In the Light of Madness (35 page)

“Let’s head for the vicarage. They are hiding something from us. And finding Darren’s DNA on the sleeping bag may force them to reveal their secret to us,” said Lennox.

Wednesday relaxed her shoulders and smiled, thinking perhaps God was looking out for them after all.

Reverend Olong looked visibly underwhelmed when he opened the door to them. Without uttering a word, he stood back and let them in.

“Do you need my wife to be present?” he asked in a flat voice.

“That would be useful, thanks,” replied Wednesday before following him into the wood-panelled sitting room.

Wednesday sat down on the sofa, which offered her little support or comfort due to its saggy frame. Lennox stood by the soot stained fireplace with his hands behind his back, staring through the window.

“Tea, detectives,” announced Vera as she walked into the room, carrying a tarnished silver tray.

Wednesday and Lennox turned down the offer, choosing instead to relay the information of the forensic find on the sleeping bag.

“We are finding it difficult to understand how a sixteen-year-old boy could hide out in your attic without you knowing. He would have moved around, stolen food from your kitchen, and perhaps even used the bathroom.” Wednesday looked from George to Vera in order to gauge their reactions; but neither showed even a flicker of concern.

“This is a rambling old house and my wife and I are very busy people with church life. I put any noises down to the creaking floorboards, or the wind whistling through the gaps in the frame and roof.”

“You seem to have an answer for everything. The attic, the garden, the crypt—”

“What about the crypt?” asked Vera, suddenly looking interested.

“We found an empty packet of crisps there, but no readable fingerprints. So obviously, the crypt was or is being used for something or by someone.”

“That could be anyone. Kids playing hide and seek would probably be a good bet, especially as it’s left unlocked most of the time,” replied Vera as she walked over to her husband and placed her hands on his shoulders. “My husband and I do a lot for the community and we have nothing to hide or fear. Having said that, we are an easy target for anyone against God or religion. It wouldn’t be the first time, as well you know.”

Wednesday tried to get comfortable on the sofa by pushing a cushion behind her lower back. Lennox remained rooted to the spot by the fireplace, his hands still clasped behind his back.

“The current crimes are more than someone just disagreeing with your religion. Framing you for murder and kidnapping is far more serious and worrying. Aren’t you concerned?” said Wednesday, wishing she had remained standing as Lennox had done.

“We have no need to worry. God will protect us from whatever force you feel we should fear,” replied George as he patted Vera’s hand that was still on his shoulder.

When Vera returned from seeing them out, she gave her husband a hard stare.

“I do hope that you’ve not been up to your old tricks, dear.”

George bowed his head, before rising from the chair to make his way to his study, where he hoped the bible would offer him some semblance of comfort.

As they left the vicarage, Wednesday felt drained of all emotion and was grateful that Lennox was driving.

“How about a working lunch in The Crow?” He suggested.

Wednesday nodded before saying the vicarage gave her the creeps.

“That’s because religion scares you. It’s the unknown entity that it represents. You can’t figure it out.”

“I believe it was you who declared a love of solving puzzles, not me,” she replied, flicking ash through the crack in the window. “Anyway, I don’t need you spouting psychobabble to me the way your parents obviously did to you.”

Lennox gave an imperceptible nod before parking the car in the space next to the pub entrance.

They were the only customers to order food that Tuesday lunchtime. The three other customers were bikers who huddled around the bar, conversing with the affable blonde who was pulling their pints.

“I’m surprised to see you two here,” said Dick Pennymore as he walked up to their table with a pint in his hand.

“Even the police need to eat,” replied Lennox with a note of irony in his voice.

The barmaid arrived with two plates of cheese-and-onion toasted sandwiches, plus a bowl of chips for Lennox.

“Still looking at my son as the killer, or has some other poor sucker got you two on his tail?” He asked as he hovered above them, swaying gently from side to side.

“Maybe. Perhaps you’ve heard some rumours being bandied around the pub that might be worth repeating,” replied Lennox before shoving two chips into his mouth.

“The word is the reverend’s done something like this before, apparently.”

“Go on.”

“Well apparently the reverend likes boys. God you detectives need things spelling out.”

“And how does Claudia fit into that theory?”

“She found out about his goings on, so he killed her.”

“Interesting,” muttered Lennox.

“Your sister seems to have her own wacky idea, eh, Detective?” Wednesday felt her cheeks redden.

“Whatever she chooses to write about has nothing to do with me.”

“But you’ve got to admit it’s intriguing. Perhaps the reverend has a sideline in devil worship and Claudia was a sacrifice.” He chuckled to himself before being called to the bar by the arrival of Des Wright with a tatty rucksack over his shoulder.

“I wonder what he wants?” said Lennox, cocking his head in Wright’s direction.

“Whatever it is, they obviously don’t want us to hear,” Wednesday replied as she watched them disappear into the backroom.

“I ache for the days when we could smoke in the pub,” he said wistfully.

