In the Light of Madness

by Madness, In The Light Of

  “I got the impression from Eva that you didn’t like journalists,” Scarlett said, picking up the bottle to refill both of their glasses. Noticing it was empty she got up and retrieved another one from the fridge.

  “I don’t, but you’re growing on me; or perhaps it’s the wine.” He half smiled at her and then covered the top of his glass with his hand.

  “It’s okay, you’re staying the night,” she said, removing his hand and filling the glass.

  George Olong pecked his wife on the cheek before trudging off for his lay preacher meeting, having been given police approval. She watched him go before unhooking her tweed coat from the rack and wrapping it around her, in preparation for the walk to the village hall for choir practice. The house had an eerie stillness and she thought she heard someone whisper her name.

  The village hall did not offer her the change of mood she desired. Recent events and gossip circled around the group. The elder element gravitated towards Colin Pollock to see if they could glean any gossip with regards to the school’s role in the recent crimes. In his gruff, antisocial manner, he informed them that the school bore no relation to the heinous events.

  Clusters of people eyed Vera as she moved around putting music sheets on the chairs. Questions draped over the tips of their tongues, but no one dared utter the words.

  The choir sang half-heartedly, with Vera struggling to summon up any enthusiasm or meaningful harmony from the group; or indeed from within herself.

  Relief swelled in her heart as ten o’clock arrived and the practice was over. One by one, they drifted out into the velvet night, with some members stopping to chat and gossip just outside the door. Vera gathered the music sheets and waited for the last stragglers to exit before locking the door.

  George took a slow drive home, his mind whirring with uncomfortable thoughts and rumours. As he drove along the main High Street, he saw Vera standing outside the village hall, talking to someone. He could not make out who it was, but he could see it was a man by the long trench coat and trilby hat. He pulled up alongside them and wound down the passenger window. Vera ducked down and stuck her head through the gap.

  “How fortuitous,” she said, smiling at her husband. She stood up and mumbled something to her companion before climbing into the car.

  “Did you have a good evening, dear?” she asked, trying to see his facial expression in the yellow glow from the street lights.

  “The bible produced answers that I wasn’t expecting. It threw up discord in the verses so I have come away with turmoil and sadness in my heart.”

  Vera was used to her husband’s verbose ramblings, but she often drifted off so that she only half heard what he was saying. She caught sight of the reflection of her face in the window, and was pleased to notice age had still not scarred her face.

  Arriving home, she climbed out of the car and followed him into the vicarage. She switched the kettle on then took off her woolly hat and tweed coat.

  “Who were you talking to?” he asked.

  “Colin Pollock. We can’t agree on the song choices for the Christmas concert.”

  She placed two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits on a tray before moving to the lounge. “Did you find any answers to explain how people can be so cruel to others?”

  “We all have the potential to unleash evil, but most of us have the moral clamp-down to stop ourselves from relinquishing to the dark side.”

  “Well I can’t believe that someone in our community would harm children. I believe it’s an outsider.” She stared at her husband, waiting for some kind of response, but he just stared into his tea cup.

  “What do you think about the article purporting to a cult in our midst. It made me feel quite edgy,” she said, keeping her eyes on him constantly.

  “I’m not sure what to believe anymore, dear. I sometimes wonder whether we truly actually know anything about anyone.” He dunked a ginger biscuit into his tea then popped the whole biscuit into his mouth. “You might as well go to bed. I want to spend some time alone in contemplative prayer,” he mumbled, putting his drink down on the coffee table.

  Vera let out a silent sigh before heading to bed with only the shadow of loneliness as her companion.

  George picked up the receiver and dialled.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The morning was cloaked in darkness, and Wednesday was hung-over with guilt. She should have rung the hospital or Oliver before going to bed. Instead, she let the selfish gene rule so that she could relax in the company of an interesting and attractive man. Now, she realised the latter was futile whilst Scarlett lived with her, and the former should have been essential.

  The rich aroma of strong coffee breathed through the percolator. As she poured the black liquid, she heard footsteps heading for the kitchen. Eager to keep out of Scarlett’s way, she grabbed her cigarette packet and opened the back door.

  “Shall I just help myself?” Lennox said from behind her.

  Wednesday swung around to see him standing there in one of Scarlett’s silk dressing gowns, looking dishevelled.

  “I didn’t know you were still here,” she said as she lit her cigarette, trying not to stare at his chest hair protruding from under the pale lemon garment.

  “I didn’t plan to be. Your sister’s rather persuasive.”

  Wednesday cocked her head and prodded the doorstep with her foot. She gazed at the cracks in the stone slabs, analysing the complex situation they found themselves in.

  She was acutely aware of being dressed in faded striped pyjamas, with her un-brushed hair skimming her shoulders. Remnants of smudged mascara lay cloying under her bottom eyelashes, and her lips lacked moisture making her mouth look pinched.

  She crushed the partly smoked cigarette underfoot before closing the door. “I’m going to get ready, we’ve a briefing first thing,” she said, brushing past him. She could smell his aftershave intermingled with Scarlett’s perfume; the odour made her feel nauseous.

  After a shower and getting dressed, she set off for work without calling goodbye.

