In the Light of Madness by In The Light Of Madness Page A

problems for my Des.”
Lennox rolled his eyes and folded his arms.
“That’s not quite the appeal we had in mind,” sighed Wednesday. “Perhaps you could write down something less confrontational. We want Darren to know he’s not in trouble and is welcome home.”
“He is in trouble, and I want him bloody home to stop the neighbours sneering at us.”
“Then perhaps you need to show a softer side for the media. Let everyone see how much you love and miss your son.”
Judith’s face creased as she picked up her mug and took a large gulp.
“Perhaps I’ll make some coffee,” said Wednesday, stomping to the sink to fill up the kettle, aware of irritation trickling down her spine.
“I don’t want a bloody coffee, and I don’t want you in my house.”Judith was on her feet, unsteady and swaying around. The thread veins on her face flushing vivid red.
“Mrs Wright, we know this is a highly emotive time for you, but the need for calm is paramount.” Lennox’s masculine tone instilled some calm to the atmosphere, although Judith’s face was still knotted with anger.
Wednesday made the coffee and placed it in front of Judith. As she tried to remove the other mug, Judith’s hand whipped out and gripped onto it tightly. Their eyes locked together.
Twenty frosty minutes later, the front door swung open and Des Wright marched in. Wednesday and Lennox braced themselves instinctively.
“I see you pigs can’t get enough of me,” he snapped as he reached for his tobacco pouch.
“We’re holding a TV appeal this evening,” replied Wednesday.
Des let out a staccato laugh which was instantly quelled by a glance from Judith.
“She wants you by her side,” continued Wednesday. “Will you want to say a few words?”
“Not bloody likely.”
Judith shot Des another heated glance after which he lit his roll-up and strutted out into the overgrown back garden.
“A car will collect you at five fifteen. We’ll see you at the station,” Wednesday said as she and Lennox left, leaving a mist of much needed sobriety hanging over the kitchen.

Chapter Seven
 
“Canteen food doesn’t match up to home cooked,” lamented Wednesday.
“I don’t really cook for myself. I mainly live off ready-made stuff.”
Wednesday wrinkled up her nose. “Scarlett is a terrific cook when she has the time.”
Lennox tilted his head before forking some more semi-congealed lasagne into his mouth. “What does she do?”
“She’s a journalist on the local paper, The Cambridge Times .”
“God, I deplore journalists. They’re nothing but parasitic entities, feeding off the flesh of the dead.”
“Sounds like I’ve hit a nerve.”
Lennox sneered at her before wiping his mouth with a serviette.
“You’ll get over the fact that she’s a journalist soon enough. Most men she comes into contact with fall under her spell.”
“I’ve heard the rumours of her beauty, but it couldn’t detract me from the other stuff.”
“What d’you have against journalists anyway?”
“They get in the way of a case, they sensationalise the felon and they often make us look like burkes.”
Wednesday sipped her orange juice. She could not argue with him as she sometimes had similar complaints herself.
She decided to move the conversation away from her private life, as she always did with colleagues. But doing just that sometimes made her appear aloof, verging on conceited. However, she was not prepared to sacrifice her privacy to be a more affable colleague.
“I’m dreading the Wrights’ appeal. I can’t see that woman being up to it. Hunter will do his nut if she cocks it up, and he’ll blame us,” he said, spraying particles of congealed lasagne over the table.
Wednesday concurred, pushing her plate away. “I’m curious about the anger Tom displayed in his notebooks. There was never any mention at the school, or from his parents, come to that.” She sat back and spread her fingers on the table.
“You know teenagers; they’re full of angst and