“You’re just showing your age now. Anyway, we should be getting back. We can smoke in your car, seeing as we’ve broken that rule a million times already.”

“I mainly kept it smoke free for my boys. They hated the smell of smoke.”

That was her cue to bring up the subject that had piqued her interest all morning. Nudging a cigarette from her packet, she offered him one before he switched on the engine.

“We can either talk about your family crisis, or we can talk about Scarlett. Your call.”

Lennox realised staying tight-lipped about his affairs was futile, so he chose the one that was truly causing him pain.

“Archie’s been arrested for being part of a gang that were fighting with another gang in the neighbourhood. My ex is going bloody mental over it, saying it’s my fault for being an inconsistent father. Kids apparently replace families with gangs these days.”

Suddenly, Wednesday felt uncomfortable with the results of her prying. Their job did not cater for a family life or for relationships in general, hence the barren gash in her life.

“So what’s happening?”

“He’s under the youth offending team, receiving anger management and consequences sessions. That’ll be a waste of time, if you ask me.”

“Have some hope; he’s still young enough to change,” she urged as he parked in his designated space.

“I can’t offer him hope. I am the foundation of his failing, he knows it and so does his mother.”

Back at The Crow, Pennymore and Wright were busy exchanging information on who was attending the gambling club that evening, and who Pennymore wanted protecting or persuading from the list of participants. Wright wanted to ask what the police were doing there, but he trusted Pennymore could see off detectives such as Wednesday and Lennox.

The atmosphere in the Incident Room was subdued, with only the occasional phone ringing and piles of paperwork and files precariously positioned on the officers’ desks. Hunter was in his office, pacing in front of the window whilst bellowing down his mobile phone.

“That doesn’t bode well,” whispered Wednesday.

“Nothing surprises me with these cases. We might as well follow Scarlett’s train of thought at this rate.”

It was the first time he had uttered Scarlett’s name without bitterness resonating in his voice.

Wednesday opened her office door to her phone ringing, and found Oliver on the other end.

“Could you come round later, I could really do with a break,” he said in a hushed voice.

“I can’t promise, Oliver. Work is hectic at the moment, but I will try.”

She felt he already had compassion fatigue, but questioned whether she felt she could do any better. She doubted it, but was not ready to admit it to anyone, least of all herself.

“Have you seen Scarlett today?” he asked, still speaking quietly.

“Oliver, I really can’t chat now . . .”

He did not wait for her to finish, his needs were greater than hers.

“I’m worried about my daughter. She seems low in mood . . . you know.”

She knew. And she did not want to think about it. The thought of sharing her house again with the malevolent monster clawing into the walls was unbearable.

“We’ll talk later,” she said before hanging up.

A tap at her door attracted her attention, and she reddened slightly as she saw Hunter standing there. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with faint pinstripes running lengthways, accentuating his lean figure. His shoes were pristine, as was his hair, and he smelt of freshly cut grass. Wednesday stroked down the creases in her jacket and wondered how long he had been outside her door.

“How are you and Lennox getting along?” he asked.

“Fine Guv, no problems to report.”

Hunter pursed his lips and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “Even though he’s dating your sister, which I have to say concerns me.”

She tried not to look shocked that he knew. “It doesn’t bother me. They don’t discuss work as far as I know.” She twirled strands of hair around her finger, and avoided direct eye contact, fearing he could see right into her soul.

“That may be so, Wednesday, but you are to monitor the situation to prevent it from diluting our investigation or for pillow-talk secrets to leak into the paper. She’s got too much access for my liking.” He finished with a sharp nod of his head, before leaving her office and closing the door firmly behind him.

Wednesday put her head in her hands and rested her elbows on her desk, taking in deep, slow breathes to halt the dizziness. If she wanted to have a trusting relationship with Lennox, she would have to relay Hunter’s conversation, warn him that eyes were on him. She let out a heavy sigh—life was getting too complicated.

She wandered over to Lennox who was by the coffee machine, when Jones rushed up to them to say a very drunk Judith Wright was at the desk, angry about something that was apparently missing.

Judith was worse than they anticipated when she arrived at the interview room. She was accompanied by an officer who looked so young he could have been her grandson. Wednesday ordered a mug of coffee to be brought to Judith whilst she guided her to a chair.

Judith dropped into the chair so hard that her teeth rattled. Her bloodshot eyes swayed between Wednesday and Lennox, and when she opened her mouth, the stench of alcohol was pungent.

“My Darren had a chain . . . Chain around his neck.” The words stumbled out of her mouth as her fist hammered onto the table.

Wednesday encouraged her to sip the coffee, if only to cleanse her breath, then asked her to explain what she meant.

“A bloody chain, woman, around his neck. It’s missing, some bugger has stolen it . . . Real silver it was, too.”

“When did you last see him wearing it?” asked Wednesday.

“He wore it all the time. It was his lucky Saint Christopher. So where is it?”