The Red Dahlia

Chapter Thirteen

Anna didn't realise until she got home how much the tension of the day had exhausted her. She had a shower and a quick snack before she went to bed and crashed out. The next day, she and Barolli were to interview the younger daughter, Emily Wickenham, a student at the London School of Economics, living in a small flat close to Portobello Road. Langton and Lewis were to meet with Justine Wickenham; they would reconvene at the station and then go to interview Edward Wickenham at the Hall. The only person they had been unable to contact was Gail Harrington: they were told she was still away at a health farm. The alibi given by Wickenham for 9 January was still being verified, but so far those contacted had agreed that he had been with them as he had stated.

Barolli and Anna met up at the station the following morning so they could leave together for their meeting with Emily at eight-thirty. She had said she had lectures at ten, so it would only be convenient that early in the morning. Her flat was above a shop at the less well-heeled end of Portobello Road; the street was hopping with stalls, even on a weekday.

They buzzed the intercom; two other girls were listed, presumably flatmates. The aristocratic, high-pitched voice asked them to keep walking up the stairs.

The front door buzzed open. The staircase had threadbare carpet in an oak brown, the stair rods were loose. Barolli led the way as they got to the second floor.

Emily Wickenham leaned against the open doorway. 'Come on in. I'm eager to know what this is about; is it the breakin?'

'No.' Barolli showed his ID, as did Anna, and they followed Emily into the rather scruffy rented flat. It was full of rock-and-roll posters; the seedy kitchen looked disgusting.

'We don't have a lounge, but we can use my bedroom. Do you want tea or anything?'

'No, thank you.'

'It's the second time in six months we've been broken into! This time they took all the CDs; it's a real pain.'

She gestured for them to sit on her unmade bed and curled up in an old wicker armchair.

'It's not about the breakin,' Barolli said, sitting gingerly on top of a bright orange duvet.

Anna took a good look at the girl: she was very tall, at least five feet nine, with a skeletal frame. She was actually very pretty, but looked as if her hair needed washing; she wore no make-up and had badly bitten fingernails. She had her father's dark colouring and the same deep-set eyes. Anna wondered if she had an eating disorder, she was so thin.

Anna knew she must be very bright as she was only seventeen, so she must have taken her A-levels a year early to be at university already.

'Have you ever seen this girl?' Barolli brought out the photograph of Louise Pennel. Emily glanced at it and then shook her head. Next he showed her Sharon Bilkin's picture; again she shook her head.

'Were you here on the ninth of January this year?'

'Yes, I mean, I don't remember if I was here, here if you understand, but I was in London.'

'Do you go home frequently?'

'What is this about?' she asked, chewing her fingers.

'We are leading a murder enquiry; both the girls we have just shown you were murdered.'

'Were they students?' she asked, without much emotion.

'No. Do you go back to your family home at weekends?' Anna asked, smiling pleasantly.

'No, I go home as little as I possibly can. Why do you want to know?'

'It is connected to our enquiry. Do you have a good relationship with your father?'

'No. Why do you want to know about my father?'

'Just for elimination purposes.' Barolli shifted his weight; sitting on the low bed was uncomfortable.

'Do you have a good relationship with your brother?'

'Not really; I hardly ever see him; he's my half-brother, actually.'

'When was the last time you were at home?'

'Oh God, I don't know. I mostly spend any free time with my mother. Why are you asking me these questions? I don't understand what you want to know about my family for.'

'Do you know if your father or your brother entertains young girls, maybe like the ones we have shown you?'

'I wouldn't know. I mean, Daddy is always having weekend parties but I don't go; we don't really get along. Has he said something to you?'

'About what?'

'Well, that we don't see a lot of each other. Mother says it's because I am too like him, but it's not that at all — we just don't particularly like each other.'

Barolli looked at Anna, unsure which way they should direct the conversation.

'Any particular reason?' Anna asked innocently.

'We just don't get along. I don't understand why you need to know about my relationship with my father. Is he — I mean, has he done something wrong?'

'These weekend parties; could you tell us a bit more about them?'

Emily fidgeted in the creaky wicker seat. 'I don't go to them, I just told you that.'

'Yes I know, but maybe before you lived here; when you lived at home?'

'I didn't really live at home. I was at boarding school and then when they divorced, I lived with Mother.'

'Why did they divorce?'

Emily was becoming agitated. 'Ask them! It was years ago. They weren't happy.'

'Did your mother entertain at these parties?'

'I don't know! I keep on telling you, I never went to them: we were not allowed to join in when we were kids. It's pretty obvious, isn't it?'

'But you must have been privy to some action when you were older?'

'No! Why do you keep asking me? I wasn't! Daddy was very strict with us; well, with me more than Justine; he wanted me to be a doctor, you know, go to medical school, but I wasn't interested. I couldn't wait to leave home. I think that's why I used to work so hard, you know, to get out and live by myself. Daddy was into his own thing.'

'Which was what?'

Emily bit at what was left of her thumbnail. 'Drinking and things.'

Anna took out the photographs again. 'Will you have another look at these photographs, Emily, and see if perhaps you recall seeing one or other of these girls at your family home?'

'No! I have already looked at them and I don't remember ever seeing either of them.'

'They were both brutally murdered, Emily. One of them, this girl, was called Louise Pennel: the press call her the Red Dahlia.'

Emily was getting tearful; she looked at the photographs again and shook her head.

'These weekend parties; did your father entertain young girls like these?'

'Sometimes, but I don't really know. I think you should leave, because I think you are trying to make me say something about stuff that I don't know about, and you are frightening me.'

'I'm sorry, Emily, that is not our intention. We are simply trying to ascertain if either of these poor girls ever visited your father at Mayerling Hall; if not your father, perhaps your brother?'

Emily now began twisting her hair round her fingers. 'I have told you that I don't go home very often. If Daddy knows these girls, why don't you ask him about them? I don't know anything and I don't want to get into trouble.'

'Trouble with your father?"

'Yes, he's very strict. I don't know how many more times I have to tell you that I have never met those girls; you just keep on asking me the same thing.'

'Did your father have many girlfriends?'

Emily sprang up from the chair, near to tears. 'I think you should go, please. I am not going to talk to you any more; this is very upsetting.'

Barolli and Anna had heard nothing to indicate that either Wickenham or his son knew the victims, so, reluctantly, they did as Emily asked.

