Claire clicked on the heading and it took her to a page with separate links for years both past and present.
Remembering what Manuela had said about the dates Rebecca Turner had gone missing, she clicked the link labelled 2008–2009.
She scrolled through a long list of names until she found Rebecca’s. Claire clicked on her name. Another page opened detailing everything from her religious achievements, through to the news stories of her disappearance. There was also a section for photographs.
Claire clicked on the page and a few small thumbnails were brought up which would appear at the full resolution if selected. She glanced through a few, most showing Rebecca receiving communion in the Chapel, singing in the choir, and a few shots of her at the sixteenth birthday party that’d been thrown for her.
Flicking through the photographs half-heartedly, she saw an image that caught her off guard. Staring hard at the image, she squinted against the glare from the computer screen.
She saw a few girls sitting next to Rebecca, smiling for the camera, posing with cards and gifts wrapped in birthday paper. One girl had caught her eye among the few ordinary faces.
This girl had bright green eyes, a small frame, and a pretty face with a wild shock of flaming red hair. Claire read the names along the bottom of the photograph.
Amelia William-Jenkins.
Reaching for the notepad she’d taken to Paradis, she flicked to the page listing the names of the children Chloe Jenkins had said her mother and father had fostered. She saw the name Amelia.
She stared at the picture on the screen again. She was sure this was the same girl she and Michael had interviewed over the Miller murder.
She clicked back to the current and past members’ page and searched for Amelia’s name. After a few seconds she found it and brought up a small selection of photographs and some accompanying text.
Claire’s eyes widened as she read the words in front of her.
Amelia William-Jenkins joined Shrovesbury Manor in 1999, aged six. The former foster child of one of our Patrons, Mark Jenkins, whose name she took, left Shrovesbury in 2009. Amelia learnt many lessons to equip her for a very fulfilling life during her time at the Manor, and maintained many loving friendships along the way. She will be a familiar face sadly missed by all those at Shrovesbury.
Claire scrolled through a few pictures of Amelia with her friends and Mark Jenkins. There were pictures of Amelia with Wainwright, sitting on his knee as a little girl, and with Manuela and Hawthorne.
Highlighting the pictures, she clicked the Print button and sat there holding her head in her hands.
She stared at her notes from her interview with Chloe Jenkins. She read over the key points and found herself staring at her own words written in capital letters: CONNECTION?
2009
Stephen stretched out, arms above his head, his fingers splayed, his leg easing out of the cramp that had travelled down one side of his body. His back arched like a cat stretching lazily on a summer’s day, content, until something inside him cracked.
He felt the long thin arm lying across his stomach flinch.
Amelia raised her head which had been resting on her arms, a dishevelled mass of hair framing her face. ‘I hate it when you do that,’ she said, and lightly pinched the skin on his upper arm.
He laughed, and encircled her into his body with his right arm, her warm bare skin comforting against his.
Amelia kicked her legs haphazardly, the grass tickling her toes. A shiver danced up her spine as the wind gently blew through the branches of the trees overhead.
They were in a part of the local wood into which few rarely ventured, stretched out, semi-naked on a dusty old picnic blanket that Amelia had found at the Manor. The weather had been kind to them, the sun beating down, kissing pale skin, and for a small amount of time, at least, they had felt contented.
Then Amelia shifted her weight, propping herself up beside him on one elbow. Her hair hung down, covering her breasts, her lower back curved in at a sharp angle, her jeans sitting low on her narrow hips.
Stephen studied her face; each small line that creased her forehead when she frowned, and the light in her eyes as it slowly darkened with her mood.
‘Have you given your name any more thought?’ he said.
Her eyes slowly rose to meet his. She traced a long finger nail across his lower belly. She nodded.
‘And?’
Amelia removed her hand abruptly, and shook out her hair in a vain attempt to detangle the strands. ‘I’m not changing it.’
He let out a loud sigh.
‘You can’t make me.’
