a vision, causing his head to spin.
He was alone.
He gazed back at the candle he had lit, and realised more than ever that he would always be alone in more than one sense of the word now that Wainwright was gone.
1998
The day had been a mixture of the elements. The morning a bright sunny one, if a little cold with the northern wind, changing to warm but damp by the afternoon.
Despite the muddy ground where the rain had fallen, Amelia sat curled up, her knees stained with wet grass, small cuttings sticking to her skin. She’d been in the Jenkins’ back garden for around an hour, quite content to be by herself.
Mark Jenkins had returned from doing the weekly food shopping, and called out to Chloe, Stephen and Amelia from the bottom of the stairs. He always insisted the children put the shopping away, just as he always insisted they did almost everything else he demanded whether it was fair or not.
Chloe skulked down the staircase, her head lowered. She was met by her father at the foot of the stairs.
‘Where’s your brother?’ His face looked stern. His hands were on his hips. ‘The freezer food will be melting.’
‘Dunno. Don’t care, and Stephen’s not my brother. Stop calling him that.’
Jenkins frowned, his forehead set in deep furrows. ‘Where’s Amelia?’
Chloe hesitated. ‘Digging.’
‘What?’
‘In the garden. Digging.’
She went to the kitchen and started to unpack the first bag of shopping she laid her hands on. Jenkins followed her and grabbed her hand as she pulled a can of beans from a bag.
‘What do you mean, digging? What for?’
‘I dunno, she just said digging when I asked her.’
Jenkins looked down at his daughter with disapproval before letting himself out into the garden. His eyes scanned the back garden and saw nothing at first, until he saw a flash of red hair.
Amelia was sitting right in the middle of a row of bushes at the far end of the garden. Her back was to him, her legs tucked under her, and Jenkins could see mud caked on her bare legs and on the hem of the new dress Samantha had bought for her to wear to church the other week.
Marching towards her, his fists balled at his sides in anger, he called out to her, but she seemed to be engrossed in whatever it was she was doing. As he got closer to her, he could see there were smears of dried blood streaked up her legs.
Rather than call out to her again, he edged closer and it was then he noticed fur scattered on the grass.
Some clumps were stained with blood.
He swallowed hard and gingerly peered over her shoulder. As he did so, Amelia whisked her head around, and as he looked down at her face, he gasped.
‘What in the name of God…’ He tailed off as his hand instinctively reached up and covered his mouth. ‘What have you done?’
Amelia smiled innocently, her eyes bright, wisps of her flame-coloured hair hanging around her face, some strands sticking to her forehead in the damp air. Her cheeks appeared rosy at first, until he looked closer.
Smears of dried blood and mud tainted her beautiful face, etched in lines and spatters over her cheeks and forehead.
The collar of her dress was damp from her sweat, and he saw the dried blood on her bare arms, leading down to her hands, which were buried in a plume of fur around the belly of a dead cat.
‘I’m sending the soul to heaven, Daddy. See how I cut the chest? That sets the soul free. In case Mr Cat needs help leaving his body,’ she said, pleased with herself.
As Jenkins recoiled, bile rising inside his throat, he caught sight of the sharp rock, it too caked in blood, lying beside the cat’s open chest.
This was a new evil.
Sick and depraved…and Amelia seemed to enjoy it.
***
Upstairs in the house, Stephen lay on his bed, the headphones slipping from his ears as he dozed. Despite the music playing in his ears, he heard her cries over the din and his eyes flew open.
He pulled the headphones from his ears and bolted from the bed.
He listened. He heard her voice wail again. He ran to the window and looked down into the garden.
He saw Jenkins with his hand around Amelia’s wrist, dragging her towards the garden shed. He saw her clothes and legs stained and her bloody hands clasping at thin air, as she tried to dig in her heels, arching backwards away from Jenkins.
He bolted down the stairs and nearly knocked Chloe over as she came from the kitchen.
‘Just let it happen,’ she shouted after him.
***
Jenkins forced Amelia inside the large wooden shed with such force, she slammed her shoulder into a row of shelves, sending empty planting pots and a watering can crashing to the floor.
She began to cry as she rubbed her shoulder.
‘What about shedding some tears for the poor animal you just butchered?’ he shouted at her, as he began to pull the belt from his trousers.
‘It was dead already,’ she said, tears pouring down her face.
‘You cut open its body!’
He raised the belt above his head.
Amelia cowered in the corner on the floor, her knees together up under her chin. As Jenkins went to swing, a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, bending it back with force.
He cried out in pain and his eyes were met with Stephen’s as he wrenched the belt from his hand.
‘How about you pick on someone your own size for a change?’
Jenkins glared at him and forced his hand from Stephen’s grasp. He wound the belt tightly around his hand and snapped it taught.
‘It’d be my pleasure, boy.’
***
It’d been a few weeks since Stephen had finally had enough and he’d packed his bags.
‘You’ll forget about me,’ Amelia sniffed, her body curled up in a ball on his bed, hugging her teddy. The teddy Stephen had won for her at the local fair a few weeks before the cat incident.
