“I’m not in charge of Scarlett. You’ve taken it up with her, so if you’re not satisfied, I suggest you see the editor of the paper. I would prefer it if you didn’t call here again, but go to her office instead.”
“I’m sorry, I was hoping to be less formal, appeal to her human nature rather than go the formal route via her boss.”
Wednesday rose and Vera took the hint. As they reached the front door, she turned and looked at Wednesday. “Do you believe my husband is guilty in some way?”
Wednesday frowned. “I can’t discuss ongoing cases with you, Mrs Olong. We are still investigating many leads and suspects.”
“One of which is my husband.”
Wednesday pursed her lips and opened the front door. “Goodbye Mrs Olong,” she said before quietly closing the door.
Wednesday headed straight for the kitchen and reached for the open bottle of wine in the fridge. She poured herself a large glass then sat in the carver chair at the head of the table. She rubbed the back of her neck and closed her eyes, letting the memories of the day wash around her mind. She opened her eyes on hearing Scarlett enter the room.
“That was awkward and positively annoying,” said Wednesday. “I don’t like my work life to enter my home via osmosis. It could cause complications.”
“Geez sis, you worry too much. She wasn’t threatening me, just asking me to go easy on the rev.”
“All the same, I don’t feel comfortable with people feeling they can drop in and discuss the cases in any way, shape, or form.”
“All right already; message received.” Scarlett poured herself a glass of wine and was about to leave the kitchen when Wednesday stopped her.
“There’s the discharge planning meeting on Monday to discuss Mum coming home. You should be there.”
The glass hovered at Scarlett’s lips before she took a sip. “You know how I loathe those places.”
“It not the place you loathe, it’s the staff.”
“Meaning?”
“You’re worried that some doctor or nurse will see your own madness. The madness you deny so frequently.”
Scarlett moved closer to Wednesday and slammed her glass on the table, causing droplets of wine to slosh over the table.
“I may be excitable at times, but at least I don’t live my life on the flat level like you.”
“We have insanity in the family. You never seem to worry about that.”
“Why worry? That alone can lead to insanity.”
Wednesday’s head pounded and Scarlett’s raised voice was intolerable. She rubbed her temples contemplating her next move, but before she had a chance to challenge Scarlett’s viewpoint, she’d already left the room and was clomping up the stairs. The slamming of her bedroom door signalled the end of their conversation.
Wednesday was a light sleeper, so when she heard footsteps on the gravel path, in the early hours, she moved quickly to the window and peeked through the curtains. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, but they also played tricks with the shadows so she could not be sure about what she was seeing. The security light suddenly lit up, casting a glow over the two cars. Wednesday waited to see any movement and then she saw a cat stroll out from the shadows. She waited some more before returning to bed and pulling the quilt over her head.
The smell of coffee and the chatter on the radio roused her from her slumber. Scarlett was already sitting in the kitchen, reading the Sunday paper.
Wednesday skirted around the table to grab herself a coffee. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“Already forgotten, sis.”
“I’ve got to get ready for work, but perhaps we can have a chat later about the meeting tomorrow.”
Scarlett mumbled incoherently as she buried her head in the paper.
“Are you sure you can cope with this morning’s service?” asked Vera, looking at George over the breakfast table.
He sat with his elbows on the table, nursing a mug of steaming tea. “God will give me the strength I need,” he replied.
Vera vigorously tapped the top of her soft boiled egg before decapitating it, freeing the yolk so it oozed down the shell’s exterior. “You could always ask a lay preacher to take over just this once.”
“Then it would look like I have something to hide. People are talking enough as it is.” He drank the last of his tea then excused himself from the table, leaving Vera alone with her thoughts.
“I don’t want to move again,” she called out before hearing his study door close.
As the church bells chimed, George paced up and down in the vestry, wringing his hands and mumbling a prayer to God. He stopped mid-flow as Vera knocked on the door to check that he was okay.
“Of course I am,” he replied before recommencing his pacing routine.
Standing in the pulpit, George was acutely aware of the thinning congregation. Reliable church members such as Emily, and the returning James Dolby, continued to keep their faith in God and in him.
As the opening hymn began, the strength and depth of the voices was noticeably lacking, as one by one, the parents had removed their offspring from the choir, leaving mainly adults such as Colin Pollock to keep it going. Even though Vera was in charge of the choir, it appeared that no one believed her strong enough to protect their loved ones from her husband.
Vera valiantly conducted whilst singing at the top of her soprano voice. She caught her husband’s eye, and he responded with a gentle nod of his head.
After the hymn was over, everyone sat down and waited for him to speak. He opened his sermon by discussing the Ten Commandments; his hands shaking underneath his cassock and his mouth becoming so dry that his lips stuck to his teeth.
“What evil have you brought upon us?” called out a voice from the pews.
The congregation stirred and people turned around to see who had spoken. People began murmuring and twitching nervously, until again, this time in a faltering voice, the question came again.
“What evil have you brought upon us, Reverend?”
