In the Light of Madness (37 page)

Placing his glass on the side table, he stood up and held her by the shoulders until she focused on his eyes and stopped talking.

“I need you to need the whole of me, not just my body,” she finally said.

Lennox released her shoulders and took a step back. He was just about to launch into his free-agent speech, when he heard the front door open.

Wednesday looked weary and unhappily surprised when she walked into the room. Instead of speaking, she turned around and headed for the kitchen. Her head was pounding, and the sight of Lennox with Scarlett had sapped her remaining patience.

Snatching her ringing mobile from her pocket, she found herself speaking to Hunter. Sighing, she returned the mobile to her bag and moved towards the lounge.

“Sorry to tear you love birds apart, but we’ve got to go to the vicarage. Apparently a very drunk Colin Pollock is hurling abuse at the reverend,” she said, looking at the mess on the table and floor.

“Do you both have to go?” asked Scarlett with a pouting mouth.

“That’s the way it works,” replied Wednesday before turning around and walking out.

Lennox tried to hide his relief from Scarlett as he wrenched himself free from her grip. He called out an apology as he darted out the front door.

Wednesday was already in her car with the engine running and a lit cigarette between her lips. Lennox climbed in, and before he had time to put his seatbelt on, she drove off.

On arriving at the vicarage, they found Colin Pollock, with a bottle of beer in his hand, standing in the front garden, hurling abuse at the reverend, who was leaning out of an upstairs window.

“Be a man, get down here and I’ll teach you a lesson,” yelled Pollock, punching the air with his flailing arms.

He was unaware of the detectives walking up behind him, and he physically jumped as Lennox placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s go and discuss your problem in the car, shall we?” he said, gripping Pollock firmly by the shoulder and elbow.

Pollock wriggled and flinched as he tried to untangle his arm from Lennox’s grip, but to no avail. Lennox frog-marched him to the car, and removing the bottle of beer from his clammy hand, put him in the back seat before sitting next to him.

Wednesday talked to George Olong through the window, as he refused to come to the front door. He informed her that he did not wish to press charges, and for the matter to be dropped. Exasperated with how the evening was going, Wednesday returned to her car to see what Pollock had to say for himself.

“It should be him in here, not me,” moaned Pollock as Wednesday got into the car.

She wrinkled up her nose as the smell of beer permeated the air, mixed with the lingering whiff of cigarettes. It was reminiscent of the odour in a pub before the ban.

“It’s all around the school, you know. The students are full talk about the reverend trying to start a rambling group which was a cover for a satanic cult.” He slurred his words and then belched without covering his mouth.

“Did any of the students attend the meetings?” asked Lennox.

Pollock thought for a few seconds before replying. “Well, not exactly. You know what kids are like, a rumour starts and before you know it, they’ve met the devil himself.”

“If that’s the case, why on earth are you here hollering at the reverend?”

“Because I got roaring drunk at home and needed someone to yell at.” Pollock punched the back of the empty passenger seat with his fist. “I hate living around here. Stuck up people with their spoilt stuck up kids.” His shoulders hunched over and he shuddered as he belched again.

“Get him out of my car, he’s going to be sick,” urged Wednesday, pulling the passenger seat forward.

“I hate two-door cars,” replied Lennox as he shoved the delirious man out onto the grass verge.

Pollock landed on his knees on all fours, head bent down like a dog and vomited onto the grass with loud retching sounds.

“I didn’t sign up for an evening like this,” said Lennox as he noticed vomit splashes on his shoes.

“Obviously not, seeing as you were at my place earlier.”

“Have you a problem with that?” he replied.

“No, it’s just from where I was standing Scarlett seemed to be a lot more into you than the other way around.”

Lennox was in no mood for her analysis, so he scooped up Pollock and threw him into the passenger seat.

The merging smells in the car were turning Wednesday’s stomach, causing her to drive at speed to get to his house. Once there, the pair peeled Pollock from the seat and helped him lumber up the path. Lennox took the door keys from Pollock’s shaky hands and let them in.

Wednesday put the kettle on, whilst Lennox reclined Pollock on the sofa, without removing his shoes. Wednesday opened several cupboards before she found the mugs. Littered all around her was the debris of a single man, who feasted on ready meals, washed down with copious amounts of beer.

By the time she entered the lounge, Pollock was awake, but complaining of still feeling sick.

“Drink this,” she said, placing the coffee on the table. “You’re lucky the reverend and his wife aren’t pressing charges, although we could still have you for breach of the peace.”

“Will the school get to know of my behaviour tonight?” he asked, before taking a sip and grimacing.

“Not unless the reverend tells them.”

The detectives left Pollock slumped on the sofa and mumbling into his mug.

The smell of vomit hung around the car as they drove back to Wednesday’s place. Lennox looked across at her, but she stared rigidly ahead, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Shall I come in?” he asked as he ran his hand over his hair, which was less spiky due to the dampness in the air.

“Depends on how you intend to behave once inside.”