Justine Wickenham was wearing jodhpurs, black riding boots and a thick, cable-knit sweater. She had been mucking out at the stables. When Langton and Lewis turned up, she carried on, saying she had to get it done before the morning rides. Like her sister, she thought they were there to question her about a minor incident. She had driven into the back of someone on the high street and there had been an altercation. Lewis said they were here about a personal matter and needed to talk to her privately.

They ended up in the tack room. Justine was as tall as Emily, but broader and with thick blonde hair. Whereas Emily had his deep-set eyes, Justine had her father's hooknose. When asked about him, she was far more forthcoming than her sister.

'I hate him. We don't speak. Whatever he's got up to is his business. I don't want to get involved.' Her tone was strident.

Justine was unable to recognise either Louise or Sharon but did say that they looked the type that were often at the Hall. 'Daddy likes them young!' she said, turning down the corners of her mouth with disgust. She was told the girls had been murdered. 'That's awful, but I don't know them.'

Langton held up the photograph of Louise Pennel. 'This girl's body was found here in Richmond, on the river bank.'

Justine gasped as it sank in. 'Oh my God, I know about that. It was in all the papers; I ride past that bit of the river most mornings. I almost had heart failure, it was terrible. I wasn't here at the time; I was staying at my mother's apartment in Milan.'

Langton asked if she lived close to the river and she said that she did, in a rented flat owned by the stables. When asked if her father ever used her flat, she shook her head.

'You must be joking. I mean, he pays for it, but he's never been inside it. I never see him.'

'Were you in London on the ninth of January this year?'

Justine glanced at a wall calendar and said that she had been at her mother's for the weekend.

'Does your father have a key to your flat?'

She shrieked and said that she wouldn't let him near the place.

'What about your brother?'

'Edward?'

'Yes, does he have a key?'

'To my flat?'

'Yes.'

'Gosh, I doubt it, no; he's not been to see me for months.'

Langton detected a sudden change in her demeanour; she wouldn't meet his eyes, looking down at the toes of her boots.

'Do you have a good relationship with your brother?'

'He's my half-brother,' she said, quietly.

'Do you get along well?'

'No, we don't; I have no idea what he's said to you, but we just find it better to keep apart.'

'Why?'

She shrugged, still staring at her boots. 'We just do; I'm not into all that stuff.'

'What stuff?'

She sighed, and began to chew at her lips. 'Just stuff that goes on. Edward gets a lot of stick from my father because he's not that bright. I mean, he's not stupid or anything, he's just not very intelligent; for a while, he took too many drugs.'

'Your brother?'

'Yes, he got kicked out of Marlborough for smoking dope. Daddy wouldn't have minded the dope, it was being caught out that really got to him. Poor Edward was really in a terrible state. Daddy put him into rehab, but he wasn't a real addict. Anyway, it was horrible and now he works for Daddy at the Hall; you know, it's a big place to run.'

'His wife committed suicide, didn't she?'

Justine nodded, becoming very tense. 'Why do you want to know about Edward?'

Langton said it was for elimination purposes, but she was suddenly very guarded. 'I don't like this. I mean, shouldn't I have someone with me? Why are you asking me all these questions about my brother and my father? You can't seriously think they have done anything wrong or are involved in those awful murders. I mean, you can't think that.' She rubbed her head and sighed. 'Oh my God, I know why: it's Emily, isn't it? What has she been saying? You can't really take anything she says seriously; she's got a lot of problems. You know she's bulimic? She almost died a couple of years ago, got down to five stone.'

'I have not talked to your sister,' Langton said.

Justine cocked her head to one side. 'I don't think I am going to talk to you any more.'

Back at the station, Anna and Langton compared their interview notes. Langton wanted to get a warrant issued for Justine Wickenham's flat so the forensic team could get in there and search for bloodstains. It was possible that Wickenham had used her flat the night of the murder: it was literally a stone's throw from where they had found Louise Pennel.

'Question is, which Wickenham?' Anna said.

'Yeah I know; the brother's shaping up as a possible suspect.'

'Unless they are in it together?'

Langton nodded and then changed the subject, asking if her passport was up to date. She said it was.

'Good: we go to Milan tomorrow.'

Anna grinned; she had not thought she would stand a chance of being selected.

'I want a woman with me when I interview the ex-wife; sometimes old Lewis is like a block of wood.'

She smiled and said Barolli was a bit on the wooden side as well. Langton laughed. She had not heard him laugh for a long time. His lovely warm chuckle altered his whole being, making him boyish.

'We'll just stay overnight, back next afternoon, so get off and arrange it,' he said.

'Will do.' She was about to open the door to leave when Langton took a call and he signalled for her to wait.

'Listen, Mike, I don't give a fuck, I want his phone tapped. What? Put her through then! Yes! Christ.'

Anna waited as he listened and then spoke quietly into the phone. 'Commander, thank you for getting back so promptly. I cannot express too strongly how much we really need this man monitored. As you know, Professor Marshe…' He winked at Anna. 'Yes, yes she did, and it really is more or less on her advice.'

He grinned at Anna as he smoothtalked the Commander, his eyes raised to heaven. 'Thank you, and again I appreciate you getting back to me, thank you.'

He hung up and shook his head. 'Wanker. Anyway, we've got the go-ahead for the phone tap. They all pussyfoot around but she's a decent girl, just has to go by the rule book. She's also given us some extra officers to back us up.'

Dominique Wickenham had agreed to meet with them on the Saturday, the morning after their flight. On Langton's instructions, they had booked into the Hyatt Hilton hotel. There were a few raised eyebrows, as it was a very luxurious and expensive hotel. The fact that he was travelling with Anna had also created quite an undercurrent. Barolli and Lewis had both expected to be with Langton. Together they had a quiet moan, though neither spoke up or queried it in front of the team, as Langton wanted them at base to monitor the phone taps and report to him if anything came in.

Langton was wearing a suit and freshly ironed shirt. They had both been driven from the station to the airport. Langton had only a small folding carrier and his briefcase. He had glanced at Anna's pull-along suitcase with some amusement.

'It's almost empty,' she said.

'You won't have much time to shop if that is your intention, Travis. We meet the ex-wife at ten tomorrow morning and get the next flight back to London in the afternoon.'

