The Red Dahlia

Chapter Fourteen

Anna slept through her alarm and was annoyed at herself for being late for work. She grabbed yesterday's suit, but put on a clean shirt. She arrived at the Incident Room to be told that Langton was in the boardroom, being given a briefing by the key team. Lewis, Barolli, Bridget and two other officers were sitting around the huge table listening to the taped calls from the phone taps. Langton was looking very smart in a pale blue shirt and dark navy tie, his suit immaculate. He glanced up with irritation as Anna entered.

'Sorry, my alarm didn't go off,' she said rather lamely as she took the nearest chair. She put down her briefcase, taking out her notebook and pencils. No one spoke; they all seemed to be waiting for her to settle. 'Sorry,' she repeated, embarrassed, and busied herself turning over the pages of her notebook until she found a blank one.

'We've been discussing the phone taps on the Wickenham family. Lewis thinks that Charles knows we're monitoring his calls: he's very cagey and abrupt, unless it's something innocuous.'

He turned to Lewis and gestured to the tape recorder.

Each call had been numbered. Langton asked him to play a specific one for Anna's benefit: it was a recording of Edward and Charles Wickenham talking. Wickenham senior's voice was harsh and angry.

'I fucking said there was something wrong with him when I last had him out. Why you can't do a simple thing like get the fucking vet to see to him? He's lame now, a lot worse than he was, and that's down to your stupidity; why can't you just do what I tell you, when I tell you to do it?'

'I'm sorry. I had to go and collect Gail.'

'Why couldn't she get a car and get herself home? She's a bloody liability. What she needs is therapy, not a few weeks in a health spa.'

'She's fine now.'

'I hope to Christ she is. You keep her in line: you give her too much rope — mind you, if you gave her more, she'd probably hang herself the stupid bitch.'

'It's her nerves.'

'Well, that doesn't interest me; what does is that the horse won't be able to hunt for at least a month, so get him sorted out, never mind your bloody girlfriend.'

'She wants to get married.'

'What?'

'I said, she wants me to marry her.'

'I would say after your last disastrous marriage, it's the last thing you want to do.'

'Maybe I should.'

'Maybe you should? Why, exactly? She lives with you; she gets whatever she wants'

'She's very nervous.'

'Well, for Chrissakes, shut the stupid bitch up.'

'That's why I should marry her.'

There was a long pause; then Wickenham sighed. 'You do whatever you need to do, Edward. She has to be controlled, and if the way to do it is by marrying her, then go ahead.'

'I don't know what to do, Pa.'

'Have you ever? Let me think about it.'

Charles slammed the phone down, leaving Edward still on the line; he sighed before hanging up too.

Langton twisted his pen round and round. 'We need to talk to Edward's proposed bride. Pop sounds like a real tetchy son of a bitch, doesn't he, Travis?'

Anna looked up from her note-taking. 'Yes; maybe the horse he was referring to was the one we saw him on the day we were at the Hall?'

Langton glared at her.

'If it is, we have a timeframe,' she continued.

Langton ignored her, resting his elbows on the table. 'Reading between the lines about the proposed daughter-in-law's problems, keeping her under control, etcetera, I wonder if she is the anonymous caller that tipped us off.' He nodded to Lewis, asking for call sixteen to be played.

This was the most recent call they had on tape: it was from Dominique. It was very brief and she sounded tense and angry, especially when Wickenham said he couldn't talk to her.

'Well, I need to talk to you, Charles, so don't ring off, because if you do I will simply keep calling you back until you do talk to me. The police were at my apartment today and they were asking me a lot of questions about…'

'Shut up!'

'What?'

'I said shut up! If you wait a few minutes, I'll be able to call you back, not on your land phone.'

'What does that mean?'

'I'll call you on your mobile, your cell phone, Dominique; I can't talk to you at the house.'

'They were asking me all these questions, first about Emily…'

'Not now: later.'

The phone went dead.

Langton spread out his fingers flat on the tabletop. 'It's obvious he knows we're taping him.' He looked at Anna. 'This was as far as we'd got before your late arrival, so now we can concentrate on the other calls: one in particular.'

He nodded to Lewis again. It was Edward Wickenham talking to his girlfriend Gail.

'I'll be there to collect you. You might have to wait, as father wants me to do some errands, but it shouldn't be too long.'

'Like how long? You knew I was leaving here today.'

Bridget put up her hand. Lewis stopped the tape.

'That's her: that's the woman that called the station. I'm sure of it.'

Langton looked at Anna who shook her head. 'Could I hear a bit more? It does sound like her.'

The tape continued.

'Can't you ask your father to do whatever needs doing later? He just makes you run around after him all the time.'

'He pays the bills, Gail.'

'I know; I know that.'

'So just wait: I'll be there!'

