In the Light of Madness (28 page)

“Oh, didn’t hear you come in,” she said as she walked over to the fridge.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Wednesday replied as she caught sight of Lennox out of the corner of her eye.

He looked unkempt and slightly embarrassed to see her.

“Did you have a good evening,” he asked, avoiding direct eye contact.

“Not really, but I can see you did,” she replied before stubbing out the barely smoked cigarette. “I’m off to bed,” she announced as she blew out the candles and picked up the mug.

Scarlett and Lennox watched her disappear, leaving a trail of extinguished candle smoke behind her. Scarlett turned to Lennox and rolled her eyes.

Vera Olong tiptoed down the stairs to get a glass of water; it was past midnight and she did not want to wake her husband sleeping in the adjacent bedroom.

Walking towards the kitchen, she saw a light coming from underneath his study door. It was unlike him to be awake at such a late hour, so she tapped lightly and pressed her ear to the door. She thought she heard him mutter a reply, so she opened the door slowly to see him hunched over his desk.

“Are you all right, George?”

“Not really,” he sighed. “Life is troubling me and God doesn’t seem to have the answers I seek.” He buried his face in his hands and took a few deep breaths before continuing. “Man must plough his own furrow, and plant his seeds of destiny as seen fit in the eyes of the Lord.”

“I hate it when you talk like that,” she replied, moving towards the chair in front of his desk.

“In what other way should I talk?”

“Like a man. Not always like a reverend.” Her face was flushed as she spoke, and her hands trembled slightly as she reached out to take a sip of water from his glass. Swallowing the liquid, a look of surprise covered her face.

“Are you drinking gin again?”

He nodded taking back the glass and staring into the clear liquid. The occasional bubble from the tonic water rose to the surface. His gaze returned to the photographs of the choirs he had led over the years.

“I know no other way of speaking or thinking. I am a reverend through and through.”

“I think that is where the problems lies, George. You used to be so much more.”

Vera stood up and headed for the door. Reaching it, she turned around. “I hope we’re not going to be moved from here, too,” she said before vanishing into the darken hallway.

George remained, shifting through the memories splayed out on his desk. Life was easier when he was the choir master. He had all the answers then. He downed his drink in one large gulp, before switching off the desk lamp. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed dark and menacing, and the various shades of black and grey played tricks with his tired eyes. Paranoia closed in on his mind, telling him that he was being watched, and that not only God knew his dark thoughts and deeds.

Upstairs, Vera stood by the window watching sheets of rain cascade against the pane. She could see the anticipation in her face in her reflection as she rubbed her stomach in slow circular motions.

The following morning, a low hum resonated around the Incident Room as the officers gathered around the desks, hugging their mugs of cheap instant coffee.

“What’s this weak piss they’re giving us?” said Lennox as he sidled up to Wednesday.

She sat up but avoided any eye contact and informed him that it was to do with the budget cuts. Filter coffee was now considered a luxury. Lennox shrugged his shoulders and perched on the table next to her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Wednesday could see two female officers gazing longingly at him before giving her an envious look. She wanted to shake her head at them and tell them he was sleeping with her Scarlett, so their longing was pointless. No one could compete with her.

“We’ve just received a call from the hospital. Stewart Cleveland was brought in after being found in a bunker on the golf course. He’s suffered quite a beating,” Jones said, handing over a fax of the hospital report.

“Hunter wants you to go and interview him now, if he’s fit enough. Then interview the owner of the golf course, Mr Sanders.”

Lennox jangled his keys and indicated with his head for Wednesday to follow him. Sitting in the passenger seat, she read the report aloud.

“He’s suffered a broken arm, two fractured ribs, and a dislocated jaw. He was found by Ralph Sanders, the owner’s son.”

“Is that the same Ralph we saw at Markham school after Claudia’s death?”

Wednesday realised she had not recounted the information supplied by Oliver last evening. She briefly relayed the news about the possible elite group of boys, who all had rich fathers.

“Could mean something and nothing. I imagine that secretary loves a good gossip.”

They found Cleveland lying in a bed in a side room, having his intravenous drip tended to by a male nurse. When he saw them standing in the doorway, he let out a low moan which made the nurse turn to look in their direction.

“DI Wednesday and DS Lennox,” Wednesday said, addressing the nurse. “We’d like to ask Mr Cleveland a few questions.”

“Make it short, detectives, he’s in quite a bit of discomfort, and will tire easily.”

They pulled up two chairs next to the bed and waited for the nurse to leave.

“You’ve taken quite a beating, Mr Cleveland,” said Wednesday unbuttoning her coat. “Do you know who did this to you?”

Cleveland slowly parted his cracked lips and winced. He moved his eyes from side to side.

“I’ll take that as a
no
,” she said.

“How many were there?”

