In the Light of Madness (9 page)

“I don’t need pity from the likes of you,” she said, whipping her arm away.

She was defensive and agitated, but there was no time to appease her as a hush fell over the room. Booth sat next to Judith Wright and opened proceedings by talking about the missing young person. She placed a gentle hand on Judith’s arm, making her forehead crease like parchment paper.

“Darren,” she began before glancing down at her note. “We want you to come home. You’re not in trouble.”

After the incessant clicking and flashes from the cameras, the room returned to stifling silence. Wednesday noticed there was no mention of loving or missing Darren by Judith. It was Hunter’s turn to speak, giving the hotline number for the public to use. The press then began hurling questions towards him, and he batted them back saying it was still early days in the investigation.

In truth, the police hoped Darren would reappear in a couple of days, which was a possibility in the case with teenage runaways.

“Is there a connection with Darren and the death of the graveyard boy?” said a voice.

“I’m sorry but I’m unable to comment on another investigation.” Booth stood up and led the Wrights away from the glare of the lights. Hunter followed closely behind.

Wednesday recognised Scarlett’s voice as the one asking the last question. She could see her sitting next to a rotund reporter, wrinkling up her nose at being rebuffed. Scarlett was used to getting her own way.

Following her gaze, Lennox moved closer to her side. “Something troubling you?”

“No, not really.”

The press were on their feet and shuffling out the door.

“That wouldn’t happen to be your sister asking that question?”

“Half-sister. And yes that was her.”

Lennox let out a low grunting sound and folded his arms. “She looks nothing like you.”

“I know.”

“I hope she’s not going to cause us any trouble.”

“No more than any other inquisitive reporter.”

“What about insider information?”

Wednesday turned to face him. “That’s a line we never cross,” she hissed. “I’m going for a cigarette. Join me if you wish.”

Lennox watched her strut out of the room with a subtle grin on his face. He liked working with her, even though he already hated her beautiful sister.

Wednesday felt a rush of cold air engulf her as she opened the door onto the courtyard. The harshness of the outdoor security light shone onto the barren space, making the area inhospitable. Igniting the lighter within her cupped hand, she welcomed the heat for the few seconds before her cigarette was lit.

When she heard the door opening behind her, she did not turn around. Instead, she walked over towards the bench and perched herself on the edge. Pulling her jacket tightly around her, she blew a cloud of dirty smoke into the icy air.

“Well, how do you think it went?” asked Lennox as he stood over her.

“Not sure that Judith looked genuinely concerned, and Des was a non-entity. We’ll know more after the papers have gone out.”

“Depends if the press write favourably.”

“If by that you’re inferring to what Scarlett may report, then I don’t know. She doesn’t consult me or ask for my permission before submitting an article.”

“Perhaps she should.”

“Oh that would go down well, wouldn’t it?” Wednesday took a drag of her cigarette before continuing. “You know you haven’t even met her yet. You might actually like her; most men do.”

“So you keep saying. But I don’t think I could ever like a journalist, I never trust them and neither should you. Living with her could compromise your cases.”

“In what way exactly?”

“Oh work it out,” he replied as he vigorously crushed his partially smoked cigarette under foot. “An alcohol-fuelled evening could loosen your lips, and hey presto . . .”

“You’re very quick to judge people. Perhaps we should just write our reports then go home.”

Sitting in her car, she pushed in the Vivaldi CD for the drive home; letting the images of the day slowly leach from her mind.

Pulling onto her drive, she saw lights glinting through the stained glass panel in the front door. Scarlett was in and most likely waiting to see her.

Opening the front door, she was greeted by the inviting smell of warming cookies. Scarlett’s speciality usually reserved for when she wanted a favour.
Oh how Lennox would crow
.

“Just in time,” said Scarlett, bending down to pull a tray of golden cookies from the Aga. “I’ll make a pot of Earl Grey to go with these.”

“This is a warm welcome. What’s the catch?”

“Oh the cynicism. Can’t I bake something just for my big sister?”

“No, as it either means you’ve got some relationship hiccup, or it’s something to do with work. Which is it?”

Scarlett was unfretted by the comments. She plated up the warm cookies and brought the pot of tea to the table. Sitting opposite her, she bit into the doughy cookie, leaving crumbs in the corner of her mouth. Wednesday looked at her over the rim of her teacup and admired her Cupid’s bow and high cheek bones.

“I bet I’m right that there’s a link between the missing boy and the dead boy.” Her eyes flashed with excitement.

“You know I can’t discuss cases with you. House rules, remember.”

“I know, but this is my first major case. This is my chance to showcase my talent. I won’t mention you.”

“You know that wouldn’t make a difference, lots of people know we live together; they’d figure it out instantly.”

Scarlett’s shoulders drooped but her emerald eyes retained a sparkle. “Perhaps I could take a different angle? I could do an article on you. I could shadow you, that way I’d be open about my source.”

“No, this case is complicated enough without you tagging along. Besides, my boss would never go for it.”