He propped himself up, resting his weight on his forearms. ‘I’m not going to make you do anything…’
‘But?’ Amelia said, eyes widening.
‘…but, I think you should.’ He gripped her arm, as she went to move away from him. ‘Your name is the first thing they’ll check for.’
‘My name’s common. So’s the surname. They can’t hunt down every single one of us.’
Stephen tightened his grip on her arm a little. Her eyes lowered to watch his fingers squeeze her flesh. Then her eyes snapped back to his as she leaned in closer, her lips inches from his. ‘I’m not changing it.’
He went to speak but she cut him off. ‘All my life people have been taking what they want from me,’ she said, whipping her arm from his grasp. ‘My life, my fucking dignity, the power to control my own destiny. Everything.’
She sat up, eyes burning into his. ‘I’ll be damned if they’ll take my name too.’
Stephen shrugged. ‘What’s in a name?’
‘Everything…’
‘We’ll find you another, something beautiful, something worthy—’
‘I am Amelia Williams,’ she said, ‘and nobody is going to take that away from me. Not you, not them.’ She pushed herself up from the ground, retrieved her top and shook it out, stray blades of grass floating onto the blanket.
‘We’re in this together,’ Stephen said, stopping her in her tracks. ‘Don’t force me to remind you of that fact.’ He let the sentence hang in the air a moment longer than necessary.
He flung her discarded bra at her. ‘How about Laura?’
She stared at him, eyes never leaving his. ‘What?’
‘It’s a pretty name, don’t you think?’
‘It makes no difference to me. That’s not my name, Stevie.’
He smiled to himself as he gently eased himself back down on the blanket again. ‘I could get used to that name…Laura…’
Amelia’s eyes narrowed. She aimed a spiteful kick to his ribs.
He batted her foot away just in time. ‘Don’t be such a vicious cunt, Laura…’
She lunged at him, hands grabbing at his face. He laughed as she sat astride him, her mouth snarling, spitting out insults. She pulled her flick knife from her jeans pocket, unsheathed the blade and brought it down towards his face.
His hand caught her wrist and squeezed, fingertips digging into her flesh, making her gasp in pain. ‘Don’t play this game,’ he said, voice low, calm, with an edge to it that frightened her. ‘You won’t win.’
‘I’m not changing my name,’ she spat.
Stephen bent her wrist to one side, making her hand release the blade, a small cry escaping her lips. He bucked his hips, throwing her off balance. He swung her like a rag doll, until she was now pinned beneath him.
‘Do what you want to me,’ she said, voice defiant. ‘Whatever you do, it won’t make a difference.’
A cruel smile pulled at his lips, as his eyes wandered over her face, over the cable-like taut muscles straining in her throat beneath delicate skin. A bead of sweat had formed in the deep well of the jugular notch. ‘Don’t tempt me…’ he whispered.
She lifted her mouth up towards his.
‘I am Amelia Williams…’ she said, her breath misting against his skin, ‘…and my name will be remembered.’
***
Chloe watched them and waited until
Stephen left, leaving Amelia alone in the wood.
Amelia was topless still, enjoying the rays of sun on her small pale breasts. She folded up the blanket when Chloe emerged from behind the dense trees, making herself known. Amelia didn’t see her at first, and jumped when she felt Chloe’s hand on her arm.
‘Shit, how long have you been there?’
Chloe swallowed hard. ‘Long enough.’
Amelia shot her a knowing smile. ‘You can’t be jealous?’ When Chloe avoided her eyes and remained silent, she dropped the blanket to the ground. ‘Can we not do this?’ she said.
‘He’s wrong for you.’
‘Oh, ’cos you’re so special?’
‘Better than him.’
‘You’re just a confused teenager,’ Amelia said.
‘Maybe you are too.’
‘No, I know exactly what I want. You’ve no idea wh—’
Chloe leaned in and pressed her lips against Amelia’s. An ill-judged and timed kiss, her teeth catching Amelia’s with the force of it.
