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

by T. M. E. Walsh

  She heard someone outside the room, frantically trying to open the door from the outside. She knew it wouldn’t be long before they’d come through it and that’d be it.

  Game over.

  She mustered all the rage and strength inside her body.

  She pulled Hargreaves’s head closer to hers, and almost swallowed the length of his tongue. She bit down again, yanking her head sideways with force.

  His body convulsed against her, and she jerked her head until she felt the muscle between her teeth start to tear.

  His muffled screams rang inside her ears when, with one final pull, she wrenched her head to the left and felt something give.

  A wet spray spattered her face, like drops of summer rain.

  She pulled the blindfold from over her eyes and saw his mouth had become a bloody screaming ‘O’ in front of her.

  Time seemed to slow and sound drowned out in Amelia’s head. Her vision became tunnelled as her rage reached boiling point. She stared at the blood spurting from the stump where his tongue had been and smiled.

  Her eyes met his and he knew she was enjoying his suffering. She stole a few seconds, watching him writhe in agony, satisfying her own pleasure, before she reached forward with her hands, her own screams filling the room.

  The last thing Hargreaves saw were her eyes boring into his. Then her thumbs pushed into his eye sockets in one fluid motion as she hurled her body at full speed, sending them both falling from the bed.

  She heard his head smack hard against the floor, and it was as if the life was sucked from him in an instant.

  She had landed on top of him. Her thumbs pressed harder, deeper into his skull. She stared at his fat bloated face, lifeless in front of her. She felt his body twitch a little under her weight, but still she kept her position.

  After a few minutes, her vision returned to normal, the ringing in her ears stopped and she felt all her senses return to her. She noticed the men outside the room had stopped kicking at the door, and there was nothing but an eerie silence.

  She pulled her thumbs from Hargreaves’s eye sockets, stared at his blood, then wiped the excess over her skirt.

  She tried to push herself off from his body but fell to the side, realising too late that her legs were still bound.

  She hit the floor hard, taking the brunt of the force on her shoulder. She stifled a scream as white-hot needles danced up the nerves in her arm.

  She reached for the knife on the bed, despite the pain, and cut through the rope, then went to the door.

  Slowly she tried the handle.

  The door wouldn’t budge. She remembered she’d heard the door being locked from the inside and her eyes came back to Hargreaves.

  She went through his trouser pockets and smiled as her fingers encircled the key. She went to the door, slipped the key in the lock and slowly turned it. She waited with bated breath as she heard the door mechanism click and give.

  Her hair was now soaked with sweat and Hargreaves’s blood, and hung in limp tendrils around her face. Her body was also drenched. She shivered as she opened the door and a sliver of air from outside touched her skin.

  Still holding the knife, now raised at her side, she opened the door wide and stepped outside.

  CHAPTER 43

  Amelia saw beautiful eyes staring back at her. Her Guardian clasped her tight as she fell into their arms and began to sob.

  ‘I thought you’d abandoned me,’ she said, kissing their mouth. The Guardian recoiled, tasting blood on her lips. Looking deep into her eyes, the Guardian smiled, and twisted a strand of her hair between cold fingers and kissed her forehead lightly.

  ‘I’ll never leave you… Look what I’ve done for you already.’

  Amelia looked around the room, a large living area. She saw the bloody stains across the floor leading to the bodies of three men lying slumped against the far wall, with one gunshot wound in each man’s chest.

  She looked at the Guardian as they raised their gun, equipped with silencer, and grinned. She kissed them again until they were forced to push her away. The Guardian moved her aside and entered the other room.

  Amelia waited with bated breath, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip.

  ‘Fuck!’

  She ran to the room and hung against the door frame. The Guardian was bent over Hargreaves, face now turning to stare at her.

  ‘Have you any idea what you’ve done?’

  ‘I’m sorry!’ She slumped to the floor. ‘He would’ve raped and killed me.’

