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

by T. M. E. Walsh

  ‘Shall we?’ said Michael, smiling at her.

  He led her through the crowd and towards a waiter carrying a tray of canapés. He helped himself and she watched as he stuffed them into his mouth, pulling a face. He picked up two flutes of champagne and handed one to her.

  He paused when he saw her face. ‘What?’

  ‘You always did eat like a pig,’ she said, taking the glass and turning her back on him. He shrugged, helping himself to more food.

  Claire looked around at the other ladies in their finery and glanced at her reflection in a large mirror across the room. She looked better than most of the women present and she raised her head high with her shoulders back as she walked across the ballroom floor to meet the Mayor.

  Michael, oblivious to Claire’s departure, carried on filling a plate with finger food before he became aware of someone standing next to him. He glanced up and was faced with the smug grin of David Matthews.

  Michael swore inwardly, but managed a smile. Matthews stood with his hands in the pockets of his fine ivory-coloured suit trousers, a big grin cut across his face.

  ‘Did you know you’re the one they say will tame the wild beast, Mickey?’ He nudged Michael’s arm.

  Michael frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’ He stuffed more food into his mouth. ‘And don’t call me Mickey.’

  Matthews gestured towards Claire, who was busy talking to the Mayor, laughing at his jokes and taking his compliments on her dress. Michael saw Claire’s ex-husband, DCI Simon Forester, walking towards her.

  He must have paid her a compliment, judging by her body language.

  ‘Come on, mate, you know what I mean,’ Matthews continued, leaning in so close that Michael could smell the alcohol on his breath. ‘Reigniting the old flame with the ice maiden.’

  Michael tried to walk away but Matthews put his hand on his shoulder and laughed. ‘Come on, it’s just a bit of banter between friends.’

  Michael watched as Matthews took a champagne flute from the table and swallowed half of the expensive fizz in one go. He could easily punch him in the mouth right here and now, and not care.

  ‘Just so you know, and I know I can say this because we’re quite alike you and I—’

  ‘I doubt that,’ Michael said.

  ‘I just wanted to say well done… Well done for getting the best fucked-up case we’ve seen in a long time, and I just wanted to say no one, and I mean no one, thinks you got in on it because you’re in and out of the Guv all day and night.’

  Matthews leaned in closer and winked suggestively.

  Nothing prepared him for what happened next.

  His alcohol level had dulled his senses considerably but he was still more than aware of Michael’s fist hurtling towards his face at high velocity.

  Even though he felt no pain at first, he heard the sickening crunch of his nose and felt his blood gushing down his face. The last thing he saw was red streaks over his clothes and Michael being dragged away by security, his legs and fists straining to get at him.

  CHAPTER 34

  It’d started to rain that evening, despite the heat and sunshine of the day, and the streets in the old market town of Hitchin seemed to form a miniature river on the uneven cobbles on the Market Square.

  Adrian Brown cursed under his breath as his expensive suit soaked up the water, as he dipped and weaved in between people also seeking shelter.

  Despite the rain, the pubs and clubs were still heaving with people enjoying their Saturday night before the drudge of Monday morning crept upon them again all too soon.

  Adrian didn’t know the area too well, so he stopped under the light of a nearby lamp post and glanced at his mobile phone. The message he’d received earlier had told him to be in the Red Hart pub at 9:00pm sharp and if rumours were to be believed, he should abide by that.

  It was just before nine and Adrian recalled the phone conversation he’d had with the man earlier.

  Adrian had asked how he would know the man.

  The reply had been unnerving; the man would know him and he should sit in a table in the corner furthest from the bar which would be kept free for them to conclude their business. He should wait to be approached and not ask any questions before then.

  As Adrian headed towards the pub, a youth bumped hard into his shoulder. A surge of pain ravaged its way through Adrian’s nervous system and he gripped the wound on his shoulder.

  Deep inside, he cursed Amelia Williams and strode on ahead.

