The Red Dahlia

Chapter Nineteen

Anna woke; her neck was stiff from sleeping crunched up on the sofa. She could hear her shower running and smell bacon frying.

She went into the kitchen and turned down the grill as the bacon was getting charred.

'Morning,' he said as he wandered into the kitchen, a bath towel slung around his hips.

'Morning; how's your head?'

'Swollen, but I'm starving hungry.'

'Me too; let me take a shower.'

'Sure, I'll get the eggs on. Coffee?'

She could hardly believe it. He wasn't embarrassed in the slightest; seeing his clothes strewn all over her bedroom made her even more amazed at his cheek.

By the time she went into the kitchen, his eggs and bacon had been wolfed down and her plate was under the grill, about to crack any second.

'You eat while I get dressed.'

'Fine, thank you.'

He smiled, and then put his arms out; she went into them and held him tight. He smelt of her shampoo.

'Thank you for last night, Travis.'

'It was nothing.'

'Yes it was; I didn't know who else I could go to.'

'I'm glad you came to me.'

'Are you?'

'Yes.'

'Good.'

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, a light sweet kiss, and then he was gone.

'Oh Christ,' she muttered. She wasn't sure how to handle it and could hardly eat a thing. He came back in, dressed, all smiles.

'Right, get dressed. Let's get out of here.'

She gave a mute nod; it was as if it was his apartment. He even started washing up the dirty dishes.

She drove them to the station. His good mood had already started to evaporate.

'I'm sorry about last night,' he said, gruffly.

'That's okay; it's over and done with.'

'Yeah, but I have to start watching it, you know.'

'What?'

'Boozing; you know you're in trouble when you blank out. It's a sign.'

'Well, if you know you drink too much, then you know what to do.'

'Yeah, yeah; did I do anything I shouldn't have?'

She laughed.

'I'm serious; I don't even remember getting to your place.'

She kept on driving, not looking at him.

'Did we screw?'

'No, we did not!'

'Ah! Just wondered.'

'You passed out.'

'So I didn't manhandle you?'

'No, you were the perfect drunk.'

He gave her a sidelong glance, then rested his arm along the back of her seat, his hand on her neck. 'I love you, Travis.'

She smiled, wishing that he meant it.

He fell silent, his hand still touching the nape of her neck. 'What if we've lost him? It'll be a repeat performance of the Black Dahlia case, and my career will be in the shit.'

She shook her head, and he took it that she didn't like him touching her. 'Sorry,' he said quietly, and moved his hand.

'We'll find him,' she said.

In the Incident Room, things were moving fast. Forensics had worked their butts off and information was coming in at a rate of knots. The scientists were still at work and even more damning evidence was being found. Masked and rubber-suited scientists with breathing apparatus were wading through the filth. Charles Wickenham had tried to wash the evidence away, but by removing the drainage pipes and going down into the sewer system, they discovered even more clogged blood.

He must have thought he had destroyed everything that could implicate him, but scientific developments had him trapped. They were also beginning to piece together how he had made the notes sent to the journalists and Langton at the Richmond station. They discovered in his shredding machine old newspapers that he had cut the pasted letters from. They also discovered charred sections of a receipt made out by The Times for running an advert; a box number scrawled on the back of an envelope and thrown into a wastepaper basket was possibly the one he had used to advertise for a personal assistant. Meanwhile, the labs had begun testing Wickenham's computer and hard drive. They were able to ascertain that Wickenham logged onto the Black Dahlia website two hundred and fifty times.

They found many pictures cut from the Black Dahlia books, sickeningly placed in an innocent-looking family album. The entire quest by the author of The Black Dahlia to expose his father as the killer had derived from the discovery of two hitherto unknown photographs of Elizabeth Short at his house. One photograph showed Elizabeth Short with her eyes closed and her head tilted back like a death mask. In the other, she rested her cheek against her hand with a soft sweet smile to camera. Photographs of Louise and Sharon, identically posed, were placed alongside copies of those pictures, between the innocent photographs of his own children. As the evidence mounted, the fact their prime suspect was on the loose fuelled an undercurrent of panic.

Press releases continued to be issued and news bulletins showing Charles Wickenham's photograph were being pumped out. The public were asked for any information and warned that they should not confront Wickenham, but report directly to the police. No sightings of Wickenham had been confirmed at any airport, train station or bus depot. He still remained at large: it was Langton's nightmare.

Edward Wickenham's solicitor was demanding that Langton either charge his client or release him. Gail Harrington's solicitor was on firmer ground, yet Langton insisted both remained in custody, as he was certain that if Wickenham was hiding out, he would contact his son for help. Justine was informed of the situation, though it was unnecessary: every newspaper headlined that the Red Dahlia killer was being hunted.

