In the Light of Madness (4 page)

“Did he ever mention if he was being bullied?”

“No, not that I know of,” he said, bowing is head and shoving his hands in his trouser pockets.

There was a knock at the door and a few faces peered through the glass panelled door.

“It’s time for registration, can they come in?” he asked.

Wednesday nodded. “We’ll need to speak to his friends and classmates, then see his locker, so we’ll need to use your office,” she said, turning towards Cleveland.

He made an audible sigh before ushering them out of the room as the students stood back, wide-eyed and chewing gum; a rebellious move in front of the head had it been a normal day.

One by one, the students entered Cleveland’s office looking fearful, anxious, or arrogant. Lennox particularly despised the last trait as he was getting enough of that from his own two sons. They remained stunned or silent when they were informed of Tom Dolby’s demise.

Dylan Frost entered looking the picture of calm.

“What was Tom like to talk to?” Wednesday asked, pen poised before her lips like a cigarette.

“All right I suppose,” he replied, cocking his head at her.

“What did you talk about?”

“Football mostly.”

Wednesday could sense Lennox’s irritability at having to sit through yet another dead-end interview. She was finding it difficult to imagine him as a father.

“Did you ever meet up with him out of school?”

“Not likely,” he said rather abruptly before blushing wildly. Wednesday sat back and studied him carefully.

“Is there something you want to tell us, but aren’t sure how we’ll react? We’re not here to judge you. We want to find the person who did this to your friend.”

“He wasn’t my friend. He was a geek with old people as parents. He was a loser and I only spoke to him because we sat together in form.” Dylan slouched down in the chair as soon as he had finished spouting the words, scuffing the toe of his shoe into the deep pile carpet.

“Is that what everyone thought about him?”

“Yep.”

“What about Darren Giles? They were friends weren’t they?”

“I dunno. Darren was a loser too; I mean have you seen his parents? They’re like gypos,” he replied, standing up swiftly, ready to go.

Wednesday could not deny that Dylan’s description of Darren’s parent’s hit close to the mark. But she still flinched at his words.

“If you think of anything else, no matter how insignificant you think it may be, call me,” she said as she handed him her card, which he promptly shoved into his blazer pocket.

They watched the boy swagger out, leaving the door swinging wide open behind him.

“Arrogant arse,” Lennox muttered.

“Not all kids are like him.”

“I know that, but I fear my two are going to turn into his type.” He looked down at his shoes and pursed his lips.

By the time they had interviewed the entire twenty-nine surly or overly animated students in Colin Pollock’s form, they were exhausted and no closer to discovering more about the two boys, except that they appeared to be misfits and not well liked.

“I think we need to re-visit Tom’s parents. They may be more emotionally stable to talk now,” Lennox said.

Somehow, Wednesday doubted that. The Dolby’s may not welcome the police’s presence in their home, as that would make their nightmare real.

Stewart Cleveland gave them a frosty look when Lennox announced he could have his office back after showing them the inside of both boys’ lockers. They followed him towards the cloakroom area where he opened them.

Tom’s locker contained a pack of football stickers, a local map, a French dictionary and a packet of cheese and onion crisps. They bagged the contents and then moved onto Darren’s locker. There they found a smelly sports kit, some school books, and an appointment card to meet the school counsellor at the end of the week. Again, the contents were bagged to take back to the station. After giving Stewart Cleveland an evidence slip, they returned to the car.

Lennox leant forward and delved into the glove box to retrieve a packet of cigarettes. He helped himself to one and then indicated to Wednesday to help herself. She frequently toyed with the notion of quitting, but as Lennox smoked, she thought it would be near impossible.

“We need to concentrate our focus on Tom Dolby. The Giles boy smacks of a runaway teen from a hellish home.” Lennox did not look at her as he spoke.

“I hear what you’re saying, but I sense a link. A boy goes missing the same night his friend is found murdered.” Wednesday twirled strands of hair around her finger whilst she savoured the smoke.

Lennox inhaled deep into his lungs and then breathed the smoke out through the crack of the open window. “We’ve got to call in to see the reverend at the church first then we’ll go back to the Dolby’s. No point in putting it off. By the way, did you get anything from Tom’s notebooks?”

“I haven’t had time to check them. I’ll glance at them now.”

She thumbed through the dog-eared pages. Page after page she read scribbled ramblings about “eternal light,” and saw drawings of eyes placed all over the pages. She came across one page that had the word “hate” scrawled all over it. He had pressed so hard with the pencil that the word was indented on the following four pages. The other notebook contained nothing but a list of songs and a few mathematical problems that were scribbled out.

“For a young person with a seemingly normal home life, he was certainly full of anger about something.”

“Maybe the parents weren’t telling us everything about their little angel.”

“Sometimes, there’s never enough truth,” Wednesday replied as she closed the notebooks.

Chapter Four

Reverend George Olong placed the receiver back in the cradle before heaving a sigh. His mop of curly grey-flecked hair bounced around as he made his way to his study, where his wife, Vera, was placing a tray of mid-morning tea and biscuits on his desk.

