For All Our Sins

The second was from Matthews, thanking her again for letting him take over the Hargreaves case.

Claire grimaced as she read it. Pull your tongue out of my arse, Matthews.

It hadn’t been a difficult choice to reassign the Hargreaves investigation to Matthews. Claire knew it was a case below what Michael should be working on, despite Matthews’s seniority over him. Michael was wasted on this one.

She often thought he should’ve been recommended for Inspector, before Matthews, despite his ego.

She remembered the third email and deleted Matthews’s message from her account before opening the final one. It was a reminder about the up-coming Charity Ball being held in a few weeks’ time in Covent Garden at the Mayflower Hall.

Claire winced as she read it was a ‘plus one’ event.

The dress code was black tie and the ladies were expected to wear stunning evening dresses as well as meet and greet with the Mayor of London. This part didn’t faze Claire – she’d met the Mayor before – but the thought of turning up without a special guest in tow did.

Her thoughts drifted back to Michael.

She knew she’d been out of line towards him lately but couldn’t help herself. They had too much history between them for it ever to be normal again. She thought back to the moment she’d first met him and how she’d fallen completely in lust with him.

She’d resented being married from that moment on but it’d been a few years after that first meeting before they’d struck up an affair.

Now it was over and Claire knew she had to push him from her mind, no matter how reluctant she was.

She put the BlackBerry aside and began reading over her notes.

All she had to go on so far with regard to Wainwright’s murder was Mark Jenkins. He’d been the last to see him alive. She read over her notes thoroughly; Jenkins was married with one biological child but had previously fostered three other children. One called Emily still lived with him, but the other two had since moved on leaving no forwarding addresses. There was no documented reason as to why they had left and Claire thought it strange. They seemed to have vanished.

Then of course there was his biological child.

What was Jenkins like behind closed doors?

She thought about this for a few minutes before making a call to the station. DC Gabriel Harper answered the phone at the other end.

‘Harper, it’s Winters. Just a shot in the dark here but can you run a name for me? Chloe Jenkins. See if anything comes up?’

‘Didn’t you go home already?’ he asked.

Claire sighed. ‘You know how much I enjoy taking my work home with me.’ Harper laughed as he typed the information into his computer.

‘Right…we have a Chloe Jenkins. Twenty years old, lives at 52 Boston Court, Haverbridge West. She was brought in last year for minor drug offences but released with a caution.’ Harper paused. ‘Is that who you’re after?’

Claire wrote down the address. ‘Anyone listed as next of kin?’

‘No. No one listed.’

Claire had thought as much. She rang off and glanced at the clock opposite her; it was 9:00pm Tomorrow morning she’d pay Chloe Jenkins a visit, but for now tiredness was overcoming her.

It was only while brushing her teeth that Claire remembered the letter from her mother that she’d not opened. She retrieved the letter from downstairs and opened it when she eventually climbed into bed.

When her parents had divorced Claire’s mother had emigrated to Spain. The only time Claire saw her was when she came back to England, which was only when absolutely necessary. Even when Claire had gone through her own divorce she’d only come over once.

Hardly the doting mother.

Instead, Iris wrote to Claire at least once every two months, since she didn’t believe in emails or text messages. Even the ability to pick up the phone was alien to her, and Claire wondered why she defended Iris so much whenever her father launched into a tirade of abuse about her.

Claire frowned as she skimmed over her mother’s delicate handwriting. This letter was nothing more extraordinary than usual.

It read predictably; her mother asked about her work and hoped she wasn’t doing too much all at once. She enquired about Simon, Claire’s ex-husband, and if there was any possibility of them at least becoming friends again. No chance there, Claire sniffed. Then she asked the one question Claire dreaded: how was her love life?

Groaning out loud, Claire tossed the letter onto her bedside cabinet and switched off the light.

CHAPTER 14

It was 9:30am when Claire arrived at Boston Court the next morning. She’d overslept but it didn’t bother her too much, considering all the late nights she was beginning to notch up.

She glanced up at the twenty-odd-storey tower block in front of her. It looked depressing, with its grey brickwork and dirty-looking windows. The parking area didn’t look like somewhere Claire felt comfortable leaving her Mazda either, even if very briefly.