It was early afternoon when Langton had Edward Wickenham brought up from the cells to be questioned again. One night holed up at the station in a cold, stinking cell had made him tense with pent-up anger. His solicitor tried to placate him, but Edward was implying that if he didn't do something about the situation, he would replace him. Langton sat with Lewis, ignoring the tirade from the sweating young man, and read him his rights again. Yet again he displayed the sickening photographs of Louise Pennel and Sharon Bilkin.

Edward screeched that he had nothing to do with the victims' deaths; he had never met either of them. He was so agitated, spittle formed at the corners of his mouth as he repeated over and over again that he was innocent.

Langton leaned forward, keeping his voice low, forcing Edward to shut up and listen to him. He described the cellar and then went on to list the evidence they had now discovered: the clogged drains, blocked by coagulated blood that had been drained from Louise Pennel's body; the sickening array of saws and knives; the video pornography that also featured the prime suspect's son. His monologue began to take effect.

'We have two hundred tapes of sexual perversion; your own sisters feature, so I am certain we will get to you, Mr Wickenham. So why don't you try and help yourself?'

'I swear before God, I did not have anything to do with those girls, I did not!' He was starting to blubber, twisting his body as he attempted to extricate himself from any connection to the murders.

Edward Wickenham was returned to the cells a little later. He was to be charged with obstructing the police enquiries and with aiding and abetting the depositing of Louise Pennel's body and Sharon Bilkin's body. He would be taken before the magistrate.

Langton stood before the team to give them a brief rundown of the contents of the interview. Lewis had been shaken by what had taken place and was sitting quietly, checking over the interview tape.

Langton touched Louise Pennel's photograph. She had, as Anna had thought, answered an advert for the position of personal assistant to Charles Wickenham. According to his son, Charles had interviewed a number of young girls, and had shown him some of their photographs and CVs. Louise Pennel was the girl he chose. He had subsequently acted like some kind of Svengali, buying her expensive clothes and giving her gifts, mostly cash. She was a very willing partner to his sexual advances, but when he became more perverse he had encouraged her to take drugs, or he had slipped them into her drinks. His son said she was not seen at the Hall itself but would be driven direct to the barn. He swore that he had not had any kind of sexual relationship with her, as his father appeared to be very enamoured of her. It had confused him because, although she was very pretty, 'she was rather a common girl'. He had never heard of the Black Dahlia; his father had never mentioned the case. He was aware that at times his father would have sex sessions in the cellar, but this area was always off limits to him. Often his father, fuelled by drugs, would remain closeted down there for days and nights on end. It was always locked; only a few of his father's friends were ever allowed inside.

Edward Wickenham listed his father's friends. These were men that had the same perversions; they were all into sadomasochistic sex acts. His father had attempted to draw his son into his sadistic sexual activities but he wimped out, deliberately becoming too drunk to perform. Charles had been a brutal and sadistic father, laughing when discovered by his son screwing his young wife. She had been given Rohypnol and had not known what she was doing; she had found out when Charles Wickenham arranged for a family viewing of the tapes. She had been forced to watch herself having sex with her father-in-law and four of his friends. She committed suicide three weeks later.

Even when he talked about his own debauchery and the rape of his wife, Edward was not emotional; if anything, he had become very calm. He never looked at Langton or Lewis; he kept his head bowed, speaking softly. He had occasionally sipped water and a couple of times he had coughed, as if he needed to clear his throat, but it was as if he was talking about someone else.

Langton described to the team how Charles Wickenham had called his son and told him to come round to the house. It was after eleven at night. He said he needed some help in moving some equipment. Edward had helped put the body of Louise Pennel into the back of the Range Rover. He said he did not know what it was, but when he lifted one of the black plastic bags, he could feel beneath the plastic what appeared to be a human hand. They had both driven to his sister's flat in Richmond. Edward was told to wait and make some coffee. His sister was in Milan visiting her mother, but they had a key. He recalled it was about two in the morning when his father left in the Range Rover; he returned about half an hour later. That was all the time it took to dump the two halves of Louise Pennel's dismembered body.

The body bags, which his father had still had from when he worked in the army as a surgeon, were tossed into a skip as they returned home.

Langton broke for a coffee and sent out for some sandwiches, then continued. Sharon Bilkin had called Edward from the local railway station, asking to be picked up. She had met his fianc�e, Gail, at a hairdressing salon. She had the audacity to tell him that she had come to see not him, but his father. He saw her knocking on the front door as he returned to the cottage. He was then called about two hours later to drop her back at the railway station. After his return, his father was standing on the drive, waiting to speak to him in a fury. He said that Gail was a stupid bitch because she had brought that trash into their lives and he was going to have to deal with it. Edward swore he had not seen Sharon again, but just under three weeks later, at two o'clock in the morning, his father turned up outside his cottage.