  ‘How can we go through with our plans when you keep deviating from them? You keep fucking up! What the hell’s the matter with you?’ The Guardian pointed at her. ‘Do you want to be locked away again and never be with me? We swore on Rebecca’s life to bring them to justice.’

  ‘It’s not just for her and I won’t be parted from you again, I’ll die first.’ She pulled the knife so it crossed her throat and looked at him, her eyes glazed with tears.

  The Guardian slowly moved to sit in front of her. ‘Give me the knife.’

  She complied, moving the knife away from her throat and it was pulled from her hands. They sat staring at each other. Minutes passed before the Guardian rose and stared at Hargreaves’s body.

  ‘Let’s move. It won’t be long before they find Adrian.’

  CHAPTER 44

  Claire walked up to the Manor door, making sure she’d put all the photographs she’d printed inside the file. After satisfying herself they were all there, she tucked the file under her arm just as a lady, about mid-fifties in age, opened the door before she had a chance to knock.

  She eyed Claire from head to toe with a hint of a scowl. Claire’s face hardened when the woman didn’t speak. She waved her ID in front of the woman’s grey eyes.

  ‘I have an appointment with Father Manuela.’

  The woman sneered at the warrant card before stepping aside. ‘I know who you are. I’m his housekeeper, Mrs Lawrence. You’re early.’

  Claire looked at her with some intensity. Lawrence was a dowdy woman, with grey bushy hair and a very lined face. She looked a lot older than Claire guessed she actually was. She forced a tight smile across her lips and stepped into the hallway.

  ‘In here, please.’

  Claire noticed the room where she’d sat with Manuela before was empty. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘In the garden,’ she said. ‘Now, if you please?’ She pointed to the room again.

  ‘I think the garden’s just fine for our meeting,’ Claire said, pushing past her, and heading towards the gardens. Lawrence followed after her.

  Once outside, Claire caught sight of Manuela and headed towards him. He looked up as they approached, puzzled, as Lawrence started yelling.

  ‘She wouldn’t listen, Father!’

  Manuela stared at Claire, who was looking hard into his eyes. He knew she meant business.

  ‘It’s all right, Helen. It’s far too hot to be stuck inside anyway.’ He offered Claire a seat next to him on the bench. ‘Please bring us some tea.’

  Lawrence paused a second or two, sniffed at Claire and headed back inside. Claire’s eyes followed her until she was out of sight.

  ‘Worked for you long, has she?’ She took a seat on the bench beside him. Manuela stared at the floor before answering.

  ‘Yes, but only on a part-time basis.’ Then he turned to face her. ‘What’s this all about, Chief Inspector? I answered all your questions the other week… Your methods are starting to grate.’

  She pulled out the sheets of printed photographs from her file and handed them to him. She studied his face as he took the pages, a confused expression on his face. She watched him carefully as he looked at each picture. She thought she saw his eyes widen, but he handed the pages back and shook his head.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Lawrence soon appeared carrying a tray. Claire waited until she’d handed them both their cups and had left before continuing.

  ‘You don’t recognise her th
en?’

  ‘She was a former member here,’ he said, before taking a sip of his tea.

  ‘Is that all you can tell me about her?’

  Manuela sat his cup back down on the saucer with a bang. ‘Why are you asking me? Why aren’t you out there finding out who murdered Malcolm?’

  ‘Humour me.’ She passed the pages back to him. ‘Tell me her name, for instance.’ Manuela took the pages again but didn’t look at them.

  He didn’t have to.

  ‘You got these from the website. It would’ve told you her name.’ He eyed her with suspicion, and when he saw her face remain stony, he rolled his eyes and looked at the pictures again.

  He saw the familiar bright red hair and green eyes staring back at him, smiling for the photograph taken alongside Rebecca at her birthday party. He cast his mind back to the many times he’d been forced to punish her for her insolence.

  ‘Amelia William-Jenkins.’

  ‘So she is Mark Jenkins’s foster child?’

  ‘Up until about four years ago.’ He looked confused and gave her back the pages. ‘You’re going to have to help me here, why are you interested?’

