The Red Dahlia (Anna Travis Mysteries Book 2)

by Lynda La Plante

  Just over one hour later, Anna returned to the incident room. Langton was still questioning Edward Wickenham. She asked that Langton be called out so she could update him on what they had gleaned from Gail Harrington. Langton was not too pleased, but he and Anna went into his office.

  Anna said that it had taken only one hour and fifteen minutes before Gail had made a statement. When shown the jewelry taken from the cottage, she admitted it was hers, and when shown a photograph of the brooch, sent to the station from the American dealer in Chicago, she said it was part of a set that had included the necklace and earrings, given to her by Charles Wickenham. To specify the exact time and date that the jewelry had been in her possession was hard, as she couldn’t recall exactly, but she did know that it was after she had returned from the health farm.

  Under pressure from Anna, she also admitted that she had known Sharon Bilkin. She recalled that Charles Wickenham had taken her to choose her diamond engagement ring; her fiancé, his son, was not even with them. She had arranged to meet up with Charles after she had been to have her hair done; it was at the salon that she had met up with Sharon. Anna was able to pinpoint that this appointment was after the murder of Louise Pennel. Sharon had been having some fresh hair extensions done; she had recognized Gail and had come over and talked while Gail was waiting for her tint to take. Gail had told her that she was in London to choose her engagement ring. They exchanged phone numbers, although Gail said she had no intention of seeing Sharon again. That was the end of their conversation, as Gail was taken over to the basins to have her tint washed out.

  Shortly before she was ready to leave, Charles Wickenham had walked into the salon, motioned to her that he was waiting, and then walked out. As she paid the bill, Sharon was also ready to leave. She asked if that was who she was going to marry and Gail had said that he was her financé’s father. Sharon had followed her out of the salon and seen her getting into Charles Wickenham’s Jaguar.

  Anna surmised that it must have been quite a shock for him, not only to see Louise Pennel’s flatmate, but for her then to have come over to the car and say she was looking forward to seeing Gail again.

  However, Gail had told Anna she had never seen or heard from Sharon again. Charles Wickenham had shown her the diamond-and-emerald jewelry as a taster of what she could be expecting when she married into the family, but when she was given the large white satin box, there was no brooch.

  Langton closed his eyes. “So what do you think happened?”

  Anna hesitated. “Well, I think Sharon smelled big money, for one; for two, she had to have recognized Charles Wickenham, and he must have known it.”

  “But she was not seen at the Hall?”

  “Gail denies she ever saw her again. She also denied ever seeing Louise Pennel at the house. I can have another go at her—up to you.”

  “Mmm, okay.”

  “We’ve not got a lot to hold her on. She says she had no idea where Charles Wickenham could have gone, perhaps Milan to his wife. She is very distressed and crying.”

  “Let her cool off for a while; keep her until I’ve finished with Edward Wickenham.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “So far fuck all, but let me get back in there.”

  Anna nodded. She collected her notes and followed him out to the incident room. There was still no news on the whereabouts of Charles Wickenham.

  Lewis approached Anna and told her that Gail had asked to speak with her. They had actually had a doctor to see her, as she had become hysterical, and he had prescribed a light sedative.

  “Why does she want to see me?”

  “I dunno, but if you want to go down there, you’d better ask the gov if it’s okay.”

  Langton was wary about any conversation with Gail not being monitored at this stage, and without a solicitor present. Then again, if she did have anything that could give them a clue to Wickenham’s whereabouts, Anna should perhaps agree to see her, on the condition that she was accompanied by either Lewis or Barolli.

  Anna waited outside Gail’s cell as the duty sergeant unlocked the door. Anna glanced toward Barolli to stand aside for a moment.

  “You wanted to see me,” she said quietly, standing in the doorway. She was shocked by how haggard and sickly Gail appeared. She was sitting on the edge of her bunk bed, her body was trembling, and her eyes were red-rimmed from weeping.

  “Do you know where Charles Wickenham is?”

  Gail shook her head; she was biting her lower lip as the tears welled up.