Sharon's body was already zipped into a bag and already in the Range Rover. His father said he had hurt his back and needed him to help. Edward had tried to refuse and Charles had slapped his face. Charles had threatened that if he did not do exactly as he was told, then he and his fianc�e could get the hell out.

Edward said they had driven around until they came upon a field that they could drive into, via a slip road. He had helped carry her body across a dirt track and through a double-fenced gate. His father then instructed Edward to return to the Range Rover. Edward again swore that he did not see his father tipping the dead woman out of the body bag but he did recall that he was bending over her for a long time. Charles returned to the Range Rover and then started swearing when he found a reddish coat on the back seat. He returned to the field but was back after only a few minutes. They went home and, as if nothing had happened, Edward was told to get an early ride set up for the morning.

The room was quiet as Langton finished. He gave a long sigh. 'They rode out at seven and passed close to the field where her body was dumped because he, Edward Wickenham, recalled seeing the dark maroon coat!' He gave a shrug. 'That's it, ladies and gentlemen. I am going before the magistrates and I want bail refused. I'd say we'll get it.'

The headline of the final edition of the Evening Standard screamed out RED DAHLIA KILLER SOUGHT.

Anna was at her desk when her mobile rang: it was Richard Reynolds.

'Hi, how's things?'

Anna couldn't believe his audacity. He asked if there was any chance of an 'exclusive' interview with Justine Wickenham.

'Why are you asking me?'

'Well, considering you've lost your man, it looks to me as if you need all the help you can get in tracing him. If you could put me in touch with her, you never know what…'

'Piss off,' she snapped.

'That's the second time you've said that to me. It's not very nice.'

'It wasn't intended to be.'

'It's almost like the original case, isn't it?'

'I'm sorry?'

'The killer of the Black Dahlia was never caught, right?'

She suddenly had a gut feeling he might be taping her so she hung up. She was so concerned that she went to see Langton. His door was ajar. He was on the phone and gestured for her to come in.

'He's being taken to the magistrates' court. I suggest if you want to speak to him, you should contact his solicitor. Pardon?' He listened and then covered the phone with his hand. 'Justine Wickenham.' He returned to the call. 'I'll give you five minutes, but I will have to have someone present.' He listened again and then said that he'd wait. He put the phone down. 'She wants a short conversation with her brother! Something to do with her sister. It's a bit unorthodox but…'

Anna nodded and repeated the conversation she had just had with Reynolds.

'Listen, those two-faced bastards are like hornets outside the station. He was just trying it on, don't worry about it.'

He reached for his jacket. 'He's bloody right though, isn't he? And the longer Wickenham's at large, the less likely we are to track him down. We don't know if he had fake passports; we know he has money. I've contacted Special Branch to get flight manifests, so they're checking on potential foreign travel. We've also checked with his ex-wife in Milan, and he's not there. Christ only knows where he is.'

As Justine only lived a short distance from the station, she made an appearance five minutes later. Anna was with Langton in the station reception. Justine gave a brief nod to Anna and then showed them a document.

'I want to get my brother's signature; it's giving me the right to see if I can get Emily home. I need to be there to look after the horses. Old Mrs Hedges is in a bit of a state.'

Anna was surprised at her calmness; she made no mention of the hunt for her father.

'Don't you think under the circumstances that taking Emily there wouldn't be that good an idea?'

Justine gave a sardonic smile. 'Well, our father's not going to be there, is he? So she won't have to worry.'

Langton checked his watch, and then stared at Justine. 'Do you know where he is?'

'No.'

'Do you have any idea where he might be?'

'No, but I told her.' She looked at Anna. 'I told you, didn't I? I said you'd never get him and I was right.'

Both Langton and Anna were present when Justine confronted her brother. Langton did not want there to be any opportunity for another Wickenham to escape. He was hardly able to look at her, his face was shiny with sweat, and he stank of body odour.

'Sign in two places.' Justine pointed calmly, and he dutifully signed.

'Gail was released from custody. Did she return to the house?'

Justine checked over his signature and folded the papers. 'Mrs Hedges said her aunt or someone came to collect her from the cottage. She took a load of suitcases; it didn't look as if she was intending to come back.'

'Did she leave a forwarding address?' Langton asked quickly. 'We'll need it when we go to trial.'

'Yes, yes,' snapped Justine impatiently.

Justine stood up and slipped the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. She thanked Langton, then walked out without a backward glance to her dejected brother as he broke down sobbing. Fifteen minutes later, with a blanket over his head, he was led out of the station and into the wagon for his appearance at court. There were, as Langton had said, numerous reporters and cameras waiting outside the station. The cameras flashed as they drove out.