  ***

  The pub was heaving with patrons of all ages and Adrian immediately regretted wearing his suit. This was a rockers’ pub and everyone was dressed in a variety of clothes representing their taste in music, from punks to indie boys.

  Dating back to the 1500s, the Red Hart was not only the oldest public house in Hitchin but also the last place where the town had held a public hanging. Adrian couldn’t help but raise a smile when he’d read that on the internet earlier that day.

  How apt.

  As he pushed through the entrance he was faced with a huge man, both in girth and height, dressed in leather, head shaven. He loomed over him, arms folded.

  Adrian swallowed hard and sweat began to bead at his brow. The man gestured for him to follow, and he led him to two chairs and two pints on a dirty-looking table.

  Adrian stared at the large man, then the table.

  The man pressed a huge meaty hand on Adrian’s shoulder, forcing him down into one of the chairs, casting him a hard glare before returning to the bar.

  Adrian stared around the pub.

  Everyone was having a good time, talking, drinking and behaving rowdily. Everyone seemed to ignore the table and free chair opposite him, despite the pub heaving with bodies and lack of seating.

  After a few minutes eyeing the pint in front of him, he picked it up and downed half of it in one mouthful to steady his nerves.

  A further five minutes or so passed before a shadow fell over the table.

  Adrian looked up, swallowing hard.

  In front of him stood a tall fat man of about forty with receding brown hair. His eyes were close together, sunk deep within his skull, with a thin mouth and large nose. His huge gut hung over his black jeans and tried to burst free of his Black Sabbath T-shirt.

  He inspected Adrian like he was an insect he wanted to squash, before sitting down in the spare chair. He remained silent, just staring.

  ‘Mr Hargreaves?’ Adrian’s voice was somewhat less confident than his usual bravado.

  ‘You can call me Gavin.’

  Adrian offered his hand but Hargreaves just stared at it, face blank, until Adrian retracted it, looking embarrassed.

  He was out of his depth associating with thugs like Hargreaves, but Amelia had given him no choice.

  He’d acquired Hargreaves’s mobile number after a chance meeting with an old friend who thrived in the gang culture in London. Adrian had confided in his friend, who’d recommended Hargreaves as someone who could make problems disappear but at a price.

  ‘You’re not what I expected, given the nature of your problem, Mr Brown,’ Hargreaves said, his voice low and gruff with a hint of a Scottish accent still audible, twenty years after leaving Falkirk. ‘I hope you have a photo of the subject?’

  He reached for his beer and drank deeply from the glass.

  Adrian reached inside his jacket pocket, produced a photo, placed it face down on the table and pushed it across the rough wood.

  Hargreaves’s eyes remained on Adrian as he casually picked up the photo and raised it to his face, before finally looking at it. He grinned. ‘Pretty.’

  Adrian nodded and pulled out a folded piece of paper from his jacket and passed it to Hargreaves. ‘Don’t be fooled by her appearance. She’s stronger and tougher than she looks,’ Adrian said, rubbing his wounded arm. Hargreaves looked up and laughed at him.

  ‘You tell me she took you by surprise. I tell you,’ he said, pointing a finger in Adrian’s face, ‘I wouldn’t have let her g
et so close in the first place.’

  Adrian felt somewhat annoyed at being made to look less of a man by the thug sitting in front of him. ‘I don’t think you understand. She’s unstable, unpredictable.’

  Hargreaves looked at the paper Adrian had passed to him. It had Amelia’s address printed on it. Hargreaves frowned.

  ‘This is the same flats where the Miller murder took place. It’ll be crawling with filth… It’ll not surprise you that I’m known to them.’

  Adrian shrugged.

  ‘I don’t care where you do it, just as long as it’s done, and quickly.’

  He reached for what was left of his beer and finished it, glancing around him, hoping not to see anyone he knew.

  Hargreaves’s ability to intimidate was not through getting angry and losing his temper. He only had to use his words and eyes to strike fear into any man. He leaned forward, beckoning Adrian closer.

