The Red Dahlia at-2

by Lynda La Plante

  'I don't know. If they knew it was there, maybe, but why didn't he call out?'

  'If he knew the place was teeming with officers, he would have had to keep silent, then by the time we'd left, he maybe couldn't. There's hardly enough room in there even to move, and with no food or water…'

  Langton shone his torch down into the chamber. They could see the scratches like claw marks on the wooded slat. 'He tried to get out; maybe the mechanism had blocked. It slides back on a spring, and it's pretty rusted.'

  Anna shook her head. 'I just can't believe they didn't even hear him scratching to get out. Especially Mrs Hedges: her room is directly above the stairs.'

  'Right now I don't give a shit: we've got him and it's a bloody relief to me, I don't know about you.'

  Mrs Hedges swore she had no idea there was anything beneath the stairs. She was very distressed, and when asked if she had heard any sound as the staircase was directly below her bedroom, she shook her head. 'Even if I had, I wouldn't have done anything about it. All the men working here were knocking and moving things. I didn't hear anything. I had my TV on.'

  She broke down in sobs. Langton went into her bedroom.

  'He was almost directly below this area,' he said and moved the old rocking chair aside and tapped the floor with his foot. 'If she did know that place existed, then if she had heard anything, she'd have surely gone to check it out. But if she didn't, and no one else knew about it, not even the historical mob…'

  Anna nodded and wondered if the girls knew about it.

  'They weren't even here; they didn't move in until days after he was missing. By that time, he'd have suffocated.'

  Anna kept on looking around the room: she knew something was different, but couldn't quite put her finger on it. 'Yeah, you're right; let's go and leave the forensic guys to do their job.'

  Langton had already called McDonald. At first, he was irritated that he had been contacted and then very interested.

  'Shit, you mean they found another priest hole?'

  'Yeah, and our suspect was rammed into it!'

  McDonald agreed he would come straight away with a couple of his team. In the meantime, they cordoned off the area as a crime scene.

  The news spread like wildfire round the Incident Room. It lifted everyone's spirits. Langton issued a press release saying they were not looking for any other suspects in the Red Dahlia case or for the murder of Sharon Bilkin: Charles Wickenham's body had been discovered and foul play was not at this time being considered.

  Should any evidence be discovered that more bodies had been mutilated and perhaps buried at Mayerling Hall, further enquiries would be launched. As it was, they now had enough evidence to announce that Charles Wickenham was their killer.

  Closing the case was complicated and would take days: the thousands of statements and files were all to be boxed and listed. The trial of Edward Wickenham was still to come, but that would be many months down the line. He was still in custody at Brixton prison; his solicitors had applied for bail since the discovery of his father's body.

  Anna returned home at eight that evening. They had the next day off, the first for weeks on end it seemed. She showered and changed into clean clothes; she wanted to get her hair cut and styled; she wanted to feel cleansed. The Red Dahlia case had clung to her, but it was at long last over.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  DAY THIRTY-FOUR

  Anna had an early appointment with her hairdresser, followed by a pedicure and manicure. She then hit Oxford Street; she bought four new outfits and two pairs of shoes. At home she had laid them all out on her bed, trying to choose which one she would wear to work.

  It was strange, having a whole weekend off. She kept herself busy, washing, ironing and vacuuming; she even bought some fresh flowers for her flat. As she carried the vase into the lounge, she hovered, wondering where would be the best place; she decided to move an armchair and place them on a side table. She was moving the chair when she stopped in her tracks: that was what had been different about the bedroom. Mrs Hedges's rocking chair had been moved so that it was directly above the chamber.

  Anna sat for a while, piecing the jigsaw together. If Mrs Hedges, contrary to what she had said, did hear scratches, did perhaps even hear Wickenham calling out, had she then made sure he would die in there? Had she blocked the air vent, and then moved her heavy old rocking chair over a possible second exit or air vent? Could she have sat there rocking back and forth, all the while knowing what was beneath?

  Anna went to her local library and checked over the books about the houses where priest holes were still being uncovered. She then went to the Colindale Library to use the microfiche to try and locate any details pertaining to the previous occupants of Mayerling Hall. Sifting through births and deaths, she came across an article about the only son of Lord and Lady Hansworth. Arthur John Hansworth had been a pilot, his body never discovered after a bombing flight over Berlin in 1941. He was eighteen years old. It took another fifteen minutes of searching local newspaper files before she read SECOND TRAGEDY FOR THE HANSWORTH FAMILY. Their five-year-old daughter, Flora Hansworth, had disappeared and it was feared that she had possibly fallen into the lake. Her body was discovered eight weeks later trapped in a chamber connected to the old cellar via a narrow staircase. The family subsequently sold the estate. Anna made her usual neat and copious notes, ready to discuss the article with Langton. She was certain that after the hotel experience, he would not propose another 'just want to hold you' scenario. She had decided that, no matter how much she really did care about him, he was not good news. Putting it, him, out of her mind was not that simple, but she was determined to do so. New hair, new outfit, even down to the shoes, she was ready for the next case and she doubted they would be assigned to work together so soon after the Red Dahlia.

  DAY THIRTY-FIVE

  The next morning she spent reading the papers, which headlined the fact that the most hunted man in the country had been caught. She made a mug of fresh coffee and was relaxing with her feet up when the doorbell rang. She wondered if it was the guy from upstairs who was trying to get them all together for a residents' meeting; the outside of the block of flats needed painting.

