In the Light of Madness

by Madness, In The Light Of

  The detectives were disappointed by the dead end, but thanked the doctor for her time. They had nothing concrete to take back to the station, and they knew Hunter would be waiting for them to deliver. Had Wednesday been a religious person, it would have been the time to pray.

  “Let’s head for the vicarage. They are hiding something from us. And finding Darren’s DNA on the sleeping bag may force them to reveal their secret to us,” said Lennox.

  Wednesday relaxed her shoulders and smiled, thinking perhaps God was looking out for them after all.

  Reverend Olong looked visibly underwhelmed when he opened the door to them. Without uttering a word, he stood back and let them in.

  “Do you need my wife to be present?” he asked in a flat voice.

  “That would be useful, thanks,” replied Wednesday before following him into the wood-panelled sitting room.

  Wednesday sat down on the sofa, which offered her little support or comfort due to its saggy frame. Lennox stood by the soot stained fireplace with his hands behind his back, staring through the window.

  “Tea, detectives,” announced Vera as she walked into the room, carrying a tarnished silver tray.

  Wednesday and Lennox turned down the offer, choosing instead to relay the information of the forensic find on the sleeping bag.

  “We are finding it difficult to understand how a sixteen-year-old boy could hide out in your attic without you knowing. He would have moved around, stolen food from your kitchen, and perhaps even used the bathroom.” Wednesday looked from George to Vera in order to gauge their reactions; but neither showed even a flicker of concern.

  “This is a rambling old house and my wife and I are very busy people with church life. I put any noises down to the creaking floorboards, or the wind whistling through the gaps in the frame and roof.”

  “You seem to have an answer for everything. The attic, the garden, the crypt—”

  “What about the crypt?” asked Vera, suddenly looking interested.

  “We found an empty packet of crisps there, but no readable fingerprints. So obviously, the crypt was or is being used for something or by someone.”

  “That could be anyone. Kids playing hide and seek would probably be a good bet, especially as it’s left unlocked most of the time,” replied Vera as she walked over to her husband and placed her hands on his shoulders. “My husband and I do a lot for the community and we have nothing to hide or fear. Having said that, we are an easy target for anyone against God or religion. It wouldn’t be the first time, as well you know.”

  Wednesday tried to get comfortable on the sofa by pushing a cushion behind her lower back. Lennox remained rooted to the spot by the fireplace, his hands still clasped behind his back.

  “The current crimes are more than someone just disagreeing with your religion. Framing you for murder and kidnapping is far more serious and worrying. Aren’t you concerned?” said Wednesday, wishing she had remained standing as Lennox had done.

  “We have no need to worry. God will protect us from whatever force you feel we should fear,” replied George as he patted Vera’s hand that was still on his shoulder.

  When Vera returned from seeing them out, she gave her husband a hard stare.

  “I do hope that you’ve not been up to your old tricks, dear.”

  George bowed his head, before rising from the chair to make his way to his study, where he hoped the bible would offer him some semblance of comfort.

  As they left the vicarage, Wednesday felt drained of all emotion and was grateful that Lennox was driving.

  “How about a working lunch in The Crow?” He suggested.

  Wednesday nodded before saying the vicarage gave her the creeps.

  “That’s because religion scares you. It’s the unknown entity that it represents. You can’t figure it out.”

  “I believe it was you who declared a love of solving puzzles, not me,” she replied, flicking ash through the crack in the window. “Anyway, I don’t need you spouting psychobabble to me the way your parents obviously did to you.”

  Lennox gave an imperceptible nod before parking the car in the space next to the pub entrance.

  They were the only customers to order food that Tuesday lunchtime. The three other customers were bikers who huddled around the bar, conversing with the affable blonde who was pulling their pints.

  “I’m surprised to see you two here,” said Dick Pennymore as he walked up to their table with a pint in his hand.

  “Even the police need to eat,” replied Lennox with a note of irony in his voice.

  The barmaid arrived with two plates of cheese-and-onion toasted sandwiches, plus a bowl of chips for Lennox.

  “Still looking at my son as the killer, or has some other poor sucker got you two on his tail?” He asked as he hovered above them, swaying gently from side to side.

  “Maybe. Perhaps you’ve heard some rumours being bandied around the pub that might be worth repeating,” replied Lennox before shoving two chips into his mouth.

  “The word is the reverend’s done something like this before, apparently.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well apparently the reverend likes boys. God you detectives need things spelling out.”

  “And how does Claudia fit into that theory?”

  “She found out about his goings on, so he killed her.”

  “Interesting,” muttered Lennox.

  “Your sister seems to have her own wacky idea, eh, Detective?” Wednesday felt her cheeks redden.

  “Whatever she chooses to write about has nothing to do with me.”

  “But you’ve got to admit it’s intriguing. Perhaps the reverend has a sideline in devil worship and Claudia was a sacrifice.” He chuckled to himself before being called to the bar by the arrival of Des Wright with a tatty rucksack over his shoulder.

  “I wonder what he wants?” said Lennox, cocking his head in Wright’s direction.