  ‘Have you ever physically hurt anyone, Mr Brown? Heard their screams and felt bones break in your hands? I judge by your expensive suit and well-groomed face that this is not a life known to you. My life, for instance.’

  Adrian shook his head. Not bloody likely.

  Hargreaves raised his finger in Adrian’s face, pointing at him before continuing.

  ‘You tell me you’ve been laundering money and fixing the company’s books for some time. Then you meet this girl and promise her cheap rent. Have I got it right so far, Mr Brown?’

  Adrian nodded, feeling drained. He wasn’t cut out for this.

  ‘I’m curious. What do you get from her in return?’

  Adrian blushed and thought before he answered. ‘Like you said, she’s a pretty girl.’

  Hargreaves smiled. ‘So she’s rejected you and you want revenge.’

  ‘She wanted to break the deal and continue getting reduced rent, then she stabbed me in the arm,’ Adrian said, raising his voice.

  ‘Hell hath no fury…as the saying goes,’ Hargreaves said, his stomach heaving up and down as he laughed.

  Adrian frowned and leaned across the table.

  ‘I’m paying you. It shouldn’t matter to you why I want the bitch out of the way.’

  ‘Money is something I have plenty of.’ He leaned closer. ‘Tell me why I should help a piece of shit like you?’ Adrian dared not answer. ‘You come in here acting all superior in your flashy suit and turn your nose up at people like me, yet deep down we’re alike.’

  ‘I’m nothing like you.’

  Hargreaves ignored him. ‘You didn’t care about this girl, you used her and now you want my help to do what you’re not man enough to do.’

  ‘I can make it worth your while.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘You said yourself she’s a pretty girl…you could do whatever you wanted to her before you frighten her off. That and the money is a fair deal, I think,’ Adrian said.

  ‘I could do that anyway. She’s not yours to give.’

  He eyed Adrian closely and could see he was in way over his head. ‘Tell you what I’ll do,’ he said. ‘You lure her to meet you somewhere, away from her flat. Me and my boys will pick her up, rough her up a little and scare her off, and make her give up the flat immediately. All it will cost you is 4K.’

  Adrian practically jumped from the table.

  ‘What! That’s double what we originally agreed!’ Adrian saw the man who showed him to his seat earlier suddenly up close beside him. He looked at Hargreaves, who remained seated and unfazed.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Brown. Don’t make a bigger cunt of yourself than you have already.’

  The big man forced Adrian back into his seat again. ‘You’re being unreasonable,’ Adrian said, fighting his nerves.

  ‘Your request is unreasonable. From what I can see, you deserved what she did. I like the sound of this woman and I won’t enjoy hurting her. You must understand I have to like my job, Mr Brown, and four thousand pounds cash would be sufficient to take pride in my work. I guarantee she wouldn’t bother you again.’

  He leaned back in his chair and placed his huge hands on his stomach. ‘And judging from what I’ve seen, you can more than afford it…take the offer or leave it.’

  Adrian thought for a long time, considering Hargreaves’s deal.

  Reluctantly he offered his hand to Hargreaves across the table.

  ‘You’ve got a deal. Make her suffer.’

  CHAPTER 35

  Michael knew he was getting off lightly, as he sat in a back office with a security guard, while Claire patched things up outside with the Mayflower Hall’s night manager.

  He flexed his fingers and bent his hand in several different directions, a dull ache growing in ferocity across his knuckles. Despite the pain and redness where he’d cut the skin, he felt satisfied when he thought back to the look on Matthews’s face.

  He smiled at the security guard, who stood opposite him, arms folded.

  ‘Don’t suppose I can smoke in here, can I? I feel like celebrating.’ The guard ignored him.

  After a few minutes Claire and the manager entered the room.

  ‘Mr Matthews has decided not to press charges. It could have been a lot worse for you I think, Mr Diego,’ the manager said in a thick Romanian accent. His tone was so stern that Michael felt like he was back in a school classroom.

  ‘That’s Sergeant Diego,’ he said.

