She’d worked her way up the ladder, fast-tracked to a DCI, taking down any man or woman who stood in her way. If you ever crossed her in some way, you’d better be watching your back, because you never knew when you just might need her help.
She was far from malicious but there was a darker side. Something anyone with half a brain knew not to tap into. Michael knew there were other things, something in her past that made her the way she was. He could sympathise if she’d let him; after all, he had similar demons from his past too. He just never got close enough to her to find out what hers was.
He sensed her childhood hadn’t been great, but he also knew it hadn’t been anything like the awful things you read about. Whatever it was, though, it was still affecting her now. That call she took in the church, the disappearing act all morning – the effects of it were clearly visible to him, despite the mask she tried hard to wear.
A person’s flaws can be someone else’s idea of beauty.
She had some steel in her, he’d give her that.
Claire’s ambition had got her this far and would bring her years of success, but it would also be the reason for her demise later in life if she wasn’t careful. He knew all too well.
He’d seen people fall from grace before.
For some reason it was this that had attracted him to her in the first place and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
***
Michael arrived back at Haverbridge station before Claire so he lit himself a cigarette and leaned back against his car. He undid the top button of his shirt, arched his neck, and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Minutes later, he saw Claire’s silver Mazda enter the car park.
He met her gaze as she parked in the bay next to his. He watched her pulling her hands through her hair, securing it back into a ponytail with an elastic band.
He pulled open her car door. ‘It’s too hot today, huh?’
She shrugged off her suit jacket and tossed it over to the back seat. ‘Well, it is August.’
Michael muttered under his breath and shook his head. Claire gave him a sideways glance. ‘You don’t like me very much, do you, Diego?’
He looked at her briefly before returning his attention to his cigarette.
‘Why wouldn’t I like you?’ he said, as he tapped ash to the floor. ‘I mean you’re a fucking peach to work for, what with your take-no-prisoners attitude, bluntness and, let’s not forget my personal favourite, plain arrogance.’
She stared at him until he made eye contact with her. He shrugged. ‘Well, at least we know where we stand with each other,’ she said at length. ‘I don’t like you, you don’t like me, that much is clear, and it’s all out in the open… That’s quite a good basis for a working relationship. There’s no bullshit in-between, just black and white and straight down the middle.’
Michael dropped his cigarette to the floor, crushing it under his foot. ‘You’re anything but black and white.’ He saw her bristle. ‘You made it like this, Claire, not me.’
‘As I remember, you called wanting to end it.’
She swung her legs out of the car, pulled her bag onto her lap and began to rummage inside.
Michael looked at her as she leaned forward.
She was wearing a fitted light-pink sleeveless blouse. It clung to her body where she’d been sweating with the heat of the day in her suit jacket. A few of the top buttons had worked themselves undone and he could see the top of her bra.
He could remember how good she’d looked naked.
Claire found her BlackBerry and stood up to face him. She began checking her emails. She glanced at him. ‘You seemed eager to get rid of me anyway.’
‘You were too much of a control freak, Claire, let’s face it, and not to mention a married woman.’
‘Was a married woman. We’re talking past tense here and besides, we were never meant for anything other than a quick shag now and again when we had a break in the schedule.’
Michael held her stare. ‘Why do I get the feeling this hurt you a lot more than it hurt me?’
She broke eye contact and shook her head. ‘Don’t worry about me, Diego…you weren’t that good.’
There was a long pause.
He thought it best to let her have this one. He hated arguing about who did what to who and when.
They’d had a brief affair six months ago and it was over after two months. Although it’d got very intense towards the end, they had to be realistic.
Claire had been married to another policeman based in Welwyn Garden City, some eight miles from Haverbridge. It would have been devastating for them both if they were found out.
It was Claire who finally broke the silence, tapping furiously on the buttons on the BlackBerry. ‘I think we have a lead already with the murdered priest.’ She slung the phone back into her bag.
‘What lead?’
‘We have the name and address of the last person believed to see Wainwright alive. Mark Jenkins, fifty-eight years old and a Religious Studies teacher at St Catherine’s secondary school.’
Michael exchanged glances with her and half laughed. He ran his right hand roughly back through his hair, and shook his head.
‘You want me to check him out, don’t you?’
‘I have other cases that need solving, Diego, and I have to see Matthews about you handing over the Hargreaves case to him this week.’
Michael shuddered at the mention of Matthews’s name. Like fingernails on a blackboard, the name cut through him to the bare bone.
‘It’s not that I don’t think you’re up to the case, Diego,’ Claire continued, studying his face. ‘I just need someone who can give this new investigation some insight. You told me once – fleetingly, I might add – that you had a religious upbringing. Your knowledge could prove crucial.’
He shook his head. ‘I haven’t attended church since I was a kid. I hated it. My mother forced me to memorise scripture to the point where I would have gladly torn my own eyes out if it meant I never had to read any of it again. I’ve erased it from my memory.’
‘Well, you’d better un-erase it.’
‘We always said that what happened wouldn’t affect us working together.’
