'The man we are hunting for in connection with these murders was possibly a trained surgeon or doctor. We have a drawing of him made up from witnesses' descriptions. Will you please look at it for me?'
Gail slipped open a drawer and took out a small bottle of pills. She tipped a few into her hand, picked up a glass of water from her bedside table and gulped them down. Then she turned to stare at the sketch Anna was holding up. Eventually, she shook her head.
'Do you recognise this man?'
'No.'
'Are you certain? Doesn't he remind you of someone?'
'No.'
'Well, I think he does look very similar to the man you named, who is also a doctor. You told us to question Charles Wickenham, didn't you? So you must have had a reason other than being unwell.'
Gail bowed her head. 'I make things up; my doctor will tell you.'
Anna now made a great show of putting the photographs back into her briefcase as if the conversation was over. 'We'll obviously talk to your doctor.'
'He will confirm everything I have told you.'
Anna smiled. 'I'm sorry you have been ill.' She snapped her case closed and placed it beside her chair. 'Were you a model?'
Gail lifted her head and blinked, surprised by the question. 'Yes, yes I was; not very successful, but I did a lot of catalogue work.' She smiled.
'I would have thought with your looks you'd have been on a par with Naomi Campbell; you must be what, five eight?'
'Five ten, but modelling is a very tough career; they want the girls so young. When I worked in Paris, there were girls there as young as sixteen, plucked straight from school; they have such confidence.'
Anna nodded. Now that she had changed the subject, Gail was becoming less tense and nervous. 'But you must be very photogenic with those cheekbones.'
Gail put her hand over her mouth and gave an odd laugh. 'I had them helped a bit.'
'No!'
'Yes, it is very common now, they just put something into the cheek.'
'I would love to see your photographs.'
Gail hesitated and then crossed to open the wardrobe; she bent down and took out a large professional portfolio and some loose photographs. 'I haven't worked for a couple of years now; well, not since I've been living with Edward.'
'How long have you been together?'
'Oh, two years, maybe more.' She was searching through the album.
'Did you know his first wife?'
Gail stared resolutely at the pictures. 'Not well, but yes, I did know her.'
'It was suicide, wasn't it?'
'Yes, it was. I am trying to find you some of my better pictures.'
'Why did she do it? Do you know?'
Gail looked up sharply. 'Who knows what makes people do the things they do? She was depressed, I suppose; we don't talk about it.'
'It must have been very shocking for Edward.'
'Well, more so for his father, as he was the one who found her; Edward was away.'
'Do you get along with Mr Wickenham?'
Gail laughed and turned over a laminated page. 'I don't really have much choice.'
'How does Edward get along with him?'
Gail sighed and plopped the book on the bed. 'He has to get along with him: Charles is his father and Edward's the heir, so I don't know if that answers your question. His sisters don't have a good relationship with him; they very rarely come here any more, but then that's because of Dominique. She's not very pleasant, and that is putting it nicely.' She turned over a page, and then moved the book round for Anna to see clearly. 'These are some of my last pictures. I haven't had a job since I met Edward; he doesn't approve. Well, he wouldn't really mind, it's his father. He's a snob, you know: we are treated like the poor relatives; but then, I suppose we are.' She gave an odd shrill laugh.
Anna leaned forward to look at the photograph. From the transformation taking place before her eyes, she was wondering if the pills she'd seen Gail gulp down were some kind of speed: from being so shaken and nervous, she was now talking quite animatedly and even sat closer to Anna to show her more photographs. She was certainly very photogenic and, although they were not Vogue quality, in some shots she looked stunningly beautiful.
'These were taken about two and a half years ago. I started to do some good sessions; before that, as I said, I'd mostly been doing catalogue work. It's actually really tough, as you have to do so many pictures per day with so many changes, but the money is very good. I did a lot of country-styled clothes: me with dogs, me standing by fences in a tweed coat and brogues… I didn't really have the figure for doing lingerie.' Flicking through the pictures, Gail seemed to take a childlike pleasure in showing herself off.