  She was in her office checking her e-mails when Lennox entered the Incident Room wearing yesterday’s clothes. As he looked in her direction, she turned her gaze to the computer screen.

  Hunter clapped his hands to get the briefing underway. He stood by the white board, searching the room with his steely stare. Once the required hush had descended, he began.

  “Another anonymous call has just come in, saying there’s a body in the rambling hut in the woods. First officers on the scene say it matches Darren Giles’s description.”

  A low murmur splintered across the room, which Hunter curtailed by spreading out his hands and sighing loudly.

  “Wednesday and Lennox, get yourselves there now. If it turns out to be the body of Darren Giles, send the family liaison officer to the Wright’s to tell them the bad news.”

  Wednesday and Lennox stood to leave.

  “I then want you two to go to the vicarage and bring both the Olongs in for questioning. Reverend or not, something isn’t sitting right with that pair, and the evidence is stacking up against them.”

  A fine layer of drizzle dotted across the windscreen. The wipers periodically smeared the droplets to one side before more settled again.

  Wednesday drove, staring silently at the road ahead, whilst Lennox flicked through his notebook to refresh his foggy head. Although the Wrights were not a couple society would have much empathy with, it was still going to be hard to hear that their son was no longer a missing person.

  The walk in the woods was becoming a familiar affair for the pair. Approaching the clearing around the hut, they saw it was already established as the crime scene, with officers performing finger-tip searches around the parameter.

  Alex Green gave a wave of acknowledgment to the pair as they ducked under the crime scene tape.

  “By the way, the splinters from Tom Dolby’s clothing match the wood from this hut.”

  Wednesday mouthed her apprecia
tion to him. He blushed.

  Inside the hut, they found Edmond Carter crouched over the body. On hearing their footsteps on the bare wood, he eased himself up and turned to them.

  “Looks like the lad died the same way as the first one. Asphyxiation. His body has also been placed in the same peaceful manner.”

  “Time of death?”

  “Without all the empirical evidence, I’d say he was killed in the early hours of the morning.”

  The pair looked at the slight figure of the boy. There was no doubt it was Darren Giles. He lay in a prone position, with his arms placed at his sides. There was no evidence around them to suggest the murder happened in the hut, the table and chairs continued to occupy the centre of the space.

  With procedures in full swing, it was time for them to turn their thoughts to visiting Des and Judith Wright.

  As Wednesday pulled up outside their house she saw Janice Parker had just arrived.

  After knocking on the door a few times, Des Wright arrived and stood motionless, looking at the three officers.

  “We’d like to speak with you and your wife, please,” asked Wednesday.

  “Come to arrest us?”

  Wednesday dodged the answer until they were all crowded in the chaotic kitchen.

  “I think you should both sit down,” Wednesday began, observing the swaying motion of the couple.

  Wednesday could see that Judith Wright was struggling to focus, so she made two strong coffees as Janice began the job of imparting the painful and disturbing news.

  Wednesday placed the chipped mugs in front of the stunned couple then leant against the work surface, ready to administer more hot drinks, tissues, and support.

  The normally permanent redness in Judith’s face faded at the news of her son’s death. Her eyes were already red rimmed and watery, so it was hard for Wednesday to gauge her emotions. Des remain silent whilst rolling a cigarette.

  “So that’s that then,” she said before slugging back some wine straight from the bottle that sat on the table.

  She slammed the bottle down with such a force, it made Wednesday jump. “That rev’s wife’s got some nerve, saying how sorry she is when it’s him that done the killings.”

  Des jumped up at her words, and lumbered towards the back door.

  “I advise you not to go to the vicarage,” said Lennox as he stood up straight.

  “I’m going out for a smoke,” Des replied as he disappeared into the overgrown garden.

  Wednesday asked Judith if she would like Janice to stay awhile.

  “I don’t want no one hanging around. I want you all out of my house. Now.”

  Grief produces a range of emotions in individuals, and it appeared Judith was at the anger stage. They left the couple to muddle through their alcohol-drenched emotions.

  Arriving at the vicarage, they saw the forensics van and numerous officers milling around in the drizzle.

  A rather harassed reverend answered the door and let them in.

  “It’s rather crowded in here,” he muttered as he wrung his hands together and led them into the kitchen.

  “Is your wife here?” asked Lennox.

  “She’s gone shopping. This was upsetting her.”

  “I’m sorry but we’re going to need to question you both at the station.”

  “What for? I have no idea how the dead boy’s body ended up in the hut. Somebody is using me to hide their crimes, but God will guide me. I can trust him.”

  Through the window, Wednesday could see Alex Green approaching the house from the side garden. His head was bowed to shield him from the drizzle that was driving towards him.

  “Can I see you a minute, DI Wednesday?” he asked, stepping inside.

  “I found this next to the body,” he said as he handed over an evidence bag containing a wooden toothpick. “We found one next to the other boy’s body, I seem to recall. No DNA on the first one though.”

  Wednesday twirled a strand of hair as she gathered the pieces of the jigsaw in her head. Her gut instinct was telling her she was close to finding the answer.

