The Red Dahlia

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 cafes 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 grey 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 grey 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 enquiry. He took out the photographs of Louise Pennel and Sharon Bilkin. She did not recognise 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 enquiry, 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 enquiry 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 over-vivid imagination. There were no charges, and Emily went into therapy afterwards, 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.