Wednesday parked on her driveway and turned to Lennox.

“Be careful with Scarlett. Don’t give me cause to hate you.”

Lennox paused then remembered the bottle of wine he had brought earlier. He and Wednesday would cope, he thought to himself, as he followed her in, to be met by a needy, but strangely enticing Scarlett.

Wednesday rolled her eyes, grabbed a glass of milk, and headed to bed.
Alone as always.

“Had to come back to me, eh?” Scarlett whispered.

“Still had some wine to finish.”

“Is this how our relationship is going to be? ’Coz I would like something a bit more regular.” She walked her fingers up his chest towards his neck.

“Let’s take one day at a time,” he replied, grabbing the bottle and leading her upstairs.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Where have you been?” snarled Judith Wright as her husband blundered in.

She bumbled down the hallway, knocking into a box of magazines, almost tripping her up. Des suppressed a giggle, which was hard to do with a system full of beer.

As Judith’s heavy frame stood in front of him, he could smell alcohol and cigarette smoke, which he had come to associate as her perfume over the years.

“I’ve been at The Crow, where else?” he replied.

“I don’t want none of your cheek. You’ve been at The Crow all bloody day?”

“I had things to do first, woman, then I played darts. Now I need some grub.”

He tried to push past her to get to the kitchen, his own awareness and sense of personal space dulled by alcohol. The push aggravated Judith, stimulating her anger to such a peak that only violence could pacify her inner demons.

She grabbed his wrist and twisted it sharply before pushing it back, causing his knees to buckle. This allowed her to grab hold of his hair and wrench his head backwards. In the melee of his protestations and her verbal tyranny, they both began grappling with each other with their hands; fingernails slicing flesh, muscles flexing and straining.

Before he knew it, Judith grabbed her riding crop, and began beating him wherever she could reach. He bit his lips together to stifle his cries. As he reached out with an arm to try and grab the crop from her, he caught the framed picture of a generic tropical sunset, sending it crashing to the floor.

Above the noise of their scuffles they could hear banging on the wall from a neighbour who was tired of listening to their battles.

“You always have to spoil things,” she hissed at him as she held the crop under his chin. “It’s your fault we have the police around here so much.”

“And I thought it was because of you. Your temper and what you’ve done to Darren,” he replied, pulling himself free and pushing his broad back against the wall.

Judith squared up to him, pushing her body into his, until he felt his lungs constricted.

“I dare you to repeat that,” she said through gritted teeth.

“With him out the way, you have more energy to dispense on me.”

Judith pulled away from him. Her breathing steadying and her hand slackening its grip on the riding crop. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And I hope you haven’t been spouting that crap in the pub.”

Des shook his head as she backed away to top up her alcohol content in the kitchen. He watched her pour some wine into a mug and knock it back as though it was cold milk. He was not sure what to think anymore, but he knew the beatings would never stop.

Wednesday was disconcerted to find Lennox eating breakfast at the kitchen table. A fresh pot of coffee stood on the worktop. Scarlett was flitting about the kitchen like a nineteen-fifties wife tending to her man’s every need. Over the rim of her mug, Wednesday watched Lennox watching Scarlett, with an uncomfortable heaviness in her heart.

“There’s a briefing this morning, don’t you need to get changed first?” she said.

“I might not bother. That’ll get them talking at work, eh?”

His wink towards Wednesday conveyed the message of a childish prank, a school boy joke that only she would be privy to once at the station.

“Like we need to give them more to talk about,” she muttered.

Wednesday drove to work, knowing that Lennox was not far behind her, undoubtedly on a high after a goodbye kiss from Scarlett. She focused on the road and turned up the radio. She didn’t notice him turn off the road.

Walking towards the station she heard someone calling out her name. It was Claudia’s father, Greg Edwards.

“I thought you’d want to know that Claudia’s funeral is this Friday. The police normally like to attend, or so I understand.”

“Thank you Mr Edwards; it will most likely be me and DS Lennox.”

He gave a swift nod of his head as he handed her the black-rimmed invitation.

“Any further forward in finding my daughter’s killer?”

“Leads are coming in all the time. We’ll get there, sir.”

“I’m looking for him too, so you’d better get to him first.”

He did not give her the opportunity to say that vigilantism was unlawful. She guessed he already knew that as he marched off with a quickening pace.

Everyone was taking their place as Wednesday entered the Incident Room. She moved quietly around the edge of the tables and took a seat, keeping an eye on the door for Lennox.

When he did finally arrive, she could see he had changed his shirt and tie; she knew he couldn’t really cope with wearing a shirt two days in a row. His fastidiousness made her smile.

Hunter, in contrast, was looking fatigued. Dark circles under his eyes spreading further down his cheeks. He called the room to order before pausing to take a sip of coffee to moisten his parched throat.

“We need to narrow the field of suspects. What have we got?”

He looked around expectantly, whilst his team shuffled in their seats or hid behind their coffee mugs.