He reached out and ruffled her hair. ‘That’s not likely, is it? I look after you. Look out for you. I’ll still do all those things, just not from here. Besides,’ he said, watching as Chloe came into the bedroom, ‘you’ve got each other. Isn’t that right, Chloe?’
Chloe nodded.
Amelia reached out and touched the fading bruise on Stephen’s face. He winced.
‘It’s my fault,’ she said.
‘You’re just a little girl, darling. It’s not your fault.’
‘Daddy says it is. He says I’m evil.’
Stephen sighed. ‘He isn’t your daddy, and never will be. He’s the evil one.’
Amelia jumped down from the bed and looked out the window. After a while she looked back at him, as he added a few last items to his rucksack.
‘God is supposed to punish the wicked, isn’t he, Stevie?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, but not everyone it seems. Sometimes, God needs a helping hand.’ He swung the rucksack over his shoulder and bent down to her eye level.
‘Take me with you.’
Chloe’s mouth fell open. ‘You can’t.’
Stephen looked at her, shook his head. ‘It’s your job now, whilst I’m not here any more. Look after her.’
> ‘What can I do?’
Stephen glanced at Amelia, then returned his gaze to Chloe. ‘Be strong for each other. Love each other.’
A cry escaped Amelia’s lips. ‘Please, don’t leave me here. Take me with you.’
He smiled at her but shook his head. ‘I can’t. Not yet anyway.’
‘But I’ll never see you,’ she said, flinging her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly.
‘Yes you will, don’t be silly.’ He pushed her back, his hands on her shoulders. ‘I’ll be watching over you. You’ve got Chloe. You know she’ll do anything for you, and I’ll come and see you, often. I just have things I need to do. Things I need to set up.’
Amelia pulled a face. ‘What things?’ Then her face grew excited. ‘Can I help?’
‘I wish you could but you’re too young. One day, though, you will. Both of you,’ he said, eyes now watching Chloe intently. ‘What I need to do will take time.’
‘I…I don’t know if I can do this,’ Chloe said.
‘How much time?’ Amelia cut in, ignoring the pained look on both Chloe and Stephen’s faces.
‘Awhile,’ he said, eyes never leaving Chloe’s. An understanding passed silently between them. Despite her years, Chloe understood. An old soul trapped in the body of a child, he’d always thought.
‘How long? Days?’ Amelia said, pushing her body into his. She cocked her head to one side.
‘Years, darling, but it’ll be worth it in the end, you’ll see.’
Amelia smiled. She reached for Chloe, beckoning her closer. Reluctantly, Chloe joined them. She held Amelia tight, but hesitated when Stephen’s arm slid around her waist.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, drawing her to him. He kissed her head, then smiled down at Amelia.
She looked back at them both, light dancing in her eyes.
‘My old foster mother said we all had Guardians. Like angels, every one of us has one.’ She hugged them both tight. ‘My Guardians,’ she whispered. ‘Both of you.’
CHAPTER 33
Claire sat staring at her reflection in her dressing-table mirror. She sighed as she pulled at the dark circles underneath her eyes with her fingers. It’d been a long few days, but she felt better when she relived the moment Michael asked her to the Charity Ball.
She’d tried to show him she was indifferent to his suggestion but deep down she felt like a teenager awaiting her first date all over again. She smiled to herself as she began removing her make-up.
When it came to removing her work clothes, she reached for her silk nightdress, rather than the usual scruffy oversized T-shirt she’d grown accustomed to. She eyed herself in the mirror and patted her stomach, promising herself no more ready-made meals.
It wasn’t until she was ready to turn the light out and settle down that she remembered she had to pick Iris up from the airport tomorrow, putting her instantly in a bad mood.
She’d planned to look for a dress in Milton Keynes and the thought of having her mother there while she chose it was not a comforting one, especially when she found out Claire had a date which wasn’t her ex-husband.
***
Luton Airport was a nightmare to drive around at the best of times, but this Friday morning was the worst Claire had seen it.
‘Slow down!’
The shrill voice in Claire’s ear sent a shiver down her spine. She ignored her mother’s request and put her foot down a little more just to piss her off.
Claire hated Luton and hated driving within any distance of it, and as she slowed down at a set of traffic lights, she heard her mother in her ear again.
‘Where’re we going again?’ she asked for the third time.
‘Milton Keynes.’
‘And what’re you looking for a dress for? You don’t wear dresses. I remember you as a little girl crying at your aunt Grace’s wedding because I made you wear a dress. You ruined the whole service.’
Claire cringed and knew it’d be a long day. She wondered if she could get away with losing her mother in the vast shopping complex.
‘It’s for the Charity Ball tomorrow,’ she said.
Iris pursed her lips and shook her head. ‘Nothing like leaving it to the last minute.’
‘I didn’t know I was going until the other day.’
There was a long pause before Iris turned to her, open-mouthed and a little excited. ‘Will Simon be there?’
Claire groaned inwardly. The ever-wonderful ex-husband, in her mother’s eyes, was bound to have been mentioned but Claire had hoped to avoid talking about him.
