Wickenham had no police record but was a doctor. A retired army surgeon, he had travelled the world and was a well-respected member of the community, playing a substantial part in village life in terms of local politics and environmental issues; he was a member of a local hunt, and his stables contained three hunters. He had been married twice, widowed once, and had paid substantial alimony in his second wife's divorce. He had had children with both of his wives: two daughters and a son and heir, thirty-year-old Edward Charles Wickenham. The son lived in a cottage on the estate and had also been widowed, but has now living with a Gail Harrington. Edward had no children; his ex-wife had committed suicide four years ago.
Although the team had discovered so much about the man they now earmarked as a suspect, they still had not yet heard back from immigration or passport control with further details or photographs of either father or son.
Langton, dressed smartly in a grey suit, pale blue shirt and dark tie, paced around the Incident Room like a caged panther. He was eager not to waste any more time and he felt it was imperative they move as fast as possible, either to eliminate Wickenham or to bring him in for questioning. By midday, it was agreed that they would visit Wickenham rather than request he come into the station. Langton called Mayerling Hall, and ascertained from the housekeeper that their suspect was at home. Langton made no mention of who he was or the reason he was calling. To Anna's surprise, Langton requested that Anna and Lewis accompany him, saying that she needed to come as she might meet the caller and recognise her voice. She was well pleased; it meant her indiscretions had been forgiven.
An unmarked squad car was waiting when the three left the Incident Room at one-thirty Anna sat in the back with Lewis, Langton up front with a uniformed driver. They headed out of London in silence, towards the A3; only another hour and they would be there.
'We tread very softly softly,' Langton said, twisting an elastic band round his fingers, twanging it, and then winding it round again. They could all feel how wired he was.
They drove past the field where Sharon Bilkin's body had been discovered. Langton stared at the yellow crime scene ribbons still there; the others followed his gaze.
'Could have dropped her body on his way home?' Lewis asked.
There was a moment's silence, then Langton spoke again. 'We know what car he drives?'
Lewis leaned forward. 'We've got a Range Rover, a Land Rover Jeep and two other vehicles: one is a Jaguar, the other's a Mini.'
'What colour is the Jag?'
'Black.'
Langton gave a soft laugh. 'I don't know about you two, but I've got a gut feeling about this guy.'
'Yeah, right,' Lewis said and sat back.
Anna could feel her stomach churning.
'We know how much he's worth?'
Lewis leaned forward again. 'Few million: his property must be up in the three or four millions and he's got an estate in France. You don't get all that from being a surgeon attached to the army.'
It was Anna's turn to pipe up. 'He was left a bundle by his father; the family have lived at Mayerling Hall for three generations, but they were originally farmers. They bought up a load of land after the war for peanuts and sold it for property development in the fifties and sixties, made a fortune.'
Langton shrugged. 'All right for some, eh? My old man left me with a load of unpaid bills and a council house. I got sent the eviction order two weeks after we'd buried him!'
He checked the map and gave the driver directions. 'Not long now before we find out whether this is a waste of time or not,' he said.
The silence fell again; Langton still twisted the elastic band round and round. 'Left now!' he snapped, even though the driver already had his indicator on.
They travelled for another twenty minutes, bypassing Petworth and pressing on through a quaint picturesque village. There were a few shops, two olde worlde pubs, a restaurant and, further along, a Chinese takeaway. Langton laughed and said you had to hand it to the Chinese, then hit the dashboard with the flat of his hand.
'Up ahead, left. Left!'
The driver said nothing; again, he had already been indicating. It was a narrow lane; two cars would have been unable to pass, were it not for the many verges. They drove for almost a mile and a half, passing farm gates leading into fields, but few houses. Twice they bumped over cattle grids, and they passed numerous signs that said SLOW — HORSES CROSSING.
At last, they came to a manicured hedge, over six feet high, with few gaps to see what was beyond it. The hedge went on for at least two more miles of the narrow lane, then joined up with a walclass="underline" six-feet-high old red brick. As they turned a blind corner in the road, they saw the pillared entrance to Mayerling Hall.
They turned left through the massive open gates, but still could see no property. Thick hedges fringed the drive which led into a much wider, fine gravel pathway, edged with white-painted bricks. As the pathway curved round, it became shaded with massive oak trees that overhung on either side, forming an arch as their branches entwined.
'This is some drive,' Lewis said, looking around, but Langton and Anna stared ahead in silence at the Hall itself.
It was a massive sprawling monster of a house, with griffins high up on the edges of the many roofs. It was originally Tudor, with low hanging roofs and at least eight tall chimneys. The velvet lawns swept down to a lake; statues were dotted around, and a small maze of neat one-foot hedgerows surrounded a fountain where Neptune held up a mermaid, watched by other strange stone creatures. The water spurted high and cascaded down onto the water lilies floating on the large circular pool. On either side were ornate gardens with manicured roses and rhododendrons.
'Wow, this is some place; you would never know from that lane what was here, would you?' Lewis's jaw was open at the opulence: it was like a House & Garden glossy centrefold. 'Need plenty of gardeners,' he continued. There was no one in sight; the silence was only broken by the fountain's gush, punctuated by birdsong.
They pulled up outside the Hall's wide front steps. Planters potted with ivy and blooms were placed on each shallow stone step, and the double front door was studded, with an old iron knocker and large handle.
They stood for a moment, looking up at the ornate building with its myriad stained glass-and-lead windows, many featuring knights in armour. Langton looked to Lewis and Anna, gave a brief nod and walked up the steps. There was an old iron bell pull, but neatly hidden was a modern doorbell; he pressed and waited. It was almost a minute before they heard footsteps, and then one of the studded doors swung open.
The housekeeper was about seventy, rotund, with flushed cheeks and an apron. Langton showed her his ID and asked if he could speak to Dr Charles Wickenham.
'Is he expecting you?' she asked, pleasantly.
'No, but I believe he is at home.'
She nodded, and then stepped back to open the door wider. 'I'll tell him you are here; this way, please.'
They trooped after her into a rather dark, oak-panelled hall, festooned with paintings. The honeycombed ceiling was yellowish in colour; and there was a suit of armour whose right hand rested on a vast umbrella stand containing many big black umbrellas and some bright golfing ones. Above them hung a huge iron chandelier, and on the oak table were stacks of books and a big wide bowl of fresh flowers.
They were led into a drawing room; it had a low ceiling and wide polished wood floorboards. Precious Persian silk throw carpets were placed around the vast room. The dark red velvet sofas and chairs were positioned comfortably around a brick fireplace, its stacked logs ready to be lit. Again, there was a profusion of oil paintings and, on a large grand piano, many silver-framed photographs. Langton was heading over for a glimpse of them but turned as he heard footsteps.