In the Light of Madness (24 page)

Having parked the car, they walked towards the hospital only to see a taxi pull up and Vera Olong jump out. As she turned to pay the driver, she saw the detectives approaching.

“I blame you two for this. Harassing my husband into an early grave. I will be speaking to your superior about this.”

She did not wait for a response from either of them. Instead, she rushed inside to find her husband.

“How is the Reverend Olong,” Wednesday asked a staff nurse as she flashed her badge.

“He’s having tests done. You won’t be able to question him now.”

They had suspected as much, so they went off to find Vera who was sitting in the family waiting room.

“Any news?” asked Wednesday, noticing the faint smell of vomit lingering in the air.

“No, and I don’t really want to talk to you two.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have much choice. The rambling hut is owned by the church and you both had access.”

“He may have been found there, God rest his soul, but it doesn’t mean we had anything to do with it, Detective. You have narrowed your investigation to focus only on us, when the real killer is carrying on with life outside of your radar.”

“The forensic team are going to examine your cellar. So, now is a good time to speak you have anything pertinent to tell us, Mrs Olong.”

Vera raised her head and looked at Wednesday with red rimmed eyes.

“I have nothing to say. You can test and fingerprint the whole damn vicarage for all I care, we have nothing to hide.”

At that moment, a doctor entered the room and advised Vera that she could sit with her husband, although he needed peace and rest. Vera turned to them with an icy stare and checked she could leave.

“Is he talking?” asked Lennox.

The doctor shook her head and suggested they try the next day. As they considered returning to the station, Wednesday’s phone rang. It was Maria Jones advising them that Stewart Cleveland had gone missing. Arlow and Damlish were on their way to the school to interview the staff, and Hunter had requested they go to his house; a warrant was being issued for the search.

Wednesday drove them to Cleveland’s house, aware that her stomach was growling much to Lennox’s amusement.

“Make yourself useful and get the chocolate bar out of the glove compartment,” she said, barely able to hide her irritation.

Arriving at the flat, Lennox rang the bell several times before using his key tools to let them in. They moved cautiously from room to room, checking for Cleveland or evidence of a disturbance.

Everything appeared to be where it should be except for empty drawers in his bedroom, and forlorn hangers in the wardrobe. His toothbrush and toiletries were also missing.

“Looks like he’s done a runner,” muttered Lennox. “Dog’s gone.”

“Perhaps Dick Pennymore will know more.”

As they descended the stairs Wednesday got a message on her mobile.

“It’s from Scarlett. She’s had her tyres slashed outside the office and she’s asking me to give her a lift home later. Perhaps you would like to do that. I imagine you’ll be a house guest again tonight.”

Lennox shook his head. “Two nights in a row looks too much like a relationship. I don’t subscribe to that concept.”

Wednesday breathed a deep sigh and clamped her lips together as they left the house. “Let’s go to The Crow and see what’s what.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t given me a lecture about not hurting your sister,” he said, climbing into the car.

“You’re both adults, although she is a lot younger than you. I’m not some spinster in the twilight of her years needing to live vicariously on other people’s relationships.”

“Point taken.”

The Crow car park was virtually empty as it was only lunchtime. Walking inside, they saw a couple of ramblers huddling around the roaring fire, and a game keeper in muddy boots and a wax jacket standing at the bar chatting to the barmaid.

“Is Dick Pennymore in?” asked Wednesday as she flashed her badge.

“Afraid not, he’s at the brewery. Can I help?”

“Have you seen Stewart Cleveland recently?”

“No, not for a few days now. Dick’s looking for him too. Shall I say you called?”

Wednesday nodded before she and Lennox reluctantly left the cosy atmosphere for the raw air outside.

“You never liked having my Darren around,” spat Judith Wright at Des who had just walked in through the back door. “I bet you’re secretly glad he’s dead.”

Des could see there was nothing he could do to dampen the molten fury in Judith’s inebriated mind.

“I’m going to lose the child benefit now, so we’ll have less money than before. You’re a useless lump,” she yelled as she launched a heavy glass ashtray in his direction. It missed him but managed to make another dent in the already mutilated kitchen door.

“If you were less ruled by alcohol, you may have been the mum he needed.”

Des instantly regretted verbalising the truth as he saw her stagger towards him with her gnarled hands clenched in fists. As she was too small to reach his chin, she punched him in the groin. He doubled over in excruciating agony. As his head lolled forward, she raised her knee and made contact with his nose. Big, fat drops of blood splashed onto the floor, mingling with the muddy footprints he had brought in.

Des gritted his teeth and screwed up his eyes, fighting the inner turmoil to lash back at her. He wanted to strike her and fling her across the room; but that was what his father had done to his mother—and she died. His father was sent to jail as the jury struggled to believe he was the victim of domestic violence, not the perpetrator.

