“It’s Mike Lewis. I’ve been trying to contact the gov; his mobile must be turned off and he’s not in his room.”
“He may have gone out.”
“Well, that’s bloody obvious! Can you contact him?”
“I don’t know where he’s gone; is it important?”
“It might be. I know you are meeting up with Wickenham’s ex-wife in the morning, so I wanted to run this by him.”
“You want to run whatever it is by me and I’ll pass it on?”
“It was a call from Justine Wickenham to her sister.”
“Let me get my notebook.” She put the receiver on the bedside table and went to her briefcase.
“Ready when you are,” she said, pencil poised.
Lewis coughed and asked if he should play the call or just give her the nitty-gritty.
“Mike, just tell me what you’ve got.”
“Okay. They first talked about whether or not they had contacted their mother to tell her they had been interviewed; neither had. Justine kept on asking if Emily was okay, and then asked if she had told ‘them’ anything; by ‘them,’ I reckon she means us. Then Justine asked if ‘they’ knew about what had happened. Emily said she didn’t say anything and got quite upset and Justine tried to calm her down; she said, and I quote, ‘No charges ever happened, so they wouldn’t be likely to know,’ but if they were to ask her anything about it she should refuse to tell them because it would ‘all blow up again.’ ”
Anna jotted down the conversation in shorthand in her notebook.
“You still listening?”
“Yes, yes, go on.”
“So this is what made me want to tell the gov: Emily became very distressed and Justine kept on trying to calm her down, but she got really uptight. She said that she wished she had gone through with it and made him pay for what he had done to her, but it was family pressure that had persuaded her.”
“Just slow down a second. Okay, then what?”
“The next part was inaudible, as she was crying: she said that it was all right for Justine, because it hadn’t happened to her. Justine then said that she had tried to protect her because it had: he had constantly tried to ‘do it’ to her.”
“ ‘Do it’?” Anna asked.
“Yes, that’s what she said. Emily, in a real state, then said that even if he had done it with you, it was her that had to have the abortion, not Justine; she then went on to say how much she hated ‘him.’ ”
“ ‘Him’ meant who?” Anna injected.
“Well, we take it to be her father who molested her, or performed an abortion on his own daughter. It could have been her brother who had sex with her, but as the father is a surgeon, I’d say he would have done the abortion.”
Anna wrote it all down; Lewis said they had cut the call short, as Justine said someone had arrived at her flat.
“Okay, I’ll relay this to the gov; thanks for calling.”
Anna put the phone down and studied her notes, then put in a call to Langton’s room but was rerouted to the hotel’s answer service. She tried his mobile, but it was dead. She then called Professor Marshe at the Four Seasons and left a message for Langton to call her urgently. It was by now eleven thirty; she presumed, correctly, that he was still at dinner.
Anna pottered around her suite for another three-quarters of an hour and then went to bed. She almost hurtled off the bed in shock when her door was rapped. She hurried to open it.
“What’s so urgent?” he asked, leaning against the door frame. She could tell by looking at him he had had quite a bit to drink.
“Lewis was trying to contact you, but your mobile was turned off.”
Langton swore and fished in his pocket, muttering that he’d turned it off when he went to dinner. He sat on her bed as he checked his text messages, frowning.
“What did he want?”
“They recorded a phone call between Justine and Emily Wickenham that they thought you should know about before we interview his ex-wife.”
“What’s so important?”
Langton flopped back on her bed as Anna repeated what Lewis had told her. “The girls might have put two and two together and come up with a lot more. I mean, they did not at any time mention that it was her father or who had done the abortion.”
Langton yawned, staring at the ceiling, then leaned up on one elbow. “Tomorrow, before we leave, get back to them; if charges were started, even if they were withdrawn, someone somewhere has to have a record of them.”
“My God.”
He looked at Anna. “My God what?”
“In the Black Dahlia case, there was a court case involving their suspect: his own daughter accused him of molestation and attempted rape.”
Langton sat up. “Yeah, if I remember rightly, when they questioned his wife, she stood by him. How old was the daughter?”
“Twelve when the accusations of rape and sexual harassment happened, but the trial didn’t begin until she was fifteen.”
Langton rubbed his hair. “What was the outcome? I’ve forgotten.”
“The allegations were proved unfounded; they claimed his daughter was suffering from delusions and the case was dropped.”
Langton gave her a sidelong glance and yawned again. “What a mine of information you are, Travis.”
“Do you want a coffee or tea or something?”
“Nope. Get off to my bed. Did you eat?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Did I wake you?”
“You did, actually.”
“Sorry.”
“I thought you might want to call the incident room; they were concerned that they couldn’t contact you.”
“You tell them who I was with?”
“I just said you might have gone out for dinner.”
“Very thoughtful. Thank you, Travis.”
She hesitated. “Do you mind if I say something?”
“I haven’t before, what is it?”
“I think you are drinking too much.”
“What?”
“I said, I think you are drinking too much.”
