In the Light of Madness (31 page)

George ended the service by mentioning the three adolescents by name, which provoked muffled cries from some people. He walked down the aisle and stood by the arched door with Vera, ready to thank everyone for attending the service.

The congregation was slow to disperse, not wishing to miss out on the confrontation between the reverend and Emily Dolby. For some people, the battle between the pair offered up the opportunity for gossip and intrigue.

With the final person dispatched, George and Vera moved inside. He positioned himself in the pew in front of the Dolbys, sitting sideways so they could converse easily. Vera placed herself discreetly a few pews behind.

“I’m sorry for my wife’s outburst, Reverend. She’s been under a lot of stress of late.”

Emily looked at her husband and placed her hand on his arm.

“We have both had a stressful time,” she began, “and I don’t need my husband to apologise on my behalf.” She faced George once more. “I want you to explain things to me.”

“I will do my best,” he replied, as he clenched his hands together.

“Before you came here, we were a good Christian community. Then you arrived and suddenly we appear to have a cult that is killing our children. We heard you were forcibly moved here. Have you been involved in a cult movement before? Is that why they sent you here?”

George remained impassive. Emily took a deep breath and waited for him to answer.

“The cult story is fictional and the finger is being pointed in my direction as I’m an easy target. Religion can bring one’s downfall in society, from both the scared and the nonbelievers. Even James, had momentary lapse of faith.”

James blushed and gazed at his feet.

“Jesus came across his fair share of doubters,” finished George.

“You’re skirting the issue, Reverend. My son is dead, and I don’t know who to blame. I need to know the truth.”

“The search for the truth is not for the faint-hearted,” said George as he looked towards Vera.

“Shall we go to the vicarage for some tea? We want to soothe your soul before you return home,” offered Vera.

“No thank you, I just want to go home,” replied Emily.

The Dolbys stood up and shuffled down the pew. Neither gave eye contact to George or Vera, although James did attempt to raise a farewell hand.

George rubbed his forehead and screwed up his eyes.

“It will soon blow over,” said Vera. “Let’s go back for a cup of tea.”

Suddenly feeling weary and old, George followed his wife to the vicarage. It was going to take more than tea to bolster his soul.

“Shall we grab a bite to eat in the canteen?” asked Lennox as he stood in Wednesday’s doorway.

Wednesday shook a packet of cigarettes at him. He laughed. “Cigarettes aren’t a meal replacement. Come on, food first.”

It was a fine, but cold day, and squirrels scampered across the car park as the pair walked to the canteen.

Lennox bought a plate of fish and chips, whilst Wednesday bought an egg salad sandwich. The smell of the vinegar on the chips made her mouth water and the sandwich less satisfying.

“How are your sons?”

“Archie won’t talk to me on the phone and Alfie just answers monosyllabically. My ex balled me out for thinking of my girlfriend before my sons.”

“Didn’t you explain . . . ?”

“I tried to. To be honest, it was already brewing. It would’ve happened whether you were there or not.”

Wednesday stirred her cup of coffee incessantly, until Lennox finally told her it was getting on his nerves. She placed the spoon on the table and rocked it back and forth with her middle finger, until Lennox whisked the item out of her reach.

“Spit it out,” he demanded.

“Look, I need to be somewhere tomorrow at three. Could you cover for me? I’ll only be gone an hour.”

“Okay, but assure me you’re not putting yourself in danger.”

“It’s not work related, it’s of a personal nature.”

“Therapy session?”

Wednesday prodded her egg sandwich, pushing her finger further into the doughy bread; and Lennox knew at once he had made a faux pas.

“Are you implying I’m unhinged?”

“I can have that effect on women.”

He sat back in his chair, displaying a wide grin on his face, which faded as he saw the seriousness in her eyes.

“Sorry, Guv, I didn’t mean to wind you up.”

“They are discharging Mum next week, and I need to go to a meeting to plan for her care once home. If I’m honest, I’m not sure how we’ll cope as a family this time around. Oliver is getting tired, I’m overloaded at work, and Scarlett is, well, Scarlett.”

The trouble was, once she started opening up to him, she could not stop. She even mentioned that she was worried about Scarlett’s emotional wellbeing, until she remembered he was sleeping with her.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that last bit. I’m just a colossal worrier.”

“Does that mean you, too, could potentially be two people and I won’t know who you are at times?”

Wednesday expelled a deep sigh. “Firstly, schizophrenia doesn’t mean being two people. They function differently from the rest of society. They can often lose touch with reality, be ambivalent to life.”

Lennox placed his cutlery on the plate and pushed it to one side.

“Is this why you’ve kept it a secret from Hunter?”

“Yes, I suppose so. Look at what you thought. I don’t want him to see it as a potential weakness. He’d scrutinise every move and mistake I made so he could blame it on my state of mind.”

Before they had time to resolve each other’s concerns, Damlish blustered into the canteen and approached their table.

“Colin Pollock has brought something of interest to the station. Thought you ought to see it.”