The call ended and Anna nodded. 'Yes, I'd say it's her. Have we done a voice match on the calls that came in to be one hundred per cent sure?'

Barolli looked at his watch. 'We only got this in last night, so they might not have got it together yet. Want me to check?'

Langton wafted his hand. 'Later. Let's hear the rest and then get up to speed all round on what we came up with in Milan.'

They all listened to calls between Emily and Justine Wickenham. There was nothing suspicious and nothing that linked to their enquiry; they just talked about a party for some friend and the dinner menu, with Justine giving Emily a cooking class over the telephone. The sisters were quite at ease with one another; Emily appeared to be very much calmer than when they had interviewed her.

The team listened to call after call for over fifty minutes, then Lewis stopped the tape. 'This one is interesting, though a bit indistinct, so we are having it cleaned up. It's a call from Emily's mobile to Justine's land line.'

'Do you know what time it is?' Justine was asking.

'Yes.' This was very blurred and slurred.

'Where are you?'

'I'm at a party.' Again, this was hardly audible.

'Are you drunk? Ems, are you drunk or something? Hello, are you there? Emily, where are you?'

'I want to kill him!' came the high-pitched scream.

'For Chrissakes, Emily, where are you? I can come and get you.'

'No! I don't want you to see me, I just need some …' It was then a totally incoherent ramble of slurred words with long pauses in between.

'Em, are you with someone?'

'Yes.'

'Are they a nice person? Are they looking after you?'

Emily laughed, a strange and hollow sound, devoid of any humour. 'Are they nice?'

'You know what I mean, Em. You're not being taken advantage of, are you?'

'Would it matter? I've been taken advantage of since I was fucking ten years old, so what the fuck does it matter where I am? I am going to pay him back, Justine: one day, I'll pay him back.'

'By getting drunk and acting dumb?'

'Shut up!'

'You bloody called me, Em, so don't tell me to shut up. I am trying to help you. If you tell me where you are, I'll come and get you.'

'You'll see. I'll get him. I'll make him pay. Danielle will help me.'

Anna looked across at Langton on hearing this.

Justine's voice became lower, almost threatening. 'You be very careful what you tell her. I mean it, Em: you have no idea what Daddy can do.'

'Yes I have. I bloody know!'

'Then listen to me: keep your mouth shut. I've already had Mother on the phone: the police were asking questions about you. That woman detective was in Milan. I warned you about saying anything to the police.'

'I didn't tell them anything!' Emily was crying.

'Then from now on, refuse to speak to them unless I am with you. Just do what you are told to do, otherwise terrible things will happen!'

Emily was sobbing, her voice hardly audible. 'They already have happened. There's nothing anyone could do to me that would be worse.'

And then she hung up. The team sat in silence.

'Bit like father like daughter,' said Langton. 'She's a piece of work, Justine Wickenham; from what we were able to discover in Milan, she is not an innocent: far from it.' He showed the team the photographs.

Although it was Anna who had talked to Danielle, Langton talked them through the details of their conversation. 'We are certain that Danielle has no idea about the murder enquiry. She thought we were there regarding Wickenham's sexual antics with Emily. Though we've got photographs of him and Justine rather than Emily, the maid was very concerned about her and with good bloody reason. She wants him punished! I think that goes for all of us; the question is how we go about drawing the net over his sickening head. We have it raised, but we still need more concrete evidence: a lot of what we have is hearsay and won't hold up in court. We need confirmation that Louise Pennel was at that house and that he has lied about not knowing her; someone there must have seen her and I think that someone could be the son's girlfriend. We now need to question Edward Wickenham and Gail Harrington, but we have to be very careful as the son could also be implicated; he may be a partner in his father's perversions.'

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.

'Must be quite hazardous,' Anna said lightly.

Wickenham turned, frowning. 'What?'

'Being so tall.'

'Ah, yes; well, after a few cracks over the head you get used to it. She's in here.' He tapped on a small, dark oak, studded door. 'Sweetheart, the policewoman wants to talk to you.' He turned back to Anna. 'I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name.'

'Anna, Anna Travis.'

He opened the door and stepped back so Anna could enter; he then leaned in and smiled.

'I'll be downstairs, darling. If it gets too much, just call me; I've said you are feeling poorly.'

Anna thanked him and waited for him to close the door. The bedroom was lovely: floral curtains fell in folds to the ground, framing the leaded windows. An old oak wardrobe with carved figures on the doors stood beside an equally old carved chest. There was a kidney-shaped dressing table, its frilled skirt matching the curtains, covered with bottles of perfume. Propped up on white pillows on the four-poster bed was Gail Harrington, her legs curled beneath her. Beside the bed was an old nursing chair. Anna gestured towards it.

'May I sit down?'

'Yes.'