“Something wrong?” she asked as she saw his face drain of colour.

“That was the police. Young Tom Dolby was found dead in the cemetery late last night. They’re crawling all over the grounds right now.”

He put two lumps of sugar in his teacup and slowly stirred the steaming liquid. He breathed out heavily through his flaring nostrils.

“I’ll need to visit the Dolbys and go to Markham Hall to counsel the students. This will rock the community.” Absentmindedly, he munched on a digestive biscuit whilst words of condolences and soothing phrases swarmed around his mind. He didn’t notice his wife leave the room.

He was composing a speech for the Dolbys when the doorbell rang. He heard Vera’s footsteps heading for the front door. Hearing voices he braced himself for the visitors he sensed were heading his way.

“George, this is DI Wednesday and DS Lennox.”

George stood up and proffered his hand. “You’ve come about young Tom, I presume,” he said as he waved his arm to encourage the pair to sit. “Can we offer you a tea or coffee?”

The pair declined.

“We’re sorry about the disruption to the church grounds. Give it a couple more hours and you’ll be able to enter the church again,” Lennox said as he sat back in the chair.

“Were you both here last night?” queried Wednesday.

“We’re both out on Wednesday evenings. I teach Lay preachers in the next village, and Vera leads choir practice in the village hall. We both get in around ten.”

“So neither of you heard nor saw anything out of the ordinary last night?”

The reverend and his wife looked at one another before shaking their heads in unison.

“It’s common knowledge that the vicarage is empty on a Wednesday evening. Besides, with the tall hedge between us and the church, we can’t see what goes on there.” Vera’s voice wasn’t as soft as Wednesday had expected, even though the job had taught her never to expect or assume anything.

“Did you know Tom Dolby well?”

“Indeed we did. He attended church most Sundays with his parents. They’ll be devastated,” he shook his head slowly.

“Did he seem troubled lately? Or changed in any way that concerned you?”

Both George and Vera shook their heads symbiotically.

“He seemed interested in a group I was trying to set up for the local young people.”

“Group?” reiterated Lennox showing too much cynicism in his voice which the reverend picked up on.

Red faced, he continued the conversation. “Yes, there’s not much for the young to do around here, unless they train into Cambridge. Anyway, I’m trying to start up a rambling club. The church has even paid for a hut that’s nicely nestled in the woodland area.”

Wednesday and Lennox eyed one another.

“Could you tell us precisely where the hut is?” Wednesday asked, monitoring her tone of voice and pacing the urgency.

“I can do better than that, I’ll take you there. George should really visit the Dolbys,” Vera offered, as she mimed to her husband that he should get going.

“One last thing before we go,” asked Lennox, reluctant to be pushed around by Vera. “Do you know Darren Giles? He appears to have gone missing.”

Vera put both hands to her face as she took a sharp intake of breath. “Murder and now a missing boy. All this will destroy the sense of security amongst the parishioners,” she uttered.

Neither of them had any information about Darren Giles, so Wednesday placed her card on his desk before following them outside.

The vicarage garden had a semi-wilderness about it. Clearly money was not squandered on hiring a regular gardener. They walked along the narrow pavement, passing the cemetery where the white tent and crime scene tape still remained, incongruously. Rows of officers were on their knees undertaking a fingertip search of the area.

“Is that where he was found?” Vera asked in a hushed tone before putting her hand to her mouth. Wednesday nodded and placed her hand under Vera’s elbow to guide her past the macabre scene.

After walking through dense woodland for ten minutes, they arrived at a small clearing where the newly erected hut stood.

“My husband is devoted to the parish. This rambling club idea was intended to give the young people something constructive to do, whilst getting them interested in nature,” she said as she opened the unlocked door and stepped inside.

Inside, the hut smelt of new wood, and the windows still had protective tape on them. Their footsteps and voices echoed in the sparse space where only a rectangular table stood, surrounded by eight chairs.

“Has this place been used yet?”

“The club hasn’t officially started, but it’s not for the want of trying on his behalf,” she said as she glanced around. “He mentions it every Sunday in church and advertises it in the fortnightly parish magazine.” She stood by the window and gazed at trees. “I think it’s a waste of time, but George has always loved working with young people.”

Wednesday said nothing whilst taking notes.

“Tom and Darren showed interest in the club, so George brought them to see this,” said Vera as she waved her arm around the space.

“When was that?”

Vera suddenly seemed hesitant. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.”

“We will,” replied Lennox.

Whilst searching around the hut, Wednesday spied a cocktail stick on the floor which she picked up and put in an evidence pouch.

“What was that?” asked Vera.

“Looks like a cocktail stick. It’s probably nothing,” she replied, putting it in her bag.

Reverend George Olong drove his burgundy Volvo estate to the Dolby’s home. It was his first experience of dealing with a murdered adolescent and fear was pounding in his ears.