Claire sighed. ‘Seriously, please don’t turn this into some…Diego-drama. I’ve got too much on my plate right now.’ Her BlackBerry rang again. She removed it from her bag and he caught the look on her face when she saw the caller ID.
‘Haven’t we all? We all have shit to deal with, Claire,’ he said, edging closer towards her. She pulled the BlackBerry from his line of vision, but made no attempt to answer the call. ‘Is this,’ he said, gesturing towards the phone, ‘the reason you were AWOL this morning?’
She avoided his eyes, glanced at the screen again and killed the call. A few seconds later, a voicemail alert broke the awkward silence between them.
‘Fuck’s sake…’ she said, gripping the phone tighter in a sweaty palm.
Michael leaned in too close for comfort. Claire pushed past him, BlackBerry now at her ear as she listened to the message. He watched her, mouth parting when he saw her getting back into her car.
‘Where are you going now?’
Claire squinted at the sun and reached for her shades. She started the engine and snapped her seatbelt in place, as Michael banged his hand on the window. ‘Claire!’
She wound down the passenger-side window, but didn’t speak.
‘Where are you going?’ he said.
‘I’ve got to run a quick errand.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘I’ll be back in half an hour.’ She paused, then said, ‘Hour, tops.’
He moved back from the car as she began to reverse. He shouted after her. ‘What’s wrong?’
The car stopped reversing, and her face looked pained. ‘What’s wrong?’ she muttered. ‘The thorn in my side.’
CHAPTER 5
Haverbridge town centre was teeming with Wednesday afternoon shoppers enjoying the glorious sunshine.
The Costa coffee shop was doing a roaring trade, with not a seat to be found at the metal tables and chairs scattered about outside.
Inside felt like a blazing inferno; the hot pastries and lattes combined with the heat of the day had many of its employees congregating behind the shop in the shade, just to find some form of relief.
A young male employee with Dean emblazoned across his name badge stooped to wipe down a vacant table. As he began to wipe the crumbs to the floor and remove the circle of coffee-ring stains, he glanced up, catching the flash of red in his peripheral vision.
Then he saw her, her red hair almost glowing in the sunlight like hellfire. She was small and slender, with very pale skin which was like porcelain.
Dean’s eyes followed after her, looking at her from the top of her head, past her light-green top, to tight low-slung jeans, to her simple black open-backed flats. She casually slung her large leather bag higher on her shoulder before disappearing in the crowd.
Mesmerised, Dean walked away from the table. He tried to keep her in his sights, but soon the fiery hair was lost in a sea of ordinary faces.
***
Amelia had known he was looking.
Why wouldn’t he? Most men did, and from past experience, so did women on occasion.
She smiled to herself as she opened her bag and caught sight of the red stain running the length of her thumb, smudged and flaky.
Blood really did get everywhere. She knew what happened could have been so different, less violence, less mess, less frenzied.
But then it would have been less enjoyable. Less fitting.
She raised her hand to her lips, and licked the blood from her thumb. Then she searched for her keys. She raised her security fob to the sensor on the heavy door and awaited the red glow from the panel before pushing the door and entering the communal halls.
She walked to the lift that would take her to her floor, which always smelt of urine and was decorated with some form of new graffiti each day.
Living above shops in the centre of town, sharing the area with drug dealers and users alike, was as good as it got. When she reached the doors to the lift she saw a large piece of white paper sellotaped roughly across the stainless steel and remembered the lift was out of order still.
She sighed, heading towards the door leading to the stairwells. As she pushed the glass door open she remembered the day she first came here to view the flat.
It had been another hot day not unlike this one, and she’d deliberately worn a low-cut top and a short low-slung skirt to distract the estate agent when they discussed the monthly rent.
As planned, he’d taken the bait.
All men are weak…
He would tell the landlord she accepted the monthly rent but he would ‘fix the books’, as he put it, and she would pay less.
‘It will be our little secret of course,’ he’d said.
‘I can’t thank you enough, Mr Brown,’ Amelia had replied in her sweetest of voices.
He’d extended his hand once again, eyes narrowed. ‘Call me Adrian, I insist.’
Amelia had almost reached the top of the stairs and she shuddered, recalling the events that had taken place that afternoon.
She turned to face another door leading to the second floor of flats, and pushed it half-heartedly, the hinges squeaking.
The once brightly painted wood, now a grimy shade of brown, had been vandalised again. The frosted glass window had been smashed for the second time in two weeks and there was additional coloured graffiti climbing the length of the door frame.
Amelia wandered further along the corridor, hearing a dog bark from behind the door of flat fifteen, not unlike any other day, but it made her jump nonetheless.
Although keeping animals in the flats was prohibited, she knew that tenant had probably struck a deal with Adrian to keep him sweet.
Besides, considering what she’d seen, no one with any common sense would confront the tenant about the noise level from the dog. Most people draw the line at suicide.
After walking past a few more doors, Amelia rested her head against her own, not wanting to enter. After a few moments of staring at the heavily soiled brown carpet beneath her feet, she forced her key into the lock and quickly turned it.