George recognised the voice as did the congregation as they shuffled in the pews to gaze at Emily Dolby. The reverend leant on the lectern with his hands clasped together in a prayer-like position.
“Dear Emily, I’m not sure what you mean.”
Emily stood up whilst her husband looked up at her in bewilderment; the colour draining from his face.
“Life around here may have been a tad dull but it was safe. Then you came along, and all these . . .” she paused to swallow hard. “All these deaths have happened to our children. It can only be you.”
She remained standing, gripping onto the pew in front to keep her balance as she swayed back and forth. Colour flooded her face until her cheeks were glowing as though she had been slapped.
Vera had discreetly sidled up to George and whispered something in his ear.
“My dear Emily, I can see you are very troubled. So may I suggest that we discuss your concerns after the service?”
James tugged on his wife’s sleeve, encouraging her to do as he suggested. She finally gave in and sat down.
Unfortunately, her outburst had unsettled the congregation and the reverend struggled to draw them back into the words of God. He indicated to his wife to start the next hymn, which everyone reluctantly joined in with.
George ended the service by mentioning the three adolescents by name, which provoked muffled cries from some people. He walked down the aisle and stood by the arched door with Vera, ready to thank everyone for attending the service.
The congregation was slow to disperse, not wishing to miss out on the confrontation between the reverend and Emily Dolby. For some people, the battle between the pair offered up the opportunity for gossip and intrigue.
With the final person dispatched, George and Vera moved inside. He positioned himself in the pew in front of the Dolbys, sitting sideways so they could converse easily. Vera placed herself discreetly a few pews behind.
“I’m sorry for my wife’s outb
urst, Reverend. She’s been under a lot of stress of late.”
Emily looked at her husband and placed her hand on his arm.
“We have both had a stressful time,” she began, “and I don’t need my husband to apologise on my behalf.” She faced George once more. “I want you to explain things to me.”
“I will do my best,” he replied, as he clenched his hands together.
“Before you came here, we were a good Christian community. Then you arrived and suddenly we appear to have a cult that is killing our children. We heard you were forcibly moved here. Have you been involved in a cult movement before? Is that why they sent you here?”
George remained impassive. Emily took a deep breath and waited for him to answer.
“The cult story is fictional and the finger is being pointed in my direction as I’m an easy target. Religion can bring one’s downfall in society, from both the scared and the nonbelievers. Even James, had momentary lapse of faith.”
James blushed and gazed at his feet.
“Jesus came across his fair share of doubters,” finished George.
“You’re skirting the issue, Reverend. My son is dead, and I don’t know who to blame. I need to know the truth.”
“The search for the truth is not for the faint-hearted,” said George as he looked towards Vera.
“Shall we go to the vicarage for some tea? We want to soothe your soul before you return home,” offered Vera.
“No thank you, I just want to go home,” replied Emily.
The Dolbys stood up and shuffled down the pew. Neither gave eye contact to George or Vera, although James did attempt to raise a farewell hand.
George rubbed his forehead and screwed up his eyes.
“It will soon blow over,” said Vera. “Let’s go back for a cup of tea.”
Suddenly feeling weary and old, George followed his wife to the vicarage. It was going to take more than tea to bolster his soul.
“Shall we grab a bite to eat in the canteen?” asked Lennox as he stood in Wednesday’s doorway.
Wednesday shook a packet of cigarettes at him. He laughed. “Cigarettes aren’t a meal replacement. Come on, food first.”
It was a fine, but cold day, and squirrels scampered across the car park as the pair walked to the canteen.
Lennox bought a plate of fish and chips, whilst Wednesday bought an egg salad sandwich. The smell of the vinegar on the chips made her mouth water and the sandwich less satisfying.
“How are your sons?”
“Archie won’t talk to me on the phone and Alfie just answers monosyllabically. My ex balled me out for thinking of my girlfriend before my sons.”
“Didn’t you explain . . . ?”
“I tried to. To be honest, it was already brewing. It would’ve happened whether you were there or not.”
Wednesday stirred her cup of coffee incessantly, until Lennox finally told her it was getting on his nerves. She placed the spoon on the table and rocked it back and forth with her middle finger, until Lennox whisked the item out of her reach.
“Spit it out,” he demanded.
“Look, I need to be somewhere tomorrow at three. Could you cover for me? I’ll only be gone an hour.”
“Okay, but assure me you’re not putting yourself in danger.”
“It’s not work related, it’s of a personal nature.”
“Therapy session?”
Wednesday prodded her egg sandwich, pushing her finger further into the doughy bread; and Lennox knew at once he had made a faux pas.
“Are you implying I’m unhinged?”
“I can have that effect on women.”
He sat back in his chair, displaying a wide grin on his face, which faded as he saw the seriousness in her eyes.
“Sorry, Guv, I didn’t mean to wind you up.”
“They are discharging Mum next week, and I need to go to a meeting to plan for her care once home. If I’m honest, I’m not sure how we’ll cope as a family this time around. Oliver is getting tired, I’m overloaded at work, and Scarlett is, well, Scarlett.”
