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

by T. M. E. Walsh

***

  Manuela was glad to show off the Manor’s grounds and to be out of the stuffiness of the building.

  He walked Claire around the neatly trimmed lawns and flowerbeds, naming each plant for her in turn. They drew closer to the Rose Garden and Claire seized her chance.

  ‘Father, I’m going to go back to what I said about the body of Ashe Miller.’ Manuela just looked at her and nodded. ‘As I said, his death bears similarities to Father Wainwright’s, with some exceptions, which I’m sure you’ve read about in the press.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Well, not everything was released to the media. We found a letter on Malcolm’s body.’

  Manuela stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her. Sweat beaded along his brow. All his thoughts went back to Hawthorne’s words after Wainwright’s funeral.

  Somebody knows what we did…

  ‘A letter?’

  Claire nodded. ‘Here,’ she said, pulling a copy from her jacket pocket, and handing it to him. She’d committed the words to memory and repeated them to him as he read the text. He looked at her, and she noticed he’d turned white.

  ‘Any idea what it means?’ His voice sounded strained.

  She shook her head and they carried on walking, heading towards the Rose Garden.

  ‘It could just be the killer playing with us. Could mean nothing,’ she said, turning to him again so his eyes were staring into hers. ‘Then again, it could mean everything.’ She nodded towards the Rose Garden. ‘When did you have the bushes planted, Father?’

  Manuela looked away from her.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure.’

  She followed him as he walked ahead of her. He stared at the rose bushes. ‘Roughly?’ she asked. Manuela thought for a few moments.

  ‘About four or five years ago, I suppose.’

  Claire edged closer to the rose bushes and kicked her shoes around the soil. She dug a small shallow hole with the tip of her foot.

  ‘Please don’t do that.’

  She cocked an eyebrow at him.

  ‘You’re making it untidy.’

  Claire mumbled an apology and stared at the roses. Her mind went over all the information she’d heard over the last hour, and was certain these rose bushes somehow held the key to the whole investigation.

  CHAPTER 45

  Glenn Wright had spent his entire fifteen years in the fire service saving lives, and slept well every night in the knowledge that he made a difference. He’d never lost a soul yet on his watch and had made a solemn vow never to do so as long as he was in charge.

  It had come as quite a surprise when he’d been told by his colleagues that there had been a fatality in the penthouse suite they had been called to in the early hours of the morning.

  ‘It’s not a pretty sight, boss,’ said the usually cheerful Matt Walker. Glenn looked at his colleague’s soot-covered face and sad eyes, which stood out bright against the thick black smudges.

  Glenn lowered his head and shook it. ‘I guess you just can’t save everybody.’

  Matt placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, as word got round that what they’d first assumed was probably the result of a faulty wiring system in the new blocks was now obviously a murder.

  Inside the flat, everything was coal black and still smouldering. The flames had destroyed almost everything and the only recognisable shapes left were the charred skeletons of the expensive furniture Adrian had decorated his flat with.

  Glenn entered the building holding his breath, bracing himself for what was to come. He took a deep breath before following Matt inside the flat.

  Whatever he was expecting, nothing prepared him for what he faced now.

  Adrian’s flesh was a pulpy mess of black and deep crimson, fused to the chair he’d been tied to.

  There wasn’t much left of his face, the only recognisable feature being his jaw, which appeared to be caught in a silent scream.

  Glenn took one look at what remained of the man and vomited. He stumbled sideways and Matt grabbed him before he collapsed on the floor.

  ‘Shit!’

  He started backing out of the room, holding Glenn, taking his weight on his own shoulders. ‘Somebody help me here!’ Two more firefighters shouldered Glenn’s weight and they staggered out of the flat.

  When they’d helped him outside and into the waiting ambulance, he was already unbuttoning his jacket.