Wednesday left her half eaten sandwich and followed the men out. They found Colin Pollock sitting in an interview room, tightly clutching a plastic bag. He shuffled about in his chair as they walked in and sat down.

“I found this on my doorstep this morning. I got up late, so I don’t know how long it’s been there.”

Wednesday donned some gloves and opened the bag. She pulled out a blue-green travel blanket.

“Have you touched this?” she asked Pollock.

“Well yes, I was curious.”

“We’ll need to take your prints for exclusion purposes.”

Wednesday carefully turned the blanket over and then placed it back in the bag.

“What made you think to bring this here?” she asked.

“I remember you searching for one and I thought it could be relevant. Or it could just be a prank.”

“Who would do that, Mr Pollock?”

“I truly have no idea. I’m a teacher at a secondary school, so it could be anyone. It’s your job to find out
who
, Detective.”

Wednesday thanked him for coming in, before an officer took him away for fingerprinting. She then took the bag and blanket down to the lab, where she found Alex Green on his mobile. She hovered around until he had finished.

“I think this could possibly be the blanket that was used to kill Tom Dolby. Could you process the blanket and the bag?”

“This could be a lucky break if I can lift any prints from the bag, or find hairs or skin cells on the blanket. I’ll make it my priority.”

Wednesday hoped he was right. If ever there was a time when she needed good news, now was that time.

Chapter Twenty-One

Weak winter sun hit Wednesday’s bedroom window, piercing through a chink in the curtains, tapping her unwelcomingly on her face.

Normally, she was not affected by the Monday blues, but the hospital appointment in the afternoon was playing on her mind. Guilt was crushing her abdomen as she had not visited her mother as often as she should have. It did not matter that she and Oliver understood how time-consuming her work was, she still felt as though her mother deserved better, considering the life she had led.

With the Aga offering comforting warmth, she was soon ensconced in the carver chair—with her feet tucked under her body—and the local paper and a mug of coffee to keep her company. As she unfolded the paper, she saw the front page article shouting the words “London cults spreading our way”. Wednesday shook the paper straight with both hands and then placed it on the table and smoothed it over with her palms.

The article, written by Scarlett, informed the reader of her trip to London to meet a secret source who explained the growing underworld of cults in the capital city. It went on to explain that cults were organisations with radical views and behaviours that jarred with the accepted views in the mainstream community. Not mind blowing so far, thought Wednesday as she lit a cigarette before continuing to read.

The leaders of such organisations are often charismatic people, who proclaim they have been chosen by a higher power. They encourage the members to isolate themselves from family and friends.

Wednesday blew a long stream of smoke from her mouth as she released the tension in her shoulders. She discarded the paper to one side and drank the last of her coffee. No movement from upstairs, so she got ready for work without the opportunity to challenge Scarlett for continuing to stir the chattering masses about a cult killing their children. Never mind the promise she gave to Vera Olong.

Wednesday grabbed a notepad and scribbled the time of the pre-release meeting that afternoon for Scarlett, knowing full well that she would not attend, but she hoped the note would prick her almost nonexistent conscious.

Joni Mitchell’s voice oozed out from the car stereo as she drove to work, with her third morning cigarette dangling from her mouth. As usual, Lennox’s car was already parked in his space, and she could see Damlish walking towards the station entrance, clasping a take-away cup of fashionable coffee.

The morning dragged for Wednesday, chasing up forensic results and completing reports. Even the interaction with Alex Green did nothing to distract her. She kept herself locked away in her office until it was time to leave.

Lennox gave a gentle nod of his head as Wednesday left her office. Maria Jones had brought in cakes to celebrate her birthday, making it easy for Wednesday to slip out unnoticed by the rest of the team.

The drive to the hospital was easy enough. However, finding a place to park proved difficult, so by the time she reached the ward she was out of breath with a faint whiff of smoke clinging to her clothes.

Oliver stood up with outstretched arms, and gave her a wide smile as she arrived in the waiting room.

Within five minutes, a nurse appeared and asked them to enter the meeting room. Wednesday gave one last look towards the main door.

Joan was sitting quietly on a chair to the right of the psychiatrist. She looked pasty and barely acknowledged the presence of her daughter and husband, and the psychiatrist seemed to over-compensate with theatrical gestures and a jovial voice. As he spoke, his handlebar moustache jiggled with a rippling effect. Wednesday found it distracting, so she turned her attention to Oliver.

His face was drawn, accentuating the lines from his eyes and down his cheeks. His curly hair lay in clusters on his head, jutting outwards randomly much like the springs in an old mattress.

Joan, on the other hand, had obviously had her appearance dealt with by the staff so she conformed to the social norms. Nevertheless, her eyes betrayed an inner dullness that was not the mother Wednesday knew, except for episodes after a hospital admission.

Wednesday listened whilst the consultant spouted the same psychobabble she had heard before. Impatient for him to get to the point, Wednesday decided to speak.

“What happens if Mum stops taking her meds again?”