“I’ve just been out for dinner, for God’s sake!”
“I don’t mean tonight; sometimes I can smell it on your breath in the mornings. If you need help, you should get some.”
“Drinking too much,” he said thickly.
“Maybe it is not my place to say anything, but I am working with you and I can tell when you have been on the sauce and when you have not.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Listen, I know you must really be irritated by me even bringing this up, but I’m only doing so because I really care about you and I am concerned.”
“I really appreciate your concern, Travis!” he snapped sarcastically as he walked toward the door.
“Do you want to talk about the taped call?”
“No, I’m tired. Good night.” He closed the door behind him, unusually for him, very quietly.
Anna sighed and went back to bed. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything to him, but they had been quite close; obviously not close enough.
DAY TWENTY-SIX
The following morning, Anna ordered room service again. She wondered if she should give Langton a wake-up call, but it turned out not to be necessary, as he called her himself to say he would be in the lobby at nine o’clock. Though he made no reference to what she had said the previous night, he sounded very cold and aloof. She dressed in one of her good suits and a cream silk shirt, and went downstairs to find he was already waiting for her.
“I’ve already called her and she is expecting us; said it would only take a ten-minute drive.”
He was wearing a linen suit and a white, open-collared shirt. He caught her glancing at him. “What?”
“Nothing. You look as if you slept well.”
“I did, thank you. Did you?”
“Took me a while to get off. I was worried that what I had said to you might get me into trouble.”
“Travis, your concern was appreciated; maybe I have been imbibing a little too much lately. Let’s just forget it, all right?”
She nodded. “Have you had breakfast?” she asked.
“Nope. Let’s get a coffee: the cappuccino here is good.”
They went to one of the cafés inside the hotel. He ate a croissant and drank his coffee, hardly speaking as he constantly checked his messages, making no mention of their contents. Then it was time to leave.
Dominique Wickenham’s apartment block on the Via Spiga was very exclusive and modern. The reception area was like a greenhouse, all glass with an abundance of plants. The doorman led them over to the gleaming gilt elevators that would take them up to the penthouse apartment. At floor four, the doors glided open to reveal a thickly carpeted corridor with yet more plants. Apartment C4 appeared to be the only one on the floor, with a large white front door with brass studs but no number. They rang a discreet bell and waited. After a few moments, the door was opened by an elderly maid in a black dress and small white apron. Langton showed her his ID and she smiled and nodded, gesturing for them to enter the hallway behind her.
The hallway was empty apart from a massive display of orchids on a glass-topped table. They were led to a set of white double doors, which were opened by Dominique Wickenham. She was a well-preserved woman in her mid-forties, with an amazing figure, wearing gray slacks with a cashmere scarf knotted over her shoulders; her white silk blouse was set off by a luminous set of pearls. She was very tanned, her blonde hair was streaked, and she wore large pearl and diamond earrings.
“Please come in; would you like a tea or coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Langton said, then introduced Anna.
Dominique wore a large diamond ring on her wedding finger. She also had a gold charm bracelet that shimmered and twinkled with gold and diamond charms.
“Please sit down; there’s iced water if you need it.”
“Thank you,” Langton said as he glanced around the vast, sun-drenched room. The windows were floor to ceiling, affording them a clear view across the city. The thick carpet was pale pink, the sofas and chairs a slightly darker shade with matching cushions. Anna sank into the sofa; it was so large that if she sat back, her feet would be off the ground. Langton rested back in one of the armchairs; being so tall, he didn’t have the same problem.
“You have a very beautiful apartment.”
“Thank you.” Dominique Wickenham sat on the arm of one of the chairs opposite him. Her gray high heels matched her slacks and, though she smiled with glossy lips that Anna was certain had been enhanced by cosmetic surgery, she was tapping one foot.
“So, here we are,” she said. She had a deep throaty voice and a distinctly French accent.
Langton began quietly, asking her about her husband, and saying briefly that they were there as they were heading a murder inquiry. He took out the photographs of Louise Pennel and Sharon Bilkin. She did not recognize either.
“Perhaps you have had a wasted journey.” She gave an apologetic smile.
Langton smiled back and showed her the sketch. She laughed softly and passed it back.
“It is a very good likeness.”
“This man is a suspect in the murder of these two girls.”
“Oh, I thought it was my husband.”
“He does resemble him very closely; it was compiled using statements from witnesses that saw this man with both the victims.”
“Good heavens; you suspect Charles is involved?”
Langton replaced the photographs and sketch without answering. “Your husband is a surgeon.”
“Yes; well, he was, he has retired now—and I am his ex-wife: we divorced some time ago.”
“But you still retain your married name?”
“For convenience and for my daughters.”
“They would be Justine and Emily.”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Can you tell me if on the ninth of January this year, your daughter Justine stayed here with you?”
She tried to wrinkle her lineless brow and crossed to an ornate desk. She flicked through a small white leather diary, then smiled.
