In the Light of Madness (40 page)

Oliver paced up and down while he listened to Joan babble on incessantly about any subject that entered her mind. He could not face eating yet more sandwiches, he longed for some hot food—specifically fish and chips. The fish shop was a ten minute walk each way, plus waiting time. He wondered whether Joan would hold out that long, without causing damage to herself or the environment.

He was so preoccupied that it took him several moments to realise someone was at the door. Eagerly, he dashed to the door and found a stranger standing there.

“Hello, I’m Reverend George Olong, I wonder if I could come in?”

Oliver and religion did not normally mix, but desperation made him waver from his usual route. He allowed him in and led him to the kitchen, where Joan was sitting and still talking.

“I heard about your plight from a parishioner, Nina Prince, who has a large collection of your pottery. Anyway, I thought I’d drop by and see if I could offer some support in one way or another.”

Oliver hesitated, looking to his wife for some advice, knowing that she was incapable of delivering. Impulsively, he grabbed his coat and announced that he was off to buy their lunch. Joan stopped talking and watched her husband leave. She looked towards the reverend and then back at the front door closing.

“Now why don’t I make us a nice cup of tea,” he said as he looked for the kettle.

Forty minutes later, Oliver returned to find the front door ajar. Sure that he had shut it when he left, he stepped inside and called out to Joan. Embarrassingly, he could not remember the reverend’s name.

The silence unsettled him. Dropping the bag of fish and chips on the floor, he hurried towards the kitchen, only to find it deserted. Two mugs, half full of cold tea, stood on the table. He wondered whether they were in the garden, even though he knew it was too cold for Joan, especially without her daffodil-yellow duffle coat which he saw hanging on a peg in the hallway.

Oliver’s vision began to blur as he rushed from room to room, calling out to his wife. After running up then back down the stairs, he sped into the garden, out of desperation, to see if they were there. Joan was nowhere to be seen and neither was the reverend.

He trembled as he dialled Wednesday’s mobile number, feeling lightheaded waiting for her to pick up.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Edwards’ home was filled with family and friends after the funeral. Although Lucinda had used caterers to supply a buffet, no one touched the food.

Greg circulated the room thanking people for their support. Lucinda was upstairs in Claudia’s bedroom, staring out at the garden that was also in mourning. She did not want a house full of people; she wanted to be on her own to feel the presence of her daughter by her side.

The faint smell of patchouli clung to the air and the sight of Claudia’s jewellery and hair accessories made Lucinda’s heart lurch towards the pit of her stomach. She allowed her fingertips to brush over the dressing table that was spilling over with makeup and perfume bottles. There was so much hope for Claudia’s future, and now it had faded away along with Lucinda’s marriage.

She found herself thinking about the grandchild she could have had—another part of Claudia that had been so tantalisingly close. Why had she allowed it to be discarded like an unwanted piece of clothing?

“I thought I’d find you in here,” Greg said from the bedroom doorway. “Some of the guests want to leave, but they wish to see you before they go.”

Lucinda turned around and realised that the man standing there could no longer offer her the comfort, or the strength she needed to plough on with her pointless life. Nevertheless, she followed him downstairs to exhibit her grieving heart for all to see.

Back at the station, Wednesday and Lennox were mulling through the various possible motives for the three deaths.

“I don’t buy the homophobic attack on Tom Dolby. There’s no evidence he was gay, and there are no reports of a homophobic element within the community,” Lennox said as he balanced on the back two chair legs.

“Okay, but what about Claudia’s pregnancy? There’s a motive straight away,” replied Wednesday as she doodled on a scrap of paper.

“Right, but she’d had a termination, so what was the point in killing her, and in such a brutal manner?”

“Perhaps the father wanted her to keep the baby? We’re almost certain the same person murdered the two boys—right? But we’re unclear about the girl . . .”

“Different method—I know,” interrupted Lennox. “Are we looking at two murderers that are working together? I understand that with couples who kill, the violence intensifies as they progress. Perhaps that’s the path we should be taking?”

As Wednesday spun the thoughts around her mind, her mobile rang. She answered it and listened to the stream of words which flowed so hard, it took her a few seconds to compute what Oliver was saying.

“Maybe they’ve gone for a walk?”

Wednesday could hear in his voice that he was not satisfied with her answers but she did not want to convey her concerns about the reverend.

“Why don’t you phone the vicarage and see if they are there. Let me know all is well, yes?”

Oliver reluctantly agreed to take her advice, but what he really wanted was for Wednesday to assist him.

“Trouble?” enquired Lennox.

“Mum has gone somewhere with the reverend, and Oliver is going spare. I’m not happy about it myself, but now is the wrong time.”

Alex Green tapped on Wednesday’s office door.

“Results have come in from the coated fabric found on Darren Giles’s body. Its shower curtain material.”

He waited for Wednesday to respond—he was barely aware of Lennox. Wednesday was slow off the mark, so he continued.

“It would suggest that the body was wrapped and transported in a shower curtain.”

