‘Don’t treat me like an idiot and stop patronising me.’ She pushed his hands away just as Matthews came around the corner to look for them. He stared at them both and Claire pushed past him. ‘Go home, Diego,’ she said over her shoulder.
‘Guv,’ Matthews called after her. ‘Gabe spoke to that Norman Tyler, one of the last people to see Wainwright in the last twenty-four hours before he was killed.’
He waited until she’d turned to face him and waved a file at her. ‘Tyler saw Wainwright at Toralei’s, having dinner with his housekeeper the night before he died, went over to say hello since he attends Wainwright’s church.’
‘We know this, Matthews,’ Michael said.
‘Yeah, but what Tyler didn’t mention before, not until Gabe pushed him harder, was that he saw a woman who had been staring at Wainwright. He said she’d looked white as a sheet and angry. Gabe checked the security footage from the restaurant, recognised her straight away.’
Claire reached out her hand as she walked back towards him. She took the file from him. Inside were a few photographs – stills taken from CCTV footage.
The photographs showed a man sitting in the far corner of the room away from Wainwright and his housekeeper.
The man had his back to the camera from its angle in the corner of the room, mounted high to the ceiling. Claire couldn’t make out anything recognisable of the man but she instantly knew the woman sitting opposite.
Chloe Jenkins.
Claire’s face hardened. Michael looked over her shoulder.
‘Shit…’
Claire’s eyes rose to meet his. She turned and headed down the corridor without saying another word to either of them.
‘Claire,’ Michael shouted after her, but Matthews touched his elbow. Michael instantly snatched it away, giving Matthews a look of annoyance.
‘Cool your jets, mate. Let her go.’ Michael stared at the back of Claire’s head as she headed out the door at the end of the corridor. Before he could think straight, Matthews spoke again. ‘Williams has just been released pending further enquiries.’
Michael nodded. Matthews’s face grew uncertain, gesturing towards the door.
‘She looks exhausted.’
‘She’ll be fine.’
‘She’s taken on both the Wainwright and Miller investigations, not to mention Brown and Hargreaves. I think she’s going to crack.’
Michael shook his head. ‘Don’t underestimate her,’ he said.
Matthews patted him on the shoulder. ‘You and me have had our differences, I know, but…be careful you don’t confuse the case with your own personal feelings,’ he said, as he walked away.
CHAPTER 59
Despite the late hour Claire sat in her car trying to make sense of everything.
Her fingers massaged her temples, as a headache began to surface.
She slumped back in the seat and rolled down the window. Warm air rushed in and hit her flushed face. Even the night air brought little respite from the heatwave they were experiencing during the days.
She picked up her BlackBerry and went to the phone book. She scrolled through the list until she came to the one she was after.
Dad’s house phone.
Her finger hovered over the call button. Then she thought better of it and threw the phone on the passenger seat. She sat there for a few minutes, her mind going over the last words she’d spoken to her father.
He brought it on himself, she told herself.
She watched Michael leave the station, cross the car park and light a cigarette. He leaned up against his car and arched his head back as he exhaled a stream of smoke into the air. He gazed up at the stars above.
She thought about going over to him, crying her eyes out in frustration and allowing him to comfort her. Claire made it a rule never to cry in front of anyone but for Michael she was willing to make an exception.
She watched him take off his suit jacket and throw it onto the back seat of his car. She felt guilty when her thoughts rushed back to the night of the Charity Ball. She noticed his shirt was sticking to his body with sweat and there was no doubt in her mind where it would lead if she did seek his comfort.
After another minute he squashed the cigarette under his foot, got inside the car, and the headlights lit up.
Claire ducked her head a little, even though she guessed she was parked too far away for him to notice her, and watched him pull away out of sight.
Forget about Michael Diego… Easier said than done.
She shook herself, pulling herself together, and her thoughts dragged her back to Chloe Jenkins. She glanced at her watch. Paradis would still be letting customers in.
