In the Light of Madness (17 page)

Pulling into her driveway, Wednesday could see that Scarlett had left nearly every light on in the house. As she opened the front door she was greeted by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

“Is that a good idea?” Wednesday said as she nodded towards the coffee pot on the Aga.

“God yes, I’m on a roll, sis. I need to keep going. The editor has saved me the front cover for this piece on a cult in our midst, so I need to finish it and get it to him by one in the morning.”

“What cult?”

“Children dying in the vicinity of a church always spells trouble and invariably spells cult.”

Wednesday sighed. Living with someone who lived on an eternal rollercoaster, on a high for the majority of the time, followed by crushing lows without any explanation, was extremely tiring at times. Wednesday worried for Scarlett, and she worried for herself.

“I didn’t have time to drop the letter at the station. I thought you could take it with you tomorrow,” said Scarlett as she handed over the piece of paper.

Wednesday held it by the corners as she read it then placed it along with the envelope, into an evidence bag. She could see that Scarlett was far too busy to want to discuss anything further, so she poured herself a glass of wine and headed up for a soak in a deep bath.

As Wednesday lay staring at the ceiling, Lennox’s and Scarlett’s words intermingled in her foggy brain. Somehow she knew she should be worried about something, but her deadened mind was not receptive. The homely smell of freshly ground coffee floated around the air, and the fear of tomorrow filled her thoughts.

She could hear Scarlett moving around downstairs, clearly hyped-up. How on earth did she figure a cult would exist in rural Cambridgeshire?

Unwelcome thoughts about Lennox spun around her mind as she let the warm water lap over her shoulders.

Chapter Thirteen

The indexers Suzy Simmons and Audrey Smith were busy talking about their Christmas plans by the coffee machine, when Wednesday walked up behind them.

“What’s it like working with DD—the dishy detective?” Audrey asked.

“Is that what you two call Lennox?”

“Not just us, all of the women. Maria came up with it, but don’t tell her we told you so. Anyway, how are you coping being around him so much?”

The pair grinned at her but before she had the chance to set them straight, Hunter entered the room clapping his hands. He stood by the white board with his arms folded, scanning the room.

“Arlow and Damlish have dug up more info on the Wrights. The neighbours heard frequent disturbances but never called the police. They said they were too afraid to get involved.”

People murmured until he coughed.

“Wednesday and Lennox, I want you to find out more about Reverend Olong’s interaction with the families. Damlish and Arlow can dig up the past issues in his previous parish, and carry out a visit if necessary. The trail for Darren went cold in the vicarage, but both Olongs deny any knowledge of his presence there.” He took a sip of coffee before continuing.

“There is more to the vicarage than meets the eye; I want discreet surveillance to monitor who comes and goes.” He turned towards the officers sitting on the edge of a table in the far corner.

“What has surveillance come up with at the Wright’s?”

“Not much, Guv. She only seems to pop out occasionally to go to the local shop, and he has occasional labouring jobs,” replied a young constable.

“Are they aware of your presence?”

“Yes, Guv, just as you wanted. Sometimes they give us two fingers to show us their displeasure.”

Ripples of laughter swept across the room making the young constable go bright red. Hunter coughed pointedly.

“Jones will assign the other jobs. Get to it and get results.”

Everyone moved into position whilst Maria Jones set about organising the staff.

“Wednesday, Lennox, my office, now,” snapped Hunter.

They followed him in and shut the door behind them.

“I realise you may not be on board about pursuing the reverend due to the cliché factor, but I feel his movements are worth tracking. It may be too passé for you to take seriously, but I’m ordering you to take heed of him.”

Wednesday’s cheeks stung as though he had slapped her. They both nodded like obedient dogs on a car dashboard and returned to Wednesday’s office to plan their movements. Lennox chewed on a pencil as he looked up the Edwards’ phone number.

“Would you believe it, we’ve got to visit the Edwards first because they’re going to their London flat for a few days. You’d think a holiday would be the last thing on their mind,” he said, replacing the receiver.

“Maybe it’s exactly because of what’s on their minds that they want to get away. I can only imagine how they must feel. You can be a cold fish at times.”

“And you can be too empathic.”

The drive to the Edwards’ house was conducted in flat silence. Pulling up outside the residence, they saw a few photographers hanging around.

“Like proverbial flies around shit,” muttered Lennox to himself.

Having a half-sister in the press business did not help quash Wednesday’s dislike of people who profited from other people’s misery; although Scarlett would retort that the police did the same. Wednesday gave no eye contact to the watchful crowd as they walked up the path. Journalists called out questions to the pair, but Lennox just called back “no comment” before ringing on the doorbell.

“I hope you won’t keep us long, Detectives,” said Greg Edwards as he let them in through a half open door. “My wife is extremely fragile, and those hounds out there aren’t helping.”

“I’m sorry about that, we can move them on if you wish,” replied Wednesday.