'Do you have a family?' asked Anna.
'What, you mean children?'
'No, parents? Sisters?'
Gail gave a rueful smile. 'My parents both died years ago. I have a sister, but we don't really see much of each other; she has a brood of children and a very boring husband.'
'Do you want children?' Anna asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the reason she was there.
'Yes; do you?'
Anna smiled. 'Yes I do, very much. When are you getting married?'
Gail looked at her massive diamond, and then wafted her hand. 'Whenever my prospective father-in-law allows Edward some time off. He works him terribly hard and pays him a pittance.'
'But this estate will all be his one day,' Anna said, glancing at the continuing display of Gail's modelling work.
'Yes, yes it will.'
Anna, who had not really been paying attention to the pictures, had to catch her breath. 'This is a good picture of you,' she said, hoping that she had not given Gail any indication of what she was actually looking at.
'Oh, it's from two years ago, maybe. It's for a big leisurewear catalogue: lots of ghastly velvet tracksuits.' As Gail was about to turn over, Anna placed her hand flat on the page to stop her.
'The blonde girl, the one standing by the saddle.'
'It was supposed to be a stable, but they just put down some fake grass and a bit offence and stuck the saddle over it.'
The blonde girl was Sharon Bilkin. Anna remembered Sharon saying that she did catalogue modelling. 'Do you know who she is?' Anna asked, quietly.
Gail shrugged and stood up to put the book away.
Anna opened her briefcase and took out the picture of Sharon Bilkin. 'This is the same girl, isn't it?'
Gail blinked rapidly then turned away, kneeling down to put the album away again. Anna moved fast to stand directly behind her.
'I need to take that, Gail. Please just move away from the wardrobe and let me take it.'
Gail sprang to her feet and pushed Anna in the chest so hard that she banged into the corner of the four-poster bed.
'Leave me alone! I won't talk about it; you don't know what will happen. You have to go, I want you to go.'
Gail, for all her skinny frame, was incredibly strong; her bony arms squeezed the breath out of Anna as she hauled her towards the door. She tried to break loose, but Gail wouldn't let go.
'He will kill me, he will make my life hell if he ever found out what I have done!' Gail held Anna in her vice-like grip, their faces so close they were virtually touching.
'Let go of me,' Anna said, forcing herself to be calm.
'I'll end up in a madhouse!'
Anna managed to struggle free. All of a sudden, it was as if all Gail's strength had evaporated. She slowly sank to her knees, then let her body fall forwards and sobbed.
'Oh God, oh God, oh God; what have I done?'
Chapter Fifteen
The bowl of Edward Wickenham's glass rested between his fingers as he swirled his brandy round like liquid honey.
'I don't understand,' he said slowly, his face flushed.
Langton was leaning forward slightly, total concentration on his hawklike face. 'Do you want me to repeat myself? What don't you understand, Mr Wickenham?'
'You suspec
t my father of…?'
'Murder; yes, that is correct. The Red Dahlia murder, to be exact.'
'But I don't understand. I mean, do you have evidence? These are terrible accusations; to be honest, I can't quite take it in. Have you arrested him?'
'No, not yet; currently, he is just under suspicion of being involved.'
'Involved?'
His aristocratic tone was needling Langton. 'Yes, involved, and the reason we are here is that I would like you to answer some questions that may or may not prove my suspicions incorrect.'
Wickenham drained his glass, then looked across to the drinks cabinet again, but obviously thought better of having more to drink. Instead, he carefully placed the glass down. His hand was shaking and he looked perplexed.
'I am unsure what I should do.'
'Simply answer my questions.' Langton smiled.
Lewis inched further forwards in his seat. Wickenham was not reacting like any other man he had ever seen questioned; he just seemed dazed.
'But you've already questioned my father.'
'That is correct. Now we would like to talk to you.'
