The Red Dahlia at-2

by Lynda La Plante

  'When did she become pregnant by him?' Anna asked and Justine didn't appear to question how she knew; she just bowed her head.

  'Oh God, it was terrible. She was so young, she didn't understand. Her belly was distended and she thought it was something she'd eaten, that's how innocent she was.'

  'How old was she?'

  'Thirteen. When he found out he was hysterical, like it was her fault; it was terrible.'

  'Did he perform the abortion?'

  She nodded, tears trickling down her face. 'And worse, as if by doing it, he would never have that problem again.'

  'I don't understand.'

  'He operated on her, he did a hysterectomy: she can't ever have kids. He did that to her. That's what started her being sick and crazy; then he sent her away for electric shock treatment.'

  Anna was sickened and reached out to take Justine's hand, but she wouldn't allow her to hold it.

  'I'd like to kill him. I used to plan how I'd do it, but he used to get round me, you know, saying that poor Emily was really mentally sick, like he had nothing to do with it when it was all his fault.'

  'When the child abuse investigation happened, who instigated it?'

  'Well, me, not that he knew it. I persuaded Em to go to the police station and tell them, but it was a farce. He was the local bigwig doctor, he could pay anyone off; in this case, I don't think he needed to bribe anyone because he'd already had her institutionalised. He said it was all in her mind and that she had this sick, overactive imagination. He made her life hell after that. It was part of the reason Mum left him; she'd had enough, not that she did anything for us. She had a weapon now and could squeeze him for a lot of money; it's all about money with her. It was awful her going away, because we lost Danielle, her maid. She was like the old housekeeper; at least they tried between them to help Em, but she just got sicker and…'

  Justine took out a handkerchief and blew her nose. 'She started self-mutilating: her arms, her thighs; a couple of times she really dug the knife in deep. Anyway, she was in and out of these awful places until I persuaded Dad that she was okay and I would be responsible for her. He said if I did take care of her, he'd buy me the stables. You see how he works? Promises, dangled promises, because he doesn't care about anything or anyone but himself

  'Do you know why I first began asking you questions?'

  'Yes, yes of course. I don't know anything about those two girls, and to be honest I don't care a shit about them.'

  'They died brutal deaths.'

  'Yeah, me and Em have had a pretty shitty life, so what are they to me? I never met them, didn't know them, and nor did she.'

  'When he operated on your sister, did he have a room or a place he used?'

  'You mean his surgery? Well, that's what he calls it. It's full of his drugs and sicko stuff. It's part of the old cellars; well, it was: I've not been there for a long time. You can understand why.'

  'Not been to the cellars?'

  'No, the fucking house. I can't stand to look at his face. I hate him so much, I hate him!'

  The ferocious anger was building. Anna was feeling exhausted from the strain of listening to what she was saying while keeping her calm.

  'If he is guilty, though, he would be out of the way for a long time.'

  'Ha, you must be joking. I bet he won't get caught. If he did anything, he can always cover it. You don't know him: he will get away with murder. He can get away with anything.'

  'Would you be prepared to make a statement about what happened to your sister?'

  'It wouldn't do any good. Even if you did a physical examination of Em, you'd never prove that he was involved. That's why I came here to see you: I wanted you to know.'

  'Know what?'

  'That they were coming for her; that they were going to take her back to that stinking mental hospital. Anything she says will be treated as her delusions. They'll say you cannot believe a word she says. We've been over all that fucking shit before: they'll drug her to keep her quiet, and whatever you try and prove, they'll just put it down to her having too vivid an imagination!'

  'But you know it isn't.'

  'Yeah I know, my brother knows. His wife topped herself because she was so sickened by him; Dad was even fucking her! And now, by you asking poor Em all about it, she's tried to top herself again. I told you to leave her alone, I told you!'

  Anna knew she had to get out of the flat and fast. The rage was coming back.