“No point in that now.” He led them to the lounge where Lucinda was watering the houseplants. She turned around slightly as they entered and gave only a fleeting smile.

“What is it you said you wanted to talk about?” enquired Greg as he gestured to them to sit down.

“We were wondering whether Reverend Olong had been to see you recently,” Wednesday asked.

“The reverend? He comes daily, as it happens. Why?”

“Has it been at your request?”

“No. But Lucinda has been a shell since . . . well since it happened, and I think his presence may be of some comfort to her.”

“Is that correct, Mrs Edwards?”

She stopped watering. “I try to glean some semblance of peace and hope in this diabolical world. I wish to wash my soul of the anguish and grief that someone has smeared on it. Perhaps only God can help me now.”

It was the first time they had really heard her speak. Her voice was as weak and as delicate as her feeble frame. Her whole being evoked pity and yet curiosity.

“Did you see much of the reverend before this tragedy?” Wednesday asked.

“Look, I’m not sure what this is all about. We’re having a tough time here, and unless you think the reverend did it, I don’t see the point in you questioning us like this.” Greg had moved to stand next to his wife and put both hands on her shoulder. His face was contorted by unexpressed impotent rage.

“We often have to make linear enquiries in a case. We’re sorry if we’ve caused you any distress.”

“You didn’t answer me when I asked whether you thought the reverend did it. Is he the murderer?”

Lucinda tilted her head towards her husband’s face.

“We are just making enquiries. Please don’t read too much into our conversations, we’re looking at all those involved with the children in one way or another. We have your address and number for your London flat, so we’ll get in touch if we have a lead.”

Next, they drove to the Dolby’s house, travelling in nicotine smog, both caught up in their fraught worlds.

James Dolby answered the door within seconds, as though he had been standing in the hallway waiting for them all morning.

“Any news?” he asked, forgetting to invite them in.

“Nothing new, sir, I’m afraid. May we come in?”

“Let them in, James,” called his wife, who could be heard pottering in the kitchen.

James had the air of a man on the edge of a precipice, into which he was about to jump at any given moment. Emily Dolby, on the other hand, seemed more in control as she breezed in with a tray of tea. Without asking, she poured everyone a drink and passed the cups around.

“Have you seen much of the Reverend Olong lately?” Wednesday said as she put her cup down on the coffee table.

“Oh yes, he’s been an enormous strength and solace for me,” replied Emily.

“And you, Mr Dolby?” asked Wednesday, sensing a different response from him.

“The very mention of God is abhorrent at the moment. Emily still seems able to trust in the Lord and the reverend. I don’t interfere with her needs.”

“Perhaps you’re both at different stages in your grief,” said Lennox, placing his empty cup and saucer on the table. “You both normally attend church I understand, so the reverend was already involved with you all as a family, correct?”

“Indeed, and I’m sure my husband will return to the bosom of God once he has worked through the pact with the devil he’s currently embraced.” She looked directly at him.

He scowled back at her. “What are you blithering on about? How can God let this random act of violence rip our world apart?”

“You believe it was a random act, Mr Dolby?” interjected Wednesday.

“But of course. Who would wish our Tom dead? He’d harmed no one.”

Wednesday noticed Emily look down at her shoes on hearing his words.

“Do you have the same thoughts, Mrs Dolby? Or is there something else you wish to say?”

“Of course she has the same bloody thoughts.”

Emily’s face dropped at her husband’s outburst. She clambered to her feet, clutching a handkerchief to her mouth, and rushed from the room.

“I’ll go and check she’s okay,” said Wednesday, instructing Lennox with a flick of her eyeballs to stay with the husband.

Wednesday heard muffled sobs emanating from behind the closed kitchen door, so she tapped on it lightly before walking in. Emily was standing with her back to the door so all Wednesday could see were her shoulders juddering with each mournful gasp.

“Perhaps you should sit down.” Wednesday took her by the arm and placed her in a chair at the table.

“I’m sorry. My husband shouldn’t speak as he does, not about a man of the cloth or the Creator himself.”

Wednesday winced at the reverence Emily graced upon religion, and the awe she displayed regarding the reverend. She knew she had to respect an individual’s right to choice, but it did not make hearing their choices any easier.

“You seemed a little uneasy when your husband mentioned Tom’s innocent behaviour. Do you have a different take on things?”

Emily’s puffy, blotchy face appeared from behind the tissue that was rendered useless by her copious tears.

“No child is always an angel; it’s not realistic to expect that. I just wanted some help with his attitude.”

“What kind of help?”

“Someone to listen to me. James never seemed to listen or to understand. I lacked the strength to cope at times.”

“Did you find someone to listen to you?”

“God listened to me, but even He wasn’t enough at times. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to the reverend, I was too embarrassed . . .”

Wednesday watched as Emily sank her head into her hands

“What did you do, Mrs Dolby?”

“That’s the problem; I did nothing, nothing at all.”

“And what should you have done?”