The Red Dahlia

Langton clapped his hands and the room grew quiet. The top brass looked on expectantly as he pointed to the sketch of the tall dark stranger.

'Charles Henry Wickenham could have sat for that; he's got everything, including the gold signet ring.'

He wanted a line-up arranged fast: the next day if possible. Someone joked that he could stand in line.

'Sorry, but I've got blue eyes,' he grinned, sharing the joke; his humour did not last for long. 'Right, I had a long chat to the barman at the St George pub; he was a mine of information. His father had worked at the Hall as a gardener for thirty-odd years. He said that our suspect's father was a nasty old sod that went after everything in a skirt; it got so bad that the local girls wouldn't go near the Hall. He was also a Doctor, not medical as we first thought, but of philosophy; he never actually held down any kind of a job. He ran the Hall. At one time, most of the land around it belonged to the Wickenhams; it was our suspect's father who made a mint selling it off to housing projects, etcetera. He was loathed by the locals as he destroyed a lot of the woods and sold up pastures for houses that none could afford. Anyway, he was, to all intents and purposes, a mean and vicious man and his only son, our suspect, was terrified of him. His mother, Annabelle Wickenham, died in childbirth, leaving Charles as the only heir. The old boy never married again but was known to bring in prostitutes: he was well known for sending his Rolls to Soho so his chauffeur could load up the girls and bring them back.

'When he died ten years ago, his son, Charles Wickenham, had not been living at the Hall, but travelling around the world as an army surgeon. The old boy had spent a lot of money on poor investments and he had let the place go to rot. Charles Wickenham began by infuriating the local community by doing exactly what his father had done before him, i.e. selling up their grazing land. His first wife died of cancer; his son, Edward, is their only child. Charles's second wife, Dominique, is French and she had two daughters. Dominique Wickenham got a heavy settlement and lives off the alimony; Wickenham said himself she was after more money. We need to trace her and see what she can give us.'

Langton hardly paused for breath. Anna sat in awe: all this he had gathered in front of their noses, in the pub, and yet he had not said a word to them. She was even more amazed when he began to relate the conversation he had had while buying cigarettes.

'The son is possibly involved. Edward Wickenham's wife committed suicide: her body was found in the barn. This was before it was converted into a spa, swimming pool and gymnasium. There was a police enquiry; nothing came of it, but the rumours from the locals were that she may have had some assistance tying the knot! But nothing could be proved. She had a high level of alcohol and traces of cocaine in her bloodstream, and statements from staff had said she was of a very nervous disposition.'

Langton pushed his chair back. 'The lady in the shop implied that there was a lot of sexual activity at the hall, a lot of all-night, all-week parties and drugs, though no one has ever been arrested. Wickenham used to bring in local girls, but the gossip festered, so he now hires in from different companies. I want them checked out. Okay, now we come to Edward Wickenham's girlfriend. She is the daughter of the late Sir Arthur Harrington, northern industrialist; mother was Constance, also deceased. That's about all we know, apart from that she's not been seen for weeks. Check her out, she's maybe the caller — she's apparently at a health spa right now.'

Anna sat back in her chair as Langton paused, frowning, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

'Okay you can say none of this adds up to any evidence against Charles Wickenham, or even against his son — because they may be in this together; there again, they might not be. However, my gut feeling is that we have at long last found our killer. Now we have to draw him in and tread very carefully. Even if it transpires that he lied and did know Louise Pennel and Sharon Bilkin, it is still not enough to arrest him. I don't want to scare this creature off before we have that search warrant granted and we check out that sumptuous place he lives in. I need the names of people that went to parties at the Hall. If our caller is telling the truth, Louise Pennel was a guest at that ancestral pile; he might also have cut her body up there. I want to interview the local uniforms at the village. I want to know what this son of a bitch eats for breakfast. I want to talk to Edward Wickenham's girlfriend, track back to Wickenham senior's army days; in fact, we need to talk to anyone that knows him now, who knew him then. We leave no stone unturned. So let's get moving.'

Langton went into his office, accompanied by the Commander and her DI, leaving everyone breathless.

As Anna sat writing copious notes, Lewis came and sat on the edge of her desk. 'He never ceases to screw me up! I mean, why not let us in on this when we were in the patrol car?'

'He keeps things close to his chest,' Anna said, though she felt the same way.

'I mean, he's damned sure it's Wickenham, but we can't prove it, so all that big speech was for what? To impress the Commander?'

'Hang onto this case, more like it,' said Barolli, joining them.

Anna was surprised: she had never heard either of them deride their Governor before. She kept her mouth shut.

Lewis yawned. 'Well we've got our work cut out schlepping around, but if he's right, then we should crack on.'

'What did you think?' Barolli asked Anna.

'I didn't like him; like the Gov said, he was wearing the signet ring, so he was maybe lying about not knowing Louise Pennel; if he knew her, then he would also have known Sharon Bilkin.'

Anna was grateful when the case manager interrupted their gossip, calling them over to break down Langton's requests. Whatever anyone felt, there was now a renewed energy in the Incident Room. They at long last had a suspect, and with the Commander being privy to the briefing, it was pretty certain that Langton would not be replaced.

Chapter Twelve

DAY TWENTY-THREE

Anna arrived at the station early the next morning. She was about to head up to the canteen for breakfast when she saw Professor Marshe arrive by taxi. Anna gave a small nod of acknowledgement and continued into the station.

She was midway up the stairs when Professor Marshe called out. 'Excuse me; it's Detective Travis, isn't it?'

'Yes.'

'Is DCI Langton in?'

'I think so; his car's outside.'

'Good, I need to speak to him.'

Anna hesitated. 'I'll tell him you are here if you'd like to wait.'

'It's all right, I know the way.'

'I'm sorry, but the Incident Room is only for officers connected to the case.'

Professor Marshe gave her a cold, arrogant glance. 'In case you have forgotten, I was brought in on the case by DCI Langton. Excuse me.'

Anna stood patiently on the stairs, watching her pass. Today, she was not wearing her hair in a chignon but loose, held back with a velvet alice band. It made her look a lot younger and prettier, if rather old-fashioned. She was wearing a chic, tailored suit in pink and black tweed.

Anna changed her mind about going up another floor to the canteen and instead followed Professor Marshe into the Incident Room, eager to see the reactions.

Professor Marshe headed straight into Langton's office, leaving a waft of perfume behind her.

Lewis looked over to Anna and raised an eyebrow. 'She's a pushy piece, isn't she?'

Anna watched Bridget put two coffees on a tray and head towards Langton's office.

'I'll take that in, Bridget; I need a quick word with the Gov.'

'Oh, thanks.'

Anna balanced the tray on her forearm and was about to knock on Langton's door when she heard his familiar bark. 'It's none of your business!'