The Red Dahlia

'It is just an enquiry at this stage,' Langton said quietly.

'An enquiry into what, for God's sake? That I had intercourse with my daughter and operated on her, when I have told you repeatedly that she has mental problems, and you cannot trust a word she says? Next, you ask me for times and dates relating to a murder enquiry, a double murder enquiry: well, this is all rather preposterous, isn't it? I mean, are you scouring all the unsolved crimes to give yourselves an excuse to make a pleasant trip out to the country rather than do the work you are paid to do in London?'

'I do not find any of this pleasant, Mr Wickenham.'

'Nor do I, Detective Chief Inspector Langton, nor do I, and I will consider making a formal complaint to the Commissioner.'

'That is your prerogative.' Langton was finding it difficult to maintain control: he wanted to wrap his hands around the audacious, posturing man's throat. Wickenham stood in front of them, leaning one elbow against the mantelpiece or tucking his hands into his pockets. He kept touching his tie and patting down his collar. He picked off tiny balls of fluff from his pale yellow cashmere sweater, but not one gesture gave any indication that he was unnerved or even worried by the questions.

Langton displayed the headshots of the men taken with Wickenham in his own hot tub. He casually glanced at each face, said he did know them and they were not close friends, more associates that he occasionally entertained.

'For sex parties?'

Wickenham shrugged. 'Here we go again. Yes, we do have fun here sometimes, but whatever goes on in the privacy of one's home is exactly that: private.'

'Your wife and son also enjoyed these fun times.'

'Yes, yes they did; again, they are consenting adults. Our sexual fun may not appeal to you, but again that is a matter of choice.'

'Your daughter Justine?'

Wickenham sighed with irritation. 'She could do whatever she liked. She was eighteen years old; if she chose to join in, that was her prerogative. Nobody ever forced anyone to do anything.'

'We have a witness who said Louise Pennel was here the weekend before her murder.'

Wickenham was some actor; he gave no visible reaction whatsoever, but closed his eyes. 'I'm sorry; say the name again?'

'Louise Pennel.'

'Ah yes, the Red Dahlia, I believe the papers are calling her.'

'Sharon Bilkin knew your son's fianc?e; did you know that?'

'Sharon who?'

Langton was getting tired of the game playing and stood up. 'Sharon Bilkin: her body was found just off the A3 in a field.'

'Not one of mine, I hope,' he smirked.

Langton knew that nothing he could throw at this man was going to produce the goods: he had an answer for everything. Wickenham had obviously intuited they were here on a fishing trip, and was determined that they would have to leave without a catch.

'Thank you for your time.'

Langton glanced at Lewis who had remained silent throughout. He stood up to join Langton and asked if he could use the cloakroom.

Wickenham gave a soft laugh. 'The cloakroom? He gestured to the door. 'Straight out and down the hall, second door.'

Lewis hurried out, leaving Langton standing opposite Wickenham. Langton stared hard but he was met with a steady eye contact.

'Bit of a wasted journey?'

'Not at all, it's been very informative. We will be checking on your associates to verify what you have said.'

Wickenham laughed, shaking his head. 'By all means, but you know, they are all very wealthy and well- connected people. I doubt if they would want to go into details about their sexual exploits here at the Hall.'

Langton turned away and looked over the photographs on top of the piano. Wickenham remained standing, watching him; he checked his watch. Neither man said another word until Lewis returned and stood at the open door. 'Sir, DI Travis is still with Mr Wickenham's housekeeper, she said she won't be a moment.'

'I suppose this will mean lunch is going to be delayed.' Wickenham opened a drawer and took out a cigar box; he proffered one to Langton, who shook his head.

'We'll wait for her in the car.'

'Okay I'll pass that on.' Lewis hovered for a moment and then disappeared.

'Cuban,' Wickenham said, holding one of his cigars up, then taking a silver clipper and snipping off the end. 'Can't beat a hand-rolled.' He bit on the cigar; the action gave him a grimace of a smile.

Langton walked past him, and then turned at the door. 'Thank you for your time, Mr Wickenham.'

'I wish I could say it was a pleasure. Let me show you out.'

Wickenham watched from the front door as Langton returned to the car. Lewis was not there.

'Where's Mike?'

'He went to get some air, round to the stables I think, sir,' said the driver.

Langton checked his watch again and then lit a cigarette, leaning against the side of the car. He turned when he heard the crunch of the gravel on the drive. Anna was walking towards him.

'I came out via the kitchen door,' she said.

'I gathered that. Have you seen Lewis?'

'No.'

Anna opened the passenger door and tossed in her briefcase. 'How did it go with Wickenham senior?'

'He knows we've not got enough on him.'

Anna gave a small smile. 'His housekeeper was not that forthcoming to start off with, but once I touched the right button, she didn't stop talking.'

'What was the button?'

'Emily Wickenham.'

There was another crunch of footsteps and they both turned. Lewis, his cheeks flushed, gestured for them to follow him. 'Can you bring the photographs?'

Anna looked to Langton; he bent into the car and took out his briefcase. They followed Lewis round the winding drive towards the stables.

Lewis was standing by an open stable door; inside was the big chestnut gelding. Langton was irritated. 'What, Lewis? You've brought us back to see the bloody horse?'

'No, you need to talk to the stable lad; he's just checking over something with the vet. He reckons he saw Louise Pennel. He reckons she was here on the eighth of January.'

Chapter Sixteen

The Incident Room was waiting eagerly for an update. Langton had ordered a briefing for ten minutes after their return. He began with a brief summary of his session with Charles Wickenham. He had the team laughing when he struck up the same pose and mimicked his upper-class drawl. Then he went quiet, shaking his head.

'He maintained that attitude throughout, denying knowing Louise Pennel or Sharon Bilkin. He was dismissive about any kind of incestuous relationship with his younger daughter Emily. He said he could provide a doctor's certificate to clarify his daughter was mentally unstable. There were no charges and we have not as yet reinterviewed his daughter.'