Edward Wickenham was charged with perverting the course of justice and being an accessory to murder. He said only his name and address and that he would plead not guilty. Langton asked that no bail be granted, as his father was being hunted and he felt that Wickenham could be cajoled into helping him. Bail was refused and Edward Wickenham, again covered in a blanket, was taken to Brixton prison.

It was late when Langton was informed that forensics would require still more time at the Hall. The police still had no sighting of Charles Wickenham. Langton had to give yet another press statement, asking the public for every assistance: the fact Wickenham had escaped was still headlined on all the TV news bulletins.

Anna returned home and went to bed early, feeling depressed and tired out. She was well aware that, despite all their hard work, losing Wickenham would have severe repercussions. She had also half hoped that Langton would maybe say something about wanting to see her.

The following morning, forensic tests identified blood, hair and skin samples from the Hall as belonging to Louise Pennel. Hair and semen stains had been tested from the plastic-covered operating table which also gave a DNA match for Sharon Bilkin. There were five other blood samples of unknown origin.

Langton stood with his hands stuffed into his pockets as Lewis gave him the update.

'Jesus Christ, how many women did that bastard kill down there?'

Anna watched him taking in all the new evidence. If Charles Wickenham had not escaped, it would have been a very jubilant morning; as it was, depression hung in the air. Langton tried to make a joke of it, saying that they now had enough to arrest him ten times over. He held up a cartoon from the Daily Mail, showing loads of uniformed police officers and a pair of empty handcuffs, the suspect crawling through their legs.

Langton had arranged for Anna and Lewis to accompany him back to the Hall, as the forensics chief was ready to pack up: he needed to make out the official report and have it signed off by Langton. The three drove in silence; it was pointless making light conversation as there was nothing light about what they would have to face. The press had surrounded their car as they drove out from the station car park. Langton had wound down his window and told them that the police were not looking for any other suspect. He then wound his window back up and muttered, 'We just can't fucking find him.'

All three tensed as they drove past the field where Sharon's body had been discovered. The flapping police cordons were now even more tattered. Langton pointed to a small hill beyond the field, ringed with elm trees.

'Bastard rode out with his son. He must have got a kick out of seeing her lying there, with Louise Pennel's coat draped over her naked body!'

The atmosphere remained strained as they drove into the long winding lane that led to Mayerling Hall's pathway; there were now hundreds of markers where the teams had searched and signalled clearance.

Langton got out of the car and winced, his long legs had cramped up. More yellow crime scene markers were all over the driveway; two white forensic vans being loaded up with equipment. Arc lamps were being carried out from the barn to be dismantled and packed up. Walking out of the front door was a tall, grizzle-haired scientist, John McDonald. He wore a tweed suit with a striped shirt and bright red braces. He carried his jacket in one hand and a large clipboard in the other.

Anna watched as Langton shook his hand; they conferred for a few moments before Langton introduced Anna and Lewis. McDonald had been coordinating the forensic teams and listing their findings as they were sent to the lab; he was eager to walk Langton through the crime scene results. He said that, although they wouldn't be ready to leave the premises for some considerable time, they had designated 'signed off' areas that had been cleared. This meant that the officers could go through some parts of the house and grounds without protective suits. He had been there almost day and night for three consecutive days; some of his team had been staying at a local hotel.

They all stood in the drawing room as McDonald listed the work that was still being carried out at the lab. 'We have your suspect's Range Rover being dismantled for evidence and his Jaguar; both are with a team in London.' In a rather tired voice, he ran through the items that had been taken and the evidence to date. 'Eight saws of various sizes, two electric; ten surgical knives; eight scalpels; one operating table; handcuffs; leg irons; various chains; rubber suits; six black body bags, army issue; two bottles of morphine; six large containers of acid; two acid baths; gynaecological equipment; stirrups…'

Anna sat down. The list was endless. McDonald, in his clipped, bored tone, continued to elaborate on the amount of drugs, from cocaine to heroin via speed and two hundred tabs of ecstasy; he even joked about the large quantity of Viagra.

Langton was the next one to take a seat, as McDonald said they had positive results from only half the blood samples taken. He continued checking off his list. 'White gowns, masks, and white rubber Wellington boots, three pairs!' Blood samples had been traced on the heel and sole of two pairs.

It had been a very unpleasant task for his officers, he said. Blood had blocked the drainage system from the cellar to the main sewer pipe, so they had been squelching around in human faeces and coagulated blood.

Lewis parked himself on the arm of the wing-backed chair that Charles Wickenham had sat in to smoke his cigar.

