Pennel had been at the house…'
'Hang on,' Anna said. 'When I talked to the maid alone, she was very distressed and afraid that Mrs Wickenham would walk in on us. She said she might have seen Louise, but she couldn't be certain. Her concerns were about Emily. I was only with her for about ten minutes.'
Langton shrugged. 'So maybe she was there. We still don't have evidence to prove he is the killer. From the sound of it, he had girls staying over whenever he felt like getting his rocks off.'
'Well maybe we'll get an ID off the photographs you brought back.'
Langton sighed. 'Yeah, but those guys might not have been around to see Louise Pennel. He's a cagey son of a bitch; I doubt he would have paraded her in front of his cronies if he was intent on killing her.'
'Unless they were party to his plan,' Anna said, and then wished she hadn't, as Langton gave a bad-tempered grunt.
'With the press we've had, you'd never get witnesses to talk. Anyone else in those orgies ain't gonna come forward; they'll keep their mouths tight shut.'
'You think we should up the ante and put out more press?' Lewis asked.
Langton turned to Anna. 'That's what her boyfriend thinks, or wants…'
'He's not my boyfriend!' Anna snapped.
'Excuse me,' Langton said, with mock sarcasm. 'If we need him he'll play, but until we get more… Believe me, we need a hell of a lot more than we've got.'
'Going round in circles, aren't we?' Anna said.
'Yeah yeah, I hear you but, hell, it whiles away the time. We're almost there.'
They turned off the A3 towards Petworth, churning over in silence everything that had been discussed, until they headed down the long lane towards Mayerling Hall.
Langton instructed the driver to take the slip road down to the cottage. The rain had not let up and the car bounced into foot-deep puddles. Smoke twirled from the chimney.
'Looks like they're home,' Lewis said.
They pulled up next to a mud-covered Land Rover and an equally muddy Mercedes sports car. Langton sat for a moment before reaching for the door handle.
'Okay, softly softly approach. Anna, you give us the nod that we haven't screwed up and the girlfriend is our anonymous lady.'
'It was checked out,' Lewis said, opening his door.
'Yeah I know, but we need a face-to-face. Edward Wickenham might have more than one woman, if his father's anything to go by.'
Langton stopped speaking as Edward Wickenham appeared at the door. 'Hello,' he said, affably. 'If you want to see my father, he's over at the blacksmith's.'
'No, no we came to see you and…'
A tall, slender woman with thick, waist-length chestnut hair in a single plait, a black velvet ribbon wound round its base, appeared behind him for a fraction of a moment, then disappeared from sight.
Langton pulled up his collar. The rain was still coming down heavily. 'You mind if we come in?' he smiled.
'Sorry, yes of course. Ghastly weather: would you mind using the rake by the door? The mud trails everywhere.'
They were shown into a low-ceilinged room, with dark beams and panelling and wide polished floorboards. There was a large brick open fire in which masses of logs were burning. More logs were stacked either side of the iron basket. Langton had scraped his shoes; Lewis had taken his off as he'd trodden in a puddle as he stepped from the car. Anna had been nimble-footed and just wiped her shoes on the mat, glad she was wearing her old ones.
'Well, what can I do for you all?'
'We would like to talk to you and your girlfriend. Just a few questions.'
'What about?'
'Could you ask her to join us?'
Wickenham held out his hand for their coats. 'I'll hang these up for you. I'm not sure where Gail is; if you would just wait a moment.'
He was so tall that he had to bend his head as he went through the low doorway. Langton sank into a large worn velvet armchair.
'How do we want to work this?' Lewis asked, sitting opposite. It might be a bit daunting for all three of them to talk to her.
Langton nodded, looking around the room, which was filled with an antique dresser, side tables and large bowls of potted plants.
'We take Wickenham; Anna…' He stopped as Wickenham returned.
'She's not here.'
'Yes she is. We saw her as we arrived, so please let's not waste time.'
Wickenham hesitated and moved closer, lowering his voice. 'I would prefer it if you arranged another time, Gail has not been well and she's very frail. In fact, she has only just returned from staying at a health farm.'
Langton smiled. 'Well, why don't you let DI Travis just have a few words with her and us gentlemen can talk in here.'
'But what's it about? Why do you want to talk to her?'
'We are making enquiries—' Langton was interrupted.
'But you were here before. My father talked to you.'
'Yes he did. And now we want to talk to you.' There was a slight edge to his voice.
Wickenham hesitated again, then gestured to Anna to follow him. As soon as they were out of the room, Langton got up and walked around, picking up books and china figures from the dresser.
'Bigger inside than you think, isn't it?' Lewis said, still sitting in the low armchair. In his stockinged feet, he didn't give a particularly convincing impression of a hardened detective at work.
'Money,' Langton said softly. He crossed to look at a small oil painting of a hunting scene as Lewis opened his briefcase and took out a file.
Anna followed Edward Wickenham up a thickly carpeted, narrow staircase with only a cord for a handrail. A bowl of flowers stood on a big antique chest on the landing; the ceiling was even lower than downstairs.
'Must be quite hazardous,' Anna said lightly.
Wickenham turned, frowning. 'What?'
'Being so tall.'
'Ah, yes; well, after a few cracks over the head you get used to it. She's in here.' He tapped on a small, dark oak, studded door. 'Sweetheart, the policewoman wants to talk to you.' He turned back to Anna. 'I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name.'
'Anna, Anna Travis.'
He opened the door and stepped back so Anna could enter; he then leaned in and smiled.
'I'll be downstairs, darling. If it gets too much, just call me; I've said you are feeling poorly.'
Anna thanked him and waited for him to close the door. The bedroom was lovely: floral curtains fell in folds to the ground, framing the leaded windows. An old oak wardrobe with carved figures on the doors stood beside an equally old carved chest. There was a kidney-shaped dressing table, its frilled skirt matching the curtains, covered with bottles of perfume. Propped up on white pillows on the four-poster bed was Gail Harrington, her legs curled beneath her. Beside the bed was an old nursing chair. Anna gestured towards it.
'May I sit down?'
'Yes.'
Gail Harrington was very tall and slender; her pale face and dark hair made her seem fragile. There were dark circles beneath her wide-apart hazel eyes. Her cheekbones were like carved marble and her lips, devoid of make-up, were colourless. She was wearing a diamond ring on her engagement finger, a large single teardrop-shaped stone. It seemed too big for her slender fingers, and she constantly twisted it round and round.
'Why do you want to see me?'
'May I call you Gail?'
