The barn was split into two levels. The game room on the upper floor had a full-size snooker table, and another vast area with a wide, open brick fireplace and two massive cushioned sofas with a long pine coffee table between them. The walls were dominated by racing pictures and photos from horse shows. There were a few knickknacks, a lot of large floral arrangements, and a cabinet full of crystal glasses and rows of bottles containing every conceivable brand of liquor. There was also a white-wine fridge and a rack stocked with good-quality reds. This entire area was easier to search, as it was reasonably sparse. The lower section had a gym, a sauna, and whirlpool bath, plus a hot tub and swimming pool. Cabinets contained creams and oils, and fresh white towels were stacked on wooden shelf units. They examined a large laundry basket, but the towels inside didn’t even look used. There was further storage space under the barn roof that had an access ladder by the sauna. The officers searched up there, but found only yet more furniture that was not in use. Two officers also spent a considerable amount of time tapping on the walls to see if there were any hidden compartments, but found none.
They had asked the stable lads to take out all the horses and these were being walked up and down as each stall was checked, but came up clean. They also searched the stable boys’ quarters, but found nothing remarkable but the stench of sweaty socks.
A drug-trained spaniel sniffed and trotted about. The trainer took it for walks every half hour so it would be refreshed, but so far it had found nothing in the barn and stable area; the second dog, trained to find weapons, was sleeping beside his handler while they waited to enter the main house.
They broke for lunch at one thirty. Langton, Lewis, and Anna pored over the drawings of the house. Justine had described a cellar, a room her father used; however, the only cellar they had on the drawings would have been where the sauna and whirlpool were now located. They were becoming anxious but tried not to show it.
Throughout, Charles Wickenham had remained in the lounge. He had rested on the sofa after finishing the newspaper and actually had a snooze, he was that relaxed.
Anna knocked on Mrs. Hedges’s door. She was sitting in an old rocking chair, reading a magazine.
“I’ve brought you some lunch.”
“That’s very kind of you, I appreciate it. Is Mr. Wickenham still here?”
“Yes, he’s still here.”
Anna watched as Mrs. Hedges sipped her tea and carefully unwrapped her sandwich. “Where’s the cellar located, Mrs. Hedges?”
“There was a very big one, running the whole length of the barn. We’d keep all the furniture that needed to be repaired in there, but when they converted it, I think they dug down to make space for a gym and pool.”
“Surely this house has to have one?”
“Yes, it does, but I’ve not been down there for years: the stairs are very steep.”
“Where is it?”
“Behind the laundry room.”
Anna thanked her and went back to Langton. “There’s a cellar here; its access is in the laundry room.”
Langton frowned. “It’s not on the survey.”
“Well, Mrs. Hedges has just said it is there; she said it had very steep stairs.”
Langton wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Let’s take a look.”
They stood in the small, windowless laundry room. One wall was taken up with all the security boxes for the gates and estate; another had two washing machines and tumble dryers, a very high-powered-looking pressing machine, and an ironing board stacked against it; the third had rows and rows of shelves, with sheets and towels in color-coordinated stacks.
Langton sighed. “Move the shelves.”
Lewis bent down; they were secured with bolts to the floor.
“We’ll have to dismantle them,” he said.
“Do it: get some of the SOCO boys in here to give you a hand.”
“There are four female SOCO officers, sir, do you need them as well?”
He turned and glared at her. “Don’t give me this female crap now, Travis!”
He stalked out past Anna. She could see he was getting very tense; it was now after two and they had found nothing incriminating.
Langton paced up and down outside the house, smoking. Barolli joined him.
“We’re coming up with fuck all over at the barn.”
“Yeah, so I’ve been told.”
“You want to release some of the men?”
“No, keep going.”
“Found a hidden room behind the fireplace at the cottage, just a square sort of chamber. You could get up and out of the chimney, if you were an anorexic dwarf.”
“Shit!” Langton muttered. This was worse than he could have anticipated.
“His study was clean as a whistle. We moved out hundreds of books, but some heavy porn videos and magazines is about all we’ve got so far.”
“Plus the diamond-and-emerald necklace.”
“Oh yeah, right. You think Wickenham bribed Sharon Bilkin with the brooch?”
“Right now, pal, I can’t think; this whole thing is looking like a fucking fiasco.”
Just then, Lewis appeared at the front door.
Langton looked over anxiously. “We got something?”
“Think so: we started to dismantle the unit, but there’s a spring attached—the thing moves and opens like a door.”
Langton could feel the blood rush to his head. He ground his cigarette into the gravel and hurried into the house. The shelving unit was partly dismantled; behind it was painted chipboard. Langton watched in anticipation as it was eased gently back and removed. Langton ducked around it to see what it had hidden.
There was a studded door with an archdeacon arch. It had a heavy bolt across the top and bottom. They were silent as Lewis eased back the top bolt and then bent low to loosen the one at the bottom. He straightened and turned the iron hand ring. It moved easily, as if oiled, with no creaking or groaning sound. The door opened inward.
“This isn’t on any of the plans,” Langton said quietly.