One arm of the sofa had a bloodstain where Ed Harris, the officer guarding Wickenham, had fallen. He had been struck with a solid silver candlestick; the edge of the base had left a deep laceration to the right side of his skull and he had required eight stitches. He had, however, been released from hospital. When he was questioned about what exactly had happened, he could hardly recall how he had been attacked. Wickenham had asked for a drink of water; when Harris turned to pick up the jug, he was knocked unconscious. Harris swore that he had only turned away from Wickenham for a few seconds. How many was immaterial: he had allowed their killer to walk out and escape.

McDonald continued, listing the clothes they had removed to test for fibre matches: shoes, slippers, sweaters, suits, riding habits, riding boots. Every item had to be checked and signed out in the event it would be used as evidence at a trial.

Finally, McDonald turned over his last sheet, and then tapped his board with his pen. 'Well, I'd say you've got enough to put your man away for a very long time. We'll be working at the lab for weeks to come. Maybe in that time, you'll have picked him up!'

McDonald checked his watch, then walked over to the fireplace. He gestured expansively to the brick overlay and the massive slab of wood that acted as a mantel. 'The SOCO teams were busy; we had, as you know, the plans of the house, barn, stables, outhouses and the thatched cottage. They checked over the two listed hiding holes and they found a third one, behind some panelling in the dining room: quite a find, and historically very interesting. The families would hold secret masses; if it was discovered their priests were holding services, they would be hung, drawn and quartered for an act of treason, not to mention losing their property. These hiding places were very well disguised and, I have to say, very intriguing.'

For the first time since they had arrived, McDonald was energised. The discovery of the extra hidden chamber had created a lot of interest; it would be examined by the local historical society.

'You think that Wickenham could have hidden out in one of these chambers?' Langton asked.

'To be honest, we considered it, but they are not in this section of the house; this wing is part of an extension built a couple of hundred years after the original house.' McDonald checked his watch, then suggested they follow him down to the cellar. 'Just to clarify what I think this monster got up to.'

They went from the lounge into the hallway; passing the suit of armour, Lewis flicked up its visor and grinned. 'Just checking!'

It clanged back into place.

'That's a fake,' McDonald said, rather disgustedly.

They went into the laundry room. All the machines had been removed and were stacked outside the small room. The partition was open, and as they moved down the steps, McDonald pointed out how well soundproofed the chamber would have been. 'We reckon these walls must be about a foot and a half in width, with hard-board casing which was covered in two inches of thick cement.'

The stripped cellar smelt of disinfectant. Some of the stone flags had been raised, others removed. There were empty hooks where the various equipment had been hung up. 'Down here he could do his dirty tricks; he was even filming himself: there was a very good camera and video equipment. We've literally hundreds of videos; you need a very strong stomach to watch them.'

They were shown the dismantled sink and drainpipes, and McDonald described how they forensic team had unclogged the drains. 'Poor chaps were masked up for hours; it was obviously where he had drained your victims' body fluids. We know now from the DNA results that much of the blood was Louise Pennel's.'

They stood silently as McDonald lifted a grid to show them the ventilation shaft. It felt like they had been down there for a very long time; as they returned into the hallway, Anna checked her watch. It had only been twenty minutes, but it was such a sickening monologue, that they were all desperate to get out into the fresh air.

McDonald spent some time with Langton checking over the lists as Anna and Lewis walked round to the front of the house. She looked up at the gables and the latticed windows, and stepped back onto the grass verge. The disgusting nature of what had been carried out inside this elegant Tudor house made Anna shudder.

Lewis was standing on one of the steps, staring at the manicured lawns and flowerbeds, the clipped hedges and statues. 'How the hell did he do it? I mean, for Christ's sake, the place was swarming with SOCO teams, forensics teams and he just fucking walks out and disappears? How could they not have noticed?'

'I suppose with what was going on, you never know, he could have picked up one of their white paper suits, pulled a hood up and he was just one of them.'

'Yeah, I guess so; they did leave a big box of them at the front door.'

Langton came out to join them and they went over to the barn and the stables, McDonald giving yet another lengthy monologue on what they had removed. The sewer pipes had been dug up and were visible in some areas. It would take a lot of work to make sure everything was returned to how it had been found.

It was after five when McDonald left them to return to London. He had become enthusiastic again when he had shown them the priest holes; they were, as he said, only in the oldest section of the house. One was behind a large chimney; it must have been hideous, as it was such a small airless space. The second was at one end of what was now used as an extra dining room. The panelling slid back to reveal the hidden room: it had been filled with old boxes and broken picture frames. The third one that had not been listed was at the opposite end, close to the gabled windows.

Langton spent some considerable time making sure he had all the details and then he thanked McDonald who took off in an old Range Rover that was caked in mud.

Anna was standing by their patrol car when Justine rounded the driveway from the stables. She was wearing jodhpurs and carrying a riding hat. She glanced towards Anna, raising her crop in acknowledgement. 'Do you know how long it will be before they all clear out and get the place back into order?'