She saw a group of teenage boys dressed in hoods and baseball caps kicking a ball around and up against the wall of the block. They were right in front of the entrance. Claire sighed inwardly and headed towards them.

One of the teenagers looked up, staring at her as she approached. He nodded to his friend, who turned and spat on the floor in front of Claire, narrowly missing her boots. She paused and looked up at him, but the youth just stared back with a vacant expression on his face.

‘Shouldn’t you be in school?’

The youth squared up to her. ‘Mind your fucking business.’ His friends laughed.

Claire shoved past him. ‘You kiss your mother with that mouth?’ she said as she walked inside the block.

‘Only yours, love,’ came the cocky reply. Claire ignored him.

There was a main corridor leading to a stairwell but she decided to take one of the two lifts in front of her. She went into the nearest one and immediately a waft of urine hit her. She held her hand to her nose and looked at the panel listing the floors. It had some sort of clear beaded slime covering it. On closer inspection she deduced that it was spit, and fresh.

She swore when she saw the button for floor ten, flats 50-53, was covered in it. Pulling a tissue from her pocket, she wrapped it around her finger before pressing the button.

When she reached the tenth floor she noticed the smell of urine followed her to flat 52. She knocked on the door and noticed it was decorated with a red graffiti tag.

A few minutes passed before she knocked again, harder this time, but still there was no sound of movement.

Then the lift behind her opened, making her jump. A young girl, no more than sixteen, appeared pushing a pram, which was laden with shopping bags. She was struggling to get the pram out of the lift, and the doors began to close.

Claire rushed over to help and noticed that the girl was heavily pregnant. The girl looked at her and smiled.

‘Thanks. Can’t wait until I don’t need this pram any more.’

Claire gestured towards her stomach. ‘Looks like you’ll need it for a while yet.’

The girl glanced down at her stomach, pulling her top down over her. She pulled a face. ‘Yeah, worse luck.’

Claire faked a smile. She saw the girl go to open the door to flat 53 and her eyes flashed instantly. ‘You don’t happen to know the girl who lives here, do you?’ she asked, pointing over her shoulder to flat 52. ‘I’ve knocked but I’m not sure if someone’s in or not.’

The girl glanced up. ‘The Jenkins girl.’ She nodded. ‘Yeah, I know her.’ Claire waited for any further information but it was not forthcoming.

‘Well, is she in or does she work during the day?’

The girl looked Claire up and down. She was nervous. ‘Why? What you want with her?’ Claire held out her warrant card and the girl’s eyes widened. She began fishing out her keys from her bag. ‘You might’ve said you were filth.’

Claire looked her up and down but stayed silent.

‘Usually I can guess you lot straight away.’ She avoided Claire’s eyes. ‘Chloe works nights. She’s probably sleeping.’

The girl shrugged and opened her front door, manoeuvring the pram inside. Claire helped her when the wheels caught against the door frame. The girl smiled and nodded a thank you. She began to close the door but Claire caught it with her hand and pushed it back.

‘Sorry, it’s important that I speak with her. Do you know where she works?’ The girl paused and stared at Claire, unsure of her motives. ‘I asked you a question.’

The girl sighed. ‘I don’t know if I should say really.’ Claire shot her a hard look. The girl was trying her patience. The look prompted the girl to cooperate. ‘She’s one of them dancer girls.’

‘Dancer girls?’

‘She’s a stripper.’ The girl’s demeanour came over all superior. ‘She, you know, prances around in front of men who’re married and should know better.’

The girl seemed to have an afterthought.

‘It pays real good money apparently. I could do that, you know, I don’t wanna live on benefits forever.’ She glanced down at her stomach and frowned. ‘’Course, no one’s gonna pay for me to shake this thing around, not when I’m this big.’

Claire knew there was an exotic dancing club in town but had no idea what it was called or where it was exactly.

‘Do you know the name of the club she dances at?’

The girl thought for a moment. ‘It’s behind the leisure complex somewhere and I think it’s called Paradis or something like that. His father used to go there a lot,’ she said, gesturing to the toddler in the pram. ‘One of the reasons we split up.’