'But shouldn't I have a solicitor with me?'
'Why?'
'This is a very serious allegation.'
'We have not accused you of anything.' Langton opened the file and held up Louise Pennel's picture. 'Do you know this girl?'
'No, I don't.'
'How about this girl?' He showed Sharon Bilkin's picture.
Edward Wickenham shook his head. 'Sorry, no.'
Langton looked at Lewis and sighed. 'You have never seen either of these women here at your father's property?'
'No, I have not.'
Langton pursed his lips. 'Could you tell me where you were on the ninth of January this year?'
'Oh God, I can't remember. I'd have to look in my diary.'
Langton suggested that he do so. Wickenham stood up, turning this way and that, then said his diary was in the dining room. Lewis said he would go with him.
They returned a moment later. This time, Wickenham didn't duck and cracked his forehead against the doorframe. Swearing, he stood flicking through a small black diary. His hands were shaking badly.
'I was here with Gail; we were at home.'
'Good, and she will verify that, will she?'
'Yes, because she was ill. She has migraines; she was in bed, so I cooked dinner. Christ, I just can't believe this; it's beyond belief. I am standing here answering questions about…'
'Your father?'
'Yes, my father. You have to be mistaken.'
'Quite possibly, but in a murder enquiry, we have to explore every avenue. We have a sketch drawn from the descriptions of two witnesses. Would you like to see it?'
Without waiting for a response, Lewis showed it to Wickenham who stared at it and then shook his head.
'Looks very like your father, wouldn't you say?'
'I suppose it's similar.'
'Similar?'
'Well, yes.'
Langton pursed his lips and then asked if father and son had a good relationship.
'Yes, of course.'
'Would you say you were very close to your father?'
'Yes, I work for him.'
'And you also had a very close relationship with your stepmother, didn't you?'
'Pardon?'
'Dominique Wickenham.'
He had now become extremely nervous: his cheeks were flushed and he was sweating. 'They're divorced.'
'We know that, but before the divorce, you and your stepmother were very close, weren't you?'
'Why are you asking me about my stepmother?'
'Because we have been given some information — well, more than that. We have some explicit photographs.'
'What?'
Langton sighed; he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Let's stop playing games, Edward. We know an awful lot about you and your family. I would say you were a lot closer than would be considered normal: you had a sexual relationship with her, didn't you?'
Wickenham stood up. 'I refuse to answer any more of your questions.'
Langton also stood up, facing him. 'What about your half-sisters? Were you as close to them as to your stepmother?'
'I am not answering any more questions. This is not right. I want to talk to someone.'
'Why?'
'You are insinuating things.'
'Bit more than insinuating, Edward; a lot more, in fact. Why don't you sit down and start to explain what exactly…'
'I don't have to explain anything to you,' he snapped.
'Fine. If you don't want to do it now, we can always continue this discussion at the station.'
'But this has nothing to do with me!'
'What hasn't?'
'Whatever happens here in the privacy of my own home is my business. You have no right whatsoever to force me to implicate myself
'Implicate? What do you mean by that?'
'You know damned well what I mean! If you have spoken to my stepmother and she has said things, then that will be her word against mine! She is an unscrupulous woman: she is a liar and if you are here because of anything she may have told you, then I suggest you speak directly to my father.'
'Believe you me, we will be talking to him. I just wanted to give you an opportunity to extricate yourself.'
'From what?'
Langton paused. 'Were you also involved in one of these murders? Perhaps as an accomplice?'
Wickenham was really fighting to maintain control but could not stop himself from shaking and sweating. 'I swear before God, I do not know either of those women you showed me in those photos. I have never met them.'
'Do you think your father knew them?'
'I can't answer for him, but I very much doubt it. If you have any evidence, I am damned sure you would not be here talking to me — you would have had him arrested.'
Langton gave a long sigh and looked to Lewis. 'Can you see if DI Travis is ready to leave?' he asked, and Lewis nodded.