Wednesday hated to be harsh with Scarlett, and it hurt her to see the disappointment in her perfect face. But rules were rules for a reason; she wanted to keep her personal and work life as separate as possible. Too much could go wrong.

Chapter Eight

The doorbell rang as Wednesday bit into the last piece of toast with apricot conserve.

“I’ll get it,” Scarlett called out as she danced to the front door.

She found an immaculately dressed, tall man with sharp hazel eyes gazing at her from the doorstep.

“Detective Jacob Lennox, what a pleasure to meet you,” she said as she extended a willowy arm. “I saw you in the press room yesterday,” she added in response to his quizzical look.

“I’ve come to collect Eva, is she ready?”

Scarlett ushered him in and led him towards the kitchen. Wednesday recognised his voice and crammed the last morsel of toast in her mouth, rendering her unable to speak.

“Morning Eva, nice house.”

She mumbled a response, spraying a few crumbs onto the Victorian pine table. Wiping crumbs off her chin she turned to observe the ritual that always occurred when any man met Scarlett. They became like courting pigeons, bobbing about and cocking their heads as they chased the semi-reluctant female.

“I’m Scarlett, by the way,” she said.

“The journalist . . .” his voice was meaningfully derisory.

“Yes, and I understand you have an acute disliking of my profession. Perhaps I’ll be able to persuade you to reconsider.” She gazed at him from under her eyelashes then flicked her hair as she left, leaving him irritatingly wanting more.

“I didn’t know you were calling,” Wednesday said, interrupting his trance.

“I was driving near when the call came in about another body in the woods. I thought I’d save time and pick you up.”

They jumped into his car and sped towards the crime scene. Scarlett occupied their minds in different ways, but neither brought her up for discussion.

He parked on the edge of the woodland where they saw flickering flashes of blue lights through the array of established and sapling trees.

Beneath their feet, a thick covering of autumnal leaves stuck to their boots with the morning dew. The air smelt musty, like an attic in an old house, and once again, Wednesday could sense the grim odour of death cloying the atmosphere.

Drawing nearer to the scene, they saw a young male officer bend over next to a rotund tree trunk and vomit onto an earthy mound. His pallid face turned towards them as they approached; his watery eyes full of revulsion and horror.

Edmond Carter and Marcus Drake were already at work on the grim task. Within seconds, Wednesday’s and Lennox’s eyes were drawn to the wretched scene before them.

Hanging from a solid gnarly tree branch was the semi-naked body of a teenage girl; her body a mass of cuts and bruises in what looked like whip- and baton-like markings. A deep gash had been sliced across her abdomen so some of her intestines were hanging out like Christmas garlands. Her mouth was bulging, clearly stuffed with something then sealed with black masking tape. Her protruding eyes screeched a silent scream of terror.

They stepped onto the plastic stepping-stones to preserve the scene. A harrowing look was etched on Edmond’s grey face as he turned towards them.

“Nasty one, this,” he said as he took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow and the top of his bald head. “With luck forensics may get prints from the black tape.”

“Do we know who she is?” asked Wednesday, trying not to let the feeling of nausea take over her body.

“The dog walker who found her recognises her as Claudia Edwards. Poor girl attended the same school as her granddaughter; Markham Hall. Apparently her parents are in London for a couple of days, we’re trying to locate them through the Met.”

Wednesday could see the dog walker talking to a constable just beyond the cordon. She wore a green Barbour wax jacket and matching hat, from under which her grey hair sprouted out erratically. Her rich black Labrador lay at her side with its chin on her muddy boots. She had a ruddy complexion, watery pale blue eyes, and looked in her early sixties. As the detectives approached, the constable took a step back.

“This is Mrs Rhodes who discovered the body.”

Wednesday nodded and introduced herself and Lennox. “We understand you recognise the girl.”

“Yes, from functions at the school. She was on speaking terms with my granddaughter. I wouldn’t class them as close friends. I remember she always wore her school kilt rather too short. But you know the girls of today.”

The woman’s face had a frozen look of abhorrence etched on it as she answered the questions. She swayed from side to side and held her finger under her nose in an effort to filter out the stench.

“Do her parents go away often?” continued Wednesday.

“Yes, it’s common knowledge. I believe they go to London for a long weekend about once a month.” She shrugged her shoulders, until she caught sight of the pendulum body to the left of her once more, making her face turn ashen.

No matter how short her kilt was, she didn’t deserve this, Wednesday thought to herself.

“Please leave your contact details with the officer as we may need to speak with you again,” she said as she gently directed the woman further away from the scene.

“The common denominator appears to be the school, doesn’t it?” Lennox said as he arrived next to her.

“It appears that way at the moment, but it’s early days. The bodies, and lack of, seem to be mounting rapidly.”

“Have you finished seeing the body
in
situ?
” an officer asked.

“Most definitely,” replied Lennox, rubbing his hand over the bristles on his head.

Wednesday turned her attention to Alex Green who was scrutinizing the ground.