Anna made no reply; she had hoped for a half-hour blitz on the shops. She hoped that she could at least have a quick whiz round the duty-free.

They had cut the time short, so no sooner had they checked in and gone through security and passport control, than Langton insisted they go straight to their gate to wait for boarding. They were sitting together, his head buried in the early edition of the Evening Standard, when she saw Professor Marshe heading towards them. Anna was astonished. She had not really allowed herself to think that the time alone with Langton meant so much. It did, and she suddenly felt foolish; he must have arranged for the Professor to join them.

'James!' The Professor was wearing another of her chic little suits and high-heeled shoes, her hair once more in a chignon.

Langton looked up and folded his paper. 'Good God, what are you doing here?'

Anna pursed her lips, irritated; the act was all rather unnecessary.

Professor Marshe sat next to Langton. 'Are you going to Milan?'

'Yes, we are, are you?'

'Yes, I've got a lecture and talks with a publisher there to bring out my latest book in Italian.' She gave a cool nod to Anna.

'Well, what a coincidence,' Langton said.

Anna clenched her hands. He was a dreadful actor. She felt like the proverbial spare part as he made conversation about her book. Professor Marshe asked what seat numbers they were in; he looked at Anna to check their tickets.

'Maybe we can switch so I can sit next to you?'

'Fine, yes; we're going to meet up with Wickenham's ex-wife.'

'Where are you staying?'

'The Hyatt Hilton.'

She laughed, showing her even white teeth.

'As if she didn't know,' Anna thought. No wonder Langton hadn't wanted Lewis or Barolli with him; she felt like the perfect stooge.

They boarded the plane. Langton was all over Professor Marshe, lifting her bag into the locker, checking her safety belt, even folding her spiffy little jacket so as not to crease it. Anna sat almost at the very back of the plane, next to a very large, sweating man whose many magazines and newspapers spilled out onto the floor. Langton and Professor Marshe were in the second row, just behind the curtain separating the economy and business class seats.

Arriving at Milan airport, Anna passed through customs way behind Langton and Professor Marshe. They seemed to be in deep conversation; he was constantly bending down to listen to her, guiding her with one hand at the small of her back. There was a familiarity about them that Anna found upsetting, though she had no right to feel that way. It seemed that the Professor was a regular visitor to Milan, and in the taxi they discussed which restaurant they should dine at that evening. She was staying at the Four Seasons hotel, so they dropped her off before they went on to the Hyatt. Langton waved goodbye as the valet took her bag and waited for her to go into the hotel.

As they drove away, Langton gave a sidelong glance to Anna. 'I don't want this spread around the Incident Room, Travis.'

'What exactly?'

'That she's here; they won't believe it's coincidental and they'll put two and two together and come up with Christ knows what, so let's just keep this between ourselves, okay?'

'Whatever,' she said, petulantly.

'I wouldn't be surprised if the Commander tipped her off, you know, that we were coming here. She even wants to talk to the ex-wife.'

'Will you allow her to do that?'

'I dunno, maybe. I was quite impressed with her yesterday.'

Before they could continue, Langton's mobile rang and he spent the rest of the journey to the hotel listening as Lewis reported the phone tap results. He hardly said a word until he cut off the call.

'Well, our suspect isn't making any calls, but his daughters have phoned each other and talked about their interviews. It seems the skinny one…'

'Emily,' Anna interjected.

'Yeah, she's in therapy.'

'I'm not surprised, she was very nervous, but she's also very bright.'

'She kept on asking Justine if she knew what we knew, and if so, who had told us; what do you make of that?'

'I don't know. Maybe their mother will enlighten us; didn't you say Justine was staying with her when we found Louise Pennel's body?'

'Yeah.' Langton looked out of the car as they arrived at the hotel. 'Do you want to have dinner this evening?' he asked, as the porter opened their car door.

'No thanks; best get an early night.'

Anna waited for her case to be removed from the boot before she followed Langton inside. He was standing at the reception desk, checking them both in; it gave Anna a moment to take in the vast foyer of the luxurious hotel. She had never stayed in one as elegant or as costly, and she was impressed at the way Langton appeared to be very much at ease. He dangled her key and told her that she was on the seventh floor. There was a sauna, health spa and swimming pool, if she felt like some exercise.

'I didn't bring my costume.'

'There's a boutique in that corner: you can buy yourself one.'

'I am not really in the swimming mood.'

'So you don't want to eat?'

'No, I'll get some room service sent up.'

'Fine, well, I'm in room 307; if you need me, just call down. Let's have breakfast in the morning.'

They stood side by side as the elevator glided up to the third floor. As the doors opened, Langton was checking his text messages.

'Goodnight, Travis.'

'Goodnight.' The doors closed and she continued up to the seventh floor. The porter was waiting at the door of her room, and gestured for her to go in ahead of him. It was large and very spacious with a double bed and a small balcony. She gave him a tip; as soon as the door closed behind him, she flopped onto the bed. Somewhere in her mind she had been scripting a scenario of her and Langton together, trying to work out how she would react to him making a pass at her. Now she realised he had not the slightest intention of doing so; she felt foolish and angry with herself that she could have so misjudged him.

Langton left the hotel and walked to the Four Seasons where Professor Marshe waited in a pale blue chiffon cocktail dress, carrying a small silver handbag that matched her sandals, looking cool and sophisticated. 'Not brought little Travis with you?'

'No, she's getting an early night.'

'Do we eat here or would you like to go somewhere else?'

They took a taxi to Bebel's on the Via San Marco.

Remote in hand, Anna switched the TV from channel to channel. She decided she'd watch Titanic as she hadn't seen it the first time round. She had eaten her dinner and drunk half a bottle of wine from the mini bar; wrapped in her towelling robe, she propped up the pillows and settled back on her bed. After only fifteen minutes, she fell asleep. She woke with a start, just as the Titanic was sinking; the room phone was ringing and so was her mobile.

Anna scrambled off the bed, delved in her bag for her mobile and at the same time tried to reach for the phone on the bedside table. She did a perfect pratfall as her mobile cut out and the room phone fell silent. She swore, picking herself up, and checked caller ID on her mobile. She tried to call back, but it would not connect. She was about to call down to the front desk when the phone rang again.

'Travis?'

'Yes.'

'It's Mike Lewis. I've been trying to contact the Gov, his mobile must be turned off and he's not in his room.'