Left alone with Wickenham, Langton tapped the Persian carpet with the toe of his shoe.
'This is a very nice piece; silk, isn't it?'
Wickenham said nothing. Langton stared at him for what seemed like a very long time.
'Edward, don't protect him.'
'What?'
'I said, don't protect him. If he killed these two women, he is a monster. Do you know how we found their bodies?'
Langton showed him the horrific mortuary shots of Louise Pennel and Sharon Bilkin, with the red lipstick scrawled over her belly.
'Louise's mouth was slit from ear to ear, her body severed in two, her blood drained. We found her legs and torso on the banks of the Thames near Richmond. Sharon was discovered not that far from here, in a field, Louise's coat covering her naked body. It was a maroon red coat with a velvet collar; ring any bells?'
'Jesus Christ.' Edward Wickenham looked as if he was about to faint; he felt for a chair behind him and sat down.
'Your father was a doctor, a surgeon?'
'No. No, this is terrible. Please, I really think someone should be with me.'
'In case you implicate yourself?'
'No.'
'Implicate your father?'
'No!'
Langton paused, clicking his briefcase closed. 'I know about your stepsister Emily, but whether it was your child or your father's that was aborted…'
Edward's face was redder than ever and his fists clenched. 'I refuse to listen to another word. This is just disgusting and not true: it's all lies, my sister is mentally ill. She made these accusations when she was sick, she didn't know what she was saying. It is not true!'
'Your wife committed suicide, didn't she?'
At this, Wickenham caved in; he leaned forward, clutching his head as if it would break open. 'Stop this!'
Langton crossed over and rested his hand on Wickenham's shoulder. 'You stop it, Edward. Tell us what you know.'
With his hands coverin
g his face he wept, gut-wrenching snorts, and repeated over and over, 'I can't, I can't take any more.'
Lewis appeared at the door and gestured for Langton to join him. They eased out of sight.
'If you think his sobbing is bad, you should go upstairs. His girlfriend's folded completely and Anna thinks she may need a doctor.'
'Shit!'
'But she's got something: a photograph of Gail Harrington on some modelling job; she's with Sharon Bilkin.'
'Fuck!'
Langton chewed his lips and then said he wanted to go over to the main house and talk to the housekeeper.
'What about the wailing wall here?'
'Let it howl. Get your shoes on and get Travis down here!'
The rain was still sheeting down, so they drove the short distance from the cottage to the Hall. Their car rocked and splashed through deep ruts and puddles before moving onto the tarmac road leading to the main house. By now, Anna had given Langton a full account of her talk with Gail Harrington, adding that she thought she was on some drug or other, maybe speed or other amphetamines.
'I bet you any money his son wishes he was,' quipped Lewis. 'We left him like a lump of jelly, shaking and crying. He may have had sex games going on with the entire fucking family, but somehow I just don't think he's an accomplice; unless he helped to move the bodies. I dunno; what do you think, Gov?'
Langton shrugged. 'They're all involved, whether as accomplices or not. They know what that bastard is, and they keep their mouths shut because of this place.' He nodded towards the house. 'I need to take a leak; stop the car.'
The driver pulled over on the grass verge. To their amazement, Langton got out, walked across the lawn to a shrubbery and took a piss. Both Lewis and Anna shook their heads in disgust.
'Christ, what does he think he's doing?'
'You tell me,' Anna said.
Lewis turned to face her. 'Well, for one, I think we should have a search warrant; for two, I don't think what went on in the cottage was kosher, even though we got a link to Sharon Bilkin. Haven't we got enough to pull the father in, and the son for that matter?'
'Maybe, but you know Langton.'
'Obviously not as well as you do,' Lewis said, with a snide smile.
Anna decided not to reply. She did not want to discuss Langton, especially not with Lewis, who had a big yapping mouth. Gossip had probably already done the rounds of the Incident Room, but at least no one had mentioned anything to her.
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