In the Light of Madness (18 page)

“I don’t know exactly, but I shouldn’t have stood on the sidelines. I was his mother . . .”

Emily’s train of thought was leading Wednesday a merry dance, which she was struggling to follow. Clearly Emily wasn’t coherent enough to be interviewed.

Wednesday felt her mobile vibrate in her pocket. She reluctantly looked at and saw it was her stepfather. She knew he only called in extreme circumstances. Wednesday excused herself and stepped outside.

“What’s wrong, Oliver?”

“It’s your mother. Scarlett phoned and talked about some sort of local cult influence.”

“Oh.”

“She’s been worried ever since, and now she thinks I’m trying to poison her. I wonder if she’s stopped taking her meds. I don’t know what to do.”

Wednesday clamped her hand to her forehead and felt the rapid pulse in her temples. “I’ll be right over,” she replied as she stepped back inside.

“I’m terribly sorry; I have an emergency to attend to.”

Emily looked at Wednesday with concern. “Is it about the missing boy?” she asked.

“No, it’s another matter altogether.”

Wednesday removed Lennox from the lounge and made a quick exit to the car.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“To see my mother; well I am, you can wait in the car.”

Wednesday hastily lit a cigarette before driving off, whilst Lennox gripped onto the overhead handle. Wednesday caught sight of his discomfort in her peripheral vision.
Wimp.

She pulled up onto a bumpy dirt track that led to the isolated cottage on the outskirts of the village. The long grass down the middle of the track brushed the underside of the car as though tickling the belly of the beast. Smoke billowed out from the chimney and the nets at the windows were in dire need of a wash. Wednesday felt a pang of embarrassment, but it was too late to turn back now.

She parked next to Oliver’s mud-spattered Landrover and tossed her cigarette stub out the window. She wound the window back up to shut out the chilled air, then proceeded to get out. Lennox obediently remained seated whilst staring at her.

“Oh give up with the puppy-dog eyes, come on in with me. But I warn you, what goes on in here remains between us. Understand?”

He nodded and refrained from asking any questions.

Wednesday blustered in without knocking, and called out to Oliver. Lennox followed her into a cluttered, narrow hallway that had muddy boots strewn all over the floor. An umbrella stand in the shape of a giant chimney pot stood at the foot of the staircase, filled with a variety of walking sticks and tatty-looking umbrellas.

“Excuse the mess,” she said as she stepped over a laundry basket piled with damp clothes.

“Rather than mess, I see accidental beauty,” he replied.

Wednesday raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes.

They found Oliver in the kitchen standing over the sink, and Wednesday’s mother, Joan, sitting at the table. She looked up as they entered.

“Who’s he? Has he come to take me away?” she said, looking at Lennox with wide eyes.

“No Mum, this is Jacob Lennox, a colleague from work.”

“Is he your boyfriend? I don’t want you to be single anymore. You’re getting too old to be alone.”

“No Mum.” Wednesday moved closer to her. “Lennox is a detective like me. We work together.” She bent down to kiss her on the cheek.

“How are you?” she said, turning her attention to Oliver. She noticed his angular face looked pallid and drawn, and the light behind his green eyes had faded.

“Just about coping, but I’m worried,” he whispered. He gestured with a movement of his head for her to get nearer to him.

“I’m worried I won’t be able to stave off calling her doctor.”

“You have to do what’s best for her.”

“She didn’t sleep a wink last night, and as you can hear,” he pointed, “she’s speaking incoherently; no rational thinking.”

Wednesday nodded and patted his arm lightly. She filled the kettle and put it on to boil. Leaning back against the work top, she surveyed the scene and felt a lump in her throat. The child within her wanted to cry for the mother she had lost to mental illness, but that child in her had to be suppressed.

Lennox was continually brushing his hand over the top of his head which grabbed Wednesday’s attention.

“You can smoke in here if you want,” she told him with a half smile, noticing how uncomfortable he looked. “I’m having one once I’ve made the tea.” She threw him her packet in a token gesture of their new and fragile friendship.

“Your boyfriend smokes?” asked Joan as she eyed Lennox wearily.

“Mum, he’s not my boyfriend he’s . . .”

She realised her words were futile. Her mother was not really lucid enough to absorb the complexity of life. She heaved a sigh as she distributed the drinks, before sitting down next to Joan and placing her hand on top of hers, giving it a gentle pat.

“Mum, I want to call Dr Noble to come and see you. We’re worried about you.”

“I’m safe in here, but I can’t go out there. Scarlett warned me. Where is she, is she safe?”

“She’s safe, we’re all safe. Scarlett’s story is just that, a story.”

Joan looked agitated as she shuffled around in her chair, biting the skin around her fingernails. She then picked up her teacup and smelt it.

“What have you put in my tea?” snapped Joan as she tossed the cup onto the table, sending hot liquid spewing across the pine surface.

Oliver rushed over with a cloth, and Joan began screeching as though she was under attack. Wednesday called the doctor.

She could hardly hear the receptionist over the racket in the kitchen. She could see Oliver was beginning to lose control of his emotions. She witnessed Lennox take it upon himself to intervene in the most appropriate manner he could think of. Joan screamed louder as Lennox approached her, so he backed away, looking towards Wednesday for assistance.