  'Hi, it's me.' It was Langton. She was taken aback but buzzed him in. He was, unusually, wearing a pale blue sweater and jeans. 'I was going to call, but I thought you might put the phone down on me.'

  She smiled and went into the kitchen to get him a coffee. 'I was just reading the papers.'

  'Yeah, I've not had time. I've just come back from the Hall.'

  She passed him his coffee, and he wandered into the lounge and sat down. He sat in silence for a moment and then took a sip.

  'The only access to the chamber is via that concealed, sliding step; there is quite a substantial air vent, which could even have been used to pass food down to the hiding priest. It's actually not, as McDonald disappointedly told me, a real priest hole; part of it may have been, but the family that previously lived there were having extensions done and digging out the cellar. Their little girl climbed in.' He sipped his coffee.

  'I know, I was checking it out.'

  'Ah well, I should have known my little supersleuth would want to cover all the bases. When did you find all this out?'

  'Yesterday, in the library.'

  She sat opposite him and when he produced a cigarette and lit it, she nodded it was okay for him to smoke.

  'Wanted to talk about a couple of things with you now.'

  'Right.'

  He inhaled and let the smoke drift from his mouth. 'She knew,' he said softly.

  'I'm sorry?'

  'The old housekeeper knew. There is a mark in her room where the carpet used to be: she moved it over the vent in that room and then placed her rocking chair over it. She then, I think, stacked the sheets and linen over the other air vent.' He paused and drank his coffee. 'Course, we can't prove it.'

  Anna hesitated. 'Maybe not, but you realise that Mrs Hedges called Justine
? It was Mrs Hedges who told her she could come home.'

  'Yeah yeah, I know. I think some things are best left unspoken; I guarantee that you and I are the only ones that have the final piece of the jigsaw.'

  'So what are you trying to say?'

  Langton took a long pull on his cigarette and she pursed her lips in anger. 'Christ, you won't leave that alone, will you? What do you think I'm going to do, call up that piece of garbage from the newspaper?'

  'Never even entered my head.'

  He had wrongfooted her yet again; she felt bad for flying off the handle. 'I'm sorry; if this is the way you want it, then…'

  'It is, Anna, it is. The less said about it, the better; well, not for you but for me, as I'm running the enquiry.'

  There was a pause. She really did wonder if she should keep silent about her suspicions, as he was suggesting. She changed the subject.

  'You said there were a couple of things you wanted to discuss so, what else?'

  'Well, you'll probably sound off at me again, so maybe I should leave that alone.'

  'What?'

  He stood up and ran his hands through his hair. 'Never mind.'

  'No, now you've started go on. What is it?'

  'You want to have dinner with me?'

  She was so taken aback she said nothing.

  He grinned. 'See, I should have kept my mouth shut.'

  'No, no you shouldn't.'

  'So is that a yes?'

  She flushed. He held out his arms; after a beat, she went over and let him hold her. It was such a gentle, caring embrace.

  'Say I pick you up at about eight?'

  She was still in his arms. 'Yes, yes that will be fine.'

  He tilted up her chin and looked down at her upturned face. 'Till eight then, and maybe think about what we discussed. If you are unhappy with it, then we need to decide what should be done, but you know where I am coming from. Up to you.'

  He kissed her lightly on the lips and broke away. Then he was gone.

  She couldn't stop smiling. It was crazy, she knew that, but she'd blown it once before and had regretted it. Maybe if it did evolve into something, she might still regret it, but for now, she could think of nothing she would like better than to be with him.

  Justine led Emily out into the paddock. It had been such a long time since she had ridden. Justine was encouraging and gentle.

  'You see, Em, it's just like riding a bike. We'll walk around the paddock, then you can try going round on your own. Okay, now let's just trot. Remember, let your body relax; hold tight with your knees. That's good, Em, yes that's it.'

  Mrs Hedges watched from the fence as Emily slowly regained confidence, and the next moment was riding without the training rein, Justine shouting out encouragement. Emily tilted back her head and laughed, a little girl again, undamaged.

  Mrs Hedges knew that what she had done would haunt her for the rest of her life: the sounds, the whimpering pleas, the scratching, that even the rocking of her chair back and forth could not hide.

  Soaking in a bath filled with perfumed oils and lazily trying to decide what to wear, Anna thought about what she had agreed. She was still undecided whether it was right. Ethically, it was not. If Mrs Hedges had known Wickenham was hiding, and known about the hidden chamber, she could perhaps have saved him; but she had known the terrible crimes, not just to his own flesh and blood, but to Louise Pennel and Sharon Bilkin. In the end, Anna knew, the old lady had protected the girls who she had been helpless to protect when their father had been at large. He had died a long slow death, but it was nothing compared to the horrors he had committed and the pain he had inflicted for his own sickening sexual gratification.

  Anna wrapped herself in a large white towel and sat on the edge of her bath. It was over. She could understand why the Black Dahlia case still held such fascination; no one was ever brought to justice for her murder. In a way, Wickenham's victims had had their justice. She wondered if, trapped and unable to breathe, he had given any single one of them a moment's thought. She doubted it.

  He arrived on the dot of eight, wearing a smart suit. She had been dressed, ready and waiting like a teenager, since seven.

  'You look good,' he said.

  'Thank you.'

  'Clean slate?'

  'Yes.'

  'Right, let's go. You know a restaurant called Fernandez?'

  'No.' She shut the front door.

  He took her hand and tucked it under his arm. She hadn't felt so happy for so long, and as they headed down the stairs she stopped.

  'Can I just do something?'

  He was on the step below her and looked up. She cupped his face between her hands and kissed him.

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