Claire knew she could find out more back at the station so she thanked the girl and headed for the lift. Since their conversation, someone had called the lift a few floors up.

A sly smile spread across the girl’s face. ‘I remember the way he used to look at Chloe.’

Claire glanced towards her as she pressed the button to call the lift back down. ‘I’m sorry?’

The girl’s eyes met hers, something in them this time that was different from before. ‘My ex,’ she said. ‘He used to give Chloe this look when he saw her. He still lived here with me, but that didn’t stop him flirting. He was wasting his time though.’

The lift arrived at their floor, and the doors pinged open. ‘Sounds like you’re well shot of him,’ Claire said as she entered the lift.

‘She’d never have looked twice at him,’ she said, voice smug. ‘She only shags girls.’

Claire just looked at her as the lift doors closed. She pressed the button for the ground floor, and shook her head. Chloe’s sexual preference didn’t bother her, but her choice of job did. She’d only been in a strip club once, and that was to arrest a suspect.

It hadn’t been a pretty sight.

As Claire exited the building she saw the youths had moved on, and she walked back to her car. As she approached the Mazda she noticed one of her brake lights had been smashed.

You little fuckers.

She looked around but knew the youths could be anywhere, so she climbed in her car and drove back to the station.

CHAPTER 15

Claire’s office was quite large but cluttered with filing cabinets and chairs, making it appear smaller. She’d left the blind up the night before, so the early morning sun had flooded the office with intense light, leaving the room stifling.

Claire placed her coffee on the desk, opened the window wide, and then lowered the blinds. She picked at her nails, waiting for her computer to bring up the internet.

She accessed Google and typed “Paradis” in the search box. She hit enter and it brought up lots of links. She glanced down the page and saw the link to the main website.

She looked through the glass partitions.

The incident room was busy. She doubted anyone would need her for the next ten minutes or so. She felt embarrassed at what she was about to look at.

She clicked the mouse and a half-naked lady popped up on the screen, accompanied by dance music, as the menus for the website dropped down in a fancy animation, followed by a swirling title appearing on the screen in the shape of green ivy.

It formed the words ‘Welcome to Paradis’ and pulsated on the screen. The woman had changed position and was now holding a red apple, about to bite into it seductively.

Claire cocked an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

Just then Michael pushed his head around the door. Claire glanced at him then back at the screen, looking flustered.

‘Is now a bad time to compare notes?’ he asked. Claire tried to turn the volume down on the monitor. Michael frowned then walked towards her. ‘What’s that shit?’

She tried to turn the monitor off before he saw the screen but he grabbed her hand as she went to hit the standby button. He saw the half-naked lady with the apple.

He looked at Claire.

‘Whatever you’re thinking, Diego, you’re wrong.’

Michael held up his palms in defence. ‘Hey, it’s your lifestyle choice, not mine.’

‘Piss off, it’s work-related. Mark Jenkins’s daughter works there.’

Michael sat in the chair opposite her and swung back on it. ‘Jenkins has children? He doesn’t strike me as the type.’

Claire clicked on the link to the ‘How to find us’ page on the website and brought up a map. ‘Have you ever been to Paradis?’

‘No. Not my thing… You didn’t answer my question.’

She avoided his eyes, feeling the weight of his stare. She hated this tension between them. Every time they were together it was there, even when she tried to forget they had never been anything but work colleagues. She wanted to bury her head in the sand, and hope everything would sort itself out.

Claire sighed and rubbed her forehead.

‘Chloe Jenkins is the only biological child. He used to foster children and they left the family, for unknown reasons. Their whereabouts is unknown. I think it’s strange, and it might be nothing, but I think it’s a good idea to see Chloe and ask her about her upbringing. I need some more background on Jenkins before I rule him out as a suspect.’

Claire highlighted the page of directions and hit the Print button. Her printer whirred into life next to her and produced the page. She picked it up and shoved it towards Michael. He glanced at it.

‘Want to check it out with me later?’

Michael looked again and shook his head. ‘No thanks. I’m not working late tonight anyway.’

He passed the page back to her. He noticed her staring at him.

