In the Light of Madness Read online

  This publication is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. This work is protected in full by all applicable copyright laws, as well as by misappropriation, trade secret, unfair competition, and other applicable laws. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any manner without written permission from Winter Goose Publishing, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. All rights reserved.

  Winter Goose Publishing

  2701 Del Paso Road, 130-92

  Sacramento, CA 95835

  www.wintergoosepublishing.com

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  In the Light of Madness

  COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Hemmie Martin

  First Edition, November 2013

  Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9894792-9-5

  Cover Art by Winter Goose Publishing

  Typeset by Odyssey Books

  Published in the United States of America

  Also Available By Hemmie Martin:

  The Divine Pumpkin

  Attic of the Mind

  To DI Andy Yeats, of the Metropolitan Police Service

  for his unwavering enthusiasm and patience in answering

  all my police and crime related questions

  I thank you deeply

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Gravestones jutted out of the ground like candles on a birthday cake. They marked an occasion in a person’s life, but were ultimately forgotten once the ceremony was over.

  “What have we got, Boss?” DS Jacob Lennox asked, stepping inside the newly erected white tent to stand next to DI Eva Wednesday.

  “A boy, early- to mid-teens. At first sight seems to have no visible injuries and no obvious cause of death. Edmond will tell us more just as soon as he gets here and does a preliminary assessment.”

  Looking down at the boy, it occurred to Wednesday that she was old enough to be his mother. The thought sent a frisson down her spine as she tucked a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear.

  “Who called it in?” Lennox asked, noticing his new boss had an ethereal quality about her in the white-paper forensic suit.

  “An anonymous male from the payphone in the market square.”

  There was no ID on the victim, but a young lad had been reported missing earlier that evening by an anxious father, and the victim appeared to match the description.

  Through the gloom, Wednesday saw a bald man of stocky build, wearing a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches bend down to pass beneath the crime scene tape. There was something reassuring about the pathologist Edmond Carter; rather like a favourite uncle who always had intriguing stories to tell, and who could make a grazed knee feel better. Following him was the forensic photographer, Marcus Drake. Marcus was slim with a thin face; his jet black hair spiked up with a heavy use of wax.

  Wednesday and Lennox stood back whilst Edmond snapped on some latex gloves and set to work. Marcus took a couple of scene shots, sending pin-pricks of dazzling light orbiting around their eyes.

  “Was he suffocated?” she asked Edmond as he shuffled around the body.

  “In the first instance I’d say that’s a strong possibility. I’ll check for fibres in the cavities back at the lab. No obvious external injuries except for bruising around the mouth and nose.” He let out an audible sigh and stood up to let Marcus document the victim in situ.

  “Time of death?”

  “I don’t think rigor mortis is going to be a reliable concept if the body’s been out for hours in this cold. I’ll have to do a battery of assessments and tests; you know, post mortem, blah de blah.” Edmond often interjected his sentences with the word blah. Wednesday believed it was because he could not be bothered to converse with the living; preferring the frozen silence of the dead.

  “I know you people don’t like to be pushed, but an approximate time would give us a vital start,” said Lennox, his voice resonating powerful calmness.

  Edmond raised his bushy eyebrows that compensated for his bald head. “My preliminary estimate on liver temperature would be between seven and eleven p.m.”

  “I’ll get a family liaison officer to meet us at the parents’ house,” Wednesday said, putting a call through to the station.

  “You’ll have to direct me; I’m still not used to the scenic borders of Cambridge,” Lennox said.

  Wednesday glanced back to see the boy’s lifeless form being placed in a body bag, whilst Lennox remotely unlocked his black Ford Mondeo and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  The interior of his car was pristine, with the faint smell of leather lingering in the air. She knew he smoked but clearly not in his car. A pity, she thought to herself, as she really wanted one before talking to the family.

  Lennox pressed his fingers into the steering wheel as he drove along a narrow hedge-lined lane to the neighbouring village of Lavendly

  They pulled up outside a tiny cottage, illuminated in every window, and found the family liaison officer was waiting for them.

  Knocking on the front door, Wednesday inhaled deeply, letting the air drift slowly out through her nostrils. A tall man with a pallid, drawn face answered the door; his expression fell further at the sight of them. He was a mirror image of the dead boy.

  “Mr James Dolby? I’m Detective Inspector Wednesday, this is Detective Sergeant Lennox, and this is the family liaison officer, DC Janice Parker. May we come in please?” she said, trying not to let her voice betray her inner emotions.

  As they stepped inside, a frantic woman appeared behind James Dolby, shrieking for her son. He ushered them in quickly before catching his wife in his arms. He had anticipated the hopelessness they brought with them.

  The couple were older than Wednesday had imagined, and the house had a musty smell, reminiscent of her grandmother’s house.