'He may have gone out.'

'Well that's bloody obvious! Can you contact him?'

'I don't know where he's gone; is it important?'

'It might be. I know you are meeting up with Wickenham's ex-wife in the morning, so I wanted to run this by him.'

'You want to run whatever it is by me and I'll pass it on?'

'It was a call from Justine Wickenham to her sister.'

'Let me get my notebook.' She put the receiver on the bedside table and went to her briefcase.

'Ready when you are,' she said, pencil poised.

Lewis coughed and asked if he should play the call or just give her the nitty-gritty.

'Mike, just tell me what you've got.'

'Okay. They first talked about whether or not they had contacted their mother to tell her they had been interviewed; neither had. Justine kept on asking if Emily was okay, and then asked if she had told them anything; by them, I reckon she means us. Then Justine asked if they knew about what had happened. Emily said she didn't say anything and got quite upset and Justine tried to calm her down; she said, and I quote, no charges ever happened, so they wouldn't be likely to know, but if they were to ask her anything about it she should refuse to tell them because it would all blow up again!

Anna jotted down the conversation in shorthand in her notebook.

'You still listening?'

'Yes yes, go on.'

'So this is what made me want to tell the Gov: Emily became very distressed and Justine kept on trying to calm her down, but she got really uptight. She said that she wished she had gone through with it and made him pay for what he had done to her, but it was family pressure that had persuaded her.'

'Just slow down a second. Okay, then what?'

'The next part was inaudible as she was crying: she said that it was all right for Justine, because it hadn't happened to her. Justine then said that she had tried to protect her because it had: he had constantly tried to do it to her.'

'Do it?' Anna asked.

'Yes, that's what she said. Emily, in a real state, then said that even if he had done it with you, it was her that had to have the abortion, not Justine; she then went on to say how much she hated him!

'Him meant who?' Anna injected.

'Well, we take it to be her father that molested her, or performed an abortion on his own daughter. It could have been her brother that had sex with her, but as the father is a surgeon, I'd say he would have done the abortion.'

Anna wrote it all down; Lewis said they had cut the call short as Justine said someone had arrived at her flat.

'Okay I'll relay this to the Gov; thanks for calling.'

Anna put the phone down and studied her notes, then put in a call to Langton's room but was rerouted to the hotel's answer service. She tried his mobile, but it was dead. She then called Professor Marshe at the Four Seasons and left a message for Langton to call her urgently. It was by now eleven-thirty; she presumed, correctly, that he was still at dinner.

Anna pottered around her suite for another three-quarters of an hour and then went to bed. She almost hurtled off the bed in shock when her door was rapped. She hurried to open it.

'What's so urgent?' he asked, leaning against the door frame. She could tell by looking at him he had had quite a bit to drink.

'Lewis was trying to contact you, but your mobile was turned off.'

Langton swore and fished in his pocket, muttering that he'd turned it off when he went to dinner. He sat on her bed as he checked his text messages, frowning.

'What did he want?'

'They recorded a phone call between Justine and Emily Wickenham that they thought you should know about before we interview his ex-wife.'

'What's so important?'

Langton flopped back on her bed as Anna repeated what Lewis had told her. 'The girls might have put two and two together and come up with a lot more. I mean, they did not at any time mention that it was her father or who had done the abortion.'

Langton yawned, staring at the ceiling, then leaned up on one elbow. 'Tomorrow, before we leave, get back to them; if charges were started, even if they were withdrawn, someone somewhere has to have a record of them.'

'My God.'

He looked at Anna. 'My God what?'

'In the Black Dahlia case, there was a court case involving their suspect: his own daughter accused him of molestation and attempted rape.'

Langton sat up. 'Yeah, if I remember rightly, when they questioned his wife, she stood by him. How old was the daughter?'

'Twelve when the accusations of rape and sexual harassment happened, but the trial didn't begin until she was fifteen.'

Langton rubbed his hair. 'What was the outcome? I've forgotten.'

'The allegations were proved unfounded; they claimed his daughter was suffering from delusions and the case was dropped.'

Langton gave her a sidelong glance and yawned again. 'What a mine of information you are, Travis.'

'Do you want a coffee or tea or something?'

'Nope. Get off to my bed. Did you eat?'

'Yes, thank you.'

'Did I wake you?'

'You did, actually.'

'Sorry.'

'I thought you might want to call the Incident Room; they were concerned that they couldn't contact you.'

'You tell them who I was with?'

'I just said you might have gone out for dinner.'

'Very thoughtful. Thank you, Travis.'

She hesitated. 'Do you mind if I say something?'

'I haven't before, what is it?'

'I think you are drinking too much.'

'What?'

'I said, I think you are drinking too much.'

'I've just been out for dinner, for God's sake!'

'I don't mean tonight; sometimes I can smell it on your breath in the mornings. If you need help, you should get some.'

'Drinking too much,' he said thickly.

'Maybe it is not my place to say anything, but I am working with you and I can tell when you have been on the sauce and when you have not.'

'It's none of your business.'

'Listen, I know you must really be irritated by me even bringing this up but I'm only doing so because I really care about you and I am concerned.'

'I really appreciate your concern, Travis!' he snapped sarcastically as he walked towards the door.

'Do you want to talk about the taped call?'

'No, I'm tired. Goodnight.' He closed the door behind him, unusually for him, very quietly.

Anna sighed and went back to bed. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything to him, but they had been quite close; obviously not close enough.

The following morning, Anna ordered room service again. She wondered if she should give Langton a wakeup call, but it turned out not to be necessary, as he called her himself to say he would be in the lobby at nine o'clock. Though he made no reference to what she had said the previous night, he sounded very cold and aloof. She dressed in one of her good suits and a cream silk shirt, and went downstairs to find he was already waiting for her.

'I've already called her and she is expecting us; said it would only take a ten-minute drive.'

He was wearing a linen suit and a white, open-collared shirt. He caught her glancing at him. 'What?'

'Nothing. You look as if you slept well.'

'I did, thank you. Did you?'

'Took me a while to get off. I was worried that what I had said to you might get me into trouble.'

'Travis, your concern was appreciated; maybe I have been imbibing a little too much lately. Let's just forget it, all right?'

She nodded. 'Have you had breakfast?' she asked.