  'Listen, why don't we get back to the hospital and see if we can stop them taking Emily? It's still only…' She looked at her watch: it was already twelve o'clock. 'I know the doctors didn't want to release Emily. Shall we get over there? I know we can help her.'

  Justine clenched and unclenched her hands. 'Edward said Dad had arranged it.'

  'Well, we won't know unless we go back there, will we?'

  Justine chewed at her lip, and then nodded. 'Okay, okay.'

  Inwardly, Anna sighed with relief. She went and got her jacket as Justine hovered at the front door. 'I'll follow you, my car's parked outside.'

  Anna felt her legs shaking as she started up the car. She backed out of the garage and into the road. As she adjusted her rearview mirror, she saw Justine was directly behind her. Anna had no intention of returning to the hospital: she was going to head directly to the station. She called the Incident Room. Lewis answered.

  'Where the hell have you been? We've been trying to contact you.'

  'I will explain, but not now.'

  'The boss was going apeshit, we called the hospital and…'

  'Is Emily Wickenham still there?'

  'No, her family took her out a couple of hours ago.'

  'Shit! Can you get a squad car to tail me? I'm on the Edgware Road, and I need some help. There's a dark blue Metro car directly behind me, reg 445 JW: it's Justine Wickenham and I want to lose her.'

  It was all round the Incident Room, but all they knew was that DI Travis had asked for backup and a squad car had intercepted her as she reached Marble Arch.

  When she came into the Incident Room, Lewis said that she had better go and see Langton directly. Anna put down her briefcase, took off her jacket and with a deep breath went into his office.

  'Where in Christ's name have you been?'

  Anna felt dizzy; she couldn't speak. She pulled out the chair in front of his desk and sat down.

  'Anna, what the hell is going on?'

  She stared at the floor. 'I am not sure where to begin.'

  'Try the beginning.'

  Anna licked her lips; she was churning over the entire interaction with Justine. She knew if she was to explain how at risk she had felt when Justine followed her, to then invite her into the flat would look totally unprofessional. She didn't want another lecture.

  'Well I got the opportunity to have a talk to Justine Wickenham, so that is what I have been doing.'

  'At the hospital?'

  'No, at my flat.'

  'Your flat?'

  'Yes, we had coffee.'

  He leaned back in his chair and gestured for her to continue.

  Lewis received the forensic report at three o'clock. The bloodstains found beside Justine Wickenham's bathtub did not belong to either Sharon Bilkin or Louise Pennel. He went to give Langton the information. Langton gave a curt 'come in', listened, and then nodded for him to leave. When Lewis hesitated, he snapped. 'Get out!'

  Lewis backed out fast and shut the door. There was a long pause.

  'So you did the right thing, you got a squad car. What happened to Justine?'

  'I don't know. She was behind me; I think she turned off when she saw me being pulled over. She might be at the hospital, but I've been told Emily Wickenham has already been released.'

  'Yes, they had to let her go, she's not eighteen so parental permission, etcetera etcetera.'

  Anna had an overwhelming need to cry. Try as she might, she couldn't control it. She bit her lip as her chest heaved.

  'I'm so sorry,' she said softl
y, but her eyes filled with tears. 'I'll go and make up a report.' She could hardly get the words out. She so didn't want to allow herself to cry in front of him and she half rose out of the chair, but sank back down.

  Langton moved round his desk and gently took her in his arms, resting her head against his shoulder. He stroked her hair.

  'Shush, shush, it's okay, just take it easy, take a few big breaths. You know, sometimes when you have to listen to raw pain, it buries little shards inside you: best to let them out.'

  She nodded mutely. He released his hold. That really made her want to cry: it had been so comforting to have his arms around her.

  He opened the drawer, took out his half bottle of brandy and passed it to her. 'Take a good slug. I'm sure you'll have your stock of peppermints handy.'

  She took two big gulps, coughed and then passed it back. 'Thank you.'

  He slipped the bottle back into his drawer. 'Maybe take the rest of the afternoon off to get back to speed.'

  'No, I'd prefer to work.'

