In the Light of Madness

by Madness, In The Light Of

  “No, we’re making enquiries and your name came up.”

  “Let me guess, by Cleveland.”

  “Now why would he bring up your name?” Lennox said, raising his eyebrows.

  “He never liked me. He made that clear if I went to that damn school about Darren.”

  “In what way,” continued Lennox, keeping an eye on the chainsaw.

  “I dunno. It was obvious he thought I was a dumb piece of shit, not educated like him.”

  “Could you raise your visor?” asked Wednesday.

  He did as he was asked, revealing the faint mark of a new bruise on his right cheek.

  “Where did you acquire that bruise?”

  Des said nothing and let the chainsaw drop to his side.

  “It looks suspiciously new. If this is a result of some home dispute, you could report it to us,” said Wednesday in a low voice. “But if it’s some fight, we’ll need the details to verify your story.”

  Des guffawed at her comments, saying the bruise was a result of him staggering into a door frame when he was drunk the night before. He snapped down his visor and revved up the chainsaw, returning his attention to the hedge.

  As they turned to walk away, they found Dick Pennymore standing behind them.

  “Anything wrong, Detectives?”

  “Just making enquiries. Where were you last night after closing?” replied Wednesday.

  “I had a private party going on in the back room until about two in the morning.”

  “Could anyone corroborate that?”

  “Sure. I can give you a list of names.”

  “If you would.” Wednesday held her pen over her notepad.

  Pennymore sighed and proceeded to reel of the names.

  She saw him watching them leave in her rear-view mirror, before turning around and heading back towards Des.

  The drive to the golf club took them along hedge lined roads that opened up onto windswept, barren farmland. Despite the chill in the air there were plenty of cars in the golf club car park. However, they were more salubrious that those of the clientele in The Crow. They noted a couple of sports models, three Range Rovers and one Silver Lady Rolls Royce.

  “Impressive,” said Lennox as he perused the mechanical marvels.

  “I suppose, if you’re impressed by ostentatious, materialistic paraphernalia,” replied Wednesday as she gazed around. “There’s a CCTV camera up there. Hopefully it’ll have captured something.”

  Crunching up the lavender lined gravel path, the pair found the double door entrance to the club at the front, overlooking the green. The door was flanked by two tall bay trees. Window boxes and hanging baskets containing winter pansies were interspersed around the perimeter. The tables and chairs on the veranda were covered over for the winter.

  A gust of warm air blasted their faces as they stepped inside and walked towards the reception desk.

  Lennox introduced them as they flashed their badges. “We’d like to speak to Mr Keith Sanders, please.”

  The overly made-up woman dialled through, and within seconds, a man in an expensive looking suit with black patent shoes arrived in reception and introduced himself.

  “I suppose you’ve come about Mr Cleveland. Shall we move to my office?”

  Wednesday and Lennox followed him into his plush office, with a bottle-green leather couch, walnut desk, and a showcase full of golfing trophies.

  “Most of those belong to my son,” he said, noticing them looking.

  “Would that be Ralph?” enquired Lennox as he moved closer to the cabinet.

  “Yes, he’s on his way to becoming a professional golfer. He’s got a big future ahead of him.”

  “It was Ralph who found Mr Cleveland, I understand.”

  “Yes, he practices every morning before school. I told you, he’s aiming high so he has to put the hours in.”

  “How has Ralph been since the death of Claudia Edwards?”

  “He’s been fine. He knew her, but not all that well.”

  “You wouldn’t have classed them as dating then?”

  Sanders gave a throaty laugh, and said absolutely not, stating again that his son had no time for frivolous activities such as dating girls. Girls were a distraction.

  “Is Mr Cleveland a member of this club?” Lennox asked.

  Another look of mirth from Sanders confirmed that Cleveland was not a member, although he was trying to find a sponsor so he could be. He went on to say that Cleveland may be well educated, but he did not have the aristocratic or esteemed background other members had.