'Nope. Let's get a coffee: the cappuccino here is good.'

They went to one of the cafes inside the hotel. He ate a croissant and drank his coffee, hardly speaking as he constantly checked his messages, making no mention of their contents. Then it was time to leave.

Dominique Wickenham's apartment block on the Via Spiga was very exclusive and modern. The reception area was like a greenhouse, all glass with an abundance of plants. The doorman led them over to the gleaming gilt elevators that would take them up to the penthouse apartment. At floor four, the doors glided open to reveal a thickly carpeted corridor with yet more plants. Apartment C4 appeared to be the only one on the floor, with a large white front door with brass studs but no number. They rang a discreet bell and waited. After a few moments, the door was opened by an elderly maid in a black dress and small white apron. Langton showed her his ID and she smiled and nodded, gesturing for them to enter the hallway behind her.

The hallway was empty apart from a massive display of orchids on a glass-topped table. They were led to a set of white double doors, which were opened by Dominique Wickenham. She was a well-preserved woman in her mid-forties, with an amazing figure, wearing grey slacks with a cashmere scarf knotted over her shoulders; her white silk blouse was set off by a luminous set of pearls. She was very tanned, her blonde hair was streaked and she wore large pearl and diamond earrings.

'Please come in; would you like a tea or coffee?'

'No thank you,' Langton said, then introduced Anna.

Dominique wore a large diamond ring on her wedding finger. She also had a gold charm bracelet that shimmered and twinkled with gold and diamond charms.

'Please sit down; there's iced water if you need it.'

'Thank you,' Langton said, as he glanced around the vast, sun-drenched room. The windows were floor to ceiling, affording them a clear view across the city. The thick carpet was pale pink, the sofas and chairs a slightly darker shade with matching cushions. Anna sank into the sofa; it was so large that if she sat back, her feet would be off the ground. Langton rested back in one of the armchairs; being so tall, he didn't have the same problem.

'You have a very beautiful apartment.'

'Thank you.' Dominique Wickenham sat on the arm of one of the chairs opposite him. Her grey high heels matched her slacks and, though she smiled with glossy lips that Anna was certain had been enhanced by cosmetic surgery, she was tapping one foot.

'So, here we are,' she said. She had a deep throaty voice and a distinctly French accent.

Langton began quietly, asking her about her husband, and saying briefly that they were there as they were heading a murder enquiry. He took out the photographs of Louise Pennel and Sharon Bilkin. She did not recognise either.

'Perhaps you have had a wasted journey.' She gave an apologetic smile.

Langton smiled back and showed her the sketch. She laughed softly, and passed it back.

'It is a very good likeness.'

'This man is a suspect in the murder of these two girls.'

'Oh, I thought it was my husband.'

'He does resemble him very closely; it was compiled using statements from witnesses that saw this man with both the victims.'

'Good heavens; you suspect Charles is involved?'

Langton replaced the photographs and sketch without answering. 'Your husband is a surgeon.'

'Yes; well, he was, he has retired now — and I am his ex-wife: we divorced some time ago.'

'But you still retain your married name?'

'For convenience and for my daughters.'

'They would be Justine and Emily.'

'Yes, that is correct.'

'Can you tell me if on the ninth of January this year, your daughter Justine stayed here with you?'

She tried to wrinkle her lineless brow and crossed to an ornate desk. She flicked through a small white leather diary, then smiled.

'Yes, it was for a weekend; my girls come and stay as often as possible.'

'But they don't stay at the Hall very often.'

'No, they do not; they do not get along too well with their father. He can be very strict and you know, girls will be girls.'

'What about your stepson?'

'Edward?'

'Yes; do the girls get along with their half-brother?'

'Of course, he is a sweet boy; very much under his father's domination, but he's working very hard.'

'Can you tell me about his wife?'

Dominique looked slightly fazed, then shrugged.

'She committed suicide, didn't she?'

'Yes, it was very sad; she was a very highly strung girl. Although she had been in treatment for depression, she took her own life.'

'She was addicted to drugs, wasn't she?'

Dominique stiffened, seeming to dislike the direction the conversation was going in. 'I believe so, but what she did in the privacy of her own home I was not aware of. It was just very sad.'

'There was a police enquiry, wasn't there?'

'Yes, isn't there always in a suicide? They found nothing untoward; she hanged herself in the barn. This was before it was converted into a gymnasium and playroom.'

'Were you questioned about a police enquiry regarding your youngest daughter?'

'I'm sorry?' Again, she tried to frown.

'Emily tried to bring a complaint against her father, your ex-husband, for sexual harassment and attempted rape.'

'No, no, no; that was all very wretched and not true. Emily is very highly strung and with an over-vivid imagination. There were no charges, and Emily went into therapy afterwards, which helped her. She is very very emotionally insecure and only now I think making headway since she became a student. She is exceptionally clever and considering all her health problems, she always did very well at school. She suffers from bulimia and at times has been very ill. But she is also recovering from that problem, in fact, I think she really has overcome her nervous disorder and is much better; possibly being in her own little flat and doing well in her studies helps.'

'Did she have any boyfriends?'

'Emily?'

'Yes.'

'Well she is only just seventeen, so I doubt she has had serious relationships. To be honest, I am not aware of any boyfriends she might have now, as I am mostly abroad.'

'So the operation?'

'What operation?' The foot twitched again.

'Was Emily ever pregnant?'

'Emily?'

'Yes, your youngest daughter; was Emily ever pregnant and did she have an abortion?'

'No, no I would have known! This is preposterous, unless you have talked to Emily and she has started making up stories again. She made up so many lies and it really did create a terrible situation.'

Anna felt as if she was at a tennis match, constantly looking over to Langton and back at Dominique. He really and truly never ceased to amaze her. He had only been given the information the previous night when he had been well and truly pissed; yet here he was, not missing a trick. Yet again, she found herself staring at him in awe.

Langton was looking down at the carpet, his foot inching forward into the thick pile and then back a fraction. He suddenly looked up. 'So you are unaware of any termination?'

'Yes! I have just said so! I would have known; I do have a very close relationship with my daughters.'

Langton leaned forward slightly, his fingers playing with the fringing on the arm of his chair.

'So what operation do you think your daughter could have been referring to?'

'I am nonplussed. I don't know and I really don't quite understand why you are asking me these questions.'

'Your husband was a surgeon?'