‘It’s Friday night…you remember Friday nights, don’t you? Going out drinking too much, dancing like a moron and trying to pull someone, then regretting it the next day with a massive hangover?’

Claire rolled her eyes. She remembered how much she loved his playful side and she smiled inwardly at the thought. She took a sip of her coffee, closed the web page and brought up her emails. Nothing new had come in since last night.

‘What did you find out from Jenkins yesterday?’ she asked, still looking at the monitor. ‘Team briefing before lunch, but I’d like a heads-up.’

Michael opened his notepad. ‘Not a lot. Head teacher wasn’t very obliging either. I got the impression she was glad to see the back of me.’

Claire raised her eyebrows. ‘I thought you’d be used to that by now.’ Michael glanced at her. She was provoking him. He ignored her throwaway comment.

‘Anyway, he seems a very stern teacher. I certainly didn’t like him, really cold eyes,’ he said, shivering at the thought. He glanced over a few more pages. ‘He seems well-liked by the head of the school though and, more importantly, he has an alibi. He was teaching when Wainwright was killed around 11:30am.’

He snapped his notepad shut.

Claire sat back in her chair and picked up her stapler, flicking the spring back and forth. ‘I still want to see his daughter,’ she said at length. ‘I’ll get Gabe to try and pick up Jenkins on the CCTV from Town Centre management ASAP.’

Michael nodded in agreement, and got up to leave. As he reached the door, he turned to face her, grinning.

‘I’ll think of you watching the ladies thrusting their crotches at you this evening. Never know, you may enjoy it, batting for the other team,’ he said, before ducking out the door as the stapler came hurtling towards his head.

CHAPTER 16

Chloe Jenkins ran her tongue along her upper lip, tasting the thick red lipstick painted expertly along her fleshy Cupid’s bow.

The overhead lights flashed in various sequences as she wrapped her slender leg around the metal pole and swung her body a quick 360, ending by casting her legs out and sliding to the floor in an expert ‘splits’ finish.

She awaited the inevitable jeering that accompanied her signature move, and tonight they seemed louder than usual. She stared at the black tribal design tattooed on the inner wrist of her right arm. She focused in on it, helping her drown out the surroundings like she did every time she performed.

A loud jeer broke into her thoughts.

Smile. Entertain. Repeat.

She turned, smiled at the row of men who edged closer to the stage runway, watched by the careful eye of the club’s security.

She grabbed the pole with one hand, using it to pull herself up, her legs sliding back together slowly until she was upright, teetering on her six-inch high heels.

The music changed tempo and the bass line rose, accompanied by the strobe light. Chloe began to strut down the runway in time to the music, the gold locket she never removed swinging with each movement.

She tried to count how many bank notes were stashed inside her red G-string. She lost count at £100, when she caught the eye of a woman watching her, standing with her manager across the room at the bar.

They were staring at her and exchanging conversation every now and again.

Chloe tried to concentrate, finished off her routine and picked up her discarded bra before leaving the stage, as other girls took her place.

She rushed down the corridor backstage, pulling her bra back on. When she reached her dressing room, a small box-room with battered furniture, she pulled out the notes from her underwear to count her earnings.

She heard her manager Joe Carter enter the room without knocking. Chloe certainly didn’t have anything he hadn’t seen before. He walked towards her, when she didn’t look up.

He stood close, staring at her reflection in the mirror opposite them.

His dark-brown eyes narrowed.

He stared at the tattoo on her wrist. He’d asked her about it once, in general conversation, comparing his own ink to hers. She had withdrawn into herself in an instant, shutting him out, so he never asked her again.

His eyes moved over her, taking in every inch of her long blonde hair hanging down her small skinny body and then back to her blue heavily made-up eyes.

Eventually Chloe raised her eyes to their reflection.

He stood so close to her that she could smell the stale scent of cigarettes, and feel the coarseness of his black jumper against her arm.

Unable to stand the closeness, she stashed the cash into her handbag and turned to face him.

‘Am I in trouble?’

‘What’ve I told you girls about not bringing shit to the club, Chloe?’

