“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 around 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 anymore; 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 main 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 hook nose. 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 recognize 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 riverbank.”
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 demeanor; 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 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 anymore.”
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 signaled 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 smooth-talked 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 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 traveling 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.
DAY TWENTY-FIVE
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 toward 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 Hilton. Langton waved good-bye 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.
“Good night, Travis.”
“Good night.” 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 realized 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 minibar; wrapped in her toweling 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.”
The Red Dahlia (Anna Travis Mysteries Book 2) Page 23