'Yes, that is correct.'

'Did he perform the operation? Let me rephrase that: could he have terminated the pregnancy of your daughter without you being privy to it?'

'No: as I said, I have a good relationship with my two girls.'

'What about with your stepson?'

'As I said before, he is a very dear, hard-working boy. I don't have quite as close a relationship with him as my daughters, but then he is my stepson: his mother was my husband's first wife.'

'He also had a drug problem, didn't he?'

'No, he was just a very young and foolish boy at school. He was found smoking a joint and they expelled him, but it was just some grass, he was never addicted to any hard drugs.'

'Unlike his wife: the autopsy found cocaine and…'

'I really cannot tell you anything about my daughter-in-law, it was a very sad thing that happened, and affected us all.'

'Does your husband use drugs?'

She took a deep breath and shook her head. 'Not that I am aware of, but we have been divorced for a number of years, so what he may do now, I am not privy to.'

'Can you tell me about the parties at the Hall?'

She shrugged and then got up and crossed to her desk. She opened a silver cigarette box, and took one out. 'What exactly do you want to know about them?'

'Well, could you describe some of these events?'

She lit the cigarette and then carried a cut-glass ashtray to the table beside her chair. Langton asked if she would mind if he smoked as well and she apologised for not offering him one. This relaxed her; she even offered Langton her lighter. The gold charm bracelet tinkled as she flicked away the ash.

'Charles was always very fond of entertaining and we had a very good chef. We used the converted barn, as it has such a large space for dining and there is also a snooker table.' She inhaled and let the smoke drift from her mouth. 'There is also a swimming pool, a gymnasium with a sauna and whirlpool.' She laughed, tilting her head back slightly. 'Some dinner parties did go on for a long time; in the summer, the south wall would slide back so we could dine al fresco, and in the winter we'd have a massive log fire: all really rather pleasant.'

'Did your husband ship in prostitutes for these dinners?'

'I beg your pardon!' She gave an almost theatrical impression of being shocked.

'Your father-in-law was well known for sending his chauffeur to Soho in London and bringing back numerous girls.'

'I never knew my father-in-law or his chauffeur!'

'I just wondered if his son, your ex-husband, carried on this enjoyable tradition of wining and dining these girls.'

'No, he did not!'

'Could you tell me why you got divorced?'

'I don't think it is any of your business!'

'Yes, it is. You see, Mrs Wickenham, although our witnesses described the man last seen with the victim so clearly that our artist could produce this likeness, that was not the reason we made contact with your ex-husband. We received a phone call naming him as the killer of Louise Pennel.'

She got up and went to get another cigarette, this time lighting it from the butt of her previous one.

'This call could have been from your daughter Emily.'

Anna watched Langton closely as he upped the pressure a notch. She knew as well as he did that Emily Wickenham was not the caller, nor was her sister Justine.

'Why would Emily do such a terrible thing?' She stubbed out her cigarette, leaving the fresh one in her mouth. Anna began to see that although Dominique Wickenham had the appearance of a very obviously wealthy, pampered woman, she lacked class.

'That brings me to the possibility of her own father performing an abortion on her.'

'No! I have already told you that did not happen! I think perhaps you should really speak to me through my solicitor. Your questions are of a very personal nature and I do not feel inclined to answer any more.'

'I do apologise,' Langton said, stubbing out his cigarette, but making no sign of leaving. He leaned back in his chair. 'I am leading an enquiry into a really horrific murder. Louise Pennel, known as the Red Dahlia, was sliced in two. We are certain that the torture and humiliation forced upon her before she died was more than likely committed by a qualified surgeon.'

Dominique wafted her hand and said she was certain that there would be many other ex-surgeons, or even practising ones, that could fall under suspicion. She was adamant that her ex-husband could have had no part in these murders, just as she was certain that he had never made sexual advances to her daughter. She was tight-lipped with anger as she insisted that he would not have performed any kind of illegal operation. She went on to say that, although they were divorced, they still respected each other and maintained a loving friendship which helped both their daughters.

Langton was becoming frustrated. His foot began to shake, a sign of a gathering storm. He leaned forward and clasped his hands.

'Mrs Wickenham, I really am trying to make sense of everything you say. You had an amicable divorce and you have maintained a loving friendship for the benefit of your daughters. Correct?'

'Yes, that is exactly what I have said.'

'So, I am confused as to why you would have two dysfunctional girls: one suffering from bulimia and in therapy, the other openly antagonistic towards her father. In fact, she stated that she hated him! And they neither spoke well of your stepson.'

'I can't speak for them,' she said, looking at her watch.

'Surely you can? You are their mother: they spend most of their free time with you.'

'Yes, yes they do.'

'Does your ex-husband also spend time here with you?'

'No, he does not.'

'But you remain very fond of him?'

'Yes, that is correct.'

'And fond of his son and heir, Edward.'

'Yes. Really, why are you asking me these ridiculous questions? I do not know these poor girls you say were murdered, I cannot help you in any way. You are making me feel very uncomfortable, as if you are trying to make me say slanderous things about my ex-husband that would be completely untrue.'

'I apologise if it seems that way.'

Anna coughed and they both turned towards her as if they had forgotten her existence. 'May I use your bathroom?'

Dominique got up and crossed to the double doors. She opened one and her charm bracelet tinkled as she pointed down the corridor.

'First on your left.'

'Thank you.'

Anna closed the door behind her. She didn't need to use the bathroom, but was hoping to have a private conversation with the maid, Danielle, who she was certain had been listening outside the door. She stood in the expansive hall, trying to work out where the kitchen was, when she heard the clink of dishes from behind a door at the far end of the hallway. She gave a very light tap and opened it. The maid was unloading the dishwasher; she turned, startled.

'I wondered if I could talk to you for a moment?'

Danielle crossed to a cabinet to put away some glasses. She closed the cabinet and returned to the dishwasher.

'Do you speak English?'

Danielle gathered up some dinner plates, stacking them neatly. She wouldn't look at Anna, but continued moving back and forth to the dishwasher. Anna wondered if she was deaf. She asked again if she understood English and, at last, got a response.

'I cannot talk to you, please excuse me. Thank you.'

'It is very important: we need to ask you some questions.'

'No, please.'

'It's about Emily and Justine; they stay here a lot, don't they?'