The trouble was, once she started opening up to him, she could not stop. She even mentioned that she was worried about Scarlett’s emotional wellbeing, until she remembered he was sleeping with her.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that last bit. I’m just a colossal worrier.”
“Does that mean you, too, could potentially be two people and I won’t know who you are at times?”
Wednesday expelled a deep sigh. “Firstly, schizophrenia doesn’t mean being two people. They function differently from the rest of society. They can often lose touch with reality, be ambivalent to life.”
Lennox placed his cutlery on the plate and pushed it to one side.
“Is this why you’ve kept it a secret from Hunter?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Look at what you thought. I don’t want him to see it as a potential weakness. He’d scrutinise every move and mistake I made so he could blame it on my state of mind.”
Before they had time to resolve each other’s concerns, Damlish blustered into the canteen and approached their table.
“Colin Pollock has brought something of interest to the station. Thought you ought to see it.”
Wednesday left her half eaten sandwich and followed the men out. They found Colin Pollock sitting in an interview room, tightly clutching a plastic bag. He shuffled about in his chair as they walked in and sat down.
“I found this on my doorstep this morning. I got up late, so I don’t know how long it’s been there.”
Wednesday donned some gloves and opened the bag. She pulled out a blue-green travel blanket.
“Have you touched this?” she asked Pollock.
“Well yes, I was curious.”
“We’ll need to take your prints for exclusion purposes.”
Wednesday carefully turned the blanket over and then placed it back in the bag.
“What made you think to bring this here?” she asked.
“I remember you searching for one and I thought it could be relevant. Or it could just be a prank.”
“Who would do that, Mr Pollock?”
“I truly have no idea. I’m a teacher at a secondary school, so it could be anyone. It’s your job to find out who, Detective.”
Wednesday thanked him for coming in, before an officer took him away for fingerprinting. She then took the bag and blanket down to the lab, where she found Alex Green on his mobile. She hovered around until he had finished.
“I think this could possibly be the blanket that was used to kill Tom Dolby. Could you process the blanket and the bag?”
“This could be a lucky break if I can lift any prints from the bag, or find hairs or skin cells on the blanket. I’ll make it my priority.”
Wednesday hoped he was right. If ever there was a time when she needed good news, now was that time.
Chapter Twenty-One
Weak winter sun hit Wednesday’s bedroom window, piercing through a chink in the curtains, tapping her unwelcomingly on her face.
Normally, she was not affected by the Monday blues, but the hospital appointment in the afternoon was playing on her mind. Guilt was crushing her abdomen as she had not visited her mother as often as she should have. It did not matter that she and Oliver understood how time-consuming her work was, she still felt as though her mother deserved better, considering the life she had led.
With the Aga offering comforting warmth, she was soon ensconced in the carver chair—with her feet tucked under her body—and the local paper and a mug of coffee to keep her company. As she unfolded the paper, she saw the front page article shouting the words “London cults spreading our way”. Wednesday shook the paper straight with both hands and then placed it on the table and smoothed it over with her palms.
The article, written by Scarlett, informed the reader of her trip to London to meet a secret source who explained the growing underworld of cults in the capital city. It went on to explain that cults were organisations
with radical views and behaviours that jarred with the accepted views in the mainstream community. Not mind blowing so far, thought Wednesday as she lit a cigarette before continuing to read.
The leaders of such organisations are often charismatic people, who proclaim they have been chosen by a higher power. They encourage the members to isolate themselves from family and friends.
Wednesday blew a long stream of smoke from her mouth as she released the tension in her shoulders. She discarded the paper to one side and drank the last of her coffee. No movement from upstairs, so she got ready for work without the opportunity to challenge Scarlett for continuing to stir the chattering masses about a cult killing their children. Never mind the promise she gave to Vera Olong.
Wednesday grabbed a notepad and scribbled the time of the pre-release meeting that afternoon for Scarlett, knowing full well that she would not attend, but she hoped the note would prick her almost nonexistent conscious.
Joni Mitchell’s voice oozed out from the car stereo as she drove to work, with her third morning cigarette dangling from her mouth. As usual, Lennox’s car was already parked in his space, and she could see Damlish walking towards the station entrance, clasping a take-away cup of fashionable coffee.
The morning dragged for Wednesday, chasing up forensic results and completing reports. Even the interaction with Alex Green did nothing to distract her. She kept herself locked away in her office until it was time to leave.
Lennox gave a gentle nod of his head as Wednesday left her office. Maria Jones had brought in cakes to celebrate her birthday, making it easy for Wednesday to slip out unnoticed by the rest of the team.
The drive to the hospital was easy enough. However, finding a place to park proved difficult, so by the time she reached the ward she was out of breath with a faint whiff of smoke clinging to her clothes.
Oliver stood up with outstretched arms, and gave her a wide smile as she arrived in the waiting room.
Within five minutes, a nurse appeared and asked them to enter the meeting room. Wednesday gave one last look towards the main door.
In the Light of Madness Page 20