  “Whatever it is, they obviously don’t want us to hear,” Wednesday replied as she watched them disappear into the backroom.

  “I ache for the days when we could smoke in the pub,” he said wistfully.

  “You’re just showing your age now. Anyway, we should be getting back. We can smoke in your car, seeing as we’ve broken that rule a million times already.”

  “I mainly kept it smoke free for my boys. They hated the smell of smoke.”

  That was her cue to bring up the subject that had piqued her interest all morning. Nudging a cigarette from her packet, she offered him one before he switched on the engine.

  “We can either talk about your family crisis, or we can talk about Scarlett. Your call.”

  Lennox realised staying tight-lipped about his affairs was futile, so he chose the one that was truly causing him pain.

  “Archie’s been arrested for being part of a gang that were fighting with another gang in the neighbourhood. My ex is going bloody mental over it, saying it’s my fault for being an inconsistent father. Kids apparently replace families with gangs these days.”

  Suddenly, Wednesday felt uncomfortable with the results of her prying. Their job did not cater for a family life or for relationships in general, hence the barren gash in her life.

  “So what’s happening?”

  “He’s under the youth offending team, receiving anger management and consequences sessions. That’ll be a waste of time, if you ask me.”

  “Have some hope; he’s still young enough to change,” she urged as he parked in his designated space.

  “I can’t offer him hope. I am the foundation of his failing, he knows it and so does his mother.”

  Back at The Crow, Pennymore and Wright were busy exchanging information on who was attending the gambling club that evening, and who Pennymore wanted protecting or persuading from the list of participants. Wright wanted to ask what the police were doing there, but he trusted Pennymore could see off detectives such as Wednesday and Lennox.

  The atmosphere in the Incident Room was
subdued, with only the occasional phone ringing and piles of paperwork and files precariously positioned on the officers’ desks. Hunter was in his office, pacing in front of the window whilst bellowing down his mobile phone.

  “That doesn’t bode well,” whispered Wednesday.

  “Nothing surprises me with these cases. We might as well follow Scarlett’s train of thought at this rate.”

  It was the first time he had uttered Scarlett’s name without bitterness resonating in his voice.

  Wednesday opened her office door to her phone ringing, and found Oliver on the other end.

  “Could you come round later, I could really do with a break,” he said in a hushed voice.

  “I can’t promise, Oliver. Work is hectic at the moment, but I will try.”

  She felt he already had compassion fatigue, but questioned whether she felt she could do any better. She doubted it, but was not ready to admit it to anyone, least of all herself.

  “Have you seen Scarlett today?” he asked, still speaking quietly.

  “Oliver, I really can’t chat now . . .”

  He did not wait for her to finish, his needs were greater than hers.

  “I’m worried about my daughter. She seems low in mood . . . you know.”

  She knew. And she did not want to think about it. The thought of sharing her house again with the malevolent monster clawing into the walls was unbearable.

  “We’ll talk later,” she said before hanging up.

  A tap at her door attracted her attention, and she reddened slightly as she saw Hunter standing there. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with faint pinstripes running lengthways, accentuating his lean figure. His shoes were pristine, as was his hair, and he smelt of freshly cut grass. Wednesday stroked down the creases in her jacket and wondered how long he had been outside her door.

  “How are you and Lennox getting along?” he asked.

  “Fine Guv, no problems to report.”

  Hunter pursed his lips and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “Even though he’s dating your sister, which I have to say concerns me.”

  She tried not to look shocked that he knew. “It doesn’t bother me. They don’t discuss work as far as I know.” She twirled strands of hair around her finger, and avoided direct eye contact, fearing he could see right into her soul.

  “That may be so, Wednesday, but you are to monitor the situation to prevent it from diluting our investigation or for pillow-talk secrets to leak into the paper. She’s got too much access for my liking.” He finished with a sharp nod of his head, before leaving her office and closing the door firmly behind him.

  Wednesday put her head in her hands and rested her elbows on her desk, taking in deep, slow breathes to halt the dizziness. If she wanted to have a trusting relationship with Lennox, she would have to relay Hunter’s conversation, warn him that eyes were on him. She let out a heavy sigh—life was getting too complicated.

  She wandered over to Lennox who was by the coffee machine, when Jones rushed up to them to say a very drunk Judith Wright was at the desk, angry about something that was apparently missing.

  Judith was worse than they anticipated when she arrived at the interview room. She was accompanied by an officer who looked so young he could have been her grandson. Wednesday ordered a mug of coffee to be brought to Judith whilst she guided her to a chair.

  Judith dropped into the chair so hard that her teeth rattled. Her bloodshot eyes swayed between Wednesday and Lennox, and when she opened her mouth, the stench of alcohol was pungent.

  “My Darren had a chain . . . Chain around his neck.” The words stumbled out of her mouth as her fist hammered onto the table.

  Wednesday encouraged her to sip the coffee, if only to cleanse her breath, then asked her to explain what she meant.

  “A bloody chain, woman, around his neck. It’s missing, some bugger has stolen it . . . Real silver it was, too.”

  “When did you last see him wearing it?” asked Wednesday.

