In the Light of Madness (41 page)

“Whatever for?”

When Wednesday pointed out the flecks of blood, Judith told her that Des shaved in the shower, frequently cutting himself.

“That may be the case, but we’ll let forensics clarify that.”

“Whatever,” replied Judith before bumbling downstairs.

The detectives left the house with Judith calling out a derogatory farewell to them.

Lennox slung the bagged evidence in the boot before getting in the passenger side.

Since losing his job at Markham Hall School, they expected to find Stewart Cleveland at home, and they were not disappointed.

After buzzing them in, he waited for them at his front door. His usual well-groomed appearance had been replaced by a shabby look that aged him. His cheeks had hollowed out and his eyes were set deeper in their sockets.

“Can’t leave me alone?”

“We’re checking out a lead that requires us to search the bathroom,” replied Lennox.

Cleveland tilted his head and stepped back to let the pair in. Books had been taken off shelves and strewn around the lounge. He noticed the detectives eyeing the disorder and advised them that he was spending his free time revisiting the literary classics.

In the bathroom, they found a bath with a shower attachment on the taps; there was a shower rail, but no curtain.

“I hate shower curtains; they stick to the wet body and irritate the crap out of me. The floor gets wet though; see that damp patch in the corner?”

“When did you last have a curtain?” asked Lennox as he peered at the mould.

“I don’t know, maybe a year ago. Why the interest?”

The detectives declined to respond and continued looking around the compact space. Cleveland stood in the doorway waiting to see their next move.

“Are you going to tell me what this is about or are you searching around aimlessly?”

“How’s the fraud investigation going?” replied Lennox, eager to wipe the grin from Cleveland’s face.

“Touché,” he uttered.

Their next stop was the vicarage, and Vera Olong looked incensed when she opened the door to find them standing there. The request to see the bathroom was received with resigned irritation. She took them upstairs and showed them her bathroom.

“I hope you find all in order,” she quipped.

They found a roll-top Victorian bath in the centre of the room but no shower in sight. She then showed them her husband’s bathroom which was less elegant and rather more functional. However, it looked like a new shower curtain hanging on the rail over the bath. Just then, George Olong emerged behind them and enquired about their visit.

“New shower curtain, Reverend?” Wednesday asked.

“I have absolutely no idea. Perhaps the housekeeper put a new one up. Vera may know.” He looked towards his wife with expectant eyes.

“I know nothing about it,” she said, turning towards the detectives.

“Do you still have the old one?” Wednesday asked.

“I doubt it. I imagine it’s been thrown out, and the dustbin men have already been this week. Is it important?” Vera asked.“Possibly,” replied Lennox, brushing past the reverend and heading downstairs. “Are the bins out the back?” he called.

Once located, he was disappointed to find that the bin was indeed empty. He slammed the lid down and waited for Wednesday to reappear.

“Reverend, have you heard if my mother got home safely?”

“No I’m afraid I haven’t. I’m sorry . . .”

“I feel it’s my fault,” Vera interrupted. “If I’d got there sooner, perhaps she wouldn’t have wandered off.” Vera’s face glowed and she twisted her wedding band around and around her finger. “Perhaps George should have waited until I got there . . . Hind sight I suppose.”

“Well, hopefully Oliver has found her by now,” replied Wednesday, checking her mobile to see if she had a message.

Lennox hooted the horn as he sat in the car, impatient to move on to the next place.

“So we have two missing curtains and one blood splattered one,” said Lennox, slipping a cigarette between his lips. “Any thoughts?”

“We still have to check out Dick Pennymore’s residence before I formulate a theory. Nothing’s conclusive as far as I can see. Perhaps forensics will come up with something on the blood.”

“Gives you an opportunity to see Alex again.”

“I think you’re on the wrong track there, Alex only sees me as a work colleague, as I do him. Besides, I’m older than him.”

Wednesday dialled Oliver’s number and waited for him to pick up.

“Have you found Mum?”

“No, and I’m getting frantic, it’ll be getting dark soon. You know how she hates the dark . . .”

“Look Oliver, stay at home in case she returns. Leave all the lights on for her to see.”

“I think the police should be involved. I know you want to keep her illness a secret, but I can’t think what else to do.”

Wednesday knew he was right, and assured him that after the next visit she would get onto it.

Dick Pennymore was busy receiving barrels of beer at the back of the pub, and was unaware of the detectives’ arrival. They watched him for a few minutes before grabbing his attention.

“And what can I do for you two?”

“We’d like to see your bathroom, please,” said Wednesday.

“Strange request. Up the stairs, second on your left, I haven’t time to show you. Knock yourselves out.”

The living quarters above the pub was decorated in the same russet brown as downstairs. Plaster cornices were painted in gaudy gold, and an old jukebox stood in the corner of the lounge area. The air was scented by a couple of overflowing ashtrays on the coffee table, next to a pile of tabloid newspapers and used betting slips.

