In the Light of Madness (33 page)

“What about her social life,” said Hunter, keen to move the conversation forward.

It emerged that Claudia was in the habit of receiving countless messages on her iPhone, and spent many hours on the internet, on various social networking sites.

Hunter turned to Wednesday and checked that Claudia’s laptop was being processed, and she confirmed it was.

“Thank you for your time. You’ve given us a more complete profile of your daughter,” said Wednesday as they all rose to their feet.

Lucinda went to the lounge door and opened it, peeked around the corner, then closed it again.

“I have one more thing to say, but you must promise that it doesn’t go further.”

The pair waited for her to divulge the information.

“You may eventually find this out for yourselves anyway, but . . .” An awkward pause arose whilst she visibly drew deeply through her mouth for breath.

“Claudia had a termination at the beginning of the year. And no, she never disclosed who the father was. I took her to a private clinic in London, on the pretext of having a mother-daughter weekend.” The colour drained from her cheeks and her shoulders drooped as the burden was lifted from them.

“I know there were three boys who would visit her here, and they’d also go to the cinema.” She searched the ceiling for a few seconds. “Ralph, Tony, and James.”

“Do you think one of these boys could have been the father?”

Lucinda shrugged her shoulders and studied the ostentatious emerald ring on her hand, turning it around and around her slender finger.

Wednesday and Hunter had got more information on Claudia than they had imagined, and there, perhaps lay the motive for her murder. They both thought Mrs Edwards should have disclosed the fact earlier, but understood, up to a point, why she had kept it a secret.

Driving towards the Dolby household, Hunter was deep in thought.

As Wednesday pulled up outside the house, they saw James Dolby park up on the driveway. He got out, briefcase in hand, and looked their way as he heard their car doors slamming. His face inanimate in response to their greeting.

“Have you come with news or more questions?” he asked in a flat tone as they walked up to him.

“More background questions, I’m afraid, Mr Dolby. May we come in?” asked Wednesday.

He audibly sighed, bemoaning that he had already had a difficult day at work, but allowing them in all the same.

Emily’s face blanched as she saw the detectives arrive with her husband. James quickly told her that they had only come seeking more answers, and that he was going to have a shower.

Emily’s cheeks burned bright red as she led them into the kitchen, where it was warm.

“We would like to gather more background information on Tom if that’s okay,” Wednesday said, before offering the frail-looking woman a gentle smile.

“I think we’ve said all there is to say, but I’ll try if it helps you find the killer.”

After Emily made a pot of tea, she recounted how quiet and bright Tom was at school, but that he was more outspoken and temperamental in the home. He had very little respect for her as he hit his teens, and was frequently arguing with his father.

“What did they argue about,” asked Hunter, as he struggled with the tiny handle on the teacup with his stubby fingers.

“The usual things, I suppose. What time he could go out and come home, where he could go and with whom.”

“We understand that he was good friends with Darren.”

“Well yes, I told you on that awful night. It was a bone of contention with us. We didn’t think Darren or his family were the kind of people we cared to fraternise with.”

“What concerned you about them?”

“You’ve met them. The mother is often seen drunk during the day, his brother’s in prison, and the stepdad is violent.”

Wednesday kept her eyes on her notebook as she wrote. Gossip, whether it was the truth or fantasy, was often rife in villages. There was always currency in gossip.

They heard her husband walking around upstairs, and Emily looked up to the ceiling as though she could see right through it.

Hunter coughed to draw her attention back to the room. “Did Tom have a girlfriend?”

Emily looked at her hands, and shook her head very slowly. “I never mentioned it to James, but I secretly wondered whether our son was, you know . . . gay.” Her voice trailed off at the end of the sentence, so the word
gay
was little more than a whisper.

“Would that have been a problem?” Hunter asked.

“We are a religious family, so my husband would have undoubtedly banished Tom from our lives. I would have tolerated it, so as not to lose hm.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeves and dabbed her eyes.

Wednesday was about to ask what had led her to believe Tom was gay, when James arrived in the kitchen in a pair of brown twill slacks and a roll neck jumper. He smelt of soap and talcum powder.

“Have you got all the answers you need?” he asked as he poured himself a glass of fruit juice.

“Almost. Could you tell us what kind of things you and your son argued over,” asked Hunter.

James frowned and looked towards his wife before answering. “Are you a father?” he asked Hunter.

“He’s at university.”

“Well then you should know; it’s no bed of roses when your son starts to believe he is becoming the man of the house because youth is on his side. He needed putting in his place more than once, and by that I mean grounding and or restricting the use of the computer, not violence.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr and Mrs Dolby. We’ll see our own way out,” Hunter said.

He slumped into the passenger seat and shut the door harder than Wednesday liked. He yawned loudly and instructed Wednesday to drop him back at the station so he could pick up his car.