  Alex stepped a little closer to her. “Something you might want to be aware of,” he began, “is that the lock wasn’t broken or tampered with, so it was either already unlocked or someone used the key. Edmond also wants you to know that the body was moved, and had probably been stored somewhere cool, like a cellar or a garage.”

  “Excellent work, Alex, thanks for that,” she said before moving back to the kitchen, where she found Lennox and the reverend sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Reverend, does this house have a cellar?”

  George Olong lifted his head up from his prayer-like position. His dusky blue-grey eyes seemed void of any emotion, staring blankly at Wednesday like a lost child in a supermarket.

  As though controlled by a puppeteer, he rose from the chair, arms flopping by his sides, occasionally twitching, with fingers outstretched. He moved into the hallway and opened a heavy, arched door and switched on the light.

  “I won’t come down if you don’t mind. The stairs are a bit steep for me.”

  The stairs were indeed steep and narrow, and the air held the damp smell of a wet flannel screwed up on the side of the bath. Wednesday held onto the slim wooden banister, which felt no bigger than a broom handle, as she descended the stairs. Lennox followed closely behind.

  The poorly lit cellar contained a range of boxes, an old marble washstand, and a row of shelves on which stood jam jars full of homemade preserves ready for the church fete. A chest freezer stood against the back wall, with two old bicycles propped up against it.

  Wednesday brushed the cobwebs which had attached themselves to her hair and rummaged in her bag to extrapolate a torch. The bright beam somehow made seeing more difficult.

  With his gloved hands, Lennox lifted the freezer lid fully until it rested on the wall behind. An ineffective freezer light shone a yellow glow onto the mountain of produce that was stored in it. Wednesday shone her torch in for extra light, but they only found boxes of frozen foods and a multitude of bags containing home grown vegetables.

  “We’ll have to get the forensic guys in to check this area,” Lennox said as he closed the lid and snapped off his gloves.

  Olong was waiting for them as they mounted the stairs. Wednesday noticed he looked pallid and had clasped a shaky hand over his forehead.

  “Are you all right?” she said as she stepped closer to him.

  He swayed slightly, complaining of feeling dizzy, when suddenly he doubled over and crumpled to the floor. Wednesday set about loosening his dog collar and making him comfortable, whilst Lennox called for an ambulance. She knelt beside him as he drifted in and out of consciousness, until the blue lights of the ambulance flickered through the cross-shaped glass panel in the front door.

  Wednesday and Lennox followed the ambulance, and ensured that Vera was contacted about her husband’s condition. Wednesday’s skin felt clammy at the thought of being in a hospital; she felt she should be with her mother and not some suspect in a murder case. Lennox passed her a cigarette which she smoked silently, inhaling the fumes deep into her lungs as her guilt mounted.

  Having parked the car, they walked towards the hospital only to see a taxi pull up and Vera Olong jump out. As she turned to pay the driver, she saw the detectives approaching.

  “I blame you two for this. Harassing my husband into an early grave. I will be speaking to your superior about this.”

  She did not wait for a response from either of them. Instead, she rushed inside to find her husband.

  “How is the Reverend Olong,” Wednesday asked a staff nurse as she flashed her badge.

  “He’s having tests done. You won’t be able to question him now.”

  They had suspected as much, so they went off to find Vera who was sitting in the family waiting room.

  “Any news?” asked Wednesday, noticing the faint smell of vomit lingering in the air.

  “No, and I don’t really wan
t to talk to you two.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t have much choice. The rambling hut is owned by the church and you both had access.”

  “He may have been found there, God rest his soul, but it doesn’t mean we had anything to do with it, Detective. You have narrowed your investigation to focus only on us, when the real killer is carrying on with life outside of your radar.”

  “The forensic team are going to examine your cellar. So, now is a good time to speak you have anything pertinent to tell us, Mrs Olong.”

  Vera raised her head and looked at Wednesday with red rimmed eyes.

  “I have nothing to say. You can test and fingerprint the whole damn vicarage for all I care, we have nothing to hide.”

  At that moment, a doctor entered the room and advised Vera that she could sit with her husband, although he needed peace and rest. Vera turned to them with an icy stare and checked she could leave.

  “Is he talking?” asked Lennox.

  The doctor shook her head and suggested they try the next day. As they considered returning to the station, Wednesday’s phone rang. It was Maria Jones advising them that Stewart Cleveland had gone missing. Arlow and Damlish were on their way to the school to interview the staff, and Hunter had requested they go to his house; a warrant was being issued for the search.

  Wednesday drove them to Cleveland’s house, aware that her stomach was growling much to Lennox’s amusement.

  “Make yourself useful and get the chocolate bar out of the glove compartment,” she said, barely able to hide her irritation.

  Arriving at the flat, Lennox rang the bell several times before using his key tools to let them in. They moved cautiously from room to room, checking for Cleveland or evidence of a disturbance.

  Everything appeared to be where it should be except for empty drawers in his bedroom, and forlorn hangers in the wardrobe. His toothbrush and toiletries were also missing.

  “Looks like he’s done a runner,” muttered Lennox. “Dog’s gone.”

  “Perhaps Dick Pennymore will know more.”

  As they descended the stairs Wednesday got a message on her mobile.