  ‘Why did she leave?’ she said, ignoring his question. ‘Where did she go?’ Manuela sipped his tea again, his face turning dark, angry. She stared at his face. ‘Father?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask Mark that question. He doesn’t talk about her to me, or to anyone for that matter.’

  ‘What can you tell me about her from back then?’ She paused and looked at the pictures herself. ‘What type of girl was she?’

  Manuela finally made eye contact with her and a new kind of seriousness clouded his pale insipid eyes.

  ‘I don’t know where you think you’re going with this, Chief Inspector, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’

  He stood up.

  Claire looked at the roses surrounding her. She couldn’t back down now.

  ‘Father, you will answer my questions. Either here or I’m quite prepared to do this at the station.’

  Manuela was thrown by her outburst. ‘You can’t force me, I’m not under arrest.’

  ‘Of course not, but I wonder whether you realise the seriousness of this and why I’m asking you.’

  ‘You’re asking me about a girl who I haven’t seen in four years. What has she to do with me?’

  Claire swallowed hard and set her cup down on the floor in front of her. ‘Amelia Williams, who has now dropped the Jenkins’ name, lives in the same flats as Ashe Miller, who was found brutally murdered. In fact she only lives a few doors down from the deceased.’

  Manuela looked at her and scowled. ‘And?’

  ‘And Ashe Miller was found murdered in a similar way to Wainwright, who had very strong ties to the Manor, and I now know that Amelia came here and was once a foster child of Mark Jenkins.’

  Claire watched the colour drain from his face.

  He stared at the floor, his mouth open. Slowly he took his seat and looked at her. ‘You think she has something to do with this? With Malcolm’s death?’ His voice sounded strained and weak, as if it hurt him to speak.

  ‘I hoped you could offer me an insight into her life. A character profile, you could say.’

  Manuela’s face had frozen as if he had somehow finally made sense of it all. More worryingly to Claire, he didn’t seem at all shocked.

  ‘Perhaps we should go inside.’

  ***

  Claire waited until Manuela had handed her his file on Amelia. Like the scrapbook he’d shown her when they last met, it too was scruffy and aged. She turned the pages with care and studied Amelia’s background.

  ‘So she was given up for adoption from birth, according to this?’ she said, looking up at Manuela. He nodded, standing by the window watching her closely.

  ‘Yes. She’d been adopted but by the time she was five, her new parents had enough of her and she was taken into the care system again.’

  ‘Why did they do that?’ She studied a photograph of Amelia, which had probably been taken when she was around six years old.

  Manuela shook his head. ‘The circumstances, as I came to understand, were that she’d become unruly.’

  ‘Kids are unruly, Father.’

  Manuela shook his head and took a seat opposite her. ‘You didn’t let me finish.’ He leaned in closer to her. ‘Amelia was unruly and at first, yes, they thought it was nothing more than a child acting up, for attention or what have you, but they were wrong. Amelia showed…signs of disturbing behaviour, both towards herself and to others.’

  Claire pushed aside Amelia’s file and gave him her full attention, moving her hands to encourage him to proceed.

  ‘The couple who adopted her had thought they were unable to have children of their own, so they chose to go down the adoption route. Then, not long after they adopted Amelia, they were blessed with a child of their own making. Everything was going well and for a short period after the baby was born, they had a happy life, but something in Amelia changed and she grew jealous of the baby.’

  ‘Isn’t that natural in young children when a new baby comes into the picture? They no longer have all their parents’ attention.’

  ‘You’re right, but Amelia conveyed her jealousy in more sinister ways and it became…necessary for them to pass her back to social care.’

  ‘They feared for the life of their new baby.’

  Manuela nodded.

  Claire mulled over the information in her head. ‘How is it that you know all this? You have your own file you’ve made up especially for her?’

