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

by T. M. E. Walsh

  Adrian walked right past me and back towards the restaurant, his hands in his pockets. He was whistling, like nothing had happened.

  I released my breath, and my lungs ached. My head swam. It felt soft, my ears straining to hear properly. I felt like I was sinking, my head dipping below water.

  At least I’d remained unseen.

  But what do I do now? Amelia can hold her own. Always has done, especially when growing up. She’s survived worse than most.

  But is she strong enough for this?

  My stomach knotted. Do I follow Adrian or trace the van and rescue Amelia?

  To be honest, I think I knew the answer as soon as it happened.

  Think of the bigger picture.

  I stepped out from the doorway and followed the whistling.

  CHAPTER 39

  Claire sighed as she heard Dr Danika Schreiber’s voice on the other end of the phone.

  ‘Nothing on Ashe Miller? Not even one clothing fibre?’

  ‘No. What’s confusing is the way he died. Cause of death was the cut to the throat but he has a deep laceration to his abdomen. This alone would’ve been enough to kill him. This attack was particularly violent – unnecessarily so. Whoever did it must’ve hit him hard and fast. He died from loss of blood and his chest was cut open down to the ribcage as with Wainwright after death.

  ‘Except Wainwright died from asphyxiation, and of course had that letter tucked inside the skin folds. You either have the same killer who was disturbed and therefore had no time to finish, or a copycat. I understand the letter was not made known to the press?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ Claire said.

  ‘So it could’ve been someone who read about Wainwright’s murder and tried to copy it through Miller…just not successfully.’

  ‘It’s a reasonable assumption but I can’t help feeling we’re missing the bigger picture here,’ Claire said as she rubbed her forehead.

  ‘You sound tired. Maybe you’re taking on too much.’

  Danika liked Claire. They’d worked on many investigations together over the years and Danika was one of the few people Claire respected.

  ‘That bloody letter,’ Claire said. ‘Forensics turned up nothing on that either.’ She swung around in her office chair in frustration. ‘Do I assume we’ve got some loony out there, cutting up priests and junkies, while playing fucking John Keats on me?’

  Danika laughed. ‘God, I hate Keats.’

  Claire reached inside her desk drawer and pulled out her version of the letter. She read it several times to herself.

  ‘You still there, Claire?’

  ‘Yeah… Listen to this, see if you understand it. “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.” What the hell does “reason for being” mean?’

  Danika paused for a moment and wrote it down on her own notepad. She stared at the passage and racked her brains. ‘It’s the rose, isn’t it?’

  ‘What’s the rose?’

  ‘The reason for its being. The reason it’s alive, why it’s there,’ Danika said, feeling smug.

  Claire stared at the words at her end. ‘The reason why someone planted it you mean… “be it foul in its reason for being.”’

  Danika looked at the words again then almost jumped from her chair.

  ‘I’ve got it!’ Claire screwed her face up at her words. ‘Don’t you see it? When it says what lies beneath the rose and be it foul the reason for why it’s there, it’s saying it’s covering something. Like underneath a rose. Something foul but you must smell the rose regardless.’

  ‘Smell the rose? I don’t see wh—’

  ‘Investigate the smell. Investigate what’s foul underneath or buried beneath a rose.’

  The penny dropped for Claire. ‘That’s why it’s there. It hides something.’

  Danika laughed and boasted at the other end, while Claire racked her brains for a rose.

  The word ‘rose’ doesn’t have to be literal. It could be a metaphor for something.

  She glanced at the scene of crime photographs of Wainwright’s body and remembered her visit to Shrovesbury Manor.

  She remembered Father Manuela’s precious Rose Garden.

  CHAPTER 40

  The Guardian

  I followed Adrian at a safe distance, just closely enough to see where he was heading.

  I kept to the shadows, following him to the multi-storey car park on the edge of the town centre and climbed the stairs two at a time when Adrian took the lift to the third floor.

