In the Light of Madness

by Madness, In The Light Of

  The morning song of the blackbird combined with the cooing of the collar dove made for a heady mix of country sounds that were suddenly repulsive to Lucinda. She longed for the rumble of the black cabs and squeaky-braked buses, intermingled with the shrill of car alarms.

  “I’m disconcerted with the distance you’ve put between us since Claudia’s departure,” she said before taking bird sips of coffee.

  “Seeing as this is turning into a candid discussion about our feelings, I’m taken aback with how quickly you seem to have come to terms with her death.” Greg began to pace up and down in front of the window, his hands thrust into his cashmere blend trouser pockets.

  “Are you insinuating that I loved our daughter less than you did? Because I’ll tell you this, you were always more focused on her rather than me when she was alive, and even more so now that she’s gone.”

  “I never took you to be the jealous type,” he roared as he deliberately turned his back on her and stared out the window.

  “I’m not, but I’m surprised you’ve noticed anything about me these past few years.”

  “Don’t,” he muttered as he turned around to face her again.

  “You always saw her as a pure, angelic girl. You never saw the flirtatious young woman she was turning into.”

  “That’s twisted.”

  “Well, perhaps you prefer it now she’s dead, as that way she can remain your little angel forever.”

  James took three large strides towards her and struck her across her face with the palm of his hand. Her cheek stung and so did his hand. But worse than that, was the sentiment for both of them that the relationship they once had was now over.

  On entering the Incident Room, Wednesday saw Hunter standing by his office door. His face vivid crimson and the look in his eyes compelled her to run; only her legs disobeyed her orders.

  “In my office now,” he bellowed.

  On his desk lay a copy of The Cambridge Times, with the front page headlines facing upwards. Wednesday swallowed hard as she waited for the volcano to erupt.

  “I asked you to be careful around your sister.”

  Wednesday was about to respond when he raised his hand in a motion for her to stay silent.

  “Not only is she continuing to write her own version of things; she’s compromising our case. The reverend will now argue that any jury—should we get that far—would be biased against him, thanks to this,” he said as he slapped his hand onto the newspaper.

  “I haven’t spoken to her about it, Boss.”

  “So she came up with the idea of checking the reverend’s background all by herself, did she?”

  “Yes she did. I mean two bodies have been found in the vicinity of the vicarage and we’re crawling all over the place. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out he is a possible suspect. Journalists dig—that’s what they do.”

  “And what about these so-called facts from his last parish?”

  “Again, all down to her. I hate to say it, but she’s found out more than we did.”

  “And hate it you should. The commissioner is going to have a field day with all of this. I won’t be able to defend you.”

  “I don’t need you to defend me; I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Wednesday regretted her shrill tone of voice as she caught the anger flaring in his eyes. She apologised quietly and left his office after he dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

  Stepping out, she became aware of a multitude of eyes watching her as she walked towards her office. Her fury towards Scarlett boiled inside her, and she vowed to thrash it out with her that very evening. But first, she needed to make more headway on the case in a different direction as she was not convinced the reverend was as guilty as people thought.

  “Scarlett, we weren’t expecting you. Eva told us you were busy, but we’re glad you’re here, aren’t we Joan?” Oliver said sitting up straight in the unforgiving hospital chair.

  Joan was in a drugged haze but she managed a weak smile for her daughter who lingered by the bed. With her outstretched arm she attempted to connect with Scarlett, until she saw the haunted look in her eyes.

  “Are you afraid of me?” she whispered with her dry throat.

  “I’m afraid of this hospital, not you,” she replied as she wrung her hands together and gazed at the floor.

  “Is that why it took you so long to visit?” Joan asked, fighting to keep her expressionless eyes open.

  “I hate this place. The sterility and hushed madness. I don’t want this to happen to me.”

  “Well right now it’s about your mother, not you,” Oliver said as he shifted around in his chair, finally standing up to stretch his long legs. His drawn face looked ghost-like against the magnolia walls.

  “I don’t see Mum as being ill. I see her, and you come to that, as eccentric. Where does eccentricity end and madness begin?”

  Oliver moved towards Scarlett and put his hands on her shoulders.

  “Who we are is constantly evolving. We’re not set in stone as a child, Scarlett.” He squeezed her shoulders, feeling the rigid knots of muscle under his fingers.

  “I’m sorry that I’m a daily reminder of your possible unstable future. Maybe I shouldn’t have had kids.” Joan closed her eyes, before pulling the sheet over her face.

  “I think perhaps you should go now. It’s not doing either of you any good,” Oliver said in a hushed tone.

  She knew he was right, so she kissed him on the cheek and blew her mother a kiss. A weight lifted from her shoulders as she walked down the corridor, but the weight returned as she passed patients milling around in a visible catatonic state.

  Driving back to the office, Scarlett’s mood lifted. And by the time she was walking up the stairs thinking about her articles, she felt positively elated.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I’ve made a pot of tea and sliced some cake for both of us,” said James Dolby as he carried the tray into the lounge and placed it on the coffee table.

