“I felt I should come. Hope you don’t mind.”
Emily looked over her shoulder before whispering to Vera that she could enter, but they would have to sit in the kitchen.
She put the kettle on and busied herself putting biscuits onto a bone china plate.
“I can’t begin to imagine how it must feel to lose a child,” offered Vera as she accepted the china cup and saucer from Emily.
“It’s like a piece of you dies, leaving a black clump attached to your heart forever. I will never be free from that clump of debris,” replied Emily.
Vera gazed at her and smiled weakly.
“You and the reverend don’t have any children. Why is that?”
“We . . . well especially my husband, are dedicated to God, the church, and the parishioners. There’s little time or space in our lives for children.”
“Did you know you would be childless?” whispered Emily. “Because I never imagined I’d end up that way.”
“I didn’t know for sure, but I suspected as much. God is all knowing and magnificent in his supremacy. He leaves little to chance.”
“James has renounced his belief in God, so I pray for our souls, including Tom’s. I need God more than ever. Do you believe, as I do, that Tom just wasn’t right for this world?”
Vera put the cup on the saucer, making a little chinking sound. “My husband would be the right person to respond to that question, not me. But as you ask, perhaps he could only be healed in heaven.”
An awkward silence hung in the air. Vera clasped her hands tightly together in the lap as she looked around the kitchen.
As if ordered to evaporate the tension, the doorbell rang. Emily got up to answer it before her husband could beat her to it.
“Detectives, were we expecting you?”
“No, Mrs Dolby, we’ve brought Tom’s laptop back,” replied Lennox as he handed over the machine.
“Please come in.”
As they entered, they met Vera in the hallway. She acknowledged them with a nod of her head.
“Mrs Olong, carrying out parishioner duties I see,” said Wednesday to her as she skirted along the wall to get passed them.
She smiled weakly, before disappearing down the garden path. The detectives followed Emily into the lounge and sat on the overstuffed sofa.
“Is your husband around?” asked Wednesday.
“He must be in his study. He’s not that keen on Mrs Olong.”
Wednesday noticed Emily’s penetrating stare and her avoidance of Lennox. His people skills enabled him to pick up the same sentiment, so he excused himself to make a phone call in the hallway.
“Do you have children, DI Wednesday?”
“No I don’t, and I can’t pretend to know how you must be feeling right now.”
“I think you’d be shocked if I told you,” she said, averting her gaze.
“I’m not here to judge you, but I am here to listen.”
“Part of me is relieved at no longer having to contend with the teenage angst and behaviour in the house.” She paused to quickly glance at Wednesday. “I didn’t really want to be a mother in the first place, I did it for James.” She bowed her head and toyed with some thread hanging from a button on her blouse.
“Once you had Tom, did your feelings change?” Wednesday asked hesitantly.
There was a weighty pause before Emily continued.
“Of course I loved him, but I didn’t find motherhood a natural process. James, on the other hand, revelled in fatherhood.” She covered her mouth as she coughed. “Perhaps I am a wicked mother,” she said before coughing once more.
“Do you think there was a particular reason for Tom’s anger?”
“We couldn’t figure it out, so we thought the church influence would quell his devil-like temperament, but it didn’t seem to help.”
“I understand his behaviour was never a problem a school.”
“No, he liked his form teacher, Mr Pollock. I think that’s why geography was his favourite lesson.”
Wednesday smiled lightly and sat up straight as Lennox and James returned.
“Glad to see that bloody woman’s gone,” said James, ignoring his wife’s scowl.
“You don’t like the reverend’s wife, then?” asked Lennox.
“I find her a little creepy, can’t explain why, I just do.”
“But you don’t mind attending church?”
“No, it was the reverend I go to listen to.”
Lennox informed them that they needed to search the house for some boots and a travel blanket. Neither person refused the request nor asked why.
They did find a travel blanket in the back of their car, but the colours were wrong. No wellington boots could be found.
Wednesday and Lennox excused themselves and left the couple in the lounge with the glacial atmosphere they had cultivated.
“Heaven preserve me from marriage again,” Lennox said as he climbed into the car.
“It doesn’t have to be like that. I bet they were a happy couple until the death of their son,” responded Wednesday.
Lennox ignored her remark and let smoking take over from conversation until they pulled up outside the home of the Wrights.
They were surprised to see the front door opening as they walked up the path, only to find themselves crossing paths with Vera Olong once more as she exited the house. She walked towards them with her hand covering her left cheek, only just obscuring a red mark.
“Is everything okay?” Wednesday queried.
“I heeded your words, but this is the reaction I get for consoling folk in the name of God,” she replied as she continued walking down the path.
“Do you want to make a complaint?”
Vera shook her head before climbing into her car.
They knocked on the open door and called down the hallway. Within seconds, the burgundy face of Judith Wright appeared. She snarled at them with her stained teeth.
“I thought you were that snooty, interfering church cow come back for some more.”
“We’ve brought Darren’s laptop back. May we come in?” Lennox asked, handing over the computer and putting his foot on the doorstep.