  “People pay a lot for exclusivity,” he said, before there was a knock at his door.

  His secretary entered and whispered in his ear before giving him something to sign. After her departure, they discussed the CCTV footage which only covered the clubhouse and the car park, which is locked at eleven thirty, after the closure of the clubhouse. No problems had ever been reported at the club, and he had no idea what Cleveland was doing there. Nevertheless, Wednesday asked for the footage to take back to the station.

  “If there’s anything else I could do, just ask.”

  They asked if they could have a look around before they left, and that they would need to interview Ralph about the discovery. Sanders waved his hand in agreement.

  They walked around the green and found the bunker where Cleveland was found earlier that day. The area had been swept by officers, but nothing pertinent had been found.

  “There’s no way of seeing people arriving through the woodland. It’s secluded down here. Anybody could have dumped him here without being seen,” said Lennox as he looked around. “Come on, let’s get back to the station, we’re just wasting time here.”

  Wednesday took a last look around before striding out to catch up with him. Once in the car, she reclined her seat and leant her head on the padded rest. Images of her mother in emotional crisis interspersed her logical thinking about the murders. She closed her eyes for a few seconds to attempt to blot out the disturbing visions.

  Arriving at the Incident Room, Arlow approached them.

  “We’re releasing Tom Dolby’s body to the parents today. They want to have the funeral in a couple of days.”

  “I suppose Hunter will make us attend that,” said Lennox, rolling his eyes as he headed for his office.

  Wednesday’s mobile rang. It was Scarlett.

  “Thought you’d be interested to know that a wreath was delivered to the office for me a few minutes ago, with a message that reads ‘May your soul be damned’. What do you make of that? Isn’t it just divine?”

  “Good god, Scarlett, this is getting serious. I’ll send an officer to collect it and get a statement from you.”

  “Don’t blow a fuse, sis. I’m okay, and I’m sure Jacob will be my bodyguard again tonight.”

  Wednesday glared in the direction of Lennox’s office as she disconnected the call. She sent an officer to Scarlet’s office then marched straight over to Lennox.

  “We need to talk about Scarlett,” she said as she closed the door behind her.

  “What about?”

  “Two things really. The first being she’s just received another threat in the form of a wreath, and secondly, I hope that you don’t intend to hurt her feelings.”

  Lennox indicated for her to take a seat, which she declined.

  “Firstly, I hope she’s taking the threat seriously, and secondly, I hope she’s not taking me too seriously. You know how I feel about commitment.”

  “Oh indeed, I know. But I’m not so sure Scarlett does.”

  “Perhaps you should enlighten her.”

  “That’s not my job, and I’m not the guardian of your love-life. I’ve avoided mentioning her until now for the sake of our working relationship.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure she’s strong enough to deal with a transient liaison.”

  Wednesday exhaled loudly as her mobile rang again. Snatching it from her pocket, she saw it was a call from the
psychiatric hospital. She hurried from his office without saying another word to him.

  Shutting the door to her office, she listened as a nurse informed her that her mother was being discharged next week, and that they would like her to attend a pre-discharge meeting, along with Oliver. Wednesday checked her diary and knew there was never going to be the right time in her work schedule, so she reluctantly agreed for a meeting on Monday afternoon.

  Her reluctance made her feel guilty, which in turn made her unearth all her fears about the future. She could not comprehend how, as a family, they were going to cope with her mother’s increasingly fluctuating mental health and suicidal ideation. Oliver was showing signs of compassion fatigue and Scarlett displayed a marked lack of interest, hence Wednesday felt she needed to be the one to cope with the caring demands as well as the demands of her own career. Her shoulders drooped and her head began to throb.

  Looking up she saw Hunter standing outside her door holding a copy of the local newspaper.

  “I see your sister is hard at work, stirring up mass hysteria again. I thought I’d asked you to get her to tone it down,” he said as he slammed the paper on her desk.