  “Do you perhaps have any idea where he may—”

  “No, no, I don’t know,” Gail interrupted, and wiped her face with the back of her hand as the tears trickled down her cheeks. “If I knew I would tell you, but I don’t know, I really don’t. I have no idea where he would be; I mean, he could be anywhere but I don’t know, I swear to you. I have said this over and over again; I don’t know where he is!”

  Gail glanced toward Anna, and then hunched her shoulders as she saw Barolli standing behind her.

  “You asked to see me, but you must understand that without a solicitor present—”

  Again she was interrupted as Gail clasped her knees and bent forward. “I am telling you the truth! It must be obvious why. Because if he found out it was me, that I called and gave you his name…” She suddenly straightened up and began brushing her skirt with the flat of her hand. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, because I want to know if it will help me. I called the police, I gave you his name. If I hadn’t, you might never have even questioned him.”

  “Yes, that is correct; I know your solicitor is aware of the assistance you gave by calling the station with the information.”

  “So it will help me, won’t it? You will testify that I did speak to you. I mean, I know I tried to remain anonymous, but that was because I was afraid of what he would do to me if he found out.”

  “We are obviously aware of how important that call was, and I am sure it will be made very clear to the court.”

  “I can’t go to prison, you have to help me. I can’t, I’d rather kill myself.” Gail stood and took a step closer to Anna, who immediately stepped back. She then felt guilty as Gail held out her arms as if she needed to be comforted. “Please help me.”

  Anna turned to Barolli, who indicated they should leave.

  “I have been so frightened for so long; Edward is almost as afraid of his father as I am. He’s not a bad person; if we’d been able to leave and live our own lives, we’d have been happy. Charles wouldn’t let him go; whatever you might say Edward has done is because he was dominated by his father and forced into helping him…”

  Anna gave the signal for the cell door to be closed. Gail seemed not to notice. Whether or not it was due to the sedatives, she seemed unable to stop talking; her voice had dropped to a monotone. Anna turned away, walking beside Barolli; they could hear Gail continuing from behind the cell door. “He had to work so hard on the estate and he was paid a pittance. He loved his sisters and tried to protect them, especially Emily. He really cared about Emily. He wanted to have children and it was such a lovely place for a child to grow up with the horses and the woods…”

  Anna headed up the stone stairs toward the incident room, Barolli behind her. As Gail’s voice faded, so did Anna’s compassion for her. Barolli felt nothing; no amount of horror had made Edward Wickenham man enough to stop his depraved father from committing heinous crimes against young women, even his own daughters. The fact that Gail had made the call to the incident room, giving them Charles Wickenham’s name, would be used by her defense, and might be enough to persuade a judge not to give her a prison sentence. As it was, they still had to find Charles Wickenham, and until they did, neither his daughter-in-law nor his son would be released.

  The forensic team was still taking samples and collecting evidence from the cellar. The stable boys had been allowed to exercise the horses, but there were police officers surrounding the house and estate. Charles Wickenh
am had not shown.

  Edward Wickenham constantly conferred with his solicitor in whispers. He then became morose and wouldn’t answer any questions. Like his fiancée, he paled visibly when shown the horrific photographs of the victims. Asked about the contents of the cellar, he denied knowing what went on down there, as he was never allowed access. Asked about his own sister’s abortion, he denied that it had ever happened. He persisted in saying that Emily was mentally unstable and that no one could believe a word she said. He became agitated when shown the sexual photographs of himself with his own stepmother, but said that she was willing and there was nothing illegal about what happened.

  He continued to say over and over again that he did not understand why he was being held or why they were asking him about the two girls who he had never met.

  “Because these two girls, as you describe them, were brutally murdered, Mr. Wickenham.”

  “I don’t understand. I have nothing whatsoever to do with either of them.”

  Langton pressed on; all the while, he knew he was jumping the gun. He was desperate to get the forensic evidence to back up his accusations. After two hours, he decided to end the interview. He still refused to release either Edward or Gail because of their relationship with his prime suspect, much to the anger of their solicitors.

  It was eight o’clock when Langton called a briefing. He was looking very tired, as they all were. He said to call it quits for the night, and reconvene first thing in the morning.

