The Red Dahlia

by Lynda La Plante

  Realizing 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 overhelpful landlady and then took a deep breath. “Okay, there are three 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 old-world 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!”

  20

  Anna hated not having any toothpaste or cleanser, but washed her face and patted it dry. She would have no makeup for the morning either! Her clothes were crumpled, but she’d washed her knickers in the sink and left them over a radiator. She got into bed naked and pulled up the flannelette sheets; the pillow slip felt starched.

  She could hear Lewis snoring in the room downstairs and Langton pacing up and down; everything Anna had said was going round and round in his head.

  Anna couldn’t sleep; the sheets made her itch. She got up and poured herself a glass of water from a decanter that resembled a specimen jar.

  There was a light tap on her door.

  After a moment, she heard Langton whisper, “Are you awake? Anna? It’s me.”

  Anna hesitated, then wrapped the sheet around her and opened the door.

  “I’ve just had a cold shower, they obviously turn off the hot water early.” He was wearing his shirt and a towel wrapped around his waist. “Can I come in?”

  She nodded and opened the door wider.

  “Lewis sounds like a steam engine. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Nor could I. I’ve got no drink; I can’t offer you anything.”

  “Can’t you?”

  “Oh, please.”

  “Sorry, my attempt at a joke; obviously failed miserably.”

  He sat on the edge of her bed; she sat in a chair by the window.

  “So what do you want?” said Anna.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Do you want to talk about the case?”

  “I don’t.”

  “If you want me to go to bed with you, I don’t think this is the right time or place.”

  He patted the bedcover. “Seems okay to me.”

  “Well, not to me; for one, you’ve been drinking and for two, I just don’t think—”

  “Always thinking,” he interrupted. “Do you ever do something without those brain cells working overtime?”

  She turned away.

  “Come here.” He held out his hand. “For Chrissakes, Anna, what do you want?”

  “Listen, I am not someone who has a random one-night stand in a hotel.”

  “But we’ve been to bed before.”

  “You think I don’t know that? I don’t want to be just a convenient screw. Like you said, we’ve already been there.”


  “Yeah, I know; you didn’t want it to go any further, so what’s the big deal?”

  “Maybe I want more.”

  “Are you saying there is more?”

  She shook her head. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Anna, what am I doing? I want to go to bed with you, hold you, make love to you.”

  “Because Lewis is snoring and you can’t sleep downstairs in his room?”

  He got up and walked toward her. “What if I was to tell you that for weeks, since we first started this case, I have wanted—”

  She interrupted. “You mean Professor Marshe didn’t work out?”

  “What?”

  “Come on! You were all over her like a rash!”

  “You mean you never sussed?”

  “Sussed what?”

  “She’s gay. She’s having a scene with the commander.”

  Anna was stunned; she said nothing.

  “So, do we get into bed, or do I go back to Lewis and cuddle up next to him?”

  Anna remained in her chair and he came closer.

  “Anna, if you don’t want to have sex, that’s okay by me, I just want to hold you close.”

  “Go back to your room. We both need to recharge our batteries and be ready for the morning.”

  He turned and headed back to the door and had it half open when he turned to face her. “If what you want is some kind of long-term commitment, then I can’t give you that.”

  “I know, but I can’t just be a casual lay, because I really care about you. In fact, I think I might be in love with you, so you see this is far from easy.”

  “In love with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that kind of changes things, doesn’t it? See you in the morning, Travis.”

  She sat in the chair and wanted to cry. If he had touched her, kissed her, she would not have been able to say no. She could think of nothing that she wanted more than to have his body next to hers, flannelette sheets or not.

  DAY THIRTY-THREE

  Langton wolfed down his breakfast without so much as glancing at her. She wondered if he had been more drunk than she thought and he’d even forgotten coming to her room.

  The local police had made contact, saying there had been no movement in or out of the Hall’s main gates. They had positioned a car at the rear and had done a drive around at intervals during the night. One car was still in position some distance down the lane; when the surveillance team arrived, they would take over.

  “If, as Travis suspects, Wickenham was holed up at the Hall and then had time to get the hell out, this is just a waste of time. If, on the other hand, we grill all three of them—that’s Emily, Justine, and the old housekeeper—and put some pressure on them to cough up exactly what might or might not have happened, we might get a result. So far, there has still been no sighting of Wickenham. Barolli and the team have questioned everyone associated with him. No one’s admitting to having seen him or having any contact with him and, let me tell you, we really put the pressure on them with those photographs. The whole bunch were shitting themselves that their part in his perverted parties would be released to the press.”

  He spoke between mouthfuls of egg and bacon, buttering his toast and gulping down one cup of coffee after the next.

  Lewis said nothing. He wasn’t eating, but consuming a lot of coffee and acetaminophen tablets.

  Langton wiped his plate clean and then pushed it aside. “I’ve also asked Barolli to comb through back issues of any newspapers that might give us more details about the family who previously owned the place. But it was a long time ago, so we may not get a result.” He checked his watch and phoned to see if their driver had returned to take them back to the Hall. “Okay, he’ll be out front in ten minutes, so I’ll go and settle the bill and see you out there.” He pushed back his chair, wiped his face with his napkin, and strode out.