  “Sorry Guv. She doesn’t listen to my requests or demands, and now it’s getting her into more trouble.”

  “More?”

  Wednesday’s cheeks flushed as he stood over her desk, waiting for clarification.

  “She’s just received a wreath at work.”

  “And what do you want me to do about that?”

  She felt like a schoolgirl in the headmaster’s office. He remained standing, with his arms folded across his chest.

  “An officer is bringing in the wreath for examination. She’s just winding up the religious section of the community talking about cults.”

  “Well we don’t know that for sure. In fact, we don’t know much about anything at the moment, which is bloody unsatisfactory to say the least.”

  Jones appeared at the door and asked Wednesday what she wanted her to do with the wreath that had just arrived. Hunter looked at her before exiting, leaving a frosty atmosphere in his wake.

  “I’ll take it downstairs,” she said, taking the wreath and heading to the laboratory.

  She found Alex Green hunched over a microscope; he was so absorbed he did not hear her knock. He finally looked up thanks to her theatrical coughing.

  “Who does that belong to?” he asked, looking at the wreath.

  “It was sent to my half-sister, so I want it processing for fingerprints. See if there’s anyone in the system we can trace it to. It was paid for in cash, anonymously at the florist.”

  With gloved hands, Alex took the wreath and placed it on a table. “It’s not priority. I’ve still got loads to do for your cases. Besides, there were no latent prints on the other items from her.”

  Wednesday understood albeit unenthusiastically.

  Instead of returning upstairs she headed for the courtyard. The air was damp, but it did not deter her from lighting a cigarette. Her mother’s delusional voice kept appearing in her mind, saying over and over that they were trying to poison her; “they” being the hospital staff. She wished her troubles could evaporate in the air, much like the cigarette smoke.

  “Thought I’d find you here,” said Lennox, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. “I need to ask you a favour.”

  She eyed him suspiciously through the murky smoke.

  “You remember me telling you about my difficulties with my two sons?”

  Wednesday nodded and took a deep drag from her cigarette.

  “Well with all this cancelled leave, I’ve missed a few visits. So, I’m taking them bowling in London this evening.”

  “Sounds like a great idea. What do you need from me?”

  Lennox scuffed his shoes along the ground, blowing clouds of smoke into the air.

  “I need to have a quiet word with Archie about his aggressive behaviour, and I need Alfie to be distracted whilst I do that.”

  “You want me to tag along to be the distraction? Why don’t you ask Scarlett?”

  “Because I don’t need another adolescent to care for. I need another adult for support.”

  Wednesday liked his description of Scarlett, but disliked the idea of an evening with two unknown teenagers, and especially disliked the notion of wearing other people’s smelly shoes.

  Driving down to London, they refrained from smoking in the car for the sake of the boys.

  “How are you going to introduce me?” Wednesday asked as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Hadn’t occurred to me what to say. How about work colleague?”

  Wednesday nodded. She envisaged a mountain of complications over the course of the evening, but it was too late to change her mind as they pulled up next to a tree outside his ex-wife’s house.

  She watched Lennox walk up to the front door of the modern semi-detached house and ring the bell. She noticed him stand up straight with his shoulders back as the door opened.

  His ex-wife was tantalising out of view, and even when Wednesday unbuckled her seatbelt and leant forward as far as she could, she still could not see her. All that was visible was a shadow of the mother of his children, cast out by the light coming from the hallway. The interaction was brief and before long, Lennox was walking to the car with his two sons in tow. The eldest was almost as tall as his father, whilst the youngest still had a way to go.

  Both backdoors opened simultaneously and the car rocked as the boys threw themselves in before slamming the doors. The smell of cheap aftershave pervaded the air, and Wednesday barely received an acknowledging grunt from either of them as Lennox introduced her.