She looked confused, her eyes narrowing as she looked into his. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Then why is there fucking pig filth sitting in my office asking to speak to you?’ he spat, leaning in closer to her face.

Chloe sank backwards, her face twisted. ‘No fucking idea.’ She saw the doubt in his eyes. ‘Joe, it’s the truth.’

‘She ain’t here for nothing, is she?’ He leaned in closer and she could almost taste the alcohol on his breath. ‘Get it sorted or you’re sacked.’

***

‘Mind if I smoke?’ Chloe said, pulling out a cigarette from the carton with her lips. Now fully dressed in casual clothes, and sitting in Carter’s office, she faced the harsh cold eyes of DCI Claire Winters.

Claire tipped her head towards the No Smoking sign on the door behind her.

Chloe rolled her eyes and reluctantly replaced her cigarette. She sat with her legs crossed, her foot tapping in the air, her mind going over the last few weeks trying to find a reason why she was here, her job at risk.

After a few minutes of silence and Claire’s frozen stare she found her voice. ‘You gonna tell me why you’re here? I hope you realise you’ve pissed off Joe. He doesn’t want you lot in here, unless you’re paying.’

Claire smiled. She knew there were a few men on the beat who visited the club and paid for the odd private dance or two. She couldn’t understand what was so attractive about these women. Most looked malnourished, hungry for their next drug fix, and Chloe looked no different with her dyed blonde hair and tired expression. The girl had the usual signs Claire was used to seeing: the vacant expression, hollow eyes and the yellowing teeth from years of smoking.

Claire noted the track marks twisting their way up Chloe’s skeletal arms, one scar partially hidden, the pinky-coloured line disappearing though a black tattoo. The rest showed signs of obvious attempts to camouflage them with make-up. She thought about what could’ve happened to this girl, the only biological child of Mark Jenkins.

Chloe saw Claire’s eyes hover over the scars on her arms, and folded them quickly.

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Claire Winters, Haverbridge CID. I’m investigating the murder of Father Malcolm Wainwright yesterday afternoon.’

Chloe barely flinched. ‘I heard about him. What’s that got to do with me?’

‘We have a witness who states that your father, Mark Jenkins, was the last person to see Wainwright alive.’

Chloe leaned her head back against her chair. ‘So? I have nothing to do with my father and haven’t since I was seventeen. I left home because I hate him.’

Claire looked up in surprise.

‘Does that shock you?’ Chloe looked down at her fingers and started picking the chipped red varnish from her fingernails, not waiting for an answer.

Claire’s voice was flat. ‘Not much shocks me in my line of work.’

She studied Chloe’s face, feeling a little sorry for her. Here was a girl who somewhere along the way became lost and felt she had to leave her family. Claire thought about what her parents would’ve wanted for her. A decent job, a nice boyfriend, and good prospects and hopes in life.

‘Chloe, I understand you’ve obviously had a tough time and I know you felt you had to leave home. I’m interested in the reasons why.’

Fighting back tears, Chloe raised her eyes and studied Claire’s face carefully.

Why should I trust you? Chloe had nothing to do with her family any more and with good reason.

But what harm could there be in talking to this woman?

‘I left home because I couldn’t take the religious shit any more,’ she said under her breath, barely audible, but Claire understood. It was what she’d expected to hear.

‘Go on.’

‘What do you want to hear? My life story from my earliest memory or the day I decided to leave?’

‘Let’s talk about the day you decided to leave. At seventeen, you must’ve been scared. Leaving home is hard for anyone financially and emotional for you. How have you supported yourself?’

‘I moved in with my boyfriend at the time. He worked and offered to support me until I got a job waiting tables. The pay was crap, and I was always told I had a good body and a pretty face, so a friend recommended here. Soon I had enough money to rent the flat I’m in now.’

‘Tell me about why you left.’

‘I told you. I wouldn’t swallow Dad’s religious bullshit any more.’

‘Help me understand. Are you saying you clashed about your beliefs or does this go deeper than that?’

Claire was becoming impatient; she wasn’t used to playing the sympathy card and it wasn’t getting her any further. She knew Mark Jenkins was involved in this case somehow. Whether it was directly or indirectly, she knew something about him and his family didn’t ring true.