She started the car and headed into town.
CHAPTER 60
Carmichael had done the decent thing and seen Amelia home. She had thanked him for his support, but it was clear his intentions were not strictly honourable.
Amelia was more than accustomed to using sex as a weapon, but she didn’t feel inclined to use Carmichael in that way if she didn’t have to.
‘You could issue a complaint if you wanted to,’ he said, eyeing her up and down. ‘Perhaps I could come in and we could go over a few details.’
Amelia smiled but squirmed inside. She raised her arms and took his face in her hands, staring into his eyes.
‘Thank you for what you’ve done for me.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Perhaps another time,’ she said as she withdrew. ‘I’m tired.’
Carmichael’s face was stern at first but then a smile broke out across his face, although it failed to touch his eyes. He nodded and headed back down the corridor.
Amelia’s face lost its smile as soon as he was out of sight, and she went inside. She rested her head against the door, breathed out heavily and praised herself inwardly for her performance tonight.
She headed into the bedroom and pulled her hair up high on her head, securing it in place with a hair grip. She went to the window and opened it a little. Warm air rushed in but she relished the sensation as it touched the skin on the back of her neck. She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and pictured her fallen friend.
Soon, Becca, it’ll all be over…I promise.
***
She’d almost changed her clothes when she heard the turning of the key in the front door. She bounded over, just as the door opened, and flung herself against her Guardian.
She showered their face with kisses and tried to fight against their attempts to push her away. The Guardian grabbed her arms hard and forced her back.
‘Have you burnt the sheets?’ they said, as their fingers dug into the flesh on the inside of her upper arms.
She tried to read their face. ‘Why would I burn the sheets?’
She watched the Guardian’s face fall. ‘I told you to burn them.’
The Guardian forced Amelia from the doorway and shut the front door. They dragged her by one arm into the bedroom and pushed her up against the wall, then started pulling the pillows from the bed and threw them at her. ‘Put these in a black sack.’
‘Why? I don’t understand,’ she said, pulling the bedding from their hands.
The Guardian stopped and looked at her. Amelia saw dark eyes, sinister-looking in the shadows cast around the room.
‘You slept with Adrian on these sheets?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then we need to burn them. They’ve linked you to him already. We need to get rid of anything that could have his DNA on it.’
She watched as the bedding was piled in a corner. The Guardian went to the kitchen. Amelia folded her arms, annoyed that she hadn’t thought of this already. She knew she’d been careless with Hargreaves as well.
That fucking photo.
The Guardian returned, holding a black bin liner, and began shoving the bedding inside it. All Amelia could do was stand there and watch.
After it was done, the Guardian looked at her and took a moment to catch their breath. Amelia stood wearing only her underwear and tube top, her arms pulled
tightly across her torso, strands of her hair falling down around her face. The Guardian nodded towards her.
‘I take it you’ve washed your clothes since he was here?’
She nodded, and sat down on the now-bare mattress. ‘You still want to go through with this tonight? Even after I was arrested?’
‘You have to.’
Her head shot up, her body jerking with frustration. ‘Where’s my alibi though? That bitch Winters, or whatever the fuck her name is, will pull me in again. I can’t keep turning on the waterworks and refusing to answer questions.’
‘We just have to push everything through ahead of schedule, that’s all. First Hawthorne, then Manuela.’ The Guardian paused, then reached for her hand. ‘There won’t be time for her to pull you in. Trust me.’
Amelia stared at her Guardian and her mind wondered if they would cut her loose if she were proven to be guilty. That detective was drawing closer, fixing the pieces together, making the links. Then she thought about how careful they had been in eradicating any trace of DNA to link them.
Amelia realised all the police had was just a theory, no evidence, not enough to convict anyway. More importantly, she knew her Guardian wouldn’t let her down. She remembered what they had done to Adrian and Hargreaves’s men.