  By the time I reached the doors at the top, Adrian had just stepped out of the lift.

  I slipped through the doors and darted in between the concrete pillars with minimal sound as Adrian headed towards his car.

  I jumped as a shrill beep sounded in the empty cavernous space when Adrian pressed the fob in his pocket, the headlights of a silver Aston Martin flashing in the corner. The lighting in here was dim and cast large shadows around Adrian.

  It allowed me to slip close, unnoticed.

  Adrian pushed the key into the car’s lock and opened the door.

  I saw his face reflected in the glass of the car window. He saw me then. His mouth dropped open a fraction.

  I swung the metal bat I’d brought with me, which I’d previously concealed in my rucksack.

  The last thing Adrian saw was a flash of steel reflected in the car’s windows, before my bat connected with his head.

  Darkness overcame him. Blood trickled down his face.

  And I smiled, genuinely for the first time in years.

  ***

  The room span and bright white lights danced in the dark behind his eyes, as Adrian awoke, dazed, and with a killer pain raging through his skull. It felt like a bomb had gone off, turning his brain to pulp.

  He tried to raise his hands to cradle his head, but found they wouldn’t move. He tried to move his body but his torso was firmly held down, by what felt like rope.

  He tried to open his eyes, but gasped in agony as he tried to peel his eyelids apart.

  Sharp pains pierced his skin. He felt bruised. He couldn’t open his eyes no matter how hard he tried. He shook his head from side to side and tried opening his eyelids again but with more force.

  Pain shot through his face. This time he tried to scream, but his mouth wouldn’t open.

  Now panic-stricken, he rocked violently in his chair, straining his eyelids, until a small amount of light hit his retinas. He tried again, and felt something pull then slowly begin to rip at his skin.

  He screamed again.

  His mouth pulled back together, and he could taste blood. He flicked his tongue along the inside of his mouth and wrenched his lips apart again.

  Thick thread criss-crossed along his lips.

  He rocked against the chair, leaned too far to one side and felt himself falling. He hit the wood floor hard and heard his shoulder crack.

  Ignoring the pain shooting through his shoulder, he strained his eyelids. He willed them to open, until he felt whatever was there snap away and blood blurred his vision.

  His arm felt like it was on fire – his shoulder had been dislocated. His breath came in short sharp bursts. His chest tightened.

  Blinking fast, he tried to make out his surroundings. He recognised the television and floor lamp standing in the corner. Then an expensive-looking sofa came into focus.

  He was in his own living room.

  He concentrated on the large mirror in front of him, which hung on the wall from floor to ceiling.

  He saw his reflection and tried to scream.

  Thick black thread was stitched into his mouth, holding it closed, crossing through his thin pink lips. Blood had dried in all the cracks and had trickled down his chin.

  Tears started to roll down his cheeks when he saw his eyelids. Moments before, they had also been sewn together.

  Then he saw the large gash at the side of
his head, now crusted with congealed blood and bruised skin.

  He pulled at his bonds but could barely move against the tall wooden chair. The rope cut into his wrists. He tried to kick out with his legs but they too were tied securely to the chair.

  Mustering as much strength as he could, he screamed until his face turned red and the thread began to give way. Flesh began to pucker and tear, but he kept going until all the thread had snapped free.

  With his mouth released, he cried for help until his voice was hoarse, but it was useless.

  No one could hear him.

  He’d moved into a new-build penthouse suite a month ago and there wasn’t anyone living on the floor below him or next door. He could scream for hours and no one would come.

  The pain in his shoulder was becoming too much and he broke down, his body shuddering with uncontrollable sobs.

  Then something creaked.

  ***

  The Guardian

  He’d heard me open the door to his bedroom. Arching his head around towards the living room door, he struggled against the rope. His line of vision was slightly off. A few inches to his right and he would’ve seen me by now.

  Then he spoke.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  I walked forward from the shadows. I marvelled at my handiwork. The stitching had been a nice touch.