Amelia shoved her back, both hands pressing against Chloe’s chest, making her stumble back.
They stared at each other, Chloe breathless and unsure what to do.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’
Amelia stood there quiet, watching. Her long hair hung down over both shoulders, just covering her breasts.
She saw Chloe’s eyes lower.
Amelia felt a rush through her body, white hot heat building up inside her.
She tossed her hair back, so it cascaded down her back and slowly unbuttoned her jeans.
CHAPTER 42
Amelia had no concept of time when she finally awoke to find her body hog-tied and lying on her side on something soft. It felt like a bed but she was still blindfolded and could only concentrate on the pain in her jaw and the ache of her limbs.
The burning in her throat had subsided but she could still taste bitterness on her tongue. She wondered what had been sprayed into her mouth, but this was the least of her problems.
She tried to spit out the gag which was tied around her head and stuffed into her mouth, when she heard a low sound which sounded like someone laughing.
She froze.
She tried to twist her head from side to side to loosen her gag, when she heard a voice in the room with her. Then she smelt the strong scent of cigarette smoke.
‘Please don’t struggle. It won’t do you any good.’ The voice was deep with a slight accent.
Amelia stopped moving and listened.
After a few seconds passed, she tried to remove the gag again, rubbing her face against what she guessed was a mattress. It soon began to pull away from her mouth and she was able to breathe more easily. As she took in a mouthful of air, she heard someone clapping.
‘Well done. You’re a clever girl, Amelia, I can see that now. Not just pretty but brains too.’
She tried to process the voice. She couldn’t place it. ‘Who are you?’ She was scared and struggled to keep her voice steady. She had to remain strong, at least for appearance’s sake.
‘It doesn’t matter who I am. It’s why you’re here that should.’
Hargreaves watched her body tense when she felt him sit beside her, the weight of him dipping the bed considerably lower.
He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and blew smoke slowly into her face. She coughed and turned her head, as he laughed childishly.
Hargreaves stared at her for a few more minutes, taking in every small detail, from her head to her toes.
He stared at her naked feet inside her stiletto heels and reached out his hand.
The blood inside Amelia’s veins froze when she felt his fat fingers caress the skin on her feet and slide up over her legs. His hand edged closer to the hem of her skirt, and he thought back to his discussion with Adrian.
Having some fun with her couldn’t hurt.
His fingers dipped under her skirt an inch or two.
A knock on the door startled them both, giving Amelia time to think as Hargreaves removed his hand and barked a command in another language. She heard another man answer him but couldn’t hear what was said.
She felt Hargreaves get off the bed and speak in a hushed voice outside the room.
Using what might be her only chance, she managed to work one hand loose. She forced herself backwards to lay partially on her back, her legs still joined by the rope to her other wrist.
She heard the door close and a key turn, locking them in.
Footsteps edged closer so she heaved herself forward, trying to free her legs, ripping them against her bonds. She misjudged her place on the bed and felt herself fall before two meaty arms grabbed her.
Hargreaves laughed as he sat on the bed, pulling her over his lap, and she felt his knees digging into her back. She kept her free hand out of sight as she felt his face come close to hers, his breath putrid, laced with strong sprits and ash.
‘Almost lost you there,’ he said, bouncing her body, like she was nothing more than a rag doll in his arms. ‘Wouldn’t that have been a pity?’
‘Let me go.’ Her voice was steady, despite the rage beginning to boil inside her from the pit of her stomach. It may as well have been the pits of Hell.
Hargreaves let out a huge booming laugh, his fat stomach bouncing hard. Then he was coughing, hacking into one clenched fist. ‘You really have no idea why you’re here, do you?’
‘And where is here?’
‘That doesn’t concern you.’ Hargreaves grinned. ‘You’re here with me because my client wants to send you a message. I’m here to make sure you read it loud and clear.’
Amelia frowned and shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. What client?’