'No, I don't.'

'It's dangerous, you know, leaving those pipes and trenches. If we get a heavy rain, it'll be a bloody river of mud and sewage.'

'Have you moved back in?'

'Yes, I'm taking over the stables. We may go and live in the cottage: we've been told that has been cleared, but there's a whole load of areas we are not allowed to go into.'

'We?'

'Yes, my sister's here.'

'How is she?'

'Well, still very dodgy upstairs, but she'll be okay; she's started to eat, thank God!'

Justine went into the house after scraping her boots on the iron grid. Anna waited a few moments and then followed.

As she walked down the hall, she heard gales of laughter. She paused, listening, then continued into the kitchen.

Mrs Hedges was at the Aga with a pan of soup; the long pine table was set for three people. Above the Aga there was an old pulley with rope attached to wooden slats, where some clothes were drying. Emily was trying to haul them up and fasten the rope to a hook on the wall; she laughed as she tried to disentangle herself from a pillowcase that had fallen from the slats onto her head. Mrs Hedges made a grab at the rope to help Emily, who was fooling around as one item after another dropped from the rails.

'I said let me do it, but you wouldn't listen. Now look, we've got a pair of knickers in the soup!'

Justine tickled Emily, who collapsed into a chair as Mrs Hedges hauled up the pulley and tied the rope.

They all froze as Anna appeared in the doorway. 'Just to say we're about to leave.'

Mrs Hedges returned to her soup, and Emily curled up in a big old motheaten easy chair close to the fireplace.

'How are you, Emily?'

'Fine, thank you.'

Justine washed her hands at the sink and then turned, drying them on an old tea towel. She gave a sly glance to Emily, and then tossed the towel aside. 'Well, I was right, wasn't I? You never did get him. I told you, didn't I?'

Emily lowered her head and put one hand over her mouth. Anna thought she was about to cry.

'Goodbye then,' Anna said. As she turned, she caught Justine giving an admonishing look to her sister.

'Not funny, Em. It's not funny at all!'

Langton was sitting in the front seat of the car, impatient to leave. Lewis was in the back, the passenger door open for Anna to get in beside him.

'I've just been in the kitchen. Emily's there.' Langton grunted as she slammed the door shut. They drove round the horseshoe drive and headed down the path towards the overhanging trees.

'They were laughing and joking; well, Emily was laughing.'

They fell silent as they continued the drive. Suddenly Langton hit the dashboard. 'Stop the car!' He turned back to Anna. 'Say that again?'

'Say what?'

'You said they were laughing and joking, right?'

'Yes.'

'What else?'

'Well, Justine said that she had told me we would never catch him, and Emily started to giggle.'

Langton took out a cigarette and tapped it on the dashboard. 'Now, I may be nuts, but that bastard scared the hell out of those girls, right?'

'Yes; well, Emily more so than Justine.'

'And Justine brings Emily back knowing that their father has escaped, right?'

'Yes.'

'Brings her back to the place it all happened.'

'Well, it's her home.'

'No: she hadn't been living there; she said she would never live there, that she hated him, yes? Yes?'

'Yes!'

'Okay: one, they don't know where he is, right? I mean, he could walk back in.'

'Yes, but the consensus is he's long gone.'

'But they found his passport, so that means he could still be in the UK; that he intends to use the girls to help get him abroad, whatever, yes?'

Anna shrugged. 'I suppose so, but he also could have had other passports, and we know he's rich as Croesus.'

Langton swivelled round to face them both. 'You said they were laughing. Emily, a child he molested, tortured and Christ knows what else when he operated on her?'

Lewis was staring out of the car window.

'It doesn't make sense to me; does it make sense to you?'

'What exactly?' Lewis said, yawning.

'That they are sitting in that house, cooking up dinner, laughing and joking!'

Anna glanced at the bemused Lewis and back to Langton. 'They have to fucking know something we don't!'

'Like where he is?' Lewis asked.

'Exactly; he has to have made contact.'

'You think he might have done a deal with Justine? She's taken over the place, and she's running the stables. I mean, she told me that was what she had always wanted, to run her own stables.' Anna was picking up on Langton's energy. 'She was also asking me about when all the clearing-up would be done. Do we still have the place under surveillance?'

'No, we pulled it off. Christ, we had how many SOCO officers, not to mention the bloody Territorial Support Group, but we'll start it up again.'

Anna was still not one hundred per cent sure. She looked to see if Lewis was agreeing with Langton.

'And he's somewhere that they feel safe enough about moving back into the house? Is that what you think?' Lewis asked.

Langton took a deep breath. 'Exactly; now, we can go back in and put the frighteners on them, or we wait for him to make contact. If I was in his position, with the amount of press circulating… He's not going to hang around or make himself obvious, is he?' Langton patted their driver's shoulder. 'Let's go back; this time, I'll talk to them.'

