‘Maybe he found out about what she was doing. She needed money to help fund all this and she’s used to using sex as a weapon. You put two people like that together and you’ve got yourself one hell of a ticking time bomb ready to explode. Miller was just collateral damage,’ she said, looking back at the road. ‘Like Melanie Steward, George Manning, Brown and Hargreaves. Wrong place, wrong time.’
‘I’d say she did us a favour with Hargreaves,’ said Stefan.
‘What about Brown?’
Claire shook her head. ‘I don’t think she killed him. I think Diego took care of him before helping her with Hargreaves and his boys.’
‘You mean Stephen,’ Stefan corrected.
Claire paused, staring ahead at the road.
‘Whatever he calls himself, the bastard’s going away for a long time.’
7th December 2009
The room smelled of blood, so thick she could almost taste it.
Amelia leaned as far back into the wardrobe as she could and held her breath. Blood pounded in her ears and her body shivered uncontrollably. Her heart raced inside her chest so hard it felt like it would suddenly burst from her body.
Outside, all was silent once again.
For the moment at least.
She knew they’d be back to clear up the mess and she dared not reveal her hiding place after witnessing so much evil.
The minutes ticked by and somehow she managed to muster her inner strength and, with a morbid curiosity, to take another look outside.
Slowly, pushing some clothes aside, she peered through the crack in the door. She squinted hard. She saw the bed.
The duvet was ruffled from the struggle and she could see that the pillows had been thrown to the floor.
Lowering her eyes, she caught sight of her friend’s hand, lifeless and pale, reaching out from behind the bed. A pool of blood slowly seeped across the wooden floor.
Then she heard the footsteps.
She imagined each frightened breath she took would give her away as fear crept over her body like cold bony fingers on her skin.
Pressing her lips tightly together, she held her breath as someone approached the bedroom door and turned the handle.
CHAPTER 81
Father Manuela stirred in the corner of the derelict building.
His body had gone numb down one side from sitting on the dusty concrete floor. He tried his best to stretch out, despite his hands being bound together.
There was no point in trying to call for help – they’d made sure of that by securing his mouth shut with duct tape that had been pulled tightly around the whole circumference of his head.
His wrists ached and he tried his best to flex his hands and fingers out against his bonds, all the while looking at his kidnappers nervously.
He sneaked a look around the room, wondering where he was and how long he had been there since they’d taken him from his home by force, knocking him unconscious in the process.
He judged by the ache in his head that he’d been struck on his left temple. He looked down at his shirt and saw dried specks of blood.
God, please hear my prayer.
He looked around the large room, past the graffiti and drug paraphernalia etched across the walls and floors, desperate for an escape route. His eyes stopped when he caught sight of Michael, staring at him.
‘Don’t even think about it, old man. There’s only one way out for you and it’s not through a fucking door.’
His voice sounded dry, his face was unshaven and his eyes were red-rimmed with tiredness.
Their eyes remained locked on each other until Amelia entered the room and Manuela shifted his gaze to her hands. She was carrying rosary beads and a sharp piece of metal that looked like a scalpel. She placed the items down on the table in front of Michael and looked over towards Manuela.
‘Do you think they’ve worked it all out yet?’
‘They’ll be on the way to the Manor by now, if they’re not there already. Claire won’t miss what’s staring her in the face.’
Amelia grinned. ‘She missed you though.’
He looked up at her, his face set in a taut stare. ‘The signs were there,’ he said, looking away. ‘With her feelings for me…she just didn’t want to see them.’
***
As Claire pulled into the driveway, Mrs Lawrence was already at the door arguing with officers.
Claire was first out of the car and when Lawrence caught sight of her she pushed herself out of the doorway, waving her arms in the air.
She pointed a bony finger at Claire as she approached. ‘I keep telling your officers to leave Father Manuela alone. We don’t need you here.’
As Lawrence stepped in front of her, Claire raised her hands and forcefully shoved her to one side.
‘Where’s Father Manuela?’
She could hear Lawrence shouting out idle threats at her as she entered the Manor and headed towards the back of the house, calling out for Manuela.
‘He won’t want to see you,’ Lawrence bellowed close to Claire’s ear, making her wince.
She turned on her heels and stared the woman hard in the face.
‘I think he might when he knows his life is in danger.’ She watched Lawrence’s face fall. ‘Where is he?’
Several seconds passed until Lawrence finally spoke.
‘He was in the Rose Garden last time I saw him.’
***
Manuela was nowhere to be seen, as Claire had predicted.
Her eyes scanned the area of the Rose Garden in an instant and spotted the blood spatter across the bench where she’d sat with Manuela mere days ago, and closed her eyes tight.
Mrs Lawrence gasped when she saw the blood and began ranting at Jane about Manuela, until Claire lost her patience.
‘Mrs Lawrence!’ The lady froze. ‘Do yourself a favour and shut up. If you want to help Manuela you must tell me everything that’s happened in the last few hours. His life will depend on it.’