“Mum, the doctor’s on his way, it’s going to be okay.” Wednesday sat down next to her and wrapped her arm around her shoulders.

Ten minutes later, the doctor was at the door and twenty minutes after that, Joan was being escorted to the psychiatric hospital in Cambridge. Oliver followed in his Landrover, and Wednesday and Lennox returned to work, with Wednesday promising to visit that evening.

They drove back to the station in a reflective and sombre mood. Dense smog of noxious fumes swirled around their heads and clung to their hair. Lennox cleared his throat before speaking.

“I’m sorry about your mum. How long has she . . . ?”

“Since I was eleven. Generally she is stable, but periodically she is triggered by stress or anxiety, and we go through this.” She took a deep drag on her cigarette. “By the way, I don’t want my private life dissected at work, so please refrain from conversing with the others about what you’ve seen.”

“Hey, I’m not like that. We watch each other’s backs. Is Hunter aware?”

“No he’s not and I don’t want him to be, either.”

“What if you need time off?”

“I’ll manage. I just don’t want my frame of mind or bad temper to be deliberated behind my back. And I don’t want bets being laid as to when I’ll enter the funny farm.”

“You have a distorted view of your colleagues.”

Wednesday smiled before checking her makeup in the mirror. As she got out of the car, cold air smacked her face giving her a hint of colour her cheeks naturally lacked.

The Incident Room was noisy with ringing telephones, and officers moving between desks with bundles of files and photographs. Hunter appeared from his office demanding a briefing in five minutes. Wednesday grabbed a coffee and headed for her office without glancing in Lennox’s direction.

Closing the door so the racket became background noise, Wednesday slumped into her chair and put her head in her hands. The torment of the past few hours charged around her mind, making her head spin. She found it almost impossible to recall the morning’s interviews; her mind only seemed focused on her mother. She knew she should have gone to the hospital with them. She was sick of always feeling guilty.

Maria Jones tapped on Wednesday’s door, beckoning her out for the briefing. Hunter was already standing by the white board.

“Right, I want us to focus on the list of possible suspects. Let’s consider Reverend Olong; he appears to show a lot of interest in the local kids. There’s already a history of him allegedly being involved with a choir boy in the last parish, any updates on that, Arlow?”

“The boy was interviewed with his mother present, but he refused to talk about it. The church moved Olong here to give him a fresh start, as the rumours amongst the parishioners were too rife for him to stay there.”

“Right, nothing particularly useful there,” he said before taking a sip of water.

“Stewart Cleveland runs the school all the kids attended. And there seems to be an undercurrent of hostility with Dick Pennymore from The Crow. Tenuous links, but there all the same.”

As Hunter paced the front of the room, the clicking of his heels added an unwanted distraction from his speech.

“Then we have Des Wright, whom DI Wednesday believes could be a perpetrator of domestic violence, and a possible bully towards his stepson. One thought could be that he had something to do with Tom’s death, Darren witnessed it and was consequently disposed of.”

Hunter was interrupted by someone’s mobile phone which was hastily switched off, but not before Hunter threw an angry look in the culprit’s direction.

“Lastly, we come to Colin Pollock, who is also linked via the school to the victims. Rumour has it he’s not liked much by the parents, as he’s not from their social stratosphere. But he’s liked by the students. Not much to go on, but I want thoughts. Throw them out at me now, come on.”

Some officers eyed one another, whilst others tapped pencils on the desks and looked at their shoes.

“Perhaps we should get all four in for questioning and ruffle their feathers. Make them sweat and see what they cough up.”

“Okay Damlish, let’s work that way as nothing else is working wonders. What about the vicarage; anything else turn up there?”

“No Guv, just the exercise book. The trail went cold for the dogs from the garden boundary,” replied Arlow, flicking through his notebook.

“That could mean he was either taken away from there in some sort of transport, or he never left the vicarage.” Hunter rubbed his chin, his eyes flicking from side to side whilst deep in thought.

“Wednesday and Lennox, I want you to return to the vicarage tomorrow and have another look around. Make them uncomfortable, my money’s on the reverend for some misdemeanour or two. Take a warrant to look for a travel blanket; they’re bound to have at least one.”

“Them and half the population around here,” whispered Wednesday under her breath. Hunter caught her eye and she blushed.

“True, so get a warrant to search all the possible suspects’ properties whilst you’re at it.”

“This is just in from Alex Green,” said Arlow, brandishing a piece of paper. “The plaster cast of the footprint from the crime scene of Claudia Edwards has been identified as a wellington boot size seven. The make is Hunter.”

The information sent a buzz around the room, as any advance in a case did.

“Okay, add wellington boots to the search along with the travel blanket. And remember a size seven could be a woman’s.”

Hunter wanted everyone to recommence in the morning with refreshed and alert minds, so he ordered them to go home, leaving the night shift to hold the fort.

“Are you going to manage to get some rest this evening?” asked Lennox, poking his head around Wednesday’s office door.

“Hopefully,” she replied. She had her back to the door whilst packing her work bag. “Lennox . . . Thanks for today.”