  Inside the slightly antiquated, but nevertheless comfortable lounge, was a wood burning stove harbouring the remnants of glowing embers. Motes of dust caught the light and danced around like a parade of fairies. A row of Toby jugs hung on the chimney breast, and a large ceramic figurine of a spaniel sat on the hearth.

  James Dolby guided his wife, Emily, to the sofa where she grabbed a cushion and clutched it tightly over her abdomen.

  “You’ve come about Tom, haven’t you?” he asked as he looked anxiously towards his wife.

  “Yes. I’m afraid we’ve found a body matching your son’s description. May we sit down?”

  The man extended his arm towards the chairs, but remained standing. Wednesday noticed a photograph of a boy dressed in Markham Hall school uniform on the mantelpiece, and she was in no doubt that the dead boy was their son.

  “Is he going to be okay?” asked Emily meekly, clearly not registering Wednesday’s words
. Her wide eyes betrayed her.

  “I’m sorry, the young boy matching Tom’s description was found dead in the cemetery in Barksbury.”

  Emily covered her face with the cushion to muffle her wailing. Her chest heaved violently as her husband sat down, placing a protective arm around her shoulder and drawing her into him. Fat drops of salty tears dribbled silently down his ashen cheeks.

  Wednesday watched the scene unfold, digging her nails into her palms. She sensed Lennox watching her out of the corner of his eye.

  “Our boy, our dear little boy,” whispered James Dolby.

  “May we offer you our sincere condolences,” Wednesday spoke with genuine feeling.

  “You found him in a graveyard? How did he die?” James asked, dabbing his face with a crisp white handkerchief.

  “We’re working on it, sir. We’re still gathering evidence,” replied Wednesday, who was beginning to wonder if Lennox was ever going to join in.

  In a telepathic triumph, Lennox let his deep, soothing tone waft into the atmosphere.

  “We know this is a very difficult time for you both to answer questions, but we need to move as fast as possible. The first few hours are vital. We’ll need to see his bedroom, if you don’t mind.”

  Lennox nodded to the family liaison officer as she entered with a tray of tea for the parents. Wednesday retrieved her notebook from her bag and tapped her front teeth with a pen until both parents had sipped the proverbial hot sweet tea.

  “Do you know where Tom was last night, and with whom?” she asked.

  They looked at one another with penetrating eyes.

  “He just said he was meeting up with Darren and that he wouldn’t be back late.” James’s voice was quiet, requiring Wednesday to sit forward in her seat.

  “Are you sure it’s him, you might be mistaken,” blurted out Emily with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

  “We’ll require a formal identification of the body, but it doesn’t have to be you, it could be another relative.” Wednesday waited for the words to register in Emily Dolby’s mind before continuing. “We’ll also need Darren’s address.”

  James Dolby rose and picked up the address book, flicking through the pages then handing it to Wednesday.

  “Could you tell us what kind of boy Tom was?” asked Janice Parker.

  The parents looked at one another, then Emily finally spoke.

  “He was quiet and kind. He was never in any trouble, you know. He didn’t drink, smoke, or do drugs.” Her face shone as she talked about him. She sipped some more tea from the cup she was nursing in her hands.

  Wednesday thought how often she had heard bereaved parents say similar things about their child; almost chapter and verse. All that was missing was the silent Amen.

  “He was a bit of a loner, except for seeing Darren. They’d been sort of friends since primary school.” Emily drifted off momentarily, clearly remembering the past and savouring the closeness of Tom’s spirit in the room. Parker placed her hand on top of Emily’s clenched fist, encouraging her to talk.

  “We weren’t keen on him being friends with Darren; he has an unsavoury home life.” She blew her nose before continuing. “His brother’s in prison for assault, and the stepdad can be a nasty piece of work, too.”

  “Was Tom bullied at school?”

  “Not that we know of.”

  Wednesday and Lennox quietly excused themselves to take a look at Tom’s room, leaving the couple in the capable hands of Parker.

  His room was what they expected for a sixteen-year-old boy; black bedding and furniture. Scattered on the floor was an assortment of socks, trainers, and crumpled up computer magazines.

  “We’ll take the laptop for technical support to have a look at. We might get some clues from his MSN pages, or whatever it is they’re into these days,” said Lennox.

  He was methodical in his examination, but Wednesday could not help feeling overwhelmed with the poignant sadness of the room that would never be used again by the boy.

  “Finished?” he questioned as he observed her rigid stillness.

  “I’ve got a couple of notebooks from his bedside table which might prove useful,” she replied, slipping them into an evidence bag.

  Returning to the lounge, they found the group sitting in solitary contemplation. Lennox gave James Dolby an evidence slip for the laptop and notebooks before making eye contact with Parker so she knew what he was going to say.

