The Red Dahlia (33 page)

Lewis tapped the photograph of Edward and Dominique Wickenham. ‘I’d say he’s very much a part of it: he’s screwing his stepmother!’

Langton nodded and tapped the other photographs. ‘Let’s see if we can identify these other guys.’

They went on to discuss getting a search warrant for the Hall; Langton said they could get one any time, but he wanted to hold off until he had some firm evidence. The meeting broke up and the team regrouped in the Incident Room. Langton asked Anna to join him in his office; she asked if she could first finish typing up her report. He shrugged and walked off with Lewis. When she headed over a short while later, the door was ajar: she could hear their conversation clearly.

‘She was at the airport! Ruddy woman gets everywhere; anyway, it proved to be worthwhile, as she filled in some details about Mrs Wickenham the exotic dancer. I have to hand it to her, she’s a really devious woman. She could get blood out of a stone; well, I know she can — she got me to take her to dinner. She wanted to go to this place called Bebel’s on the Via San Marco. It cost a fortune. Good job it was worthwhile: my expenses went through the roof

So Anna had been wrong about Langton and Professor Marshe after all: it had been a coincidence. She tapped on the open door and Lewis turned.

‘See you later then.’ He passed Anna.

‘Shut the door, Travis,’ Langton said, loosening his tie.

Anna hovered by his desk.

‘I want you to have another go at Emily Wickenham. It’s pretty obvious she’s flying close to the edge, but she might just know something that will help us. I’m getting copies of the photographs done, so she might help us identify the men in the hot tub.’

‘Okay.’ She nodded.

‘Are you?’

‘I’m sorry?

‘Are you okay?’

She frowned, confused. ‘Yes, why? Don’t I look it?’

He shrugged. ‘You’re wearing the same clothes as you travelled in last night, your hair needs something doing to it, and you’ve got a ladder in your tights.’

She flushed.

‘So, is there anything you feel you want to tell me?’

‘I overslept.’

‘That was pretty obvious, you were late. It’s just unusual — well, I think it is — when a woman wears the same clothes two days in a row.’

‘I just didn’t have time to find another suit.’

‘Don’t get stroppy! It’s just not like you, that’s all: you always look fresh as a daisy. This morning, you look beat.’

‘Thank you. I’ll have an early night.’

He nodded, and loosened his tie even lower down his shirt front. ‘This journalist still seeing you?’

‘No.’

There was a pause as he checked his watch. He looked up at her and smiled. ‘See you later.’

She walked back to her desk, feeling like she’d been hit over the head with a mallet. She was rifling around in her briefcase for a spare pair of tights when Barolli breezed over, grinning.

‘We got a hit: the anonymous caller has been identified.’

Anna looked up. ‘Is it Edward Wickenham’s girlfriend?’

‘Got it in one! Well, let’s say we’re pretty sure it’s her.’

‘You going to interview her?’ she asked.

‘Dunno; be down to the Gov. But good news, huh?’

‘Yes.’

‘You okay?’

She sighed. ‘I am fine!’

‘Just you look a bit under the weather. Mind you, this case is getting to all of us. Poor old Lewis is knackered: his son is teething, keeping him up all night.’

Langton appeared. ‘Can you cut the bloody chitchat? Did we get a result?’

Barolli grinned. ‘We certainly did: voice match!’

Anna watched as they went into Langton’s office together. She picked up her tights and hurried off to the ladies’.

Straightening her skirt, Anna noticed a stain down one side and scratched at it with her finger. She dampened some toilet tissue and tried unsuccessfully to clean it off. She took a good hard look at herself in the mirror and was taken aback. Her hair needed washing, she had no make-up on and the white shirt that she’d seized was looking very drab.

‘Christ, I do look a mess,’ she muttered, embarrassed: she was even wearing awful old sports knickers. ‘What are you doing to yourself?’ She glanced down at her shoes: they were comfortable, but old and scuffed; unsurprising, as she’d had them since college.

Letting yourself go, that’s what, she thought. She returned to her desk with grim determination: at lunchtime, she’d book an appointment for a cut and blow-dry, then when she got home, she was going to weed out all her old clothes and send them off to the Red Cross.

‘You going with the Gov?’ Barolli asked as he shrugged into his raincoat.

‘What?’

‘Interview Wickenham’s girlfriend?’

‘No, I’m on the daughter.’