Lewis stepped back to allow Langton to have the first view of what lay beyond the door. There were stone steps, steep ones, and below they could see nothing but inky darkness.
“Is there a light?”
Lewis peered around but could see no connection. A torch was passed in; a few of the team had gathered outside the laundry room. The torch’s beam lit up the stairs but did not reach beyond them. Langton began slowly to descend. There was a rope banister, attached to the wall with iron rings. Behind him, Lewis and Anna followed cautiously.
At the bottom, there was a thick slabbed wall of what looked like York stone. There was hardly enough space to turn, it was so close to the bottom stair. Langton shone the beam of the torch to his right; there was another archway, a door partly ajar. He inched forward and stopped. There was a strong smell of disinfectant. Two more torches were handed to Anna and she passed one to Lewis as they now slowly made their way through to the next chamber.
The room was larger than they expected, at least twenty-five feet long and fifteen feet wide. The walls and floor were stone. There was an operating table, and a swill table with a big stone washbasin.
“It’s like a fucking Victorian mortuary,” Langton said, and put out his arm to stop either Lewis or Anna passing. “Stay back. I want forensics down here fast; we don’t go in any further.”
Anna shone her torch over chains and handcuffs, cabinets filled with bottles of medical supplies. The beam lit up an array of surgeons’ saws, all neatly laid out on a table with a white linen cloth.
The three detectives backed out slowly as the forensic team streamed past with their equipment.
“Get me a paper suit, Travis. I want to be down there with them.” He smiled. “Feeling better now!”
Wickenham obviously knew about the discovery, but had hardly shown any reaction. The uniformed officer who had remained in the lounge with him was relieved by Constable Ed Harris. Seeing that Harris could hardly c
ontain himself, he was slightly peeved that he’d missed all the excitement and scuttled off to get some tea.
Harris looked over to where Charles Wickenham reclined, his manacled hands resting against his thighs.
“Any damage and you’ll all pay for it,” he said indolently.
They had discovered the light switches for the cellar, attached to their own small generator. The cellar was flooded with light as the forensic team set to work. Each saw was carefully bagged and tagged. One officer was carefully removing the taps and the drainage system, examining the pipes and taking a lot of samples. Their voices were hardly above a whisper. One after the other was finding blood samples. Langton saw them withdrawing some long hairs from the pipes before deciding to remove the entire waste disposal unit.
Another officer was examining the drugs in the cabinet. There was a considerable amount of morphine and formaldehyde in big canisters, as well as a substantial quantity of cocaine and heroin. It was as if they had opened a twisted version of Aladdin’s cave.
Meanwhile, the rest of the officers gathered outside and watched as large plastic bags were carried out; one contained at least a hundred pornographic videos.
Langton came out. He stripped off the paper cover from his shoes and began to rip off his paper suit. Anna went up to him.
“We going to take him in now?”
Langton smiled. He handed to Anna a clipboard listing what had been discovered to date. “I want him to look over this: we’ve got heavy-duty bloodstains and hair, and in the incinerator Christ only knows what. It’s a makeshift operating theater, with as much equipment as a hospital emergency room.”
A shout went up from the house; they turned as Lewis hurtled out. He was red-faced and shaking.
“He’s fucking gone; did anyone see him come out this way?”
Langton could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Gone? Gone? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Wickenham: he’s gone.”
Constable Ed Harris had been hit over the head and was semiconcussed. A chair had been overturned and some cushions were on the floor, but otherwise the room was as they had left it. Langton was beside himself. Somehow, Charles Wickenham, despite being surrounded by officers, had done an amazing disappearing act. The stables, the cottage, the surrounding outhouses, the woods and fields were all searched; it seemed he had vanished into thin air.
Anna went to see Mrs. Hedges. She was sleeping, and woke startled.
“Mrs. Hedges, has Charles Wickenham been in here?”
“No, no, I’ve been alone, what’s happened?”
Anna hesitated, then sat down. “We found the cellar, and we have discovered a number of items.”
“I never went down there,” she said defensively.
“If it wasn’t for your help, we might not have found it, but I am afraid you will have to remain in your room.”
She nodded and then took out a soiled handkerchief. “I didn’t know what to do. I used to hear things from down there, but I couldn’t do anything.”
Anna was through with the pleasantries. “Of course you could. You must have known! Maybe not about anyone else, but you knew he took his own daughter down there.”
“No, no, I swear before God, I was here, here in my room.”
“Hear no evil, see no evil? You could have gone to the police. You could have done something to protect her.”
Mrs. Hedges broke down in tears. Anna showed her disgust by walking out and shutting the door firmly behind her.
It was after seven by the time they had cleared the cellar. The forensic teams departed, leaving the murder team still searching, assisted by the SOCO officers and the TSG. The dogs were let loose, but by this time they were as tired out as their handlers: they had been given Charles Wickenham’s clothes so they could trace his scent, but as he lived at the house and used all the surrounding buildings, their noses kept leading them this way and that, around in circles.
By nine o’clock, Langton released the SOCOs. His own team would continue the search. They were all tired out, but Langton would not stop. By ten thirty, it was so dark without arc lamps that it was getting impossible to continue the search outside. Their tea wagon had gone and it was almost eleven when an exhausted Langton called everyone together.