The patrol car pulled a U-turn round the gravelled horseshoe drive.

Langton opened his car door. 'In the meantime, get onto the Incident Room; I want the surveillance team back in place round the clock. I want their phone tapped; book us into the hotel the forensic guys were staying at.'

'For tonight?' Lewis asked.

'For as long as this is going to take.' He slammed the door hard and headed towards the front door of the house. They saw him pull the old bell rope and also ring the doorbell.

'You think he's right, Anna?' Lewis asked

'I don't know, but anything is worth a try.'

Justine opened the front door.

'Hi, just to say we're out of here.' Langton smiled.

'I thought you'd already gone.'

'Nope, we just finished up in the barn.'

'Really?'

'I'll be getting people back to make sure any damage done to the property is repaired. Could be a couple of days. I'm sorry for any inconvenience; the equipment left in the barn will be collected sometime tomorrow.'

'Thank you.'

Langton stepped closer. 'If your father should make contact…'

'If he does, I'll make sure you know about it.'

'Has he tried to?'

'Tried to what?' Justine asked.

'If you know where he is, if you have any idea where he is, then you can call me on this number.' He handed her his card.

She took it and glanced down, then back to him. 'Thank you. Goodnight.'

Langton returned to the car. 'Well, now we wait.'

'It will take at least two hours for a surveillance team to get hooked up again,' said Lewis. 'We already had a phone tap, so that's organised. The hotel have two vacancies only: two double rooms.'

'I'm in with you, am I?' Langton shot a sly glance at Anna.

She was about to blush when Lewis laughed and did a mincing lisp. 'Yeah, just the two of us, Gov, but we've got an ensuite!'

The hotel was small but very accommodating, probably because they had not had so many customers in such quick succession for a long time. As they had no luggage, Langton suggested they have a quick wash and brush-up, then go and grab something to eat.

There was a communal bathroom on Anna's floor and she decided to have a shower. The door was rapped; Lewis said impatiently that they were across the road at the pub and for her to join them there.

By the time Anna had got dressed again, she didn't feel like going over to the pub. She asked the landlady if she could make her a sandwich and a pot of tea. She took out her laptop and began to write up her report. It had been three days and three nights since Wickenham had escaped. If he had, as they suspected, merely picked up one of the white forensic suits and walked out undetected, that would have given him no time to make plans for leaving the country. Had he simply disappeared, like Lord Lucan, or had he been helped by one or more of his close friends?

Anna brought up the plans of the Wickenham estate on her laptop. She tried to place herself in his shoes. She stared at the small screen: to walk from the drawing room into the hall and take a left turn to the front door meant that he would have had to pass a lot of people. If he then walked outside and stopped to pick up a paper suit, where did he put it on? Wouldn't someone have seen him? If he had taken the other route, that would mean taking a right turn at the suit of armour, past the dining hall and then out into the corridor leading to the kitchen. If Wickenham had gone that way, he would have had to pass the narrow servants' staircase that was next to the laundry room. This area would have been heaving with officers. How could he have bypassed them all to enter the kitchen and escape via the back door? Anna was certain that this was impossible, so if he walked out it would have had to be via the front door.

She was interrupted by the landlady who had, as requested, made some ham sandwiches and a pot of tea. She placed the tray down, and Anna thanked her profusely. The landlady was about to walk out when she paused at the door.

'Everyone has been talking about what has been going on. It's been hard not to, especially here with every room taken by… forensic officers, I think they were.'

'Yes, they stayed here.'

'I don't usually serve meals, but a few times I made up a stew as they were working such late hours and the restaurants around here don't stay open after ten, well, not in the week. There's a chip shop but that closes early as well.'

Anna didn't respond; she wanted to get back to her work.

'I never knew him; he never came here, well, this wouldn't be a place for him, but everyone knew about that family. His daughters rode with my niece, she was quite friendly with them; she used to muck out and help groom their horses, but then something happened, and she said that Emily, the youngest, was sick. Course, they went off to boarding school and she went to the local comprehensive, so she hasn't seen them for years, She works in the local library.'

'Thank you very much for the tea.'

'Oh, that's all right. Their house is historically well known; the National Trust did some work there. It would have been very good for the locals if it had been opened to the public. The family who had owned it for generations before the Wickenhams lost their only son in the last war. They had a little daughter; she climbed into one of those priest holes and I think she died, but this was all before I even came here. They sold it to Charles Wickenham's father in the sixties, I think. In the old days, they would open up the gardens for a summer fete. When Wickenham took it over, he let it go badly. It was a shame, because it really was a very beautiful example of Tudor architecture; we all knew when his son inherited the place he was doing extensions and conversions that he shouldn't have been allowed to do; God forbid, if you put up a greenhouse without the council's permission here, but he used to get away with murder.'