He felt another blow on the back of his head before she pushed him, knocking over a chair as he rolled towards the floor. Her laugh rang in his ears and then he heard the familiar sound of liquid being sloshed into a mug. He knew she would be subdued for a period of time. He dragged himself along the floor and moved snake-like out into the hallway. As he reached the front door, he stood up, brushed himself down, and made a silent exit. He needed to rid himself of his internal rage.

As he walked along the road, he wiped the blood from his face and rolled a cigarette. He allowed the breeze to carry the grey plumes from his mouth; his neck muscles tightened as he relived the past few moments and the tension began pounding in his head.

Reaching his destination, he threw the stub end to the ground and crushed it under foot. He marched into The Crow and ordered a pint.

Arlow and Damlish received a frosty welcome from the receptionist at Markham Hall, but undeterred, they interviewed all the staff members that were available at that time. The last teacher was Colin Pollock.

“Let’s talk about the headmaster. Did you have occasion to meet him after work?”

“Mr Cleveland and I don’t mingle in the same social circles.”

“What do you do in your spare time?”

“I’m a geography teacher, so I like to hike around the countryside and get involved with nature. I’m also a member of the local choir.”

“Are you a religious man?”

“Religion is a drug for the weak and fearful. But I do sing in the choir so I’m there on Sundays for the music, not God.”

Arlow raised his eyebrows then looked down at his notebook. “Is there anything else you would like to add?”

“Not that I can think of. Can I go?”

Arlow nodded and waited for him to leave before turning to Damlish. “We’ve got nothing to offer Hunter here,” he said gruffly, flicking through his notes.

“Let’s try the receptionist. They’re usually a good source of gossip,” replied Damlish.

They scraped back their chairs and headed for the front office, where they found Nina Prince engrossed in marking the attendance sheets.

“Could we have a word, Mrs Prince,” said Arlow after glancing quickly at her name plaque on her desk.

“It’s Ms Prince.”

“Right. Is there anything you can tell us about Mr Cleveland’s timetable over the past few days?”

She sat up straighter in her chair and shuffled forward on her buttocks. “He’d been getting unscheduled visits from some unsavoury looking men over the past few days. Mr Cleveland hadn’t booked them in his diary either, so I can’t tell you who they were.”

“What do you mean by ‘unsavoury’?”

“Well,” she began in a conspiratorial tone, “they looked like the type of men who could have an unhealthy interest in the students, if you know what I mean?”

“I’m not sure that I do, could you clarify that?”

“Call yourselves detectives? They looked like paedophiles. It’s the shifty eyes and shaven heads.”

Damlish stifled a snigger with a cough, although Nina Prince knew exactly what he was doing. She chastised him with an arched eyebrow.

“And what do you think they were doing with Mr Cleveland, unless you’re implying that he, too, is hiding something?” Arlow asked.

“Goodness no!” she exclaimed, her eyes darting from one man to the other.

“If you hear from Mr Cleveland, or some of those visitors call for him, please contact us straight away.”

They made their way to the front entrance, relieved to be leaving the building that smelt of teenage body odour and plimsolls.

Arlow was conscious of his rumbling stomach. Looking at his watch he realised lunchtime was a couple of hours ago.

Walking towards their car, a young girl loitering by a tree caught their eye. She turned away, but not before the detectives saw her looking troubled.

“What’s your name?” asked Damlish, walking towards her.

“Freya.”

“Was there something you wanted to tell us?”

“It’s just . . .” She paused, scuffing her shoes in the carpet of damp, brown leaves. “I was wondering whether what happened to Claudia will happen to someone else?”

“Is that what’s worrying you?”

“Well I’m a girl, and everyone says I’m prettier than Claudia, so I’m bound to be a target for the freak.”

“We’re actively searching him out, and we will get him. Keep yourself safe at all times, be vigilant of your surroundings and make sure your parents know where you are at all times.”

“They’re saying she was sacrificed to appease him.”

“Who’s saying that?”

“The rumour is all around the school.”

“Perhaps you should return to your lesson, and not listen to gossip.”

The girl flicked her sleek hair over her shoulders before prancing off in the direction of the school entrance.

“The kids seem to have lost their innocence these days, don’t you think?” asked Damlish as he watched the girl tug on the entrance door before sliding inside.

“The girls are too aware of their sexuality. It’s disturbing.”

Damlish looked at his partner and shook his head. “Disturbing is perhaps pushing it.”

“If you had a new baby daughter, you’d find it disturbing.”

Wednesday pulled up outside Scarlett’s office and saw her immobilized car a few spaces along. Anger burgeoned within her. Scarlett had brought this on herself.

After waiting five minutes in the car, she called Scarlett on her mobile, but it went straight to voicemail. Nagging worry intruded her thoughts as she watched the staff leave. When she saw a reporter she recognised, she wound down the window and called to him.

“Shaun, is Scarlett still up there?”

He moved towards her and bent down so they were face to face.

“Hiya Wednesday. No, she’s not up there. She said something about meeting a friend for a drink. Don’t know where, though.”