  Emily continued staring out the window, and as the darkness fell, she began to see her own reflection instead of the naked trees. She was a shattered woman with no meaning to her life, whilst her husband tiptoed around her as though she would splinter into a thousand shards if the air around her moved.

  The doorbell summoned him to the front door, and he was strangely relieved to see the reverend’s wife standing there.

  “I thought I’d call in and see how you were both doing. Is now a convenient time?”

  “I’m not sure she’ll talk to you, but could you stay with her whilst I nip out, if you don’t mind?” He stood back to let Vera Olong in and followed her to the lounge.

  “I’m off to get a few things, Vera will stay with you.” He waited for a response for a few seconds before quietly slipping away.

  He took a few deep breaths of fresh air as he walked down the path. It was exhilarating after the stale air in the house.

  “How are you today,” Vera asked, as she sat next to Emily.

  Emily wriggled in her chair, pushing her body into the arm of the sofa. “How do you expect me to feel? Does God understand how I’m feeling or should I be talking to your husband for that answer?”

  Vera smiled and suggested she make some tea, noticing the half empty cup.

  “That’s all anyone seems to offer me.”

  Vera stood up and walked to the window where she could still see Emily behind her. She watched as Emily twisted her wedding ring around her finger, over and over again.

  “What have you said to the police?” Vera asked.

  “Nothing, but I imagine they’re interested in you because of where he was found.” She spoke the last four words in a whisper.

  “We have spoken several times, but the mystery still remains. The past week has been a burden upon all our souls.”

  Emily looked at the newspaper on the table next to the armchair. “Is that all true?”

  Vera turned and followed her stare. “Lies that have damaged George.
And now the rumours have followed us here.”

  Vera returned to sit next to Emily and picked up her hand, which she stroked lightly. “If you ever feel the need to talk, you know where I am. You need to speak with someone who understands your pain. Remember that.”

  Emily pulled her hand away and placed it back on her own knee, smoothing the creases in her skirt. “You haven’t got any children, so I’m not sure you would totally understand; if you don’t mind me saying.”

  Vera pursed her lip and gazed into the distance before replying.

  “I am a woman; hence I have the softness in my heart that allows me to absorb other women’s pain. I can travel the road with you even though ultimately we have different destinations.”

  Emily closed her eyes and allowed the tears to seep from under her eyelashes. Travelling down her cheeks, they pooled in the corners of her down-turned mouth. She opened her eyes partially and gave Vera a sideways glance whilst she cleared her throat in readiness. The cogs in her mind turned as the words formed, but her parched mouth prevented the phrases from being uttered.

  “Perhaps I should leave you in peace. Call me if you need to talk,” Vera said as she squeezed Emily’s arm before rising from the sofa. “I’ll see myself out.”

  Emily’s shoulders relaxed as she heard the front close softly. She picked up her now cold cup of tea and took a tiny sip, letting the liquid slowly travel down her throat. The calm lasted for only a few minutes as she heard the front door open and the sound of her husband’s footsteps on the wooden floor. He paused outside the lounge door, before moving towards the kitchen.

  He put the carrier bag on the worktop and took out the bottle of malt whisky—something normally reserved for Christmas. He poured the bronzed liquid into a glass before knocking it back in one mouthful. It hit the back of his throat, bringing tears to his eyes, but it was not enough to dull his senses, so he poured another.

  Both needed each other, but both harboured thoughts of darkness which they could not divulge to one another. They feared reprisal should they voice their concerns or open up suspicions, so they remained in separate rooms—both sipping on a very different cold, golden-brown liquid.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Stewart Cleveland’s bank account showed no signs of activity and an extensive search by officers did not deliver any evidence of his whereabouts. His passport was still in his home, although all ports and airports had been given his description.

  The atmosphere in the Incident Room had plummeted as it was Friday evening and weekend leave had been cancelled again. Wednesday was aware of murmurings around the team because of Scarlett’s article on the reverend. Hunter was clearly avoiding her, which perturbed her more than she anticipated.

  She watched the team through her window, and caught sight of Hunter striding across the room towards Maria Jones. She felt as though she was on the edge of the action, in a dream-like state, and had been forgotten by those around her. She was not ready to interact with another human being when Jones knocked on her door.

  “There’s been a possible sighting of Stewart Cleveland in Bethnal Green in London. They’re sending us the details now, and trying to locate him to bring him in.”

  Wednesday followed her into the Incident Room where a certain frisson was ripping through the room. Perhaps at last, a suspect was about to be caught.

  Hunter came out of his office, talking on his mobile. With the mobile still clamped to his ear, he beckoned Wednesday and Lennox towards him. They stood before to him like obedient children, waiting for him to finish his call.

  “Right you two, you’re off to Bethnal Green—your old stomping ground, Lennox—to check out these leads. It looks like Cleveland is holed up in a local bed and breakfast down there. Bring him back, we need to know what or who he’s running from.”

  Wednesday grabbed a few strands of hair and began twirling them around her finger. “He may just be running from his debts with Dick Pennymore, Guv.”