“You might as well. The nosy neighbours don’t need more excuses to look down on us.”
The cluttered hallway still felt oppressive as they made their way to the kitchen. Wednesday moved a pile of local newspapers and celebrity magazines, to free up a chair for herself.
“We’d like to get more details on your first husband and your eldest son, Mrs Wright,” Wednesday said.
“They’ve got nothing to do with my Darren going missing.”
“Is it possible Darren could have run to him, or even have been taken by him?”
“Not likely, last I heard he was living on some commune thing in Scotland,” she replied, pouring the dregs of a bottle into a tea-stained mug.
“Your eldest son is in prison for five years, I understand. How did Darren cope with his incarceration?”
Judith Wright raised her eyebrows and looked at Wednesday with her blank, bloodshot eyes.
“Was he upset when his brother was put away?” she tried again.
“Course he was, but he likes having the bedroom to himself.”
Wednesday had learnt at the station, that Robert Giles had a string of offences, beginning his career as an eleven-year-old young offender until finally progressing to the heady heights of aggravated burglary of a dwelling and assault.
“Do you get to see him often?”
“Plymouth is too far away, train fare is expensive. I send him a card at Christmas and his birthday.”
No glimpse of shame or embarrassment fleeted across her face as she swallowed the last drops of wine, leaving reddish-purple stains at the corners of her mouth, making her look like The Joker.
“Is your husband out?” Wednesday enquired.
“He’s gone to the shops. Why, are you worried he’s been beating me up again,” she replied before letting out a g
ravelly snigger.
Wednesday dug her nails into the palm of her hand and looked directly at Judith. She was about to speak when Judith spoke again.
“Anyway, why are you wasting your time here? You should be out looking for my son.”
“We’re doing everything we can, Mrs Wright.”
“What about my Darren’s book being found in the vicarage? Has that reverend done something to my Darren?”
“We have no other evidence to support that notion, currently.”
“I feel he’s already dead. Call it a mother’s hunch.” She reached across the table with a shaky hand to grab a packet of cigarettes.
Wednesday wanted to leave the macabre and toxic surroundings, but was prevented from doing so by the arrival of Des Wright who strode into the kitchen and dumped two carrier bags onto the work surface. The contents of the bags chinked. Des pointedly ignored the two detectives, brushing past them to go into the garden for a smoke.
Wednesday looked at the shopping bags and then at Judith Wright, before raising her eyebrows in an unnecessary gesture. Judith’s eyes were drawn to the bags, and she took the opportunity to grab one when Wednesday was distracted by her phone.
At a glance, she saw the phone call was from Scarlett, who had apparently received a package at work containing a dozen beheaded red roses. Wednesday excused herself and called her back straight away.
“Tell me more,” she asked, stepping out the front door.
“It came addressed to me and the note attached reads ‘with sympathy’. The office is positively electric, and I’ve found some interesting info about cults on the web.”
“Never mind that now. I need you to get everything to the lab at the station straight away. Don’t let anyone else touch it.”
“Always the dramatic one, sis. I’ll do it after I’ve had a photo taken of everything for a future article.”
Wednesday was about to reproach her for her lackadaisical manner, when Lennox arrived behind her at the simultaneous moment that Scarlett hung up on her. She’d missed her moment.
“What’s up?”
“I’ll tell you on the way to the station.”
Once back at the station, Lennox urged Wednesday to inform Hunter of the incidents involving Scarlett. Against her better judgement, she moved towards Hunter and requested a word in private.
“My half-sister—”
“The journalist,” he interrupted.
“Yes, Scarlett. She’s been receiving threatening messages at home and her office. I’ve asked her to bring the items in for the forensic guys. I believe it has something to do with her cult article in the paper.”
Hunter was looking at the computer screen as he listened, clearly not entirely interested in Wednesday’s information.
“She’s probably tapped into the lunatic level in our society who have latched onto her crazy notion. She’s given meaning to their misplaced paranoia.”
He tapped on the keyboard until Wednesday’s fixed gazed finally aroused his attention.
“Is there something else?” he asked, looking directly at her.
“She seems convinced that she’s on the right track because of the attention it’s got her. I’m wondering about her safety, that’s all.”
“I’m sure she’ll cope. But if you’re really worried, do you want protection for her? Not that I’ve got the manpower at the moment,” he replied, barely drawing a veil over his loathing.
“I’ll keep an eye on her and have a word with her editor.”
She felt dismissed by Hunter’s stubborn silence. Unbeknown to her, Lennox watched her flounce off in the direction of her office and firmly shut the door behind her. Rubbing the back of his neck he walked over to her.
Entering, he found her snapping off a chunk of chocolate and throwing it into her mouth. The bulge in her cheek made her face look like a hamster. She frowned and waited for him to speak.
“Look, Hunter may not have taken you seriously, but I do. Why don’t I spend the evening in your home, in case anything else occurs?”
Wednesday, having swallowed the chocolate, sat back and stared at him. “If it’s home cooked food you’re after, you’re in luck, but I can’t guarantee the company.”