  “I don’t bloody know how he does it,” said Lewis, disgruntled. “He had a right skinful last night but you’d never know it this morning. He’s been pacing up and down, making one call after another.”

  Anna spread some marmalade over her toast; she had hardly touched her eggs and bacon. “He’s got me all nervous. I mean, it was just a thought.”

  “Yeah, my thoughts exactly, but let’s face it, we might as well have a go. I mean, we’ve bugger all else on tracing the son of a bitch.”

  Langton reappeared. “Car’s here, let’s go!”

  Anna took a last sip of her coffee and picked up her toast.

  They drove in silence toward Mayerling Hall. Midway down the lane, they saw a local squad car and stopped. Langton got out and had a conversation with the driver.

  “Still no movement, nobody has been near the place or left it!”

  They drew up outside the house. Langton checked his watch.

  “Okay, this is how we work it: we each take one of them. Separated, we might get something. Let’s go!”

  They were about to head toward the front door when Langton gestured that they should go via the back way and enter through the kitchen. They made as little noise as possible as they headed down the gravel path through the gate into the back kitchen garden.

  Langton paused outside the door. They could hear someone singing; it sounded like Justine. Langton rapped sharply on the door and tried the handle: it opened.

  Justine was carrying a packet of cornflakes to the table; Emily had a bottle of milk in her hand; Mrs. Hedges was pouring boiling water into a teapot: they all turned in surprise. Emily dropped the milk bottle in shock. It smashed on the tiled floor.

  “Morning, sorry if we surprised you.”

  Justine banged down the packet of cornflakes and went to get a cloth from the sink. Emily looked at her fearfully.

  “It’s okay, don’t worry; we’ve got another pint. Just pick up the bottle, will you? Mind you don’t cut yourself. Put it on the draining board.”

  Emily did so, and then Justine tossed down a wet cloth onto the floor.

  “We would like to interview you.”

  “What about now?” Justine said, rinsing out the milk-soaked cloth.

  “Could you please accompany Detective Inspector Lewis, Mrs. Hedges?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, this shouldn’t take long; if Emily would like to go with Detective Travis, I’ll stay here and talk to you, Justine.”

  Justine threw the cloth into the sink. “No way. You want to talk to any of us, then we want a solicitor present. You can’t just barge in here.”

  “’Fraid we can, Miss Wickenham, we still have the valid search warrants: so, we can do this quickly and be gone, up to you, or we can take you into the station and do it there. Mrs. Hedges, would you mind?”

  “Stay where you are! They are just trying it on. I know the law. I have to go and see to the horses.”

  “You will have to wait.”

  “No, I won’t.” Justine faced them, hands on her hips.

  “Yes, you will. Now, if you want to call someone out to be with you, then go ahead, we can wait.” Langton knew they had only search warrants for one visit, so he was bluffing. It paid off.

  “What do you want to know?” Justine said.

  “We just need to ask some questions; it shouldn’t take long.”

  “Questions about what? We’ve been interviewed over and over again, and there is nothing else we can tell you. We don’t know where he is: he has not made contact with any of us. Is that what it’s about?”

  “Why don’t you call your solicitor, if that is what you want?” Langton said, and pulled out a chair to sit down.

  “It’s only bloody nine o’clock!” Justine said furiously.

  Langton turned to Anna and Lewis and shrugged. “We’ll just sit here and wait.”

  Justine glared at them and sat down. “We are not going anywhere. Go ahead: ask what you want to know and then leave us in peace.”

  “Who contacted you before you came into the police station to get your brother to s
ign?”

  “Mrs. Hedges: she called to say that there was a ruddy army traipsing all over the house looking for Dad.”

  “So you called Justine, Mrs. Hedges, to say what?”

  “Just what Justine said. I thought she should know about what was happening.”

  “And that was enough for you to arrange to bring Emily home?”

  Justine took over again. “Yes, Mrs. Hedges said Father was under arrest, and that Edward had been taken into custody. I mean, is this necessary? You met me there. You were with me when I spoke to Edward. We’ve been over all this!”

  “Yes, I know that, but why did you think that it would be safe to bring Emily back home?”

  “It’s bloody obvious, isn’t it? You had arrested Daddy!”

  “But what if we had not found enough evidence to charge him?”

  “It was fucking obvious that you had!”

  “Please don’t swear, Miss Wickenham. If you knew there was evidence here that would warrant the arrest of your father, your pleading ignorance of what happened here was a lie.”

  “I did not fucking lie!”

  “But you have just stated that you knew your father would be arrested, so you had to have known he was guilty. So you are guilty of perverting the course of justice, which could implicate you as a party to murder.”

  “That is not true; this is bloody ridiculous!”

  Langton was at it again, bluffing her to scare her. But, as before, it was working. “So, Mrs. Hedges, what exactly did you tell Miss Wickenham when you called?”

  Mrs. Hedges was shaking, wringing her hands. Justine spoke for her. “What she just said: that all the police were here and Father had been arrested. Do you want me to repeat it again?”