They walked down the dimly lit corridor and found the bathroom. It looked like it had not been cleaned since his wife died three years ago. The toilet seat remained in the upright position, and the mirror was marked with splashes of shaving foam and toothpaste. An avocado coloured bath fitted down one side of the room, and a matching toilet and sink occupied the other side. There was no shower or curtain to be seen.

“Waste of time,” Lennox said as he headed downstairs, buttoning up his coat.

Lennox drove as Wednesday called the station and spoke with Maria Jones.

“Could you organise a few patrols to look for my mother, I’ll send you a photo from my mobile. And call Oliver to discuss location.”

Wednesday knew she could trust Jones to be discreet for the time being, but she knew the family elements she wished to keep secret could soon be divulged. Hunter could soon be privy to the madness that lay within her bloodline.

Wednesday watched the countryside flash by as she stared out the window. The bare branches on the trees extended their witch-like fingers towards the inhospitable sky. Thoughts turned to how frightened and cold Joan must be, and guilt swelled in her chest.

“Can we go back to the vicarage?” she asked.

“We can, but what for?”

“I want to take another look at the reverend’s bathroom. I just want to check something that didn’t seem quite right.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Scarlett put the phone down with her father’s words still ringing in her ears. Her mother was out on her own and emotionally unstable. He had not the time for her to unfurl her own emotional distress on to him—Joan came first.

She had phoned in sick at work and had remained in bed until Oliver’s phone call. She padded down to the kitchen and pulled a banana from the bunch. After two mouthfuls, she put the rest of the banana on the worktop and returned to bed, where she pulled the quilt over her head and hummed to herself.

Lucinda Edwards was surprised when her husband’s car pulled onto the drive. He had not said he was returning so soon. She was unsure whether she should greet him at the door for old time’s sake, or whether she should act out the new role life had thrust upon her. Her thoughts took so long to process that Greg was already in the door by the time she had decided what to do.

“I need some more clothes,” he said without giving her eye contact.

He ran up the stairs, two by two, and filled the empty suitcase he had brought with him. She knew she was being selfish, but she could not stop herself from climbing the stairs and entering the bedroom.

“I’m not asking for us to try and keep the marriage going, but I detect that you are extremely angry with me over something, and I thought we should clear the air before solicitors get involved.”

Greg folded some trousers and placed them neatly in the suitcase whilst he mulled over thoughts he found so difficult to put into words.

“I can’t stop myself from blaming you for Claudia’s death. You led me to believe she was purely studious, not an inkling about boys orbiting around her. Why did you do that?”

Lucinda sat on the edge of the king size bed. “You refused to acknowledge that she was growing up, that you would no longer be the only man in her life. You saw any boy as competition for her love. It wasn’t right. Your love crossed boundaries it shouldn’t have.”

Greg turned towards her, red faced and fists clenched. “Don’t you dare tell me what I can and can’t think. You know me very little, very little indeed.”

“I don’t see how I can be blamed for her death. We were her parents . . .”

“But you kept secrets from me about her life. What else have you kept from me?”

He twisted the polo top he was holding so tightly, that it looked like an elongated sausage. Lucinda traced the cornrow patterns in the plush carpet with her eyes as she toyed with telling him everything. Perhaps he already knew?

“Perhaps some things are better left unsaid. No need to sully your memories,” she whispered.

“My memories are already tainted thanks to you and your incompetent parenting skills. My mother always said you were style over substance.”

Lucinda prickled with anger at being made to feel inferior to the Edwards’ standards. She could fell him with one swoop, or she could protect her dead daughter’s innocence, but as Greg headed towards the bedroom door to leave her forever, she chose to speak.

“She had a termination.”

Greg stopped in the doorway and dropped the suitcase from his hand.

“It occurred to me that the baby was perhaps yours,” she continued.

He walked up to her and struck her across her face before collecting his suitcase, running downstairs and slamming the front door. She knew she would never see him again, and that she would never know the answer to her question.

The reverend’s car was no longer in front of the vicarage when Wednesday and Lennox arrived, but undeterred they rang on the bell hoping to find Vera in.

After awhile, they heard footsteps and then saw Vera peering through the window. She looked flustered and initially refused to open the door.

“He’s not here, he’s seeing parishioners,” she called from behind the door.

“Never mind, we just need access to his bathroom again,” replied Wednesday, anxious to get in.

“I’m not really sure if I should let you in. You seem to have it in for my husband. He’s a man of God, a good man.”

“I’m not passing judgement on him, Mrs Olong, I just want to see the bathroom again.”

Vera opened the door with her head held high. “Should my husband get a solicitor?”

“Not unless you think he’ll need one,” replied Wednesday before darting upstairs.

“What are we looking for exactly?” asked Lennox.

“The curtain wasn’t sitting right somehow. Looked like it was put up in a hurry.”