  “He wore it all the time. It was his lucky Saint Christopher. So where is it?”

  Wednesday said she did not recall one being found at the crime scene or on Darren’s body. She asked whether Judith had searched in the house, which only seemed to anger her more.

  “I keep telling you, he was wearing it. Sterling silver with his initials on the back—DG. His dad got it for him.”

  “I’ll get an officer to search through the evidence bags, and we’ll get back to you. I’ll get someone to accompany you home; you’re in no fit state to be out on your own.”

  Judith made no comment as her head lolled from side to side. An officer escorted her out and Wednesday was glad to get away from the stale air.

  She was about to take Lennox to one side, when Hunter strode up to them. He looked directly at Wednesday as he spoke.

  “Cleveland is out of the hospital. I want you to interview him. We need to ascertain whether his assault was connected to his debts or the murders.”

  He strode off without waiting for a response. Wednesday jangled her keys at Lennox. She wanted to get out.

  “Hunter’s concerned about your liaison with Scarlett. He wants me to dissuade you from seeing her.” She didn’t look at him.

  Lennox brushed his hand over his hair and stared out of the passenger window. Tall poplar trees lined the road, bending back and forth in the gusts of wind. People walking along the pavement with their heads hung low, scarves flailing and collars turned up.

  “Did you tell him about me and Scarlett?”

  “Certainly not. I want us to well work together, which so far I believe we do. So no, it wasn’t me.”

  Lennox rubbed his chin, feeling the slight abrasion of stubble under his fingers. “You know it isn’t really a relationship. Just a mutual interest in physical exercise.”

  Wednesday squirmed at his description and gripped the steering wheel harder. “It’s none of my business, but tread carefully with her. She’s not as resilient as she makes out.”

  Lennox made no reply and continued watching the scenery pass by until they arrived at Cleveland’s flat.

  Once inside the building, it took a while for Cleveland to hobble to the door. He peered through the spy hole before removing the security chain.

  “Checking I’m safe?” he asked with a half smile.

  “We’ve come to see whether you remember more about your attack,” replied Wednesday, looking past his shoulder into the kitchen and noticing empty takeaway cartons spilling all over the worktop.

  “Well I can’t, so you’ve had a wasted journey.”

  “You must at least know whether the attack was due to your debts or something to do with your school.”

  He looked hard at her with his bloodshot eyes in discoloured sockets. She returned his regard and suggested they move their conversation inside.

  “You’re a lucky man to work with such an attractive woman, even if she is bossy,” he said to Lennox, as they all moved to the lounge.

  But Lennox did not bite, returning the conversation to the attack.

  “You still remain a suspect in the murder cases, so I suggest you take things more seriously. Your flippant attitude is not ingratiating.”

  “I didn’t realise I had to get on your good side. Are you here to arrest me?” He mockingly held his arms out with his wrists together, and cocked his head whilst looking from one to the other. “I didn’t think so,” he laughed. “You’re at a loss, no real evidence. You’re just stabbing around in the dark.”

  His laughter progressed into a coughing fit which split the cut on his lip. As blood seeped out, he grimaced and swallowed some cold tea to rid himself of the nasty taste in his mouth.

  “We understand you’re not a member of the golf club, but you would like to be. Is that correct?” Wednesday asked.

  “I suppose it was Saunders who told you that. Well, I have no desire for such a membership. And I have enough well-to-do and aristocratic connections at the school to get me what I want.”<
br />
  Markham Hall was not an upper class boarding school for the local gentry, as he seemed to be making out. Cleveland seemed to have a delusional streak where he and his school were concerned.

  “Unfortunately, the CCTV footage from the golf club has yielded nothing of value,” she continued. “So, could you tell us where they attacked you first and how you came to be on the golf course?”

  “All I can say is that there were two of them. They were wearing balaclavas and they were tall and broad. They took me from outside my flat and bundled me into a car or a van. I could sense they left me outside by the temperature, but as I was blindfolded I couldn’t say where.”

  He rubbed his bandaged wrist as he spoke, then placed a cushion on his lap on which to rest his arm.

  “Did you recognise their voices?”

  Cleveland shook his head slowly before complaining of a headache and wishing to go to bed.

  “So they said nothing to you at all. Not even that the beating was a message from someone?”

  “Nothing at all. Why ever it happened is of no consequence. I’m afraid to go out now, so what they did worked.”

  He looked pitiful and Wednesday knew they would get nothing out of him. Gripping onto the door frame with his bruised hand, he saw them out. Hearing their footsteps recede, he turned around to put the door chain on again and then moved to the kitchen. He picked up a bottle of whisky and poured himself a large measure before moving to the lounge to sit in a dark corner, facing the door.

  Wednesday drove to her parent’s home feeling guilty at wishing she was going to her own place, but she had promised Oliver he could have a break at some point.

  Oliver’s face lit up as he answered the door, welcoming her in with a meaningful hug. “Your mother will be pleased to see you. I think she may be bored of my company.”

  Wednesday followed him into the lounge, where Joan was rifling through a cupboard.

  “Found them,” she exclaimed as she brandished a couple of photo albums in the air.