‘Oh; well, he was bellowing for you a few minutes ago.’ Barolli headed out.

Lewis hurried past. ‘Gov is looking for you.’

‘Christ! I just went to the toilet,’ she snapped and was about to head towards Langton’s office when he appeared.

‘Where’ve you been?’

Anna gestured, exasperated. ‘The ladies’!’

‘Well, I want you with me: you did the phone-in with her, so maybe it’s good you’re along.’

‘But what about Emily Wickenham?’

‘What about her? You can see her when we get back.’

Langton strode off. The hairdresser would have to wait.

It was pouring with rain, as though someone up there was turning on taps. Anna had held her briefcase over her head as she ran across the car park, but by the time she got in beside Lewis, she was drenched.

‘Christ Almighty, this is like a monsoon!’ he moaned, as he rubbed his soaking wet hair.

Langton was sitting in the front next to the driver, wearing a brown raincoat with a shoulder-wide cape. He looked bone dry; Lewis, wiping his face with a handkerchief, leaned forward.

‘Didn’t you get caught in it then?’

‘Yep, but there are such things as umbrellas, pal!’

‘Right, thanks, brilliant. I’m effing soaked and so is Anna.’

Langton turned to grin at them both; he gestured to his raincoat. ‘You should get one of these: down to the ankles, shoulders double up with this cape thing. I got it in Camden Market, it’s worn by bushmen in Australia.’

‘Rains there, does it?’ Lewis said, as he pulled at his soaking wet shirt collar.

Anna could feel her hair curling up beneath her fingers. She knew it would dry into a frizzy mop, and make her look like a Cabbage Patch doll. That was what her father used to say to tease her when she was a child.

‘Okay let’s get this show on the road,’ Langton said, as they pulled out of the station car park.

He had not contacted Gail Harrington directly but, as before, established that she was home from speaking to the housekeeper. He doubted with the downpour that she would be riding or out anywhere.

‘This is something else, isn’t it?’ Lewis said, as he watched the rain streaming down the windscreen.

‘It’s the global crap,’ Langton said, swivelling round to face Anna. ‘Right, Travis, let’s just go through the interaction you had with Miss Harrington when she called the station.’

Anna repeated the conversation, thumbing through her notebook to find the shorthand notes she’d taken at the time. Langton watched as she turned over page after page of her small square book, covered in cramped neat writing. He leaned on his elbow as she described how she had tried to persuade the woman they now knew to be Miss Harrington to give them her name and, most important, the name of the man she suspected of being involved in the Red Dahlia murder. ‘She wouldn’t give her own name, but then just blurted out his: Doctor Charles Henry Wickenham.’

They drove in silence for a while; then Langton said, softly, ‘We focus so much on Louise Pennel and hardly ever mention Sharon Bilkin, but I think about her a lot.’

There was another silence and then Anna said quietly, ‘She lied to us.’

‘She was young and greedy and silly,’ Lewis said.

Langton turned to him, his face set. ‘That doesn’t make it any better. She died spread-eagled out in a bloody field, lipstick scrawled across her body: “fuck you”!’ He turned back and smacked the dashboard with the flat of his hand. ‘Fuck him! Christ, I want this guy.’

‘We all do,’ Anna said.

‘Right now we don’t have a thing on him, no DNA, not a single piece of evidence to prove he’s a sick pervert that screwed his own daughter.’

Lewis leaned forward. ‘If we get someone to corroborate the statement of the maid in Milan, that Louise Pennel had been at the house…’

‘Hang on,’ Anna said. ‘When I talked to the maid alone, she was very distressed and afraid that Mrs Wickenham would walk in on us. She said she might have seen Louise, but she couldn’t be certain. Her concerns were about Emily. I was only with her for about ten minutes.’

Langton shrugged. ‘So maybe she was there. We still don’t have evidence to prove he is the killer. From the sound of it, he had girls staying over whenever he felt like getting his rocks off.’

‘Well maybe we’ll get an ID off the photographs you brought back.’

Langton sighed. ‘Yeah, but those guys might not have been around to see Louise Pennel. He’s a cagey son of a bitch; I doubt he would have paraded her in front of his cronies if he was intent on killing her.’

‘Unless they were party to his plan,’ Anna said, and then wished she hadn’t, as Langton gave a bad-tempered grunt.