  Manuela shrugged his shoulders. ‘Mark told me. He wanted us to try to help Amelia.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘Mark took pity on her, welcomed her into his family, and myself, Father Wainwright and Father Hawthorne tried our best to instil in her a good religious upbringing.’

  ‘How did she adapt to that?’

  ‘Very well at first but she was easily led astray. She seemed to always find trouble. We also thought that even though she appeared a well-rounded child from the outset, she possessed something inside her which led us to believe she was unsound, psychologically.’

  Claire shook her head. ‘Father, forgive me, but I have a problem.’ Manuela raised his eyebrows at her. ‘You speak of how she was unsound, psychologically, but you haven’t given me any examples. If this is true, why wasn’t she receiving the proper care?’

  ‘She was prone to violent outbursts. One minute she’d be calm, the next…’ He trailed off and looked at her. ‘You should be talking to Mark. I’m not a psychiatrist, Chief Inspector, and she wasn’t here every day. Mark has all the records that he somehow got from those in charge of the process.’

  Claire drew in a deep breath and, despite Manuela’s reluctance to talk specifically about Amelia’s actions, she probed further.

  ‘Did she have many friends?’

  Manuela shook his head, but then stopped as he remembered something.

  ‘She was close to a young man who attended here but it wasn’t for very long. He was a less than desirable character and brought out the worst in her.’ Manuela’s face appeared sour, as if the very mention left a nasty taste in his mouth.

  ‘What was his name?’

  Manuela frowned at her question and thought before answering. ‘Stephen, I believe. No, it was Stevie for short.’

  She froze and stopped writing mid-sentence.

  ‘Another foster child of Jenkins?’

  Manuela raised his eyebrows. ‘How did you know that?’

  She ignored him. ‘Were they close?’

  ‘Somewhat,’ he replied, not really sure why she was asking. ‘How did you know about this, Chief Inspector?’

  Claire debated whether or not to mention Jenkins’s estranged child, but remembered that Chloe had been less than favourable regarding Manuela, and wondered if the feeling was mutual.

  ‘Chloe Jenkins.’

  She watched Manuela’s face turn from confusion to indifference.

&nb
sp; ‘I’d take whatever she says with a pinch of salt. A real bad egg that one,’ he said, crossing his legs and rubbing his temple with his fingers. ‘She was another one who…’ he trailed off. He mulled over the words in his head before he spoke again. ‘Well, let’s just say, she didn’t play well with others. When the three of them were together, it was hard. They bounced off each other.’

  He sighed then, shook his head. ‘I hate to speak with such venom about Mark and Samantha’s biological child, but I speak as I find. Chloe was – is – not without her own problems. She was constantly fighting her own demons.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  Manuela bristled. ‘It was certainly nothing to do with her parents. She was just born nasty and that way inclined, shall we say.’

  Claire held eye contact. ‘You mean she prefers girls, Father?’

  Manuela shifted, uncomfortable. ‘All in her head. Something she chose to dabble in. Filthy, if you ask me.’

  ‘And not tolerated by you?’

  ‘Not tolerated by God’s holy church. It isn’t natural.’

  Claire held her tongue then. She did feel a flutter of doubt start to set in through her body. And Chloe was the cause of it.

  Chloe Jenkins. Another name with too much association with all the players in this family and the investigation.

  ‘Was there anyone else who Amelia was friends with?’ Claire said, trying to push Chloe’s image out of her head, for the moment at least.

  She watched Manuela thinking and he eventually shook his head. Claire looked at the picture she’d printed of Amelia beside Rebecca Turner at her birthday party.

  ‘What about Rebecca?’

  She waited for his response and it wasn’t until she looked into Manuela’s eyes that she thought she detected a flicker of anger behind them.

  ‘They were…friends.’

  His answer was too guarded for Claire’s liking. She remained silent, and thought of how to bring up the note found on Wainwright’s body.

  ‘It’s quite hot in here, isn’t it?’

  Manuela looked at her face and noticed she was smiling at him, while fanning her face with her folder. ‘I think it’d be cooler in the garden.’