  ‘Then act like it,’ Claire snapped. She then addressed the manager. ‘Thank you for being lenient. My colleague is under some pressure at the moment and isn’t always thinking straight. Although that doesn’t excuse his actions, I do hope you’ll accept my apologies once again.’

  The man smiled warmly at her. ‘Of course.’ He waved his hand to the security guard to leave the room. ‘Take as long as you need but I want him out. He’s not to go back to the Ball.’

  Claire turned and stared at Michael. He sat looking at the floor.

  ‘You could’ve broken his nose, Diego.’

  ‘I should’ve hit him harder then.’

  ‘I should have you suspended,’ she said, her voice sounding as tightly wound as a piano string. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you, but you can cut the crap right now… I’m beginning to regret signing you up for this case. You’re making a fool out of me.’

  Michael remained silent, letting her vent her anger.

  He thought about telling her why he hit Matthews. He doubted she’d feel so loyal then and would probably congratulate him. He decided against it though, and stood up to leave, but she blocked him.

  ‘I’ll call you a cab, until then you’re staying here,’ she said, pushing her hands against his shoulders. As she did so, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down on top of him in the chair, forcing his mouth against hers in a rough kiss.

  Claire pulled away and slapped him hard across the cheek. She struggled in his arms, but he held her too tight.

  She glared at him.

  As his eyes met hers, all the old feelings she once had for him began to surface, and she felt herself giving in to an old habit, which had died hard not so long ago.

  February 2012

  ‘Simon suspects something,’ she said, lowering her eyes and staring at the stark white messy sheets on the hotel bed. All she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat as she awaited his response.

  She raised her eyes to stare at his torso as he lay close to her, his chest rising and falling as if he were in the midst of a peaceful slumber.

  Claire studied his face and realised that he had indeed fallen asleep. She cursed. Why did men always fall asleep after sex? She’d thought Michael would be different but after several weeks of hiding her secret, she’d realised that her colleague wasn’t much different to any other man she’d slept with.

  Better, but not different.

  She sat up and gave him a sharp dig in the ribs. He bolted upright with a yelp and stared at her, confused, rubbing his side with his hand.

  ‘What was that for?!’

  ‘I would’ve t
hought it was obvious.’ She studied his eyes and remained poker-faced. After a few seconds of looking at his blank face, she sighed. ‘You fell asleep.’ He looked at her and rolled over on his side, his face screwed up in disbelief.

  ‘Crazy bitch.’

  He felt her get up from the bed and she appeared beside him, completely naked. He opened one eye and stared at her stomach, his eyes lowering further. ‘Are you presenting?’ he asked with a grin.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About Simon.’

  ‘Why’s it always about Simon?’ he sighed, rolling onto his back again. She sat perched on the side of the bed, staring at him.

  ‘Because he’s my husband.’

  He stared back into her eyes and felt himself sink inside. ‘Look, Claire, we’ve been over this. When we’re together, we’re here to forget about everything else and just concentrate on each other.’ He looked bitter. ‘I don’t want to keep hearing about him.’

  ‘It’s a little hard not to think about him. He’s my husband.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit late to suddenly have a conscience?’

  ‘I feel guilty.’

  ‘That’s ’cos you are.’

  He saw her recoil. He reached for her hand, but found it hard to offer her much sympathy. ‘You should’ve thought about this before you started sleeping with me.’

  Claire was hurt but knew he was right.

  She started thinking back on all the lies she’d told to get where she was, here in this luxury suite, to which they were regular visitors.

  Surprisingly to Claire, she didn’t care that it was obvious to the hotel staff what they were up to. All that had mattered was being with Michael, but now she was not so sure.

  Their relationship had always been love-hate, even more so when Claire thought back to the day they’d shared their first passionate kiss. They were in their element when together in passion but once it was over, they reverted back to sniping at each other.

  The next days and weeks would follow the same cycle. For some reason they lived for it. Neither one wanted it to end, but Claire could feel his lust dwindling, while hers grew until she began to fear it could take on a new identity and grow into something she feared.