T.M.E. Walsh - 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?’