“That’s settled then,” he said before walking back to his office.
Wednesday curled her toes in her shoes.
Wednesday was very conscious that Lennox was driving behind her. She pulled up onto her drive and switching off the engine, her hand slipping on the door handle as he pulled up alongside her.
On opening the front door the warmth embraced their chilled bodies, but she was embarrassed about the stale tobacco smell that lingered in the air. She had smoked more than she intended to last night without airing the kitchen.
Wednesday opened a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses. She smiled as she handed him a glass.
“Got any modern stuff,” he asked as he perused her small shelf of CDs.
“I don’t suppose you consider folk as modern?”
Lennox shook his head slowly. “Never mind. What’s for dinner?”
“Chicken thighs, homemade potato wedges, and spring greens, or I could throw it altogether to make a curry. Any preference?”
A shrug of his shoulders indicated that it was her choice, so she chose the former.
“Did Scarlett bring that box of flowers to the station?” he asked.
“No, I’ll take it in myself tomorrow. She’s not taking this seriously.”
“Are you taking it too seriously, perhaps?”
“I don’t consider threats to a member of my family as a light matter.” She tossed the potato wedges in the sizzling garlic oil, aware that she had snapped at him.
The smell of the chicken crisping in the Aga infused the air and enveloped the pair in a comforting embrace.
As she served up the food she suggested that they call a truce and discuss something other than work as she was keen to know more about him.
Between mouthfuls of food, Lennox talked about his seemingly idyllic childhood, when he spent a great deal of time fishing and building inadequate camps with his two best mates. As he spoke, Wednesday realised he had a dry sense of humour, and she suddenly saw the charm she suspected all the women at the station saw in him.
Lennox was working his way towards discussing her mother’s health, when the front door opened, funnelling a torrent of cold air into the kitchen.
“Well don’t you two look cosy,” Scarlett said as she threw her coat over a chair.
“There’s some food in the oven,” replied Wednesday, disregarding the less than subtle comment.
“So, Jacob Lennox, to what do we owe this pleasure? I hope it has nothing to do with me?”
“I thought I’d offer my support in light of the recent incidents.”
“I’m touched that you care enough about me to do that.”
Scarlett flicked her flame curls over her shoulder and peered at him from underneath her heavily made-up eyelashes. She poured herself some wine and ran the tip of her finger around the rim of the glass as she fixed on him with her mottled green eyes.
“Have you read my article?”
“I’ve glanced at it,” he replied, pushing his knife and fork together.
“I must be on the right track, otherwise I wouldn’t be getting these threats, don’t you think?”
“There are a lot of cranks out there.”
Scarlett pouted, took a sip of wine, then with her best dulcet tone asked Lennox if he thought she was in danger, and if so, what could he do about it? Wednesday scraped her chair back and fetched a new packet of cigarettes that nestled between a fruit bowl containing a blackening banana and a kiwi. She turned around just in time to see Lennox’s cheeks fill with colour as Scarlett slowly placed one of his cigarettes in her mouth. The glow from the cigarette lighter enhanced her Cupid’s bow.
“There is a wealth of evidence on the web about cults,” she said, allowing the smoke to drift out of her mouth. “I could
show you later, if you like.”
Lennox sat back in his chair rubbing the top of his head, all the while keeping his eyes on Scarlett. The smell of garlic oil and rosemary lingered in the air.
“You know society fears the very notion of a cult, as it’s deemed to practice mind control. They coercively persuade people to do as they are told.” Scarlett could see that she had hooked Lennox, encouraging her to keep going.
“Apparently, the charismatic leader targets people who are seeking love and recognition.”
She talked about her research of American sites. “The cult leaders seek out people who are already outside of the nucleus of the community. After a while, the members can actually fear the end of the world and being separated from their charismatic leader, therefore they commit mass suicide.” She paused to draw on the cigarette.
Wednesday could see that she was enjoying being the centre of attention.
“The freaks of society experience unconditional love, acceptance, and attention from the enigmatic leader. The cult practises something called ‘love bombing’, which entails providing constant affirmations to a person, until they feel secure in the group and they feel special.”
“And you think such freaks, as you call them, live around here?”
“They say the countryside is full of eccentric misfits, ideal for an up-and-coming cult.”
“I don’t understand how you came to the conclusion of a cult in relation to these crimes.”
“The internet can throw up diverse scenarios. It’s the journalist in me that sifts through the trash and comes up with the gold.”
Lennox allowed Scarlett to refill his glass whilst he listened intently to her reasoning.
Wednesday opened the back door and stepped outside to gaze up at the canopy of stars. She heard the others talking without hearing the words.
She was transported back to the time when Scarlett had reached maturity with all the grace and beauty of a swan gliding on water. Wednesday had never experienced that and felt virtually invisible to the male population. She smiled to herself and moved quietly back to the table where she noticed Scarlett had placed the box she had received at work.
She poured herself another glass of wine and then slipped away to bed.
In the Light of Madness Page 14