Realising that what she had said was, at best, unfortunate, she left the room, rather embarrassed, to Anna's relief.

She had just poured herself a cup of tea when there was a light tap on her door. The landlady was back, this time with a folder with pictures of the Hall as it had been.

'Mr McDonald was very interested in these: they show the Hall before it had the extensions. You can see how over the centuries the house was rebuilt.'

'Thank you very much; I'd like to look over them.'

'My pleasure. It's one of the oldest houses in this area.'

This time, Anna got up to see the landlady to the door to make it obvious she wanted her to leave. She picked up a ham sandwich and stood flicking through the folder. Some of the photographs had a library stamp on them; from her niece, no doubt. Anna sat down and looked over them. After a while, she went online with her Bluetooth connection and tried to find more details.

It was after ten when she walked over to the pub; Langton and Lewis were obviously quite a few drinks the worse for wear. The table was littered with peanuts and empty crisp packets.

Langton made a show of looking at his watch. 'You took a long bloody bath.'

'I want to show you something.' She sat down. 'I've been logging onto some national heritage websites.' Anna told them about the over-helpful landlady, and then took a deep breath. 'Okay, there are four famous houses all built around the same period: Bucklebury Hall, Thatchery Manor, but the one that really interested me is called Harrington Hall. It's famous because of the amount of priest holes that have been discovered there; two in the past couple of years! They've found seven in all and they believe there could be more.'

Langton said nothing, peering into the bottom of a crisp packet. He blew into it and burst the bag, sending crumbs flying everywhere. 'Can you get to the point of this historical tour, Travis?'

'The previous owners of Mayerling Hall were direct descendants of the original owners. The son died in the war — I need to find out a bit more — but they also had a daughter, she got inside one of these chambers and died. Anyway, the family sold up, and Wickenham's father bought it in the sixties.'

'Look, thanks for the history lesson, Travis, but is this leading us anywhere?' Langton picked up another packet of crisps.

'Yes; well, I think it is, if you just let me finish.'

'Do you want a drink?' It was Lewis.

'No, thank you.'

'I'll have another scotch,' Langton said.

Lewis got up and headed to the bar. It was a real olde worlde pub, with very few customers.

'Bloody chip shop was closed,' Langton said, as he finished his crisps and crumpled the packet. 'Chinese was closing and wouldn't serve us.'

Anna took a deep breath. 'I don't think he left the house.'

Langton looked at her; before he could say anything, Lewis returned with their drinks.

'Say that again, Travis.'

'I said, I do not think Wickenham ever left the house.'

Langton tilted his glass in his hand.

'I think it would be impossible for him to have walked out the front door, picked up a paper suit wearing handcuffs—'

'Yes, yes, get on with it; we've discussed all this.'

'I think there could be another hiding place, one we didn't find. I mean, they found one that had not been discovered before; maybe there could be another one. If they are still finding these priest holes in the Harrington Hall mansion, why not at Wickenham's?'

Lewis looked at Langton as he downed his scotch.

'If he did have a hiding place, it would have to be somewhere between the hall, the old servants' staircase and the kitchen.'

'So, let me get this right: are you saying he is still in the house?'

Anna shrugged. 'I don't know, maybe; he could have escaped while the work was going on.'

'You think his daughters know?'

'Well, this is where I come unstuck, because as you rightly said, they're not acting as if they're scared he's around.' She trailed off. 'It was just a thought.'

Lewis stood up and yawned. 'I'm knackered.'

'Sit down,' Langton snapped. 'Okay, Travis: what if you are right?'

'Well, we have only focused on his daughters, but there is someone else in the house as well: the old housekeeper. Her bedroom is above that old staircase. What if she is the one that knows where he is? Wickenham has money, but we have had no movement in any of his bank accounts; she told me she had savings, years of them. She has lived there for years, rent free, so she must have accrued a considerable amount of money. Maybe she helped him escape and gave him the money to do it?'

Anna kept talking as they crossed the road together. 'Justine said she got a call from Mrs Hedges. Remember, when she came over to the station to get her brother to sign documents to release Emily; could she have told her then?'

'Told her what exactly?'

'That it was safe, maybe? That their father would not be coming back? She keeps saying that we would never arrest him.'

Langton hooked his arm around her shoulders. 'Good on you, Travis; that little brain always ticking over.'

She shrugged away from him. 'What if I am right?'

'First thing tomorrow, we'll find out!'

'Why not start now?' Anna suggested. Langton gave her a lopsided smirk.

'Because after two packets of peanuts and Christ knows how many bloody crisps, I've had too much to drink to hardly walk straight!'