  ‘I said who’s there?!’

  ‘Shhh,’ I said. ‘…No one can hear you. You’ll need your breath. I suggest you don’t waste it.’

  I came into the dim light. And then he saw me, well, a different version of me, anyway.

  He turned his head, and took me in from head to toe. I saw his confusion over my appearance. Head to toe in plastic overalls. Hood over my hair, gloves on my hands. I was naked underneath.

  His eyes widened, not believing what he was seeing.

  ‘Who’re you?’ Adrian said. ‘Please, help me. My eyes…my mouth… God help me.’

  I smiled at those words. In all my years growing up, it was always about God. All it ever came down to.

  ‘It’s interesting that you should now ask God for help,’ I said.

  Adrian watched me as I sat down on the sofa. He twisted his head up to look at my face. ‘Please…’

  I inched forward, lowering my face closer to his.

  ‘You live your life as if you were fearless. Fearless of pain, of violence. Fearless of redemption,’ I said.

  ‘Please, take anything you want. My arm’s dislocated. I need a doctor.’ Adrian began to sob.

  I shook my head. ‘Even now you think your wealth will be enough to save you. That’s the extent of your arrogance.’

  ‘Why are you doing this? My eyes…my mouth?’

  ‘Did you like it?’

  His face screwed up with the pain.

  ‘So that you may appreciate what it’s like to feel vulnerable. To be alone at the mercy of others… Like Amelia Williams, for instance.’

  Adrian’s heart must have been pounding. The adrenaline would be surging through his veins. It would be relentless.

  I pushed myself up from the sofa and it took all my strength to get a strong enough hold on him in the overturned chair. I hauled him upright.

  Adrian whimpered when I glared at him, my eyes boring deep into his own. The way he trembled told me that he truly believed I was looking into his soul. In a way, I was and I was disgusted with what I saw.

  ‘Amelia Williams!’ I screamed into Adrian’s face. ‘Don’t try to deny anything.’

  Sweat poured from his face.

  ‘Where’re they taking her?’

  ‘I don’t know… I…’

  I’ve learnt a few things in my job. I’ve learnt to hold my own, to fight back, and defend myself against woman or man.

  I drew my arm back and brought my fist straight into Adrian’s jaw, the force even taking me by surprise.

  Adrian’s eyes rolled back inside his skull. He tasted fresh blood in his mouth. I let Adrian regain his composure. ‘Let’s try again, shall we? Where are they taking her?’

  Adrian’s head was reeling. I could tell by the way his eyes took their time to refocus on mine. He mumbled and blood leaked at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Where’re they taking her?’ I said, and grabbed hold of both sides of his face and slapped both cheeks. ‘Come on, you piece of shit. Where is she?’

  Adrian whimpered, and pulled against the rope.

  He glared at me then.

  And then I saw it.

  Rage began to surge inside him, overcoming his pain and weakness.

  I smiled, and cocked my head to one side, looking back at him.

  ‘You value your life more than anything else on earth. Tell me where she is, and the pain will end.’

  Adrian’s defiance urged me on. It gave me a high. I wondered how he’d react when I upped the stakes a little. I pulled back, went behind the sofa, and grabbed the can of petrol.

  Adrian’s eyes widened.

  That look sent electric charges burning through my limbs.

  ‘Don’t tell me what I want to know, and I will kill you. Be certain of that.’

  Adrian blinked away dried flecks of blood. ‘Who are you?’

  And this is the part when they try to make you do a U-turn. Make you see them as a person, not an object. In theory it should make me less inclined to harm him.

  In theory…

  ‘Who I am makes no difference to you,’ I said, placing the petrol can on the floor in front of him. ‘It’s what I’m capable of that should scare you… Where’s she been taken?’

  ‘You need help. We can get you medical help. I have money, I can pay. I can help you…and Amelia.’

  ‘I don’t need your money or your help.’