“We leave eight officers here; we start an alert to airports, stations, the bastard can’t just have…” He trailed off and gave a helpless gesture: Wickenham had disappeared into thin air. They had all been diligent; Langton could not apportion blame to anyone other than Constable Ed Harris, who had been taken by ambulance to the local hospital.
The eight officers who would remain at the estate were given orders to pair up and be in radio contact with one another, taking up positions inside and outside the main house. The surveillance officers were certain they had not seen anyone leave the premises, but by midnight, Charles Wickenham had not been found. Langton, with Anna and Lewis, left Mayerling Hall. They were too tired and morose to begin questioning either Edward Wickenham or his fiancée, who were still held in the cells at Richmond. Langton knew he had only a few hours left to question them, so he gave instructions to apply for an extension.
The officers in the incident room had been updated with all the details from Mayerling Hall. They had been as depressed as the team there when nothing had been discovered and then as jubilant when the cellar was located. Then they received the news that their suspect had done a disappearing act.
Bridget stood in front of the photographs of the Black Dahlia, whose haunted eyes seemed to look at her accusingly. She whispered to herself, “Dear God, don’t let it happen again. Don’t let him get away with it.”
The murder of Elizabeth Short had become so intertwined with the Red Dahlia case, it was almost as though if they captured her killer, the Black Dahlia could rest in peace.
DAY THIRTY
Langton was in the incident room by seven the following morning. There had been no report of any sightings of Charles Wickenham. He sat in his office, depressed and angry, arranging for a new team to relieve those who had been at the Hall all night.
Mrs. Hedges was allowed to leave her room to make herself some breakfast; she was asked that she limit her movements to her room and the kitchen. She sat in her rocking chair, eating scrambled eggs and bacon. She had no real conception of what was happening: just that her employer, Charles Wickenham, had escaped arrest. After her breakfast, she got out all her papers and began to calculate how much savings she had and what she should do if he never returned. She was astonished to find that with all the cash she had hoarded, she had over seventy thousand pounds. Rocking back and forth, she looked around the sparse room at the single bed she’d had for twenty years and the old wingback easy chair. She did like her large color TV, but apart from that, she’d had nothing new for fifteen years. They might have redeveloped the barn, but nothing had ever been done to her quarters; it was becoming more and more difficult for her to get in and out of the bath in her en suite bathroom and for her to yank the old pull chain on her wooden-seated toilet. She had some early photographs of Emily, and these were the ones that pained her. She had been such a pretty child, white-blonde hair, and wide blue china-doll eyes. It was Emily she had wet-nursed and it was Emily she loved most of all. She sat looking through her cheap Woolworth’s album: Justine winning rosettes at her equestrian competitions, Edward as a boy, smiling with a cowboy hat on, and then there was one of his wedding to that nice girl. There were none of Dominique Wickenham.
Mrs. Hedges closed the book; she had been on the periphery of the Wickenhams’ lives for so many years. She had no life of her own, but she had never really minded that. The family had become her life. She thought of what Anna had said to her: hear no evil, see no evil; well, she was not the evil one. Nevertheless, guilt swept over her.
It was about twelve o’clock when she took her breakfast tray back to the kitchen. She brewed a pot of tea for the officers and handed around the biscuits. She was on her way b
ack up the stairs when she heard a faint scratching sound. It seemed to be coming from beneath the servants’ staircase. She listened, sure she had heard something, but there was silence. She continued to her room and closed the door.
Mrs. Hedges sat back in her chair, put on her glasses, and read Charles Wickenham’s newspaper, rocking gently back and forth.
As the forensic team arrived at the Hall to continue their search for further evidence in the cellar, work back at the lab was at full speed. Wickenham’s computer had been removed; his waste disposal unit had been dismantled; even his paper-shredding machine was taken. The collection of fibers and bloodstains also needed to be analyzed. It would be weeks of work.
At the station, the officers gathered for Langton to give out his instructions to the duty manager. Still held in their cells were Edward Wickenham and Gail Harrington. They had both been allowed to make one phone call and they awaited the arrival of their solicitors. The loss of their suspect was a very big deal and they all knew it, most of all Langton. They had had no reported sightings. The hunt continued.
Langton would conduct the interview with Edward Wickenham himself; Anna and Barolli would concentrate on Gail Harrington. There was no letup for him: he had to go to the magistrates’ court to find out whether his application to keep Gail and Edward in custody had been granted. It had: he had three extra days. That was the good news.
At two o’clock, Gail Harrington was brought into the interview room. As she and Edward had asked for the same solicitor, there had been a delay while they agreed who should be represented by whom.
Gail was obviously in a distressed state and cried as Anna read her her rights. She was arrested for attempting to pervert the course of justice and obstructing the police. She kept on saying that it wasn’t anything to do with her, she hadn’t done anything wrong. She had been shown photographs of Louise and Sharon and denied knowing either; now she was shown the mortuary photographs and given details of the horrific murders. She was so shocked, she could hardly speak.
The Red Dahlia Page 34