***
Mrs Lawrence had told Claire all she knew in the space of five minutes, which was basically nothing of worth.
Claire had ordered officers to search the grounds and Manor, with others already on a house-to-house and a search of the area within a five-mile radius.
She had no idea where they could have taken Manuela or if he was even still alive. All she had were her instincts, and they were guiding her to the rose bushes in front of her.
What revelation lies within the beauty of a rose?
‘I need a spade.’
Stefan took the initiative and retrieved one from the potting shed, racing back towards her. She grabbed it from him and forced it into the dirt and began digging.
‘What the hell are you doing? You can’t do that.’
‘Stefan, please have Mrs Lawrence escorted back inside the Manor,’ Claire said over her shoulder.
‘You must be mad, woman,’ Lawrence shouted at her as Stefan gently took hold of her shoulders. ‘Just what are you hoping to find?’ she said, pushing at Stefan, catching him off guard with her strength.
Claire ignored her and continued to dig fast, clearing just over a foot of soft soil, sending it cascading onto the grass around her.
As she paused for a breath, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she caught sight of something poking out of the ground.
It looked like cloth.
She threw the spade to one side, got on her hands and knees, and clawed the earth with her fingers, drawing confused looks from those around her.
It wasn’t until she’d uncovered a large dirty sack weighted down with rocks that Stefan took notice. He sat down beside her and helped her haul it from the earth, out onto the grass.
The sack had been tied at one end with thick but worn rope, and it wasn’t until Claire had managed to prize the rope apart that they caught the smell.
They both looked at each other.
Claire pulled away the last bit of rope and slowly opened the sack.
&n
bsp; ‘What is it?’ Mrs Lawrence was watching when she caught sight of their faces. ‘What have you got there?’
Claire looked at Stefan, and wished she’d acted sooner on her hunches. She pulled herself up from the ground, making no attempt to dust off the earth which now clung to her trousers, and looked Lawrence hard in the face.
‘Do you remember the missing person case of Rebecca Turner, who attended here, Mrs Lawrence?’
Lawrence paused. She nodded. ‘Yes. It was a terrible time for us all.’
Claire continued to stare at her before looking back at the sack.
‘Well, she’s no longer missing.’
Lawrence looked at her, confused, but before she could speak, Claire answered her unspoken question.
‘We will need to confirm but I’m certain this is the disassembled body of Rebecca Turner…what’s left of her.’
CHAPTER 82
Manuela was frozen with fear as he stared at the scalpel blade gleaming inches from his face.
Amelia smiled at his reaction.
‘There’s a problem I’m facing, Father…perhaps you can help me?’ She saw his eyelids snap shut dreading what was to come. ‘Or perhaps you can’t,’ she added. ‘Either way I can assure you of one thing… I’ll enjoy what’s to come. After all, it’s been a hell of a long time coming.’
She lowered the scalpel and slid the blade just underneath his shirt, and sliced it open from navel to throat with force.
Manuela groaned beneath his gag, his eyes giving away his constant fear. He looked down to check it was only his shirt she’d cut open and was relieved to find his skin untouched.
She leaned in closer so his eyes could not avoid hers, and he felt the blade lightly touch his skin. He prepared himself for the pain that was to come.
He shut his eyes tight and Amelia laughed.
‘I see my actions are predictable, Father!’ She removed the blade and he opened his eyes a little.
‘You see, this is my problem…do I do you like the rest, which, although convenient, offers no real element of surprise and I end up walking the books of history as just another signature killer, or,’ she paused, looking down hard into his eyes, ‘do I take my time turning your withered feeble body into a pretty work of art?’
‘Rebecca always did enjoy art lessons, my love,’ Michael said.
Manuela felt his bladder fail him, his mind overwhelmed with fear of the unknown.
The smell of urine wafted upward to Amelia’s nose and she recoiled.
‘Where’s your dignity, Father?’
Manuela saw Michael appear over him with the metal pole in his hands. He swallowed hard, just as it was swung high above his face.
Michael saw him cower and allowed himself a smile.
He remembered a time when he was at the Manor, forced into the basement by the same man whose life was now at his mercy.
He remembered the rats crawling over his skin in the dark. He remembered the smell, earthy and damp.
He’d cried for hours until his throat was raw.
His crime? Questioning the contradictions between the Old and New Testament of the Bible.
He’d wondered if Christ Himself would’ve condoned that punishment.
Michael’s gaze returned to Manuela, who closed his eyes, preparing himself for the moment when cold metal would bite at his pale delicate skin.
They’d be no redemption for this soul.
2009
The main part of the Chapel was still smouldering the next morning.
Manuela sat in his study, staring out at the building, and although the damage had been limited, the rage was seething just beneath the surface of his otherwise cool exterior.
He’d told the firemen and police all he knew – which was close to nothing. He had an idea who had started the fire last night, although he had no real proof, but he was determined to find it by any means necessary.
He had called a meeting with Wainwright and Hawthorne, due to take place after he had called all those with children due in today, telling them the Manor would be closed until tomorrow.