  Adrian tried to move his arm again. I saw his face crumple with a fresh wave of pain.

  I grabbed at his shoulder, squeezing it hard.

  Adrian let out an agonising scream and thrashed around in the chair. ‘Fuck you, you sick fuck!’

  I couldn’t help but smile. ‘Amelia, Mr Brown.’

  ‘Let me go!’

  ‘Tell me now and the pain will end.’ In some way it would, but maybe not how he envisaged.

  Spittle flecked Adrian’s mouth, his chin and then his lips pursed. He spat blood and mucus into my face.

  It was warm. Revolting.

  Adrian froze, watching me carefully as I casually wiped the mess from my face and then picked up the can of petrol.

  I unscrewed the cap, breathing in the scent that hit my senses. I shook my head. That’s when he lost control entirely.

  In that moment his eyes filled with a slow realisation of what was going to happen.

  ‘OK, I’ll tell you! Just stop this!’ he screamed at me.

  I threw the cap down on the floor. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘She’s with a man called Hargreaves. Gavin Hargreaves.’

  Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t that. Not that name.

  I tipped a small amount of petrol on top of his head.

  ‘No, please! I had to do something, just to scare her off. I can give you the address, just promise you’ll let me go. I won’t tell anyone about this!’

  I stared down at him, cowering in my very presence. I love this power. Either sex, male or female. They all bend or cower to me in the end. I walked towards the far wall, and began to douse it in the petrol. Then I moved on to the furniture.

  Adrian began babbling.

  I cupped my ear, half indifferent, half curious. ‘You’ll have to say that again? I can’t quite hear you.’

  ‘She’s at Blackley Farmhouse, Haverbridge West. Now please, let me go, you promised!’

  Yeah, I guess I did.

  I turned and picked up another can of petrol from behind the sofa. Then I let my gaze fall on Adrian. He just stared, eyes pleading.

  ‘You said the pain would end.’

  I carried on tipping the petrol over his head. ‘It will.’

  The liquid seeped into Adrian�
�s open wounds and he screamed, struggling fiercely against the rope, especially when he saw me pull something small and silver from my overall pocket.

  It was a lighter.

  Adrian looked like he was barely able to breathe.

  As much as he tried, he couldn’t even scream. He sat there open-mouthed, trying to speak. A last ditch attempt to save his life.

  Death is a release not a punishment. I forget who said that, but it’s a wise motto.

  I flicked the lighter’s wheel, watched the long yellow flame burn before my eyes.

  Then I cast it into the air.

  Within less than a second of the lighter hitting the floor at the far side of the room, flames ignited the petrol and soon engulfed everything in its path, swallowing Adrian in a burning mass of yellow and orange.

  CHAPTER 41

  Claire finally managed to get hold of Father Manuela and he couldn’t hide the annoyance in his voice when he answered her call.

  ‘I’m sorry to call so late, Father, but it’s very important that I speak with you. I’ve come across some new information and I wonder if I can come and see you at the Manor.’

  ‘Surely you can’t mean tonight, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘If it isn’t too inconvenient.’

  ‘Well, it is. It’s late and I have things to do.’

  ‘Of course, Father. Perhaps tomorrow?’

  Manuela checked his diary and sighed. ‘Tomorrow at 9:00am Honestly though, I have no idea how I could be of any further assistance. This is becoming quite tedious, I don’t mind telling you that.’

  After she’d hung up the phone she glanced over the letter found on Wainwright’s body and the one which had been delivered to her own home.

  ‘What are you hiding, old man?’ she said to herself. ‘There’s more here I’ve yet to see.’

  She turned to her computer and brought up the internet, accessed Google, typed in Shrovesbury Manor and waited.

  The search engine brought up many links, including the main website. Surprised Manuela was able to run his own web page, she clicked on the link and entered the site.

  There were many sections about the history of the Manor, the Mission Statement, a photo gallery and a section on existing and former members and staff, both members of the clergy and the public.