Wednesday thanked Alex and waited for him to leave, which after hovering and going slightly red, he finally did.

“I think he idolises you,” said Lennox.

Wednesday chose to ignore him.

Once upon a time, they could have canvassed local shops to see if someone had recently bought a shower curtain; but with the internet, it had become a much harder task.

“We could visit all our possible suspects and check their showers. No sign of mildew could mean it’s a new purchase,” Lennox said.

Racing out of the office, she checked her mobile and hoped that Oliver had found her mother.

Oliver decided to search for Joan himself as it was his fault she had gone missing. The smell of fish and vinegar in the hallway turned his stomach, so he kicked the bag to one side, scattering chips as he left the house.

He wanted to call Wednesday again and he thought about calling Scarlett for a brief moment. He did neither.

Whilst walking towards the common, he tried the vicarage again, hoping someone would answer this time. He let it ring until finally someone picked up.

“Thank God . . . sorry . . . this is Oliver Willow, is my wife Joan there?”

“I’m so sorry; my husband had to rush to the bedside of a dying parishioner. I drove over to your house to look after your wife, but when I arrived, I couldn’t find her. I thought perhaps you had got back and had taken her out,” replied Vera.

Oliver hung up and scanned the expanse of land stretching out before him. Wisps of low cloud skirted the horizon, but the only person he could see was a lone dog walker. He ran up to them and asked if they had seen a woman walking about, but the walker just shook his head.

Guilt flooded his senses and nausea washed over his stomach. He knew he had not always been a good husband, but now he felt he had truly let her down.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Wednesday and Lennox decided to visit each person involved in the cases in one way or another. They did not phone in advance, preferring the element of surprise to hopefully assist them in catching someone out.

They called in on the Dolbys first. Mrs Dolby answered the door, but she had long since stopped looking hopeful of closure. She let them in quietly, advising them that her husband was resting upstairs; she did not appear phased when they asked to see the bathroom. She remained at the bottom of the stairs as they located the room and found that the Dolbys had a shower unit with plastic sides—no curtain.

The black shadows under Emily Dolby’s eyes looked like sooty thumb smudges. The strain of recent events was etched onto her face, with furrowed lines marking each tearful day.

“It’s funny,” she said as she turned towards Wednesday. “I struggled with being a mother, and now that I no longer am I miss it. I wish I’d known that before.”

They apologised for the intrusion, and slipped out without disturbing her husband and without being able to turn back the time for Emily.

Their next stop was the Edwards residence. Lucinda answered the door and explained that her husband was staying in London for the time being. Her diminutive figure was dressed in a black silk shift dress and black patent court shoes. Her fingers were void of all rings, and around her neck hung a delicate, gold crucifix.

“Why do you wish to see the bathroom?”

“We’re looking for something that will match with one of the crime scenes,” replied Wednesday, keen to get in and get out as soon as they could.

The Edwards’ bathroom turned out to be a wet room designed in black marble, with no curtain in sight. Lucinda showed them the en suite, but that only contained an ornate free-standing bath, a toilet, and a sink.

“Will you still catch the person who killed my daughter?”

Wednesday smiled wanly. “Are you coping on your own, MrsEdwards? Is your husband back soon?”

“He’ll be away for a while, but I’m coping thanks.” She closed the front door softly behind them as they left.

“I didn’t expect to find anything in either of the houses,” said Wednesday as she reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

“We’ve still got four more places to visit. Shall we do the Wright’s next?”

With her cigarette pinched between her lips, Wednesday climbed into the car and headed for the other end of Lavendly village. The village was split in half by a cricket green and a whitewashed cricket pavilion, which was used for village fetes and charity cricket matches. But now, the once chocolate-box village felt tainted by the deaths of the children, and it felt like the serenity could only be reformed once the perpetrator had been castigated from their
environ
.

They hoped they would be lucky to find only the wife at home. Lennox knocked on the door several times before it was opened by Des Wright.

He said nothing and let them in. Judith staggered to the kitchen door and asked them what they were doing.

“We need to see your bathroom, Mrs Wright.”

With a wild flourish, Judith waved them upstairs. They pounded up the stairs two at a time like panthers and found the bathroom. It smelt damp thanks to the wet towels thrown in a heap on the floor by the bath. An overhead shower hung over the taps, dripping incessantly, leaving a lime scale mark on the bottom of the bath. A shower curtain was hanging on a rail over the bath. On inspection, there was so much soap scum and grim on the curtain, it looked much older than a couple of weeks.

They heard footsteps bumbling up the stairs before the smell of alcohol arrived at the door.

“Find what you wanted?” asked Judith.

“Is this the only bathroom in the house?”

Judith’s head lolled backwards as she let out a throaty laugh. “Of course it is. It’s not bloody Buckingham Palace.”

As Wednesday continued inspecting the shower curtain she spotted tiny flecks of what looked like blood. Moving closer, she felt Judith move closer, too, until they were both tight up against the bath. Wednesday signalled to Lennox.

“We’re going to need to take this with us,” she said as she began unhooking the curtain.