He’d listened to but promptly forgot all the best wishes received from parents and guardians when he told them the news.
All that mattered was finding those responsible.
The cruelty swept over him as he thought about a suitable punishment – after all, what would the police actually do if they caught whoever it was?
Community service no doubt, he thought scornfully, as if the very idea left a bad taste in his mouth.
His thoughts were disturbed by Mrs Lawrence knocking at his door. She informed him that Wainwright and Hawthorne were here, and he told her to send them up.
When the men were sitting in his study, refreshments in hand, he stood and paced the room, hands clasped tightly behind his back.
‘You think it was her, don’t you? Amelia?’ said Wainwright without emotion.
Manuela stopped in his tracks and nodded. ‘It would be a reasonable assumption.’
Father Hawthorne sat upright in his chair and cast a worried look at both men.
‘You can’t go around making accusations based on your assumptions, Jeremy,’ he said, not bothering to hide the appalled tone of his voice. ‘Just tell the police what you know to be true. It’s in their hands now.’
Hawthorne went to speak again but changed his mind when Manuela turned his icy gaze towards him.
***
Manuela tried to open his eyes but the lids felt heavy. He knew he was drifting in and out of consciousness and he was remembering the past that he’d tried so hard to erase from his memory.
He remembered the conversations that’d passed and wished now he’d listened to his dear friend David.
It was too late for that now.
He remembered the days he’d spent planning to make Amelia admit to starting the fire.
He had convinced himself God was on his side.
If only Rebecca had stayed away that day…
***
‘It was me, Father.’
Manuela had been glued to the spot by the sound of her words – unexpected, and if it wasn’t for the fact he knew he was awake and lucid, he could easily have mistaken her words for a dream.
He looked down at the girl seated before him and rage began to grow as he listened to her words.
‘It wasn’t Amelia, Father. I planned it, I started it. It had nothing to do with her. If you must punish me, I’ll accept that for what I did, but you must know I will tell your secrets. I’ll tell everyone what you did to Amelia.’
Manuela shut his eyes as he listened to her voice betray him. He heard her say how she would report their cruelty to Amelia over the years and how she’d remained silent because of her fear.
But Rebecca Turner was no longer a scared, frightened little girl. She had seen enough.
‘I’ll tell them everything…’
The final sentence echoed through his head as a mere distant voice until she repeated the words louder and more defiantly than ever.
Manuela opened his eyes and looked into hers.
He saw her determination and he knew that even if he kept her secret, she would not be keeping his.
He watched as she turned towards the stairs.
He felt the anger boil up inside him.
Any rational thought he may have had left his body. He felt as if his soul had left him and the man who edged closer to her from behind as she took her final steps had no control.
He saw his own hands reach out in front of him, lunge forward and make contact with her back.
One push was all it took.
He watched as her legs fell out from underneath her, her hands grabbing at nothing but air.
She seemed to turn her body easily as she fell and he saw the fear in her eyes right before her body hit the first stair with such force, he almost heard the wind knocked out of her.
Even as she continued to fall, rebounding off each stair with force, he felt little emotion.
When her body was finally stationary at the bottom of the winding staircase, he made no attempt to rush to her aid.
Instead he stood still, watching to see if she was still breathing…and after a few seconds, he heard her draw breath.
CHAPTER 83
Manuela awoke to a white-hot pain along his torso.
His eyes flew open and he screamed through the gag. He looked down, saw the burn and the smell was so sickly, he vomited.
He heard laughter and saw Amelia beside him, waving a cigarette lighter in her hand.
‘We can’t have you sleeping, Father.’
Manuela started to choke, his face turning red. Amelia reluctantly pulled the gag from his mouth and he spat what was left of his stomach contents onto the floor.
He drew in a few deep breaths then tried to move.
Rope cut into his body with each movement and he realised he was bound and stretched on a cold metal table in another part of the derelict building to where he’d been before he was knocked unconscious.
He twisted his head around.
Amelia was staring hard into his eyes and Michael was nowhere to be seen.
‘Please…let me go.’
Amelia edged towards him, flicking the lighter on and off, bringing the flame closer to his face each time she flicked the switch.
‘You can’t escape the fire, Father. God was watching you that day.’ She brought the flame close to his right eye and he snapped it shut. ‘And Rebecca is watching you now. Can you feel her spirit, restless, in limbo…?’
The sheer heat from the flame made him feel like his eyes might boil inside his skull.
Then she lowered the flame and he heard her voice as clear as day, her mouth next to his ear.
‘I was watching you that day…all of you.’
She waited until Manuela opened his eyes again, his face a mixture of confusion and fear. She could read the questions that were racing through his mind and she grinned.
‘Did you think you’d sent everyone home that day?’ Manuela tried to speak but his voice failed him. ‘You think you had control. You thought it would be so easy blaming me, making me suffer. You thought you had it all worked out.’
For All Our Sins: A gripping thriller with a killer twist (DCI Claire Winters, Book 1) Page 33