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ She cast a sideways glance at her mother, who’d suddenly perked up considerably.
‘Well, we’ll have to make sure you get the right dress then, just so he knows what he’s missing.’
Cringing again, Claire put her foot down.
***
The shopping centre was busy, but Claire found a good parking space regardless and began dragging Iris around almost every woman’s clothing store. After trying on countless dresses, Claire was at the point of desperation when Iris picked out the perfect dress in Monsoon. Claire eyed up the strapless figure-hugging dress in a deep shade of red.
‘Isn’t that a little sexy for your taste?’
Iris looked at her daughter then back at the dress. ‘Normally yes, but Simon will be there. Remember that.’
Claire frowned and took the dress towards the fitting rooms, Iris following in tow. ‘I said he might be there, and besides, I’m hoping he won’t be and even if he is, it makes no difference to me.’
After a few minutes Claire emerged in the dress and even if she said so herself, she looked good. Iris made her turn round several times before giving her approval.
‘Well, this will turn heads.’ She pulled at the price tag. ‘What’s the damage then?’ She eyed the tag and shrugged. ‘Well, it’s worth it, I suppose. Simon would approve.’
‘Mother!’ Claire said, as she disappeared behind the curtain. ‘I have a date, and sorry to disappoint you but it’s not Simon.’
***
Iris waited until the dress had been paid for and took Claire to a posh coffee shop. She studied her daughter’s face. Claire was thinking to herself when she felt her mother’s stare.
She flushed red.
‘Who is he then?’ Iris asked, clear disdain in her voice.
‘Just a DS, Mum. It’s purely business. Neither of us had a date but had to attend, so we thought we’d go together. It’s no big deal.’
Iris stifled a laugh and sat back in the booth. ‘So that’s why you just bought the no-big-deal dress then?’ Iris shook her head. ‘I know I’m an old cow but I’m not blind.’
Claire buried her face in her coffee mug, for a rare moment in her life admitting defeat.
Iris sipped at her coffee and then set her cup down, and rubbed the faded white mark around the ring finger on her left hand. The wedding band had sat there for too many years, she knew, and even after she’d removed it, nine years on, her finger still bore the mark.
‘I had a call from one of Peter’s carers yesterday,’ she said. Her light grey eyes watched Claire’s reaction. ‘Hilary, I think she said her name was.’
When Claire’s eyes rose to meet her mother’s, Iris tucked a strand of her dyed soft-blonde hair behind her ear. ‘You going to tell me what’s going on?’
‘How’d she get your number?’ Claire said, frowning.
‘I asked her the same thing,’ she sniffed. ‘I mean – and I said this to her – he’s not my responsibility any more.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘That the move is just days away. She said that he’s got no one else, that none of the family will return her calls, and that you,’ she said, eyeing Claire with a degree of sympathy, ‘have been making the arrangements for everything through emails. She said you won’t actually speak to her, or him.’
Claire scrunched up her used napkin in her hand. ‘He’s not made any attempt to contact me. In the
messages she’s sent me, she always says he’s asked for me, that he doesn’t want to leave here, leave me, with how things were when we last spoke, but…’
‘You know it’s a lie.’
Claire nodded. ‘You know Dad better than anyone. He’d die before admitting he was wrong, before ever saying sorry.’
Iris shifted her small frame in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. ‘Hilary said that you argued. She said it had been about me.’
Claire shook her head. ‘Not just you, but… I don’t want to talk about him.’
‘You don’t need to defend me to that bastard,’ she said. Her eyes appeared hard when Claire finally looked at her. ‘You need to look after number one, my girl. No one else is going to.’
***
Saturday morning flew by and soon it was late afternoon and Claire was getting ready. She had her hair curled and flowing down her back, with a few delicate-looking diamanté hair grips in various places.
She’d spent a long time perfecting her make-up before slipping on her dress. She took all the compliments from Iris before a long black limousine pulled up in the driveway. Michael grinned at her as she stepped inside and sat on the white leather seat beside him.
‘Over the top, isn’t it,’ he said, gesturing to the limo. He reached for the bottle of champagne beside him. ‘Want some?’ he said, offering her a glass, filling it before she could respond. He took a sip from his own glass, eyeing her over the rim. ‘You look nice. New dress?’
‘No,’ she lied, sipping from her glass and trying to ignore his stare.
They sat barely making conversation on the journey there. They picked up a few colleagues along the way, and Claire was relieved when Michael turned his attention to them rather than her.
When the limo pulled up outside the Mayflower Hall, they were hustled through the main entrance.
Inside was opulent in décor. The colour theme was deep shades of red and gold. Velvet draped across the ceilings, and everything seemed to sparkle and gleam.
Claire instantly felt out of place. She hadn’t been here for the last few years, and had forgotten just how grand and over the top everything was.
She stopped and stared at a sweeping staircase in front of her and swallowed hard. She felt someone slip their arm inside hers.
For All Our Sins: A gripping thriller with a killer twist (DCI Claire Winters, Book 1) Page 16