  'Suit yourself, but today's a short day anyway, as we go into Wickenham's tomorrow morning. Operation Red Dahlia kicks off at dawn and it will be a long day.'

  She gave a glum smile. 'I don't care, however long it takes.'

  'Feeling is mutual, even more so now after what you've told me. I just hope to Christ I haven't jumped the gun.'

  'I'll type up my report.'

  'Good girl,' he said softly.

  She walked out of his office, wanting him more than ever to wrap his arms around her again.

  Lewis looked over to Anna. 'Is he in a good mood?'

  'Yes, I think so,' she said.

  'They've just confirmed that the blood splattering on the bathtub wall in Justine Wickenham's flat belongs to Emily, not one of the victims.'

  Anna thought it was probably one of Emily's attempts to kill or mutilate herself. She looked over to the Incident Room board. Louise Pennel and Sharon Bilkin seemed to be staring directly at her. She ran over in her mind exactly how Justine Wickenham had reacted to the fact that her father might be their killer. Her own pain was too heavy; her sister's heartbreaking torture by their sadistic father was much too consuming for either of them to be able to care about anyone else's.

  Anna looked from one victim to the other. She cared, and she knew every single member of the investigation team was energised by the possibility of at long last making an arrest. The killer of the Black Dahlia had escaped arrest: no one was ever charged with her murder. She again thought back to what Justine Wickenham had said: even if her father was guilty, they would never catch him — he could get away with murder.

  Anna returned to her desk. She spent a long time writing up her report and then went through the case files, which were now so numerous that they overflowed in stacks beneath the table. She went back to her desk with the details of the attempted child abuse case against Charles Wickenham. She took down the name of every person who had been involved, including the doctors at the mental institution who had given statements about Emily's mental state. There was nothing connected to her physical condition. If Justine had been telling the truth, a hysterectomy at her young age must have been documented somewhere.

  Anna knocked on Langton's office door. He looked up at her, frowning. She kept it to the point: she would like to interview everyone she had listed. He sighed.

  'Drop it for now, Anna. We are heading up a murder enquiry: hand that over to the Child Protection Unit. After we're through with him, they might dig up more.'

  'But there must have been someone who examined her.'

  'He got away with it and, as sick and disgusting and tragic as it is, we have to leave it alone for now, unless we screw up and tomorrow is just a waste of money. Now why don't you go home, get some rest: it's a big day.'

  She felt like a schoolgirl standing in front of him. She tried to make light of it. 'I could say the same to you.'

  He gave a soft laugh. 'Not to the ringmaster, you can't. It all stands on my decisions and I sure as hell don't want to come back empty-handed. I want that bastard. Goodnight.'

  Again, she had the impulse to reach over with both hands to hold his face close and kiss him. Instead she gave a small nod, and walked out.

  'Goodnight, Gov'

  Chapter Eighteen

  DAY TWENTY-NINE

  The Richmond Hotel car park was crawling with police vans, fifteen in all: there were the forensic team, the SOCOs — scene-of-crime officers — the murder team, the Territorial Support Group, and another six officers drafted in to assist. They had two sets of tracker dogs and handlers; there was also a caterer's truck, all on standby. The hotel had been very accommodating but had asked that they keep as quiet as possible, so as not to disturb residents; opportunely, the hotel was having a lot of construction work done, so there were very few guests.

  Everyone gathered in the hotel's ballroom, where rows of chairs had been set out. Lewis was pinning up detailed diagrams of the entire estate when Langton entered. It was two forty-five a.m. He looked tired and anxious and wore a dark grey suit and white shirt and a tie. He had divided the teams up: one group would focus on the cottage, another on the barn, and the largest group would concentrate on the main house. They knew from the surveillance team that Charles Wickenham was at home; Edward and his fianc�e were at their cottage.

  Langton pointed to the aerial photographs.