Wednesday finally arrived home, exhausted and drained. On opening her car door a cloud of cigarette smoke billowed out and she noticed Scarlett’s car was parked in the drive, but the house was in darkness—which could have meant one of several things. Either she had taken a taxi to go on a drunken night out, or she was already in bed with the residual hangover or with someone she had just picked up.

Wednesday traipsed to the kitchen in the semi-dark, and grabbed whatever she could from the fridge to make a sandwich. She found an already opened bottle of red on the counter and poured herself a glass.

On turning around, she almost dropped her glass as she saw Scarlett slumped over the kitchen table.

“Good god Scarlett, are you okay?” she said, rushing towards her.

Bending over her, she recoiled from the stink of alcohol coming from her open mouth. Angry at being made to feel concerned, she shook Scarlett by the shoulders.

“Have mercy, sis, please . . .” she rasped with her dry mouth.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I’ve had a shit day. Someone’s put pressure on the paper to quash my cult story. I mean, how sick is that?” She slurred her words as her head rolled around on her unstable neck.

“It’s not surprising. It’s upsetting people, and there’s no proof.”

Wednesday put the kettle on to make Scarlett a coffee.

“Everything’s hopeless. Nothing will ever go right for me,” she sobbed.

Wednesday’s heart sank. She had been there before with Scarlett. Terror swelled in her as she thought about the baying sleepless nights, the duvet days, the wailing, the drinking, and the black cloud of despair suspended over the house. Scarlett’s highs were more bearable—if a little exhausting—than the lows, but both could be more manageable if she agreed to see a doctor, grumbled Wednesday to herself.

“Have you eaten anything?” Wednesday asked, believing she knew the answer already. She placed a mug of coffee in front of her.

“No. I thought I’d eat something with Jacob but he’s not answering his mobile. I’ve left loads of messages.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes. “He’s got a family emergency. Not everything in the world revolves around you.”

Scarlett shrieked and tossed her head around, sending strands of wild curls swirling around her shoulders. “I need him. I should come first. It’s so unfair. I bet he’s running back to his wife.” Scarlett banged her fist on the table, making the crockery chink.

Wednesday firmly believed Lennox was not going back to his ex-wife, but chose not to tell Scarlett for fear of raising her hopes about cultivating a genuine relationship with him.

“I think we should go to bed. You’ll have the mother of all hangovers in the morning and I’m plain shattered. Come on,” she said, linking her arm underneath Scarlett’s armpit to lift her up.

As they staggered upstairs, Scarlett kept moaning in Wednesday’s ear that she wanted Jacob to hug her in bed, as though believing Wednesday could do something about it.

Once she had tucked Scarlett into bed and placed a bowl on the floor next to her, she made her way to her own room. Her mind shifted through the events of the day and it appeared all the people she had interviewed that day had one thing in common. A secret sadness or a silent misery they kept secret from the one they professed to love.

Malevolent relationships could be the loneliest place in the universe, she thought to herself as her eyes began to close. The last thing she heard ringing in her ears was the sound of Scarlett vomiting into the bowl.

Lennox was already in his office, hunched over his desk, when Wednesday arrived. She grabbed herself a mug of coffee before knocking on his door. He signalled for her to enter then raised his hand to stop her from talking first.

“Before you try to dissect my personal life, Alex has given me—although I believe he was looking for you—the results from the blanket Pollock brought in.”

Wednesday pulled up a chair and leant towards him, nursing the mug between her hands, her cheeks glowing softly.

“It’s certainly the blanket used in Tom Dolby’s death. The fibres match, and they found skin cells matching Tom’s DNA. No prints were found on the plastic bag, except for Pollock’s.”

“Can we trace where the blanket was purchased?”

“Already underway.”

“Let’s visit the school now to interview the boys with their parents?” she said before finishing her coffee.

Lennox nodded, scraping his chair back to stand up so Wednesday could see his crumpled suit. She then noticed his face bore the shadow of stubble.

“By the way, I got a hell of a lot of messages from your sister yesterday,” he said with a degree of emotional detachment.

“Sorry about that. She’s having a rough time at work, so she got drunk, and when she’s drunk she can become rather obsessive.”

Lennox raised his eyebrows and then muttered under his breath how that was an understatement. As she followed him down the corridor, she noticed he did not have the familiar scent of musk that she liked so much. In fact, from behind, he wasn’t the same immaculately dressed man at all.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Winter sun streaked through the clouds and shone in their eyes as they drove towards Markham Hall School. Lennox drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, with a cigarette hanging from his lips so smoke circled around his head. Ash fell from the tip and landed on the lapel of his coat.

Getting out of the car, they heard children’s voices chattering and shouting, although they were not visible. On entering the building, they realised they had arrived as a lesson had finished, so the corridors were heaving with students jostling one another with their rucksacks.

The receptionist greeted them with the same chilled cordiality as she had always afforded them. Within minutes, the interim head, PE teacher Patrick Gould, walked towards them with his arm extended out.

“Detectives, the three boys and their fathers are waiting for you. They’re very busy men, and the boys have lessons, so I hope you won’t keep them for long.”