She glanced at the bed. ‘What am I supposed to do now? I can’t sleep on this old thing with no cover.’ Her face turned playful as she ran her hand over the worn mattress. ‘I could always go back with you?’
The Guardian looked at her with longing at first, then shook their head. ‘It’s too risky.’
Amelia got up from the bed, wrapped her arms around their neck and kissed their soft lips. Arms circled around Amelia’s waist, their embrace deepening with passion, until the Guardian forced her away again.
‘They’re getting closer. We must push ahead with Hawthorne.’ The Guardian’s breath was heavy against her lips.
‘I don’t want to do it without you there,’ she said, as she sat back on the bed. The Guardian grabbed the bursting bin liner.
‘You’re going to have to. I’ll be along later.’ They handed her a set of rosary beads. ‘Like Wainwright, as we’ve discussed.’
She took the beads, wrapped them around her fingers, and stared at the cross on the end. The Guardian then handed her the same knife and scalpel that they’d used on Wainwright.
‘Don’t forget to bring these back with you when you’ve finished.’
‘I’m not an idiot.’ She pulled the grip out of her hair and ruffled her tresses. She stared at the scalpel. ‘So he’s definitely still in the hotel? You know this for sure?’
A curt nod. ‘I checked already.’ As Amelia went to get off the bed, they reached out and grabbed her wrist. ‘Whatever you do, don’t deviate from the plan. We can’t afford to be caught now.’
As Amelia looked into their eyes, she thought she saw fear for the first time since they had started their plan.
The priests had to pay.
Anyone else who was caught in the crossfire was an unfortunate casualty of their war. God would understand that sacrifices are sometimes made for the greater good.
She sneered and pulled her wrist from her lover’s grasp.
‘I don’t care if I’m caught. At least I’ll have done God’s will.’
She got up from the bed and stormed into the living room. The Guardian was close behind her, and as she went to the kitchen, she felt all their power full force, dragging her by her waist and slamming her hard into the wall.
‘I fucking care!’ The Guardian grabbed her face so she couldn’t avoid their eyes. ‘We’ve worked too hard to get sloppy now. I don’t have the option of going to jail, Amelia. I want to live and live well after this.’
‘As long as I live long enough to avenge Rebecca, I don’t care what happens to me. That’s for God to decide,’ she said, her mouth close to theirs. ‘I’m His soldier.’
The Guardian stared at her and loosened the grip on her face. ‘I don’t believe in God. What is there left for me after this if we’re not together?’
‘But we can be together… All it takes is the courage.’
The Guardian turned away, freeing her from the wall. ‘Suicide,’ they said, practically spitting the word as if it hurt to speak. ‘You believe what you were taught. Suicides don’t make it to Heaven, Amelia.’
‘Then maybe I belong in Hell.’
She watched the Guardian sit down on the sofa, face in their hands. She edged closer and knelt beside them, her hands reaching out and theirs. The Guardian looked down at the small scars on her hands.
‘Do you remember how I got these?’ she said.
‘How could I forget?’
The Guardian thought back to when they were kids. Remembered when Father Manuela had wrapped the barbed wire tightly around her hands, the sharp edges cutting her skin. Wainwright had looked on, making no attempt to intervene.
Then there was Hawthorne.
That man had known it was wrong and his protests only fell on deaf ears. He could’ve done so much more.
‘He called it the suffering of Christ,’ she said, as if reading the Guardian’s thoughts.
‘So that you may understand how grateful you should be to be living this life.’ The Guardian finished Amelia’s sentence for her, as their fingers traced the scar tissue, which had faded over time.
‘I’m not afraid to do what’s necessary.’ She pulled her hands away. ‘I’ve become accustomed to the feeling, that last moment when you hold someone else’s life in your hands. They’re at your mercy. Whether they live or die is up to you, you have all the power.’