She pushed the door open and kicked off her shoes before dumping her bag down on the kitchen table. She pulled a chair out from under the table, went to the fridge, retrieved a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass, before returning to the table and taking a seat. She took a long drink from the large glass and stared around at her tiny living area.
The walls were painted a neutral colour throughout the flat, with plain light-coloured carpets. She had a small red two-seat sofa in the corner facing a small portable television set. Her battered coffee table had seen better days, but it’d been a bargain purchase from a charity shop in the centre of town.
Her thoughts were broken by the thudding of a stereo above her head, which seemed to shake the ceiling to a continuous beat.
Sighing, she opened her bag, her breathing suddenly rapid as she zipped apart the soft leather. She found the blister pack of small white pills, popped one out and swallowed it dry.
The stereo above her head pounded harder and Amelia checked her watch. Soon she would welcome the distraction of the music above; it would give her something to focus on and forget where she was and what she was doing.
During her life, Amelia had learnt how to detach herself from her body and imagine she was somewhere else.
Today would be no different.
Glancing at her watch again, she headed towards the bedroom. She began to remove her clothes, folded them neatly and placed them on the cream-coloured duvet in front of her. She drew the dark-red curtains, blocking most of the light from the room, which now cast black-red shadows across her face.
She hoped it would be in the dark this time, and then she wouldn’t have to keep her eyes open and pretend she wanted to be there.
As was routine, she pulled back the duvet and slid between the sheets. She shivered at the coolness of the fabric against her skin. As the bed began to warm with the heat of her body, it offered little comfort while she waited.
Then she heard a key turn in the front door.
The hinges whined as the door swung open then closed softly. She heard shoes being removed and slung carelessly, thudding on the floor. She heard the heavy footsteps approaching the bedroom door, hesitating before the door was pushed open.
A shaft of light broke the shadows in the room and she closed her eyes tight, pretending to be asleep. The door shut and someone moved closer to the bed and Amelia tried to sneak a look beneath her thick eyelashes.
She saw a tall shadow move around the foot of the bed and peek through the curtains.
He is so afraid of being caught…and I wish he would be.
The figure at the curtain pulled the material shut and then wandered back around the bed towards the light switch.
Amelia winced at the sudden break in the darkness, her eyes trying to adjust as she slowly opened them, seeing him looking at her.
‘I told you I want the lights on. That was the agreement,’ said Adrian.
‘Your agreement. Not mine,’ she spat as she rolled over to face towards the window.
Adrian smiled as he removed his navy suit jacket, placing it over the back of a chair. He unbuttoned his light-blue shirt.
Amelia glanced over her shoulder towards him. She could tell he’d recently visited the tanning salon, judging by his golden tan. His hair looked freshly styled too, glued into place with expensive hair gel. His fingernails were also well groomed and his fingers set off with expensive rings.
Amelia hated what money could do to people. She hated the way Adrian paraded himself around with his expensive suits and fast cars. She hated the way he could talk his way into people’s heads and convince them to part with vast amounts of money for a new home. He would even take extra money from people and keep it for himself, despite his h
igh pay grade and commission perks. She hated this and she hated him.
Her thoughts were broken when she saw him remove his underwear, and then approach the bed.
‘I haven’t got long today. I have a viewing to do at three,’ he whispered as his hand clasped her shoulder.
Amelia lay back and detached herself from the moment.
Robotically she spent the next twenty minutes making the right moves and noises in the right places before he finished, dressed, then left as quickly as he’d arrived.
***
After Amelia had scrubbed herself so hard her skin almost bled, she had towelled off and sat on the bed staring at her phone in one hand and Adrian’s business card in the other.
After she’d put in a call to Adrian’s office and hung up, she drafted a text message to send to the name listed only as ‘G’ in the contacts list.
Made the call. Will let you know when it’s done… A
She hit send.
Amelia knew the plan set for her and knew she’d have no trouble executing it to its full exquisite potential. She only hoped that when it came down to it, she had enough self-control not to cut too deep.
CHAPTER 6
The light from the sun beating down on her head flashed across the black plastic of her sunglasses as she tilted her head towards the sky.
Drawing the last pull on the cigarette pinched tightly between her fingers, Claire exhaled a stream of smoke from between parched lips, and felt as if her very being was becoming more withered with each step she took.
She glanced down at the butt of the cigarette, stopped in her tracks and flicked it to the ground. She watched it roll into the gutter, joining the rest that had been discarded near the entrance of Gladstone Court.
Claire cocked her head skyward once again.
Her second visit here today in such a short space of time. Someone’s idea of a sick joke. Was this all her life was meant to be from now on?
The old council block loomed above, the dull redbrick cutting an ominous shape through the bright blue sky.
To Claire, coming here meant putting on a brave face. It meant trying to cast aside the memories of the past, if only temporarily. It meant casting away the pain she had tried to bury for all these years.
For All Our Sins: A gripping thriller with a killer twist (DCI Claire Winters, Book 1) Page 3