  As a paramedic wiped the vomit from his face, Glenn gripped Matt’s shoulder hard and leaned in closer. His breath caught Matt off guard, the smell causing him to recoil. Glenn didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Did you see his hands?’ he said, his throat feeling raw. ‘His hands, his arms, pulled back behind the chair.’ Matt handed Glenn a plastic cup of water, which he pushed away. ‘God damn it, did you see it?!’

  Matt looked at him and lowered his head, nodding. He handed him the water again and this time Glenn took it and drank it in one go. ‘What sick bastard did that?’ he said, his breath coming in short sharp gasps.

  Matt looked at him.

  ‘We don’t know what happened yet. Not for sure.’

  Glenn leaned closer again. ‘Someone must’ve tied him to that chair, Walker. No one would just sit there and burn to death.’

  ‘He might’ve been dead before the fire started. We can’t start making assumptions,’ Matt said, looking the paramedic square in the eyes. She looked away, trying to ignore the conversation.

  ‘We need the police down here now,’ Glenn said, before bending forward and spitting onto the pavement.

  ‘They’re on the way as we speak.’

  He put his hand on Glenn’s shoulder for comfort. Glenn nodded his appreciation before reaching forward and vomiting again, onto the pavement.

  CHAPTER 46

  After leaving the Manor, Claire returned to the station and tried Chloe’s mobile number she had on file. She got a voicemail service, and left a message. When she hung up, she found the number for Paradis.

  After being passed between two different people in the office, she finally got put through to Joe Carter.

  If he was irritated about her call, he hid it well.

  ‘I’ve not seen Chloe yet, Chief Inspector. She’s not due in for a few hours yet, but I’ll be sure to pass on your message when I see her.’

  Claire doubted that.

  ‘It’s really important that I speak with her,’ she said, despite knowing it would mean nothing to Joe.

  ‘I’m sure it is, but I don’t control the girls’ actions outside the club.’

  Claire paused then.

  ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ Joe said.

  He heard the line go dead.

  ‘She’s hung up,’ he said, replacing the receiver in its cradle. He looked up, across his desk. ‘I think it’s about time you told me what the hell’s going on, don’t you?’

  Sitting back in her chair, Chloe Jenkins lowered her eyes from his, and bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from breaking down right there in front of him.

  CHAPTER 47

  ‘I hear you found yourself a crispy critter yesterday.’ Michael leaned across Matthews’s desk, and grinned. Matthews raised his face to look into his eyes, then returned to his computer screen and nodded.

  He knew he was lucky to be the SIO on this investigation. If Claire hadn’t been so involved with the Wainwright and Miller murder, she would’ve snapped this one up in an instant. It would be just another achievement on her CV, and Matthews had every intention of rising to Claire’s level and higher, even if it meant losing friends on the way.

  He judged from the jibe that Michael didn’t think he was up to it. Matthews would prove him wrong.

  ‘So, any ideas yet? I heard he was completely unidentifiable.’

  Matthews remained focused on his computer, typing a few words into an email, not making eye contact with Michael.

  ‘We need to get a positive ID from his dental records, but it’s likely a man called Adrian Brown. Tha
t’s the name on the mortgage agreement for the penthouse. If it is him, he’s got priors.’

  Michael nodded and picked up a file on Matthews’s desk and opened it, flicking through the pages. He saw the crime scene photographs of Adrian’s body and pulled a face. ‘Nasty…’

  Matthews snatched the file from him.

  ‘That doesn’t concern you, Diego.’

  Michael frowned at him. ‘Protective, aren’t you? Just ’cos you’re SIO…’ He leaned in closer. ‘It doesn’t bother me. While I’m on the case that’s gone national, you’re knee-deep in charred flesh, scraping some twat off the bottom of your shoe.’ He pushed himself away from the desk.

  ‘That was somebody’s son, you know.’

  Michael stopped and turned his head to look over his shoulder. Matthews was now standing up, his hands at his waist. ‘How would you feel if that was your loved one, tied down and burnt alive?’

  Michael moved closer. ‘This ought to be good.’