  'Going to give you all a quick history lesson. The main house was built around 1540 and was owned by a high-ranking Catholic family. The sixteenth century was the period of the persecution of Catholic priests. There was a piece of anti-priest legislation that created a massive number of English Catholic martyrs: in those days, harbouring any Catholic priest was seen as treason and was punishable by death. The reason I've brought this up is that it's quite possible, therefore, that the house contains a lot of hidden rooms and boltholes. There's a property of similar age in Kidderminster which has over ten hidden priest holes — beside chimneys, beneath stairs, under cellar floors — so we search very thoroughly.'

  Langton showed them the plans of the barn. 'This was recently converted from an old maize barn: it's massive in size and there was a large cellar beneath that. According to the council that gave permission for the renovation, it was converted into a gym with a whirlpool bath, hot tub and swimming pool. We have to check out they didn't leave an area for our suspect to use as some kind of torture chamber. It could also have been used to dismember our first victim, Louise Pennel. Our suspect has to have had somewhere to cut and drain her body and I think it is possibly somewhere in this estate.'

  Langton continued until he was satisfied that everyone knew their jobs. He checked his watch; it was by now three-fifteen a.m. Operation Red Dahlia was ready to roll.

  They travelled in convoy, led by Langton in an unmarked patrol car, accompanied by Lewis and Barolli. Anna followed with three other members of the team in the car behind, then came the vans and people carriers, plus special vehicles to provide lighting for the officers. It was still dark and there was little traffic on the roads. They made the journey to Wickenham's village in three-quarters of an hour. By the time they hit the small winding lane, it was a little lighter, but the sky was still overcast and slate grey. They moved slowly over the cattle grids until the lead car stopped and moved into a layby so that one of the big double-fronted trucks could move ahead. Langton did not want any signal to be given that they were there, so he was not wasting time ringing doorbells. He ordered the truck to smash straight through the gates.

  By four-thirty, they were moving down the winding pathway with the overhanging trees towards the main horseshoe drive of the house. The vehicles peeled off to the cottage and round to the barn and stables. Everyone had their duty lists. The raid was worked out with such precision that no one needed to ask what was coming once they were inside.

  Langton went up to the main front door of the Hall. He used the old iron knocker to rap so hard, it echoed. Lined up behind him were An
na and Barolli and ten SOCO officers, plus the Territorial Support Group ready to secure the area.

  At almost exactly the same time, Lewis and five SOCO officers knocked on the door of the thatched cottage.

  Three more officers moved to the barn area, and the dogs and handlers were heading to the stables.

  Virtually in unison, the officers showed their warrants. First to be read his rights was a shaken Charles Wickenham. Langton told him that he was being arrested under suspicion of the murders of Louise Pennel and Sharon Bilkin. Second was Edward Wickenham and then, screaming with fright, Gail Harrington: both were arrested on suspicion of their involvement in the murders of Louise Pennel and Sharon Bilkin.

  The officers waited for the suspects to dress; two females remained with the hysterical Gail Harrington as she changed out of her nightdress. Another officer waited with Edward as he dressed. He kept on saying he wanted to speak to his father, but no one replied; he became so angry that at one point he was warned that, if he did not come quietly, he would be handcuffed. He then changed his tune, demanding a solicitor. He was told he would be allowed to make a call from the station.

  Both Edward and his fianc�e were driven from the estate fifteen minutes later. Charles Wickenham was refusing to get dressed; he said that, by law, he was to be allowed to remain at his property to oversee any items that were to be removed. Langton conceded, on the understanding that there would be a uniformed officer with him at all times. Now dressed, Wickenham was taken into the drawing room; he even had the audacity to ask if he could be given some breakfast. If anything, he seemed amused by the activity. At some point, he was given a cup of tea but he had only a moment to drink it before he was handcuffed, the two manacles linked by a solid bar. His hands were cuffed in front of his body and he was warned that if he created any kind of trouble, he would be cuffed behind his back.

  'I won't be any trouble. I can finish my tea, even with these hideous things attached,' he smirked, as he sat reading The Times as if nothing untoward was occurring.