  Lennox tried to engage the boys in conversation about school and football. Wednesday found it painful to witness, and her irritation with Archie was mounting as he persistently pushed his foot into the back of her chair. She could see Lennox gripping the steering wheel. She wanted to reach out and touch him on the arm; only that would be misconstrued by everyone.

  Lennox had hardly stopped the car, when both boys jumped out and made their way into the bowling alley.

  “I’m sorry,” said Lennox, pulling on the handbrake.

  “No worries. I remember being a teenager . . . But you owe me.” She smiled to reassure him, even though she meant the owing part.

  Before she knew it, she was standing alone with the younger boy whilst Lennox took Archie off to buy the drinks.

  “So, are you my dad’s girlfriend?”

  “No, we just work together.”

  “I don’t know why you’re here then,” he replied, looking at her with his inquisitive hazel eyes, which were a brighter, livelier version of his father’s.

  “I don’t quite know myself. Shall we set up the game?” she asked, hoping to distract him until the others returned.

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see Lennox returning with a tray of drinks in tall plastic containers with fluorescent straws. Archie was looking very red in the face and gesticulating wildly with his arms.

  “You have no right to tell me how to behave. You left us. Is that how to behave?”

  “Don’t be so rude.”

  “There you go again, telling me what to do. We hardly see you and when we do, you think you’re in charge.”

  Wednesday and Alfie watched Archie spew his bitterness over his father.

  “Look son, I’m just worried about you, and so is your mum.”

  “Don’t bring her into it. I hate you,” he threw his large carton of Coke on the floor and stormed towards the exit.

  “Watch him,” said Lennox, indicating with his head in Alfie’s direction as he dashed after Archie.

  Wednesday turned towards Alfie who stood open mouthed as his father disappeared through the crowd.

  “Shall we play?” she asked half-heartedly.

  He shrugged and turned away from her before slumping into a seat. He repeatedly rammed the toe of his trainer into the table leg, with his head hung so lo
w Wednesday could no longer see his face under his floppy fringe.

  Five minutes later, Lennox returned with Archie and announced that they were leaving. His news was met with a mixture of sighs and drooping shoulders. But Wednesday was relieved that the nightmare evening was almost over.

  Throughout the return journey, Archie continued to push his foot into the back of Wednesday’s seat. She fumbled with the packet of cigarettes in her pocket, longing to draw one out and light it. Lennox had given up on small talk, so the subdued atmosphere lasted until they arrived back at the boys’ home.

  Once again, Wednesday could not see the front door clearly, but she heard raised voices and then heard the door slam as Lennox returned to the car. She held out her packet of cigarettes as he clicked his seatbelt into position.

  “Sorry about this evening,” he said before lighting up. “My plan didn’t pan out. Sorry you had to witness my crash and burn.”

  “No worries.”

  Small talk was off the agenda again and as he pulled up outside her house, he let her out before driving off revving his engine briefly.

  On entering the hallway, Wednesday heard voices coming from the lounge. Standing in the doorway, she was surprised, and not too happy, to see Vera Olong standing in front of the fireplace, talking to Scarlett.

  “DI Wednesday, what a surprise. Is this your home?” She was composed as she spoke, her face the same paleness as always, contrasted against her raven hair. Wednesday suspected she dyed it.

  Wednesday nodded and sat on the couch, awaiting an explanation.

  “I was asking Miss Willow if she could cease writing inflammatory articles about my husband and whether we have a cult festering away in our community.”

  “I see. How did you know where she lives?” said Wednesday, leaning forward in her seat.

  “A friend told me. Look, George is getting quite depressed over recent events, and I feel these articles are fuelling the gossip. You know how small-minded people can be.”

  “I’ve already told Mrs Olong that I will tone down focusing on the reverend, but the cult issue is big news. I can’t stop that,” piped up Scarlett.

  “Listen DI Wednesday, I’m worried that someone is trying to implicate my husband in the recent deaths by planting evidence at the vicarage. It needs to stop before it tips him over the edge.”