  “We’ll need someone to identify the body now,” he asked, rising up and down on the balls of his feet.

  “I’d like to go now,” answered James Dolby in an almost inaudible tone.

  “I need to go too,” implored his wife, displaying her tear streaked face for all to see.

  “Okay, Janice will take you and we’ll meet you there.”

  Wednesday and Lennox sat quietly in his car for a few seconds before he started up the engine.

  “They seem like a normal functioning family,” she ventured as he reversed the car.

  “Perhaps substitute normal for dull. It was hardly an inspiring environment for a teenager,” he replied, driving off to follow the patrol car. He noticed curtains twitching as they headed off down the road.

  Wednesday wondered what he would make of her family home, with its eclectic mix of hand-thrown pottery and hand-painted canvases. If he saw that, would he perhaps expect her to wear tie-dyed maxi dresses with coloured braids in her hair, rather like her own mother, who was far from dull in so many ways.

  Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the police station in Cambridge. Sending Lennox to the incident room, Wednesday played with the packet of cigarettes in her pocket before following the shuffling parents towards the mortuary.

  The parents’ anguish clung to the air as they stood behind the large glass window overlooking the stark white room. A metal gurney where the body lay stood in the middle, covered by a crisp green sheet.

  Wednesday gave the nod to the mortuary assistant who peeled back the sheet to reveal the peaceful looking boy.

  “He . . . He looks asleep,” whispered Emily Dolby.

  “Is this your son?” Wednesday asked gently.

  “That’s our boy,” replied James in a breaking voice. “How did he die?”

  “We’re trying to determine that, sir.”

  “Did he suffer?”

  “There are no visible wounds or abrasions. The pathologist’s report will tell us more. I’m sorry I can’t be more precise.”

  “Who would do that to our son?” he said, looking directly at Wednesday with his sunken eyes; his skin translucent.

  “We don’t know yet. I am truly sorry for you both,” she said, placing a hand on Emily Dolby’s arm in a symbolic gesture.

  “I want to kiss him goodbye,” she said, turning around to face Wednesday. “I have to say goodbye to my baby.”

  Wednesday could feel the sensation of tears welling behind her eyes. Her throat constricted as she escorted the pair into the room. She then moved to stand with the technician close to the wall, leaving a respectable distance between themselves and the parents, in order to give some semblance of privacy for their last family moment. Wednesday found the montage painful to witness.

  Slowly, the parents drew away from their only child; their arms outstretched in a vain attempt to magically make him rise up from the table.

  Janice Parker escorted them out of the room to the sound of Emily Dolby sobbing into her hands, whilst James Dolby looked like a walking spirit roaming the dark arena called limbo. Wednesday asked for the parents to be escorted home and for Parker to remain with them if they so desired. The parents nodded dolefully and moved stiffly down the corridor. As they reached the door, James turned around.

  “You will catch them won’t you, DI Wednesday? I couldn’t go on living knowing that justice wasn’t done for my boy.”

  “We will do our upmost, I can assure you, Mr Dolby,” she replied softly, as she handed him a card. “If you think of anything else, please contact
me on this number, anytime.” A smile felt inappropriate so she inclined her head as they moved away.

  She noticed how tired and old the pair suddenly looked as they drifted through the doorway, a cloud of sorrow hanging over them.

  With a deflated heart, she went to the Incident Room to hook up with Lennox.

  Chapter Two

  It was the early hours of the morning, and they knew that Darren’s parents were not going to appreciate the untimely call. However, they needed to get as much information from Darren about Tom’s last whereabouts as soon as possible.

  The address was in the same village as the Dolby’s but at the opposite end. The not-so-affluent end. Lennox pulled up outside the house that was in complete darkness.

  Wednesday felt emotionally weary and did not relish breaking the news to a young person that his friend, perhaps his only friend, was dead.

  They walked up the front garden which was crowded with overgrown shrubs. Lennox tripped on a raised slab on the pathway.

  “Bloody hell,” he snapped under his breath.

  Wednesday sensed fatigue was unravelling his composure. He rang the doorbell several times before a light came on. They were both poised with their IDs on view in the hopes of placating the occupants.

  The door was wrenched open and a towering man with the stature to match that of Lennox, stood before them in baggy boxer shorts and an off-white vest. A snarl ripped across his face and his eyes darted between the pair. Lennox explained the reason for their visit so he reluctantly let them in.

  “Judith,” he hollered up the stairs, “it’s the police. They want to talk to your Darren.”

  The three of them stood in the cramped and cluttered hallway listening to the creaking floorboards above, accompanied by swearing as a door opened.

  Wrapped in a grubby towelling bathrobe, Darren’s mum sauntered heavily down the stairs bringing with her the unmistakable stench of cheap wine.

  “He’s not in his room,” she said, slurring her words as she clung to the banister.