  Hunter looked her directly in the eye and rubbed his chin. “That may be part of it, but we can’t ignore the school as a link with these deaths. He may be involved in some other way.”

  “I’ll drive seeing as I know the way,” said Lennox.

  Hunter watched the pair leave before swallowing a couple of paracetamol for the pounding headache that was gripping his head.

  The drive down the M11 towards London was spent in unyielding silence. Wednesday’s cheeks were burning as she read the report from the metropolitan police, whilst studying the grainy picture of what looked like Cleveland. Lennox drove at a steady pace whilst chewing on some gum.

  Wednesday was relieved when her mobile rang, giving her some form of human contact. After listening to the voice at the other end, she turned to Lennox to impart the news.

  “They’ve got Cleveland at the station, but he’s not talking. They’re hoping he’ll open up to us.”

  “Not sure about that. He’s not our greatest fan.”

  They entered the station and flashed their badges at the sergeant behind the desk, who duly waved them through. They found Cleveland sitting in an interview room with a female officer—who clearly recognised Lennox—standing guard. Cleveland raised his head and let out an audible sigh.

  “God, not you two. What the bloody hell have I done to deserve such a visitation?”

  “Going on the run during a murder enquiry. Does our visit sound reasonable now?”

  “I’m not responsible for the murders. I can’t see what right you lot have to keep me here.”

  He looked rather dishevelled and wide-eyed, and smelt faintly of stale sweat and urine.

  “Lots of people are worried about you, Mr Cleveland. Didn’t you think your disappearance would cause concern?”

  “I think that certain people may be worried because I’ve begun to work things out. Things to do with the murders.”

  Wednesday and Lennox looked at one another before sitting opposite him. The sound of their chairs scraping along the floor made Cleveland wince.

  “We’re listening,” said Lennox, not expecting to be enlightened.

  They listened as he spoke about seeing Des Wright frequently with Dick Pennymore at the pub. He believed that Des Wright was working for Pennymore as a debt collector, which was the main reason he had disappeared. He feared for his life. He had seen Des doing a lot of work around the pub, mainly odd jobs and gardening. Cleveland sat back in his chair and complained of having a dry mouth, so the officer brought him a cup of water before he continued his tale.

  He believed that Pennymore had something on Des which enabled him to use Des as cheap labour.

  “But how do you know he isn’t paying Des a fair wage?” asked Lennox who was feeling they were wasting their time.

  “Because I’ve heard him telling people when he sits on the pub wall drinking. I’ve seen him be two-faced about Dick. Nice as pie to his face, then slating him with unsavoury words behind his back.” Cleveland took a large gulp of water and let the liquid moisten his cracked lips.

  He continued to hypothesize, telling them he believed Des had killed Tom Dolby when he was round his house; it was well known he had a temper. It was not well known that Judith did too, thought Wednesday to herself.

  He went on to say Darren must have been present and so he had to be silenced. He stopped and rested his chin on his prayer-like hands. “So?” he said, as though expecting a round of applause.

  “It’s a nice theory but one that we’d already considered. It’s based on fantasy, not fact. You have no substantial evidence for your claims, Mr Cleveland.” Lennox brushed his hand over his hair, all the while maintaining eye contact with him.

  “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Look,” he started as he bent over the table to get closer to the detectives. “I know that Des has been a beater for the shoot Pennymore organises each year; he’d have been aware of the hut in the woods.”

  “As would every dog walker in the village,” said Wednesday.

  Cleve
land paused and looked at the floor, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

  “You’re no help,” barked Lennox, tired of being strung along by him.

  “You two may see me as a worthless mutt. But as a headmaster, I am influential and know people in high places.”

  Lennox clamped his teeth together, flexing the muscles in his jaw.

  “Detectives, I want protection when I return. I fear Des Wright will harm me.” He leant forward again and stared at them both with a wild look I his eyes.

  “We don’t have the resources for that, Mr Cleveland,” said Wednesday. “What I suggest you do is keep your doors locked at all times, only open the front door to people you trust, and call us if he turns up at your house or place of work and threatens your safety. Right, we need to get you back.”

  Cleveland sat behind Lennox in the car for the journey back to Cambridgeshire. Periodically, Lennox looked in his rear-view mirror to see Cleveland gazing out of the window with a pensive look upon his face.

  He also noticed that Wednesday kept glancing at her watch.

  “Do you get on with the teachers at your school,” he asked, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to imaginary music.

  “I’m not there to be their friend, but seeing as you ask, yes I do. I command respect from them, even the younger ones.”

  They dropped Cleveland outside his home and checked he got in safely before returning to the office.

  “Any plans for the evening?” asked Lennox.

  “I thought I’d visit my mum then call in on Oliver.”

  Lennox made a humming sound in response as he pulled into the station car park.

  Wednesday succumbed to eating another chocolate bar from her stash whilst she finishing her paperwork. Periodically, she looked up to see Lennox at his desk generally gazing into space. He had been quiet since their visit to Bethnal Green.

  She finished her report before turning off her office light. She was unaware of Lennox staring at her as she walked past his office.