In the Light of Madness (42 page)

She was right. Some rings had been missed so the curtain was hanging unevenly. As she studied the rings carefully, she found tiny fragments snagged underneath the new shower curtain.

“Look at these, Lennox. I wonder if these would match up with the fragments found by forensics. Pass me an evidence bag, will you.”

Vera stood in the doorway, silently watching the proceedings with her hands clasped together. Tears began to creep into her eyes.

“Is he in trouble?”

“I don’t know right now, but I would appreciate him remaining in the local vicinity for the time being.”

“I hear the Edwards are getting a divorce,” said Emily Dolby to her husband as he passed her a cup of tea.

“I don’t take too much heed of local gossip, and neither should you.”

“The death of a child has many repercussions on a family, that’s all I’m saying.”

James stood by the fireplace with his hands in his pockets, staring at the school photo of Tom on the mantelpiece. “Do you regret that Tom was our only child?” he asked her.

Emily sipped her tea, hoping the silence would be a substitute for an answer.

“Maybe you’re glad we only had the one, seeing as you found parenting hard work sometimes.” He turned to look at her as he spoke.

“This is a pointless conversation, James. We can neither change nor hope for a different past or future. We have what we have, and that’s it.”

As Emily rose up to leave the room, James followed her with his eyes, unsure of whom his wife had become or ever was. He missed Tom very much.

As soon as they reached the station, Lennox took the evidence down to forensics, whilst Wednesday sought out Jones to get an update regarding her mother.

“No news I’m afraid. If you’re really worried I suggest you talk to Hunter, get some more officers out there.”

Wednesday thanked her before seeking refuge in her office. She dialled Oliver’s number and he answered after a couple of rings.

“Mum not back then?” she said as she slumped in her chair.

“No, and now it’s dark. Where the hell is she, Eva?”

“I have no idea. Have you checked her friends, or the hospital?”

“I’ve checked everywhere and everyone.”

“I’ve got a few things to get finished here; then I’ll come over to you.”

Lennox knocked at her door and entered. “I thought you could do with this,” he said, putting a mug of coffee on her desk. “Any news on your mum?”

Wednesday shook her head, nursing the mug of hot liquid between her hands. “Everything is guiding us to the reverend, but I can’t help thinking it’s being done on purpose.”

“You don’t think he’s guilty?”

“I’m not convinced, but I’m not sure who’s doing the guiding. Everything is whirring around in my head.”

“I think you should get off to Oliver, you two could work better together to find her. I’ll cover you.”

Wednesday thanked him and left the office before Hunter could see. Lennox had quite a big heart under his big ego, she thought to herself.

Oliver rushed to the front door when he heard it open, only to stop in his tracks when he saw Wednesday walk in alone.

“Sorry, it’s only me.”

“Don’t be sorry love. I’m just glad you’re here.”

When her mobile rang, their hearts bounced into their mouths. It was Alex Green.

“I’ve matched the fragments of shower curtain from the vicarage to the ones found on Darren Giles’s body,” he began, “but there’s more, excuse me . . .”

Wednesday pulled her ear away from the phone as Alex sneezed.

“Sorry. Anyway, I found some partial prints on both the fragments around the body, and they belong to a Colin Pollock.”

Wednesday hung up before dialling Lennox’s number.

“I was just about to call you,” he said, “Colin Pollock’s up a tree threatening to hang himself.”

They agreed to meet in the woodland by the cemetery. She was about to apologise to Oliver, but he shook his head and waved her off.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Wednesday and Lennox found Colin Pollock easily, thanks to the blue lights flashing through the bare trees. As they approached the huge tree in the centre of a clearing, they saw Pollock sitting on a thick branch with a noose around his neck and the other end of the rope tied around the branch.

A fire officer approached the detectives. “As soon as he jumps, the squad car will drive under him then we’ll get up and cut the rope. That’s the plan, so it’s over to you to try and get him down without the noose.”

“Mr Pollock,” she called up, “can we talk things through before you take an irreversible drop.”

“I have nothing to say. Just leave me alone,” he shouted back. Although it was cold, his face sparkled as the tiny beads of sweat caught the flashing lights.

“You know we can’t do that. I’m sure nothing is this bad.”

“You know nothing of my problems; I’m too far gone to be saved.”

“Admission of guilt can go some way to appease your mental anguish.”

Pollock laughed at her for saying something so trite. He knew that his mental anguish would never subside, and that if hell existed, that was where he was heading.

“You have no idea. Things happen right under your noses and still you haven’t switched on to what it all means.”

“Why don’t you fill us in?”

He laughed again and shuffled forward on the thick arm of the tree. Officers around him came alive to his movements, hearts pulsating faster, muscles flexing.

“You only see what you want to see. The thought that behind the banal and so-called normal lives hides something sinister and ugly, is too unpalatable for society.”