  ‘I don’t care for your attitude, Diego. Remember your rank… One word to Claire…’ He trailed off. ‘You’re hanging on by a thread.’

  Michael was now in front of his desk. He stared at Matthews, making him uncomfortable, before he broke out laughing.

  ‘You’re a funny man, David.’ Matthews’s face remained guarded, his jaw set firm. ‘He’s somebody’s son and all that? Brown was an estate agent.’ He paused and looked Matthews hard in the eyes. ‘I reckon there’s a few people out there now who are kinda glad there’s one less of them in the world.’

  ‘You’re a sick son of a bitch,’ Matthews said, as he sat back down in his chair.

  Michael grinned and put his hand up to his face to rub his nose. ‘How’s your face, by the way?’ Matthews looked down, ashamed by the bruising around his nose and eye. ‘Still smarting?’ Michael added.

  Matthews went to respond but stopped when he saw Claire appear in the doorway.

  She looked Michael hard in the face. ‘Team briefing. Boardroom. Now.’

  ***

  As they climbed the stairs to the top floor, Claire watched Michael carefully. ‘You know, you should take my advice and stop yanking Matthews’s chain every five minutes,’ she said, as he turned to face her, blocking people from coming up or down the stairs.

  ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

  She moved him to one side with her arm, and people filed past them. ‘No, I’m not. I’m getting complaints about you.’

  Michael avoided her eyes. ‘For God’s sake…’

  ‘And it’s not just from Matthews. I have someone to answer to as well, Sergeant. Best you not forget that.’

  He looked at her, and noticed that this time she seemed to be offering genuine advice. Her eyes were silently pleading with him. After a few uncomfortable seconds, he nodded as he pushed past her and into the boardroom.

  Everyone was helping themselves to the fresh orange juice and coffee that was sitting on the sideboard next to the large glass conference table. They were still waiting for some people to arrive, so Michael grabbed a handful of biscuits from a plate in the middle of the table.

  After several minutes Claire was ready to start.

  CHAPTER 48

  Dr Danika Schreiber was glad of her surgical mask as she leaned in closer to the burnt corpse laid out on the slab in front of her.

  She paused and checked her findings several times before she committed them to the tape. This was an expedited PM at Claire’s request. She was rushed off her feet, but determined to remain calm, and allow herself no room for error.

  ‘Looking at his skull, it’s clear he sustained serious blunt trauma to his head before he was burnt alive,’ she said to her assistant.

  Paul Farringdon bent over the body for a closer look and grimaced.

  Paul was only a trainee but he had grown close to Danika in the short months since his placement, and during this time he’d witnessed a lot.

  He’d learnt how long it took maggots to eat through a decomposing body and how to gauge how long someone had been dead. He’d seen a woman’s body jerk as it expelled gases, and nearly died from fright after first witnessing it.

  He’d seen the bodies of cancer victims young and old, and observed the horrific effects that drug abuse can bestow upon its victims, along with the bodies of the homeless, who had died from the cold and starvation.

  Then there were the babies that had been stillborn and he’d told himself that, for whatever reason, Mother Nature could be cruel and didn’t discriminate against age and innocence.

  Despite the horrific truth that lay in seeing death up close, these had been deaths by either natural causes or self-inflicted torment.

  Adrian Brown was Paul’s first murder victim, and although he knew it wouldn’t be his last, he couldn’t help but feel sick at the sight of what man could inflict upon his fellow man. The human condition, he’d surmised, could be brutal, cold, and unrelenting.

  ‘Do you think he was unconscious in the fire?’ he said.

  Danika pulled a face and didn’t look positive. ‘I hope he was, but I think it’s doubtful. Whoever did this had a lot of rage inside them. I think they wanted him to suffer as much as possible. They wanted him to feel every ounce of pain before the body shut down, unable to take any more.’

  Paul swallowed hard, knowing how much it’d hurt when he’d burnt himself with his own lighter by accident when lighting a cigarette. ‘I don’t understand. Who was he, to deserve this?’