The Guardian watched her face, looking as if she were in a daydream. A dark twisted fairy-tale, that was Amelia’s mind, and they had always longed to be a character, playing out the role as long as they were needed.
‘I must go. Tonight must be the night.’ The Guardian got up from the sofa and collected the sack of bedding.
‘Aren’t you going to wish me good luck?’ she said, smiling.
The Guardian looked at her, raising the bin liner. ‘I’ll dispose of this.’
Amelia nodded and opened the front door.
As the Guardian walked from her flat they glanced at the police tape covering the door that was once Ashe Miller’s home.
The Guardian looked back at Amelia. Her eyes were dull, as if there were nothing else left behind them but evil.
The Guardian thought as they continued onwards that maybe that’s all there had ever been.
CHAPTER 61
As Claire parked her car she noticed that Paradis, even on a weekday, was still teeming with customers, and as she walked to the entrance, she received a few wolf-whistles and cat-calls from the men hanging around the entrance.
A large bouncer stepped in front of her as she tried to enter, and she held up her warrant card.
Police ID seemed to Claire an understated weapon of choice; in the event of obstacles lying in the path, flash the warrant card, which almost had the power to make even walls move.
The bouncer eyed her with some disdain and asked her to wait by the entrance. After a few minutes he returned and ushered her inside, where she found Joe Carter waiting for her.
He pulled a smile and although it was dark inside, Claire could still make out his yellow teeth staring back at her.
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Chief Inspector, but I’d hoped I wouldn’t be seeing you again.’
‘I’ve been getting that a lot lately,’ she said, struggling to be heard. The din of the music pulsated so hard she felt the vibrations through to her very core.
‘I take it you want to see Chloe?’
She nodded.
‘She ain’t in yet.’
‘It’s late though.’
‘Yeah, tell me about it,’ he said, motioning for her to follow him towards the back offices. ‘She was due in half hour ago, the lazy cow.’
‘So, where is she?’ Claire asked, unease in her voice now.
<
br /> ‘On her way apparently. She called about ten minutes ago,’ he said as he opened the door to his office and stood to one side. He extended his arm and Claire walked in, turning to face him when he didn’t follow her. ‘Said she’d fallen asleep,’ Joe added.
Claire could tell he was just as sceptical as she was.
‘Feel free to sit in my chair,’ he said with half a grin. Then he left.
Claire sat in the chair behind his desk, small beads of sweat forming along her brow.
She saw an elastic band on the desk and grabbed it, pulling her hair up into a ponytail, relishing the air circulating around her neck.
It was another fifteen minutes or so before Chloe entered the room.
She wore a pair of soft black gym shorts and a pink halter neck top. Her hair was down and dried sweat stuck strands of it to her neck. Her make-up seemed to be melting from her face, her eyes heavily smudged.
She gave Claire a smile. ‘I ran,’ she said. ‘Bloody hot out there.’ She dumped her bag down on the floor and sat in front of Claire. ‘And tropical in here,’ she said, picking up a magazine on the desk and fanning her face. ‘Joe’s too tight to fix the air conditioning.’
Claire gave a small smile but didn’t waste time dragging it out; it was far too hot and uncomfortable, and she started to tell Chloe about what she had so far.
She explained about the new bodies of Miller, Brown and Hargreaves and their significance. When Chloe had looked confused, Claire had told her to bear with her and it would become clear.
She then explained about her meetings with Manuela and told her about Rebecca and Amelia. Then she told her about the letter that had been found and the Rose Garden. By the end, Chloe appeared shocked and if Claire hadn’t mistaken it, a little scared.
‘I know what you’re going to ask me,’ she said. ‘You want to know about Amelia. If I think she had anything to do with this.’
‘Well, you’re right about that, but first,’ she said, drawing the sentence out as she pushed the file Matthews had given her across the table, ‘you can tell me what this is.’
For All Our Sins: A gripping thriller with a killer twist (DCI Claire Winters, Book 1) Page 26