Danielle nodded and then sat down. 'I love them like my own children. I love them.' She bowed her head as she started to cry, taking a handkerchief from her apron pocket. 'I know why you are here. Is Emily all right?'

Langton lit another cigarette and stared at Dominique with slanted eyes. The smoke drifted up towards the air-conditioning vents. He slowly appraised the room and then fixed his gaze on her once more. She was standing in front of the fake log fire, with one elbow resting on the white marble mantelpiece.

'He doesn't speak very highly of you.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Your ex-husband referred to you as money-grabbing; he implied that you were putting pressure on him to pay you more alimony.'

She arched one eyebrow and did not reply, but looked pointedly at her watch.

'Has he agreed to pay you a substantial amount more?'

She pursed her lips. 'You have no right to ask me personal questions. I would like you to leave please.'

'I can very easily check it out, Mrs Wickenham. Have you recently been paid more money by your ex-husband?'

'No.'

'Are you expecting to be paid for being such an admirable and caring ex-wife?'

'That is enough!'

Dominique stalked over to the double closed doors; she was just reaching for the handle when Anna walked in.

'I'm sorry.

'You are just leaving,' she said icily, looking at Langton with distaste as he stubbed out his cigarette and stood up.

'Yes, thank you for your time, Mrs Wickenham. Oh, just one more thing; before your marriage, what did you do?'

She blinked and then shrugged, smiling. 'What on earth do you want to know that for?'

Langton laughed; he leaned over and took her hand. 'I just wanted to hear what you would say. I obviously know, but you lie so beautifully, madame.'

She snatched back her hand and slapped the door closed. She went so red, her eyes bulged.

'You dare to come here, asking me questions and insinuating things about my family! Then you accuse me of lying!'

'You were an exotic dancer.'

Anna thought Dominique was going to slap Langton's face but she controlled her temper, clenching her hands into fists.

'Who have you been asking about me?' she spat.

'It wasn't too difficult; you have a police record, madame. You are still on record in Marseilles. Now I don't know if your husband is, or was, aware of your rather colourful past.'

'My husband knew everything about me.'

'Did he hire you; is that how you met? I know he has a predilection for very young prostitutes. I also suspect that he couldn't keep his hands off his own daughter.'

Her face was now white with fury. 'Get out. Get out!' She gasped, yanking the door open so hard it banged against the pristine white wall.

Langton nodded to Anna to move into the hall ahead of him. He passed the shaken Dominique, close enough to be almost touching her.

'He must be paying you a lot of money,' he said, very quietly.

She shouted for her maid, but there was no sign of the elderly woman. She pointed to the front door. 'Please go, please go.'

Anna could see that Langton was not finished; he had that glint in his eyes. He reached the front door and was about to turn the handle and walk out when he paused, instead snapping open his briefcase. He took a moment to select the exact picture he wanted: the mortuary shot of the mutilated Louise Pennel.

'Take a look, Mrs Wickenham: this is the Red Dahlia.'

Dominique averted her eyes.

'Look at it.'

'Why are you doing this to me?'

'You should know what this monster did to this young woman. I came to see you specifically to—'

'You came here because you wanted me to implicate my ex-husband in this horror. Well, I do not believe for a second he is involved. I have never seen either of those two girls you showed me; you seem to be intent on shocking me into—'

'I just want the truth, Mrs Wickenham; but you seem to be incapable of being honest,' Langton interrupted, clicking his briefcase closed. 'You cited in your divorce hearing abusive and threatening behaviour, your husband's sexual demands and constant infidelities. You also gained custody of both your daughters, because you stated that living with their father was not a healthy environment for young girls.'

'I never saw either of those women you showed me, and what one states in a divorce hearing is not necessarily…'

'The whole truth and nothing but the truth?' Langton interjected.

'I wasn't going to say that; at the time, I had to protect myself and my future. We have now made very amicable arrangements. It's quite common, you know; to be unable to live with someone and yet still care for them after separation.'

She seemed to be back in control. Danielle appeared and Dominique asked her to show the 'guests' to the elevator. Langton snapped that it would not be necessary.

Reflected in the elevator's gilt edging, he could see Mrs Dominique Wickenham still staring after them, composed and elegant; she slowly closed her front door.

Langton was in a foul mood on the way back to their hotel. They had really gained very little from the trip. His extensive knowledge of Mrs Wickenham's past had fazed Anna but had not brought any results.

'She was a whore,' Langton said, as they went into the hotel lobby.

'Must have been quite young,' Anna said.

'She was. I traced two arrests for soliciting in Paris. No way is she going to give us anything on Wickenham, because he pays out a fortune to her in alimony. That apartment must cost a bomb and like he said himself, the lady likes to shop.'

'So what's the next move?'

'We do as Professor Marshe suggested: weed out any known associates of Wickenham's and see if they can enlighten us.'

'If they were involved in any of these parties, then they are unlikely to be that helpful. I think we concentrate on the old housekeeper, the son and track down the girlfriend at her health farm.'

'Is that what you think, Travis?'

'Yes.'

'I detect a slight frisson; what's the matter?'

'It would be helpful if you had enlightened me with what you know, as maybe I could have had some input. I had to sit there just watching as you came out with the fact she was an exotic dancer, details of her divorce and her record for prostitution.' She asked for her key at the reception desk, warming up to have a row with him. 'I know you like to play things close to your chest, it's the way you work, but sometimes you should share information. I couldn't give you very much help.'

'Do you think you could have?'

'Yes! Well, I say yes; obviously, I'm not sure. I would have maybe taken it a bit calmer, teased it out of her.'

'Teased what out of her?' Langton asked.

Anna sighed; they had by now crossed to the elevators and were heading up to the third floor.

'Well, if she was what, eighteen, nineteen, years of age when she married Wickenham?'

'Not that young; she was twenty-five.'

'Okay, about my age. She's been arrested and she gets this rich-as-Croesus Englishman who must have brought her over from Paris; it's not a brain surgeon you need to tell you that it was the sex. So she hooks him, marries him, has two children…'

The elevator stopped, but Langton didn't get out; instead, he pressed to go to her floor.

'I think Dominique was not saying anything untoward about her ex-husband,' Anna continued, 'because she must have played quite a part in these soirees, and here's something else that's quite freaky: when the Black Dahlia suspect was arrested, his wife made him out to be a loving and caring man, when he'd been accused of molesting his daughter.' She headed towards her room, Langton following. The bed had not been made as she was checking out; her case was packed and ready for her to leave.