‘With the press we’ve had, you’d never get witnesses to talk. Anyone else in those orgies ain’t gonna come forward; they’ll keep their mouths tight shut.’

‘You think we should up the ante and put out more press?’ Lewis asked.

Langton turned to Anna. ‘That’s what her boyfriend thinks, or wants…’

‘He’s not my boyfriend!’ Anna snapped.

‘Excuse me,’ Langton said, with mock sarcasm. ‘If we need him he’ll play, but until we get more… Believe me, we need a hell of a lot more than we’ve got.’

‘Going round in circles, aren’t we?’ Anna said.

‘Yeah yeah, I hear you but, hell, it whiles away the time. We’re almost there.’

They turned off the A3 towards Petworth, churning over in silence everything that had been discussed, until they headed down the long lane towards Mayerling Hall.

Langton instructed the driver to take the slip road down to the cottage. The rain had not let up and the car bounced into foot-deep puddles. Smoke twirled from the chimney.

‘Looks like they’re home,’ Lewis said.

They pulled up next to a mud-covered Land Rover and an equally muddy Mercedes sports car. Langton sat for a moment before reaching for the door handle.

‘Okay, softly softly approach. Anna, you give us the nod that we haven’t screwed up and the girlfriend is our anonymous lady.’

‘It was checked out,’ Lewis said, opening his door.

‘Yeah I know, but we need a face-to-face. Edward Wickenham might have more than one woman, if his father’s anything to go by.’

Langton stopped speaking as Edward Wickenham appeared at the door. ‘Hello,’ he said, affably. ‘If you want to see my father, he’s over at the blacksmith’s.’

‘No, no we came to see you and…’

A tall, slender woman with thick, waist-length chestnut hair in a single plait, a black velvet ribbon wound round its base, appeared behind him for a fraction of a moment, then disappeared from sight.

Langton pulled up his collar. The rain was still coming down heavily. ‘You mind if we come in?’ he smiled.

‘Sorry, yes of course. Ghastly weather: would you mind using the rake by the door? The mud trails everywhere.’

They were shown into a low-ceilinged room, with dark beams and panelling and wide polished floorboards. There was a large brick open fire in which masses of logs were burning. More logs were stacked either side of the iron basket. Langton had scraped his shoes; Lewis had taken his off as he’d trodden in a puddle as he stepped from the car. Anna had been nimble-footed and just wiped her shoes on the mat, glad she was wearing her old ones.

‘Well, what can I do for you all?’

‘We would like to talk to you and your girlfriend. Just a few questions.’

‘What about?’

‘Could you ask her to join us?’

Wickenham held out his hand for their coats. ‘I’ll hang these up for you. I’m not sure where Gail is; if you would just wait a moment.’

He was so tall that he had to bend his head as he went through the low doorway. Langton sank into a large worn velvet armchair.

‘How do we want to work this?’ Lewis asked, sitting opposite. It might be a bit daunting for all three of them to talk to her.

Langton nodded, looking around the room, which was filled with an antique dresser, side tables and large bowls of potted plants.

‘We take Wickenham; Anna…’ He stopped as Wickenham returned.

‘She’s not here.’

‘Yes she is. We saw her as we arrived, so please let’s not waste time.’

Wickenham hesitated and moved closer, lowering his voice. ‘I would prefer it if you arranged another time, Gail has not been well and she’s very frail. In fact, she has only just returned from staying at a health farm.’

Langton smiled. ‘Well, why don’t you let DI Travis just have a few words with her and us gentlemen can talk in here.’

‘But what’s it about? Why do you want to talk to her?’

‘We are making enquiries—’ Langton was interrupted.

‘But you were here before. My father talked to you.’

‘Yes he did. And now we want to talk to you.’ There was a slight edge to his voice.

Wickenham hesitated again, then gestured to Anna to follow him. As soon as they were out of the room, Langton got up and walked around, picking up books and china figures from the dresser.

‘Bigger inside than you think, isn’t it?’ Lewis said, still sitting in the low armchair. In his stockinged feet, he didn’t give a particularly convincing impression of a hardened detective at work.

‘Money,’ Langton said softly. He crossed to look at a small oil painting of a hunting scene as Lewis opened his briefcase and took out a file.

Anna followed Edward Wickenham up a thickly carpeted, narrow staircase with only a cord for a handrail. A bowl of flowers stood on a big antique chest on the landing; the ceiling was even lower than downstairs.