  Danika shook her head. ‘We’re not here to ask why. We’re here to help piece together the puzzle of how it happened.’

  Realising she sounded a little cold, she turned and looked at him.

  She pulled her mask over her chin. ‘We can’t become emotionally involved, as hard as it is sometimes, no matter what we see. We have to accept life can be this cruel. Some will not have the good fortune to die from old age in their beds at night, even if that’s the least they deserved.’

  Paul nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I knew what I was signing up for but still… I guess you can never completely prepare yourself for this.’

  Danika smiled and went back to examining the body.

  After an hour she was ready to make her phone call. She didn’t want to leave it until Matthews had read her report. She picked up the receiver sitting beside her desk and punched in the numbers. She waited a few rings before Matthews answered at the other end.

  CHAPTER 49

  Claire had finished writing the information about both Wainwright and Miller on the whiteboard in two separate columns. She’d written in bullet points what they knew about each man and the nature of their deaths, before turning and facing her team.

  ‘I’m going to open this briefing up for discussion now. I want to hear your theories: Why the mutilation of the chest? Is it symbolic? What does this tell us about the killer? Do we think both men died at the hand of the same person?’

  Michael was the first to speak.

  ‘I think it’s still too early to say if it’s the same killer, but my guess is the mutilation of the chest area is symbolic.’

  ‘I think the killer’s just blood drunk. There’s no meaning behind it. The killer did it just because they could,’ said DC Brooke Fielding, a tall, skinny woman in her mid-thirties.

  Michael looked at her with some disdain and turned in his chair to face her. ‘I’d like to know what makes you think there’s no meaning behind it.’

  ‘Well, there’s no significant link between either victim. They’re miles apart in terms of their lives, social group and character. They didn’t know each other, so we should assume there’s no calculated reason to the mutilations. It’s just a barbaric act.’ She looked at the other faces around the table and felt quite pleased with her spiel.

  Michael started to grin.

  ‘Just because there’s no obvious link between them doesn’t mean there isn’t one. If my previous work with killers with an agenda has taught me nothing else, I know that when somebody takes the time to carv
e open a chest and pull back muscle mass to the ribcage, you’re looking at someone trying to make a point.

  ‘They risk being caught by taking the time to do the act in the first place. We’re dealing with someone who has a lot of strength, both mental and physical. A person who perhaps knows no boundaries and who is trying to tell us something. There’s no randomness about them or their crime. The biggest proof we have of that is the letter left under the folds of Wainwright’s skin. Perhaps our biggest clue.’

  Fielding looked at him and then at the faces of those around her. She then felt stupid. They all seemed to be agreeing with Michael, and as reluctant as she felt to admit it, she guessed he had a valid point.

  Claire decided to break the tension. ‘Michael’s right, but any ideas what this could be symbolising? Wainwright was a priest, so are we looking at this from a purely religious angle?’

  ‘I think that’s a strong possibility but Miller’s the elephant in the room. He was a junkie with no known interest in faith but, having said that, our killer could be seen to be trying to instil faith in him,’ said Michael.

  Claire gestured for him to explain. ‘How so?’

  ‘Maybe allowing Miller to cross over or be accepted into God’s arms. If you look at many religions, even the ones that go back as far as the Egyptians, Mayans or the Aztecs, they all believed in offerings to appease their God, or gods. If you believe the Bible story, Abraham almost sacrificed his own son to show his love for God. Maybe our killer is offering his victims.’

  ‘Offering what? Their blood?’ Fielding said.

  Michael looked at her and shook his head. ‘No, not blood. It goes deeper than that… I’m talking about the soul.’

  Claire wrote Michael’s idea on the board. ‘So our killer thinks they deserve to die for whatever reason. Does he think God speaks to him?’

  ‘Maybe. It’s just a theory,’ Michael said, shrugging his shoulders back at her. ‘Maybe they did something wrong that the killer feels they should be punished for. Kill them all and let God sort them out, is something I’ve heard before.’