'If our suspect is Wickenham,' Langton responded, 'he has an obsession with the Black Dahlia case. It would therefore stand to reason that he would have primed his ex-hooker wife to stand by him and instructed her to give no indication that there was anything dubious connected to his younger daughter. I would say the incentive is money. The Black Dahlia ex-wife was broke and couldn't pay her rent; I don't think Dominique is hurting for money, but she is greedy: Wickenham said so himself He sat in a chair by the window; he had one leg crossed over the other, his foot tapping.

'Whichever source you used to get the details you had on Dominique Wickenham, were they able to tell you how large her bank balance was?'

Langton said nothing, glaring at his shoe. He then swung his leg down and took a beer from her mini bar. 'I had some help from Professor Marshe; she has a lot of contacts.'

Anna shook her head. 'How was she able to get this information?'

Langton opened the bottle. 'She worked in Paris, she's able to pull some strings, and she is also very well respected.'

'That doesn't mean a thing. She was privy to a police record and to divorce statements.'

'I checked out the divorce. Just don't ask too many questions, Travis. I'm sorry if I was like a bear with a sore arse, but I really hoped I'd be able to get that bitch to open up. Do you think I was too heavy-handed?'

'Slightly.'

'It was that bloody jangling charm bracelet, got on my nerves. She was lying to us from the moment we walked through the front door.' He swigged his beer from the bottle.

Anna sat opposite him. 'How can a woman know that her ex-husband had made advances to their daughter and that, as a result, an abortion had been performed, possibly even by him, and not want him stripped naked and whipped?'

'My gut feeling is that Dominique Wickenham would sell her own daughters if the price was right. You know the old saying don't you, a whore is a whore…' He frowned. 'I've forgotten the rest,' he said. He looked depressed. 'Well, pretty wasted journey. Might as well get to the airport and catch an earlier flight.'

Langton half rose out of his chair as the phone rang. He plonked himself back down again as Anna answered. She listened, then said thank you before replacing the receiver.

'Package has just been delivered. Were you expecting one?'

Langton shook his head.

'Well, it's on its way up.'

Anna opened the door and waited. A porter came out of the elevator carrying a brown manila envelope, addressed to them both but with their names misspelled. Anna tipped the porter, took the envelope and handed it to Langton. The envelope had been used before and the flap had been taped down. He opened it and tipped the contents out onto the glass table. There were seven photographs.

'What have we got here?' he murmured.

As he arranged the photographs so that they faced upwards on the table, Anna checked the envelope. A square white label had been stuck over the original address. Anna carefully eased as much away as possible without tearing it, to see that it had been mailed to Dominique Wickenham. There was a smudged date: it was March 2002. She called reception to ask if they could give a description of the person who had delivered the package.

Langton was staring at one photograph after another. 'You think Dominique sent these over?'

'I think from what they said downstairs it was her maid. Apparently it was an elderly woman in a black coat.'

Langton handed her one of the photographs. 'See what you make of that.'

Anna looked: it was a group of men and women lazing in a hot tub with glasses of champagne. 'That's Charles Wickenham centre, his son Edward, and I think that's Dominique half-turned towards camera. Is that Justine, the girl across from her?'

Langton nodded and looked at another photograph. 'Same crowd; hot tubs seem to excite them. Let's see if we can get an ID on the hairy-chested chaps. There's three women in this one, but none look like family.'

Anna glanced at the group of sweating, laughing people, toasting the camera with raised glasses and smiles. The men had their arms wrapped around the naked girls. Anna found the seediness of the photograph repellent, the two middle-aged men leering at what looked like teenagers.

'It's getting pornographic now: same men but different girls, blowjob time, and getting into costumes and bits of leather. Christ!'

Anna looked up.

'Jesus Christ, look at this! Just on the edge of the picture, on the right-hand side. Is that who I think it is?'

Anna got up and stood, looking over his shoulder. 'Where are you looking?'

Langton pointed. 'Girl in the leather boots and G-string.'

Anna leaned further over. 'It's Justine Wickenham.'

Langton picked up another photo, and shook his head. 'Christ Almighty, they're all screwing her.'

'His daughter?'

'No, Dominique Wickenham. When do you think this was taken?'

He turned over the photographs but nothing was written on the back of any of them.

'Well, the envelope has 2002 on it, but these could have been taken years ago, so it's not much use to us. If it is her, what does that give us?'

Langton looked up; they were almost touching. 'Well, she's bonking her stepson as well as everyone else, so it's not that old is it? How old would you say he looks?'

'Hard to tell from what I can see of him. But Justine looks about thirteen or fourteen to me.'

Langton sifted through the photographs and then frowned. 'This looks like some kind of cellar. There's two girls tied up. Look at all the equipment: the sicko's got a private dungeon! There's chains and some weird machines.'

'Looks like old farm equipment to me,' Anna said, sitting back down.

'No way; this is state-of-the-art masochistic gear.' Langton got up and started to pace to and fro, then took another beer from the mini bar.

Anna carried on looking at the photographs. 'Why did she bring these to us? There's got to be something we're not seeing. I mean, we have a pretty good idea of what Wickenham gets up to, but in the privacy of his home, there's not a lot we can do about it.'

'Well, there's the one photo of his daughter.'

'I know, but it still doesn't give us any connection to Louise Pennel or Sharon Bilkin. So Wickenham has sex parties: it's not against the law.'

'What if the girls are all underage?'

'Well, one, we have to trace them; two, we could find that they're not unwilling participants. We also have no dates, so we don't know when these were taken, and they're not all from the same time.' Anna pointed out that in one photo, Wickenham had a moustache, in another longish hair, and in another short hair: there could be years between when they were taken.

'Well, there is one person that can give us a clue, and that's Dominique.'

'You suggesting we go back?'

'Thinking about it.'

'You'll get the maid into big trouble.'

Langton nodded as he opened a packet of peanuts. 'How about talking to just the maid?'

Anna shrugged. 'We could do, but we are scheduled to fly back this afternoon. It's up to you.'

Langton tossed a peanut up into the air and caught it in his mouth. 'I think we should return as scheduled. We need to talk to Justine and the son.'