‘You know… Tall, dark, a lot less good looking than he thinks he is, more money than sense… Money launderer, among other things.’
‘Adrian.’
Suddenly his disappearance made sense, along with his surprise dinner date. She’d walked right into his trap. She felt stupid.
Hargreaves’s face changed from jovial to serious, relieved he no longer had to string her along. ‘And so the penny drops.’ His voice was unnerving. ‘He paid me a considerable amount to put the frighteners on you and I can’t be seen to disappoint.’
He lifted Amelia in one swoop from his lap, back onto the bed, and pulled a pocket knife from his jeans. He watched her heave herself onto her knees, and lean back on her legs that were tucked under her. She began pulling at the rope again.
Hargreaves released the blade he was holding.
Amelia didn’t have to see it to recognise the sound.
‘Interesting what you can find in a young lady’s bedroom, don’t you think?’ he said, running his thumb along the outer edge of the blade. He saw Amelia’s mouth open. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I had a good look inside your flat. Courtesy of Mr Brown… He was most insistent I use this on you.’
She felt him sit beside her again. Then her own blade was lightly dragged along her exposed collar-bone. She remained perfectly still, but this time she didn’t fear him.
‘I can pay you,’ she whispered.
The blade stopped moving over her skin.
‘Interesting,’ he said.
Then the blade was moving again and was soon running up her inner arm, careful not to break the skin.
‘Money’s not something I need.’
She felt his other hand grasp around her ankles, his whole palm seeming to envelop her ankle bones.
‘Now, you’ll listen to me and know I’m serious… You’ll go back to the flat and pack your bags. There’s some money under the mattress for you to use getting out of Haverbridge. There’s a letter on the table in the living room, saying you’re giving up the tenancy with immediate effect. You’ll sign it, take it to the estate agents and drop it through their letterbox.
‘After you’ve done this, you’ll go straight to the train station and go as far as the money will take you. I believe Adrian has l
eft you enough to take you to the other end of the country. You’ll never have any contact with him again.’
Hargreaves pulled her face to his, his eyes dark, glaring at her. ‘You will follow these plans laid out for you.’
‘And if I don’t?’
Hargreaves pulled the knife against her throat. ‘Your life won’t be worth living.’ He pushed the blade until it nicked her tender skin. ‘You don’t know what I’m capable of. I assure you your death would not be over quickly.’
Amelia flinched at the blade and felt blood beading at the cut. She breathed hard, ignoring the pain. You don’t know what I’m capable of…
‘I still think you and I could come to our own arrangement.’ She found the courage within her as she listened to her own words spilling from her mouth. ‘What I can offer you is worth more than what Adrian could ever pay you.’
She brought her face forward. She felt him recoil, unsure of her, but her lips kept searching until she could smell his breath, hot and moist on her face. Her lips arched upwards until she found his. She kissed him briefly, withdrew her mouth and smiled.
All men are weak…
Hargreaves took the bait.
He grabbed the back of her head, pulling her to him, his mouth clamping down on hers. His stubble scraped the soft skin around her mouth, as she fought back the urge to choke when his whisky-soaked tongue pushed inside her mouth. His arms grasped her shoulders and she realised he was no longer holding the knife.
Pulling hard against the rope, she managed to free her other hand.
Hargreaves mistook her struggling for passion and his hands were quickly at her chest, pulling at her shirt buttons.
In one swift movement, she reached out and grabbed his head firmly. She felt his tongue against her teeth and she bit down hard, gripping it in place.
Hargreaves’s eyes shot open and he tried to scream but saliva and blood pooled inside his mouth, dripping down his airways.
He began to gag.
He grabbed at her, trying to force her from him, but her hands held firm against his head. He tried to pull away from her but felt like his tongue would sever at the root.
Amelia moved her thumbs around his face until she found his eye sockets.
For All Our Sins: A gripping thriller with a killer twist (DCI Claire Winters, Book 1) Page 20