  The team started to pack up. Anna could sense the depression and just wanted to get home. They had issued a press release and photographs of Charles Wickenham, asking for the public to be on the alert. The Red Dahlia yet again featured in all the papers.

  Anna let herself into her flat. They should have some forensic evidence by the morning; she knew they all had pinned their hopes on it confirming that they had the right man. That in itself was a farce: they might have named him, but they did not have him. Her phone rang just as she was heading into the bathroom.

  “Anna, it’s me, it’s Dick Reynolds.”

  She said nothing.

  “Are you still there?”

  Anna took a deep breath. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Come on, let’s just forget the coffee in the face and have a talk. I mean, these new press releases!”

  “Piss off!” she said, and hung up.

  The phone rang again. She picked it up and dropped it straight back onto the cradle—so much for his cheek, she thought.

  Anna had a shower, did some clearing up, and was putting some laundry on when her front door went. She physically jumped, and was glad of her double locks and safety chain.

  She picked up the intercom. “Hello?”

  If it was Justine Wickenham, no way would she let her in. Then she thought it could be Dick Reynolds.

  “Hi, it’s me; it’s James.”

  She was surprised but eager to talk to him, sure he must have some new evidence. She buzzed him in.

  Anna unlocked the door and swung it open. He headed up the stairs; his feet sounded leaden. He appeared at the top of the stairs and she knew he was drunk.

  “You’d better come in.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and walked slowly toward her. She could smell the alcohol; he looked as if he was about to crash out. He was unshaven and his eyes were red-rimmed. As he passed her, he rested an arm heavily on her shoulder.

  “Well, I fucked up, didn’t I?”

  She shut the door and almost keeled over as his dead weight leaning on her made her stumble. “Come on through, I’ll make some coffee.”

  He staggered down her small hall into her bedroom. She followed and watched as he flopped down on her bed. She helped him off with his coat; he was like a child, holding one arm out, then the other.

  “How could he fucking walk out; how could he just disappear? It’s fucking madness!”

  She folded his coat and placed it on a chair.

  “I’m going to have to release his son, and that stupid bitch of a fiancée, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but we’ve not had the results in yet.”

  “I know, I know, but if they come in, and we get to know what the fucker did, we are going to look like prize fucking idiots, because he walked out right under our noses. How in Christ’s name did he do it? And you know who’s gonna get the bollocking—me! Me: because I should have put more officers on the bastard, but I reckoned with his handcuffs on he wasn’t going to try anything. Shit! Why didn’t I bang him up and take him in when we knew it was him? I’ll tell you why: because I wanted to prolong his agony. I wanted him to know we’d got him cornered. My vanity, my stupid fucking ego!”

  “He had every right to remain at the house while we searched: be it a good or bad decision, everyone went along with it.”

  Langton gave a lopsided grin, and then lifted his hands in a helpless gesture of defeat. “I’ve lost my way, Travis.”

  “You mean lost your way home or in life?”

  “Come here.”

  “No, we’ve been there once already, and this is not the right time to go there again.”

  “Jesus Christ, I just wanted to hold you.”

  “I’m going to put some coffee on.”

  “I really care about you, Travis; why don’t you get into bed with me?”

  “Let me get you some coffee.”

  “Fuck the coffee. Come here; let me hold you.”

  “No, let me get you some coffee.” She went into the kitchen. This was exactly what she had wanted: for him to want to hold her and make love to her, but not drunk and certainly not in the mood he was in. So she brewed up a pot of fresh coffee; by the time she carried it into the bedroom, he was out cold. She pulled off his shoes and left him to sleep it off. She would sleep on the sofa. It had been yet another long day, and the frustration of losing Wickenham had got to them all. She could only think that, just like the suspect in the original Black Dahlia case, their killer had escaped justice. It would be something that they would all have to face unless he was caught, and the more time that elapsed, the less likely it was they would find him.

  19

  DAY THIRTY-ONE

  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 smelled of her shampoo.

  “Thank you for last night, Travis.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “No it wasn’t; 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.
<
br />   “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.