“Yes, it was for a weekend; my girls come and stay as often as possible.”
“But they don’t stay at the Hall very often.”
“No, they do not; they do not get along too well with their father. He can be very strict and you know, girls will be girls.”
“What about your stepson?”
“Edward?”
“Yes; do the girls get along with their half brother?”
“Of course, he is a sweet boy, very much under his father’s domination, but he’s working very hard.”
“Can you tell me about his wife?”
Dominique looked slightly fazed, then shrugged.
“She committed suicide, didn’t she?”
“Yes, it was very sad; she was a very highly strung girl. Although she had been in treatment for depression, she took her own life.”
“She was addicted to drugs, wasn’t she?”
Dominique stiffened, seeming to dislike the direction the conversation was going in. “I believe so, but what she did in the privacy of her own home I was not aware of. It was just very sad.”
“There was a police inquiry, wasn’t there?”
“Yes, isn’t there always in a suicide? They found nothing untoward; she hanged herself in the barn. This was before it was converted into a gymnasium and playroom.”
“Were you questioned about a police inquiry regarding your youngest daughter?”
“I’m sorry?” Again, she tried to frown.
“Emily tried to bring a complaint against her father, your ex-husband, for sexual harassment and attempted rape.”
“No, no, no; that was all very wretched and not true. Emily is very highly strung and with an overvivid imagination. There were no charges, and Emily went into therapy afterward, which helped her. She is very, very emotionally insecure and only now I think making headway since she became a student. She is exceptionally clever and considering all her health problems, she always did very well at school. She suffers from bulimia and at times has been very ill. But she is also recovering from that problem, in fact, I think she really has overcome her nervous disorder and is much better; possibly being in her own little flat and doing well in her studies helps.”
“Did she have any boyfriends?”
“Emily?”
“Yes.”
“Well, she is only just seventeen, so I doubt she has had serious relationships. To be honest, I am not aware of any boyfriends she might have now, as I am mostly abroad.”
“So the operation?”
“What operation?” The foot twitched again.
“Was Emily ever pregnant?”
“Emily?”
“Yes, your youngest daughter; was Emily ever pregnant and did she have an abortion?”
“No, no, I would have known! This is preposterous, unless you have talked to Emily and she has started making up stories again. She made up so many lies and it really did create a terrible situation.”
Anna felt as if she was at a tennis match, constantly looking over to Langton and back at Dominique. He really and truly never ceased to amaze her. He had only been given the information the previous night when he had been well and truly pissed; yet here he was, not missing a trick. Yet again, she found herself staring at him in awe.
Langton was looking down at the carpet, his foot inching forward into the thick pile and then back a fraction. He suddenly looked up. “So you are unaware of any termination?”
“Yes! I have just said so! I would have known; I do have a very close relationship with my daughters.”
Langton leaned forward slightly, his fingers playing with the fringing on the arm of his chair.
“So what operation do you think your daughter could have been referring to?”
“I am nonplussed. I don’t know and I really don’t quite understand why you are as
king me these questions.”
“Your husband was a surgeon?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Did he perform the operation? Let me rephrase that: could he have terminated the pregnancy of your daughter without you being privy to it?”
“No: as I said, I have a good relationship with my two girls.”
“What about with your stepson?”
“As I said before, he is a very dear, hardworking boy. I don’t have quite as close a relationship with him as my daughters, but then he is my stepson: his mother was my husband’s first wife.”
“He also had a drug problem, didn’t he?”
“No, he was just a very young and foolish boy at school. He was found smoking a joint and they expelled him, but it was just some grass, he was never addicted to any hard drugs.”
“Unlike his wife: the autopsy found cocaine and—”
“I really cannot tell you anything about my daughter-in-law, it was a very sad thing that happened, and affected us all.”
“Does your husband use drugs?”
She took a deep breath and shook her head. “Not that I am aware of, but we have been divorced for a number of years, so what he may do now, I am not privy to.”
“Can you tell me about the parties at the Hall?”
She shrugged and then got up and crossed to her desk. She opened a silver cigarette box and took one out. “What exactly do you want to know about them?”
“Well, could you describe some of these events?”
She lit the cigarette and then carried a cut-glass ashtray to the table beside her chair. Langton asked if she would mind if he smoked as well and she apologized for not offering him one. This relaxed her; she even offered Langton her lighter. The gold charm bracelet tinkled as she flicked away the ash.
“Charles was always very fond of entertaining and we had a very good chef. We used the converted barn, as it has such a large space for dining and there is also a snooker table.” She inhaled and let the smoke drift from her mouth. “There is also a swimming pool, a gymnasium with a sauna and whirlpool.” She laughed, tilting her head back slightly. “Some dinner parties did go on for a long time; in the summer, the south wall would slide back so we could dine al fresco, and in the winter we’d have a massive log fire: all really rather pleasant.”
“Did your husband ship in prostitutes for these dinners?”
The Red Dahlia (Anna Travis Mysteries Book 2) Page 24