Cleveland whispered that he did not know and that he was tired.

“We want to catch who did this to you. Is it connected to the money you owe Dick Pennymore?” persisted Lennox.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, his lips barely moving. “But I told you I was in danger.” He closed his eyes and made no further effort to answer their questions, or even acknowledge their presence. They watched his chest rise and fall in slow rhythmic movements.

As they rose to leave, Cleveland made a feeble whistling sound and then lifted two fingers. “I think there were two,” he rasped, his eyes firmly closed.

“Thank you. We’ll come back when you’re stronger,” replied Wednesday in a hushed tone.

“What do you make of all that, then?” asked Lennox, eyeing a nurse bending over the reception desk.

“The nurse or Cleveland?”

“Oh, ha-ha. The nurse is rather tempting, though.”

Wednesday play slapped him on the forearm before picking up the pace.

Arriving back at the station, they saw the reverend walking towards them.

“Just the people I wanted to see,” he said as they drew level to him. He fished around in his waterproof coat pocket and brought out a crumpled piece of paper.

“This came through the door this morning, and I thought you should see it.” He handed the note to Wednesday and waited for her to read it.

“WE KNOW IT’S YOU. GET OUT NOW OR DIE.”

“Succinct and to the point,” said Lennox, peering over her shoulder.

“Did it come in an envelope, and have you still got it?”

The reverend rummaged around in his pocket again and retrieved a dog-eared envelope that had his name on the front, using cut out letters, just like the note.

“I’ll get this to the forensics lab. Would you mind coming in to make a statement, Reverend?”

He made a guttural sound and followed the pair inside. He refused a cup of tea as he sat in the interview room, anxious to move things along so he could get back to work.

“I don’t want Vera to find out about this, she’d only fret. I’m sure I’ve nothing to be afraid of.”

“You may not be able to keep it quiet for long if the threats increase,” replied Lennox.

“You think I might get more?”

“It’s a possibility. Now has anything unusual happened lately, people treating you differently, things like that?”

George sifted through his thoughts and activities over the past few days, but nothing stood out to him. He repeated his request to go home as he still had a sermon to write.

The detectives watched him trundle down the corridor before returning to the Incident Room, where they found Arlow waiting.

“The guv wants you to interview Des Wright about the attack on Cleveland, then onto the golf club to view any CCTV that may be available.”

Lennox scowled until Arlow said he and Damlish were occupied with the Tom Dolby case.

Wednesday drove to the Wright’s home where they found a barely sober Judith all alone. She leant against the door frame and refused to let them in.

“If it’s Des you’re wanting he ain’t here. He’s working on the pub garden.”

“The Crow?” Wednesday asked.

Judith nodded in a jerky fashion before stepping back inside and shutting the door in their faces.

They drew up and parked next to a filthy pale blue van with visible rust displayed on the wheel arches. They heard the sound of a chainsaw whirring coming from behind the pub, and walking around the side, they saw Des cutting back the perimeter hedge. He was unaware of their presence.

With caution, they put themselves in his eye line to indicate they needed to talk with him.

“What now?” he yelled after switching off the machine. He kept his visor down and the chainsaw brandished in front of him.

“We’d like to know where you were last night,” Lennox asked.

“At home, pissed, with the old woman. Why?”

“Stewart Cleveland was assaulted last night . . .”

“So every time something goes bad around here, I’m to expect a call from you guys, am I?” He straightened his back and rolled back his shoulders, staring directly at Lennox.

“No, we’re making enquiries and your name came up.”

“Let me guess, by Cleveland.”

“Now why would he bring up your name?” Lennox said, raising his eyebrows.

“He never liked me. He made that clear if I went to that damn school about Darren.”

“In what way,” continued Lennox, keeping an eye on the chainsaw.

“I dunno. It was obvious he thought I was a dumb piece of shit, not educated like him.”

“Could you raise your visor?” asked Wednesday.

He did as he was asked, revealing the faint mark of a new bruise on his right cheek.

“Where did you acquire that bruise?”

Des said nothing and let the chainsaw drop to his side.

“It looks suspiciously new. If this is a result of some home dispute, you could report it to us,” said Wednesday in a low voice. “But if it’s some fight, we’ll need the details to verify your story.”

Des guffawed at her comments, saying the bruise was a result of him staggering into a door frame when he was drunk the night before. He snapped down his visor and revved up the chainsaw, returning his attention to the hedge.

As they turned to walk away, they found Dick Pennymore standing behind them.

“Anything wrong, Detectives?”

“Just making enquiries. Where were you last night after closing?” replied Wednesday.

“I had a private party going on in the back room until about two in the morning.”

“Could anyone corroborate that?”

“Sure. I can give you a list of names.”

“If you would.” Wednesday held her pen over her notepad.

Pennymore sighed and proceeded to reel of the names.