The Red Dahlia

'So what's all this about? Please, please do sit down.' He settled himself in a chair.

Anna could see on the little finger of his left hand a large gold and cornelian signet ring. She went and sat down on one of the velvet chairs, opened her briefcase and took out her notebook to jot this down. She showed her pad to Langton, who had sat on the arm of her chair, but he made no acknowledgement.

'I am leading an enquiry into the murder of a young girl called Louise Pennel.'

Wickenham didn't seem to be listening; he was frowning at a cushion cover which he flicked at with his fingernails and then tossed aside.

'The newspapers have given her the nickname of the Red Dahlia,' Langton continued.

Wickenham nodded and sipped his drink.

'We are also investigating the murder of another girl, Sharon Bilkin, possibly killed by the same person.'

Wickenham suddenly stood up, placed his glass down on a side table and walked over to the door; he called down the hallway to the kitchen. 'Hylda, I won't want a big lunch, just something fight!'

Anna looked at Langton who gave a half-smile, shaking his head. Wickenham strolled back in and sat down again, picking up his scotch.

'Sorry, but if I don't warn her, it's a meat and potatoes job.'

Langton held up the photograph of Louise Pennel. 'Do you know this girl?'

Wickenham leaned forward and stared at the photograph. 'No.'

'What about this girl?' Langton held up a photograph of Sharon Bilkin.

Wickenham stared, cocked his head to one side and then smiled. 'Sorry, no, I do not.'

Langton didn't appear to be in any way put out; next, he selected the drawing that had been made of their suspect. 'Would you say this is a good likeness?'

Wickenham leaned even closer. 'Of me?'

'Yes, of you, Mr Wickenham.'

'Could you explain to me why you are showing me these photographs and that… drawing, is it?'

'We have made many requests via the press and television for this man to come forward. He does look very similar to you.'

'I do apologise. If I had seen it, quite frankly I would not have thought that it was me, so I would have had no reason to make contact.'

'Did you ever visit Louise Pennel? The girl in the photograph I first showed you?' Again Langton held up the photograph.

Wickenham drained his glass and shook his head. 'As I have said, I do not know her, so it would not really be logical for me to have visited her.'

Langton persisted, returning to Sharon Bilkin's photograph. 'Did you ever visit this girl?'

Wickenham sighed. 'No.'

Langton shuffled his photographs and sketch like a pack of cards. 'Do you have any idea how we came to have this drawing of a person who does, even if you do not agree, bear a very strong resemblance to yourself?'

'None whatsoever.'

'A witness, two witnesses in fact, working with a police artist and a Photofit expert, and without conferring with each other, produced this profile: tall, hooknosed, dark eyes, dark-haired, with slight greying at the temples. Contrary to what you say, I think it is an exceptional likeness; perhaps the best solution is if you agree to take part in an identity parade.'

'Me?'

'Yes, Doctor Wickenham, you. Would you agree to assist our enquiry? This way, it will eliminate you or, conversely, prove that you did, on numerous occasions, visit the victim, Louise Pennel.'

'When am I supposed to have been calling on this woman?'

Before Anna could refer to her notebook for the exact dates given by Louise Pennel's landlady, without any hesitation Langton replied, 'The ninth of January.'

'The ninth of January? Would that be this year?'

Langton nodded. Wickenham got up.

'Let me get my diary; it's in my study.'

He walked out. Lewis watched for a moment as Langton put the photographs back in the file.

'What do you think?'

Langton's reply was hardly audible. 'He's wearing the signet ring described. Right, Anna?'

She nodded.

'Well, he's a bloody cool customer,' Lewis muttered.

Langton crossed to the piano and looked at the photographs. He turned as Wickenham walked back in with a large leather desk diary.

'The ninth of January, you say? I had meetings with my solicitors in Cavendish Square. It was quite a lengthy meeting, as my ex-wife has started to become even greedier than she was when we were married. I had lunch at my club, the St James, and then I returned home. I had guests for dinner that evening.' He closed the book. 'What time of day am I supposed to have met this girl?'

'Can these meetings be verified?' Langton asked, keeping his voice steady.

'Of course; if you wish, I can contact everyone and they will get in touch with you.'

'Thank you. You were a surgeon; is that correct?'

'Yes I was, almost in a past life. I retired ten years ago; I had grown tired of travelling, tired of army life, really.' He gestured expansively to the room. 'I did not need the salary and I decided that I would prefer to spend more time here, and with my children. To be honest, it was never a career I enjoyed, but then peer pressure is not something you do ever enjoy. My father's death sort of coincided; I inherited the Hall and wanted to get it back into more of a habitable place. It required a lot of work, not to mention money.'

Langton smiled. 'Thank you very much. You have been very helpful. I am sorry to have taken up so much of your time.'

Anna was astonished but got to her feet, as did Lewis.

'I'll show you out.' Wickenham smiled and gestured for them to go ahead of him.

As they walked down the front steps, Langton turned, smiling pleasantly. 'I will arrange a line-up and, if necessary, I can send a car to collect you.'

For the first time, Wickenham's eyes flickered slightly; he covered up fast. 'By all means, but I doubt when my diary has been verified it will be necessary.'

'I'll be in touch.'

Langton headed over to the waiting car and yanked open the passenger door. They hurried after him and got into the back seat. Wickenham even had the audacity to give them a slight wave of his hand before he went back inside.

'Fuck me, he's a piece of work,' Lewis said.

Langton nudged the driver. 'Go left, down the drive beside the house, would you?'

Around the side of the house were garages. A Range Rover was having thick mud hosed off its wheels. Parked beside it was a gleaming new Jaguar saloon. Langton stared at the car and then at Lewis and Anna.

'We get that line-up organised; let's hope to Christ that landlady can identify him.'

'I have my doubts, you know,' Anna said, uneasily. 'She did say that he kept his face hidden.'

'She described his fucking ring, didn't she? His hook nose? If needs be, he can keep his hand over part of his face. I need him to be identified, because we have fuck all else on the bastard.'

The driver asked if he should turn around, but Langton pointed to the lane running beside the garage. 'See if we can get out that way, take a look at his estate!'

They drove onto a gravel lane that led them past a small thatched cottage. It was immaculate, with lead windows and an abundance of flowers around the quaint former stable door, the top half of which was open.

'Staff quarters, do you think?' ventured Lewis.

'No, too nice by far. They'll be stuck somewhere out of sight,' Langton replied, just as Edward Wickenham appeared at the stable door. He looked at them and then disappeared inside, closing the door behind him.

'Must be the son 'n' heir's place,' Lewis said, as they drove past.

'You remember what Professor Marshe said?' Anna leaned towards Langton. 'Killer might be having some friction with his wife? Well, he told us she was trying for more money, reason he was at his solicitors.'

'Mmm.' Langton nodded. He looked down into the footwell and picked up the elastic band.

'You know, something we've not really delved into is what if it's two of them: father and son?' Lewis asked.