Gail Harrington was very tall and slender; her pale face and dark hair made her seem fragile. There were dark circles beneath her wide-apart hazel eyes. Her cheekbones were like carved marble and her lips, devoid of make-up, were colourless. She was wearing a diamond ring on her engagement finger, a large single teardrop-shaped stone. It seemed too big for her slender fingers, and she constantly twisted it round and round.

'Why do you want to see me?'

'May I call you Gail?'

'Of course.'

Anna placed her briefcase on her knee. 'I think you know why.'

'I really don't.'

Anna looked at her and smiled. 'I recognise your voice, Gail; I was the officer you spoke to when you called the Richmond Incident Room.'

'No, you must be mistaken; I have never spoken to you.'

'We have matched your voice, Gail. It will be far easier if you could just be honest with me. If, on the other hand, you maintain that you did not make any such calls, then I will have to ask you to come with me to the station, so we can do the interview there.'

'No, no I can't.'

'So you do admit you called the station, specifically about the murder of a girl called Louise Pennel?' Anna paused. Gail twisted her ring round and round, coiled up like a frightened child. 'She is sometimes referred to as the Red Dahlia.'

'I read about it.'

'You said that we should talk to Doctor Charles Henry Wickenham.'

'Yes, yes, I know; I did say that.'

'I need to know why you gave us his name.'

'It was a stupid thing to have done, I'm sorry.'

'But you must have had a reason, unless you are saying that you did it for some ulterior motive. We take every call very seriously; if we find out that it was a silly prank, you have wasted valuable police time.'

'I'm sorry.'

'There are repercussions for wasting police time, Gail. Would you like to tell me why you—'

'No reason! There is no reason. I really am very very sorry. I did it because I was not well. If you want, I can get a doctor's certificate to prove it. I have had a sort of nervous breakdown. All I can do is apologise.'

'I will need your doctor's name and contact number.'

Anna watched as Gail uncurled her legs and slid from the bed. She was at least five ten and stick thin, and she was trembling as she went to the dressing table and took out a diary. She sat down and wrote on a page, ripping it out and then passing it to Anna. 'It's Doctor Allard.'

'Thank you.' Anna placed the note into her briefcase. She held up the photograph of Louise Pennel. 'Have you ever seen this girl here? As a guest, maybe?'

Gail sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the photograph. 'No, no I have not seen her.'

'What about this girl? Her name was Sharon Bilkin.'

Gail swallowed and then shook her head. 'No, I have never seen her.'

Anna put the photographs back into the file and slowly took out one of the hideous mortuary photographs of Louise Pennel. 'Louise Pennel's body was drained of blood and severed in two. She suffered terrible injuries. Her lips were slashed from ear to ear…'

'Please don't! I don't want to see. It's terrible, it's awful! I can't look at it.'

'Then look at Sharon Bilkin. She was found—'

'No, I don't want to see. I can't stand it, I won't look.'

Anna put the photographs down on the bed. Gail was really shaking, her hands twisting and the ring turning turning.

'The man we are hunting for in connection with these murders was possibly a trained surgeon or doctor. We have a drawing of him made up from witnesses' descriptions. Will you please look at it for me?'

Gail slipped open a drawer and took out a small bottle of pills. She tipped a few into her hand, picked up a glass of water from her bedside table and gulped them down. Then she turned to stare at the sketch Anna was holding up. Eventually, she shook her head.

'Do you recognise this man?'

'No.'

'Are you certain? Doesn't he remind you of someone?'

'No.'

'Well, I think he does look very similar to the man you named, who is also a doctor. You told us to question Charles Wickenham, didn't you? So you must have had a reason other than being unwell.'

Gail bowed her head. 'I make things up; my doctor will tell you.'

Anna now made a great show of putting the photographs back into her briefcase as if the conversation was over. 'We'll obviously talk to your doctor.'

'He will confirm everything I have told you.'

Anna smiled. 'I'm sorry you have been ill.' She snapped her case closed and placed it beside her chair. 'Were you a model?'

Gail lifted her head and blinked, surprised by the question. 'Yes, yes I was; not very successful, but I did a lot of catalogue work.' She smiled.

'I would have thought with your looks you'd have been on a par with Naomi Campbell; you must be what, five eight?'

'Five ten, but modelling is a very tough career; they want the girls so young. When I worked in Paris, there were girls there as young as sixteen, plucked straight from school; they have such confidence.'

Anna nodded. Now that she had changed the subject, Gail was becoming less tense and nervous. 'But you must be very photogenic with those cheekbones.'

Gail put her hand over her mouth and gave an odd laugh. 'I had them helped a bit.'

'No!'

'Yes, it is very common now, they just put something into the cheek.'

'I would love to see your photographs.'

