The Red Dahlia

'I didn't tell them anything!' Emily was crying.

'Then from now on, refuse to speak to them unless I am with you. Just do what you are told to do, otherwise terrible things will happen!'

Emily was sobbing, her voice hardly audible. 'They already have happened. There's nothing anyone could do to me that would be worse.'

And then she hung up. The team sat in silence.

'Bit like father like daughter,' said Langton. 'She's a piece of work, Justine Wickenham; from what we were able to discover in Milan, she is not an innocent: far from it.' He showed the team the photographs.

Although it was Anna who had talked to Danielle, Langton talked them through the details of their conversation. 'We are certain that Danielle has no idea about the murder enquiry. She thought we were there regarding Wickenham's sexual antics with Emily. Though we've got photographs of him and Justine rather than Emily, the maid was very concerned about her and with good bloody reason. She wants him punished! I think that goes for all of us; the question is how we go about drawing the net over his sickening head. We have it raised, but we still need more concrete evidence: a lot of what we have is hearsay and won't hold up in court. We need confirmation that Louise Pennel was at that house and that he has lied about not knowing her; someone there must have seen her and I think that someone could be the son's girlfriend. We now need to question Edward Wickenham and Gail Harrington, but we have to be very careful as the son could also be implicated; he may be a partner in his father's perversions.'

Lewis tapped the photograph of Edward and Dominique Wickenham. 'I'd say he's very much a part of it: he's screwing his stepmother!'

Langton nodded and tapped the other photographs. 'Let's see if we can identify these other guys.'

They went on to discuss getting a search warrant for the Hall; Langton said they could get one any time, but he wanted to hold off until he had some firm evidence. The meeting broke up and the team regrouped in the Incident Room. Langton asked Anna to join him in his office; she asked if she could first finish typing up her report. He shrugged and walked off with Lewis. When she headed over a short while later, the door was ajar: she could hear their conversation clearly.

'She was at the airport! Ruddy woman gets everywhere; anyway, it proved to be worthwhile, as she filled in some details about Mrs Wickenham the exotic dancer. I have to hand it to her, she's a really devious woman. She could get blood out of a stone; well, I know she can — she got me to take her to dinner. She wanted to go to this place called Bebel's on the Via San Marco. It cost a fortune. Good job it was worthwhile: my expenses went through the roof

So Anna had been wrong about Langton and Professor Marshe after alclass="underline" it had been a coincidence. She tapped on the open door and Lewis turned.

'See you later then.' He passed Anna.

'Shut the door, Travis,' Langton said, loosening his tie.

Anna hovered by his desk.

'I want you to have another go at Emily Wickenham. It's pretty obvious she's flying close to the edge, but she might just know something that will help us. I'm getting copies of the photographs done, so she might help us identify the men in the hot tub.'

'Okay.' She nodded.

'Are you?'

'I'm sorry?

'Are you okay?'

She frowned, confused. 'Yes, why? Don't I look it?'

He shrugged. 'You're wearing the same clothes as you travelled in last night, your hair needs something doing to it, and you've got a ladder in your tights.'

She flushed.

'So, is there anything you feel you want to tell me?'

'I overslept.'

'That was pretty obvious, you were late. It's just unusual — well, I think it is — when a woman wears the same clothes two days in a row.'

'I just didn't have time to find another suit.'

'Don't get stroppy! It's just not like you, that's alclass="underline" you always look fresh as a daisy. This morning, you look beat.'

'Thank you. I'll have an early night.'

He nodded, and loosened his tie even lower down his shirt front. 'This journalist still seeing you?'

'No.'

There was a pause as he checked his watch. He looked up at her and smiled. 'See you later.'

She walked back to her desk, feeling like she'd been hit over the head with a mallet. She was rifling around in her briefcase for a spare pair of tights when Barolli breezed over, grinning.

'We got a hit: the anonymous caller has been identified.'

Anna looked up. 'Is it Edward Wickenham's girlfriend?'

'Got it in one! Well, let's say we're pretty sure it's her.'

'You going to interview her?' she asked.

'Dunno; be down to the Gov. But good news, huh?'

'Yes.'

'You okay?'

She sighed. 'I am fine!'

'Just you look a bit under the weather. Mind you, this case is getting to all of us. Poor old Lewis is knackered: his son is teething, keeping him up all night.'

Langton appeared. 'Can you cut the bloody chitchat? Did we get a result?'

Barolli grinned. 'We certainly did: voice match!'

Anna watched as they went into Langton's office together. She picked up her tights and hurried off to the ladies'.

Straightening her skirt, Anna noticed a stain down one side and scratched at it with her finger. She dampened some toilet tissue and tried unsuccessfully to clean it off. She took a good hard look at herself in the mirror and was taken aback. Her hair needed washing, she had no make-up on and the white shirt that she'd seized was looking very drab.

'Christ, I do look a mess,' she muttered, embarrassed: she was even wearing awful old sports knickers. 'What are you doing to yourself?' She glanced down at her shoes: they were comfortable, but old and scuffed; unsurprising, as she'd had them since college.

Letting yourself go, that's what, she thought. She returned to her desk with grim determination: at lunchtime, she'd book an appointment for a cut and blow-dry, then when she got home, she was going to weed out all her old clothes and send them off to the Red Cross.

'You going with the Gov?' Barolli asked as he shrugged into his raincoat.

'What?'

'Interview Wickenham's girlfriend?'

'No, I'm on the daughter.'

'Oh; well, he was bellowing for you a few minutes ago.' Barolli headed out.

Lewis hurried past. 'Gov is looking for you.'

'Christ! I just went to the toilet,' she snapped and was about to head towards Langton's office when he appeared.

'Where've you been?'

Anna gestured, exasperated. 'The ladies'!'

'Well, I want you with me: you did the phone-in with her, so maybe it's good you're along.'

'But what about Emily Wickenham?'

'What about her? You can see her when we get back.'

Langton strode off. The hairdresser would have to wait.

It was pouring with rain, as though someone up there was turning on taps. Anna had held her briefcase over her head as she ran across the car park, but by the time she got in beside Lewis, she was drenched.

'Christ Almighty, this is like a monsoon!' he moaned, as he rubbed his soaking wet hair.

Langton was sitting in the front next to the driver, wearing a brown raincoat with a shoulder-wide cape. He looked bone dry; Lewis, wiping his face with a handkerchief, leaned forward.

'Didn't you get caught in it then?'

'Yep, but there are such things as umbrellas, pal!'

'Right, thanks, brilliant. I'm effing soaked and so is Anna.'

Langton turned to grin at them both; he gestured to his raincoat. 'You should get one of these: down to the ankles, shoulders double up with this cape thing. I got it in Camden Market, it's worn by bushmen in Australia.'

'Rains there, does it?' Lewis said, as he pulled at his soaking wet shirt collar.

Anna could feel her hair curling up beneath her fingers. She knew it would dry into a frizzy mop, and make her look like a Cabbage Patch doll. That was what her father used to say to tease her when she was a child.