“Show us the ugly then,” coaxed Lennox, stepping closer to the tree.

“Stay right where you are, I don’t trust you,” shouted Pollock as he rocked on the branch.

“Why don’t you talk to us, and we’ll stand right here and listen,” Wednesday called up.

“Some women think having children will bring them happiness and fulfilment, and then they find out their babies become teenagers and it’s no longer fun.”

“Are you talking about specific mothers?” asked Wednesday.

“Stop interviewing me and let me talk,” he retorted.

Wednesday and Lennox stood side by side in full view of Pollock, and waited for him to continue.

“I would hear mothers complain to me on parents’ evenings, at choir practice, and in the street. They said they admired me for working with teenagers; they wanted my support and help. They wanted their children to behave.”

“Is that what Tom and Darren were? Unruly teenagers who needed controlling?”

“Something like that, but it was never meant to happen that way.”

“Tell us how it was supposed to happen.”

Pollock rubbed his hairless head and then beat his fist on his scalp. “I was guided, through a spirit. I messed it up and now I must die.”

“You don’t have to die, it won’t bring them back. We know you were involved as we’ve found your DNA on the cocktail stick in the hut and fingerprints on the fragments of shower curtain. The right thing to do now is tell the parents what happened so it brings them some form of closure.”

Wednesday could feel beads of sweat slithering down her back even though her face and fingers were freezing. The dusk had brought drizzle in the air, and she could sense miniscule droplets clinging to her eyelashes.

“What happened to Claudia? Why was her death so different?” Wednesday persisted.

“She
was
different. She had taken a life and so she had to be punished.”

Wednesday wondered how he knew about the termination when Claudia’s own father did not know. “That was a violent way to die. Did you act alone?”

“She was numbed by drugs; she wouldn’t have suffered as much as she should have.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Did you act alone?”

“You should look closer to home, DI Wednesday, and just let me die.”

Wednesday looked at Lennox, who shrugged his shoulders at first, and then suddenly said, “Your mother, Wednesday, where’s your mother?”

Wednesday stepped closer to the tree, disregarding his orders to stay back. “What have you done with my mother?” she said, with her heartbeat pounding in her temples.

“We have all been used in one way or another, and nothing can stop it from moving forward.”

She called to him that he was not making sense. She stepped closer again until she was an arm’s length away from the sturdy trunk.

“Your mother is having new life breathed into her. Her mental infliction will be expelled from her body, and then the work begins—but not with me—I am to be left behind, I’m no longer needed.”

Wednesday’s face grew red, how did he know about Joan’s illness. She wanted him to jump, but not before telling her where Joan was. She had to play it cool.

“Who no longer needs you? What are you talking about?”

“She now has her own child within. My soul will live as it lives.”

Who was pregnant, thought Wednesday. She mulled over the past few hours and remembered the faint smell of vomit in one of the bathrooms they visited. Then she remembered.

“Are you telling me that Vera Olong is having your baby?”

“Bravo, Detective. I’m a castigated father to be.”

Lennox moved towards Wednesday and whispered in her ear that he thought they should get to the vicarage.

“Arlow and Damlish can look after this burke,” he said, nodding in Pollock’s direction.

They jumped into Lennox’s car and sped off. Wednesday radioed the station to advise Hunter of their movements, and to request back-up.

Vera’s car was parked outside the vicarage, so unless she had gone on foot, they presumed she was in. All the windows were closed and the place was in darkness. Wednesday rang the bell a few times then tried the handle, only to find it locked.

They decided to check the perimeter to see if they could gain access another way. Walking around the back, a beam of light hit the ragged lawn, making them look up towards the source. Squinting in the brightness of the light, they could just make out a shadowy figure appearing from the window in the attic.

“Is that Vera?” asked Wednesday.

“I can’t tell. We need to get up there.”

“Let us in, we need to talk,” called Lennox through his cupped hands.

“I have nothing to say. You won’t get me alive.”

They recognised Vera’s voice.

“Have you got Joan Willow?” called Wednesday.

“I couldn’t save your mother’s sanity, her madness runs too deep. You should’ve come to me much sooner.”

“Where is she?”

“Up here with me.”

A cold sweat encased Wednesday’s body, but her mind focused on the task in hand. She had to show she could cope.

Lennox remembered the French windows that could easily be broken into, so he suggested Wednesday keep Vera talking whilst he broke in.

She grabbed him by the arm. “I have to go in. If my mum is up there, only I will be able to reassure her.”

Reluctantly, Lennox let her go, on the proviso that she did not put herself in danger.

Wednesday wrapped her scarf around her fist and smashed the pane of glass adjacent to the handle. Slipping in through the French doors she felt her way around in the shadows, almost knocking over a vase in the process. She could hear Lennox talking.