Gail hesitated and then crossed to open the wardrobe; she bent down and took out a large professional portfolio and some loose photographs. 'I haven't worked for a couple of years now; well, not since I've been living with Edward.'

'How long have you been together?'

'Oh, two years, maybe more.' She was searching through the album.

'Did you know his first wife?'

Gail stared resolutely at the pictures. 'Not well, but yes, I did know her.'

'It was suicide, wasn't it?'

'Yes, it was. I am trying to find you some of my better pictures.'

'Why did she do it? Do you know?'

Gail looked up sharply. 'Who knows what makes people do the things they do? She was depressed, I suppose; we don't talk about it.'

'It must have been very shocking for Edward.'

'Well, more so for his father, as he was the one who found her; Edward was away.'

'Do you get along with Mr Wickenham?'

Gail laughed and turned over a laminated page. 'I don't really have much choice.'

'How does Edward get along with him?'

Gail sighed and plopped the book on the bed. 'He has to get along with him: Charles is his father and Edward's the heir, so I don't know if that answers your question. His sisters don't have a good relationship with him; they very rarely come here any more, but then that's because of Dominique. She's not very pleasant, and that is putting it nicely.' She turned over a page, and then moved the book round for Anna to see clearly. 'These are some of my last pictures. I haven't had a job since I met Edward; he doesn't approve. Well, he wouldn't really mind, it's his father. He's a snob, you know: we are treated like the poor relatives; but then, I suppose we are.' She gave an odd shrill laugh.

Anna leaned forward to look at the photograph. From the transformation taking place before her eyes, she was wondering if the pills she'd seen Gail gulp down were some kind of speed: from being so shaken and nervous, she was now talking quite animatedly and even sat closer to Anna to show her more photographs. She was certainly very photogenic and, although they were not Vogue quality, in some shots she looked stunningly beautiful.

'These were taken about two and a half years ago. I started to do some good sessions; before that, as I said, I'd mostly been doing catalogue work. It's actually really tough, as you have to do so many pictures per day with so many changes, but the money is very good. I did a lot of country-styled clothes: me with dogs, me standing by fences in a tweed coat and brogues… I didn't really have the figure for doing lingerie.' Flicking through the pictures, Gail seemed to take a childlike pleasure in showing herself off.

'Do you have a family?' asked Anna.

'What, you mean children?'

'No, parents? Sisters?'

Gail gave a rueful smile. 'My parents both died years ago. I have a sister, but we don't really see much of each other; she has a brood of children and a very boring husband.'

'Do you want children?' Anna asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the reason she was there.

'Yes; do you?'

Anna smiled. 'Yes I do, very much. When are you getting married?'

Gail looked at her massive diamond, and then wafted her hand. 'Whenever my prospective father-in-law allows Edward some time off. He works him terribly hard and pays him a pittance.'

'But this estate will all be his one day,' Anna said, glancing at the continuing display of Gail's modelling work.

'Yes, yes it will.'

Anna, who had not really been paying attention to the pictures, had to catch her breath. 'This is a good picture of you,' she said, hoping that she had not given Gail any indication of what she was actually looking at.

'Oh, it's from two years ago, maybe. It's for a big leisurewear catalogue: lots of ghastly velvet tracksuits.' As Gail was about to turn over, Anna placed her hand flat on the page to stop her.

'The blonde girl, the one standing by the saddle.'

'It was supposed to be a stable, but they just put down some fake grass and a bit offence and stuck the saddle over it.'

The blonde girl was Sharon Bilkin. Anna remembered Sharon saying that she did catalogue modelling. 'Do you know who she is?' Anna asked, quietly.

Gail shrugged and stood up to put the book away.

Anna opened her briefcase and took out the picture of Sharon Bilkin. 'This is the same girl, isn't it?'

Gail blinked rapidly then turned away, kneeling down to put the album away again. Anna moved fast to stand directly behind her.

'I need to take that, Gail. Please just move away from the wardrobe and let me take it.'

Gail sprang to her feet and pushed Anna in the chest so hard that she banged into the corner of the four-poster bed.

'Leave me alone! I won't talk about it; you don't know what will happen. You have to go, I want you to go.'

Gail, for all her skinny frame, was incredibly strong; her bony arms squeezed the breath out of Anna as she hauled her towards the door. She tried to break loose, but Gail wouldn't let go.

'He will kill me, he will make my life hell if he ever found out what I have done!' Gail held Anna in her vice-like grip, their faces so close they were virtually touching.

'Let go of me,' Anna said, forcing herself to be calm.

'I'll end up in a madhouse!'

Anna managed to struggle free. All of a sudden, it was as if all Gail's strength had evaporated. She slowly sank to her knees, then let her body fall forwards and sobbed.

'Oh God, oh God, oh God; what have I done?'