'What?'
'Boozing; you know you're in trouble when you blank out. It's a sign.'
'Well, if you know you drink too much, then you know what to do.'
'Yeah, yeah; did I do anything I shouldn't have?'
She laughed.
'I'm serious; I don't even remember getting to your place.'
She kept on driving, not looking at him.
'Did we screw?'
'No, we did not!'
'Ah! Just wondered.'
'You passed out.'
'So I didn't manhandle you?'
'No, you were the perfect drunk.'
He gave her a sidelong glance, then rested his arm along the back of her seat, his hand on her neck. 'I love you, Travis.'
She smiled, wishing that he meant it.
He fell silent, his hand still touching the nape of her neck. 'What if we've lost him? It'll be a repeat performance of the Black Dahlia case, and my career will be in the shit.'
She shook her head, and he took it that she didn't like him touching her. 'Sorry,' he said quietly, and moved his hand.
'We'll find him,' she said.
In the Incident Room, things were moving fast. Forensics had worked their butts off and information was coming in at a rate of knots. The scientists were still at work and even more damning evidence was being found. Masked and rubber-suited scientists with breathing apparatus were wading through the filth. Charles Wickenham had tried to wash the evidence away, but by removing the drainage pipes and going down into the sewer system, they discovered even more clogged blood.
He must have thought he had destroyed everything that could implicate him, but scientific developments had him trapped. They were also beginning to piece together how he had made the notes sent to the journalists and Langton at the Richmond station. They discovered in his shredding machine old newspapers that he had cut the pasted letters from. They also discovered charred sections of a receipt made out by The Times for running an advert; a box number scrawled on the back of an envelope and thrown into a wastepaper basket was possibly the one he had used to advertise for a personal assistant. Meanwhile, the labs had begun testing Wickenham's computer and hard drive. They were able to ascertain that Wickenham logged onto the Black Dahlia website two hundred and fifty times.
They found many pictures cut from the Black Dahlia books, sickeningly placed in an innocent-looking family album. The entire quest by the author of The Black Dahlia to expose his father as the killer had derived from the discovery of two hitherto unknown photographs of Elizabeth Short at his house. One photograph showed Elizabeth Short with her eyes closed and her head tilted back like a death mask. In the other, she rested her cheek against her hand with a soft sweet smile to camera. Photographs of Louise and Sharon, identically posed, were placed alongside copies of those pictures, between the innocent photographs of his own children. As the evidence mounted, the fact their prime suspect was on the loose fuelled an undercurrent of panic.
Press releases continued to be issued and news bulletins showing Charles Wickenham's photograph were being pumped out. The public were asked for any information and warned that they should not confront Wickenham, but report directly to the police. No sightings of Wickenham had been confirmed at any airport, train station or bus depot. He still remained at large: it was Langton's nightmare.
Edward Wickenham's solicitor was demanding that Langton either charge his client or release him. Gail Harrington's solicitor was on firmer ground, yet Langton insisted both remained in custody, as he was certain that if Wickenham was hiding out, he would contact his son for help. Justine was informed of the situation, though it was unnecessary: every newspaper headlined that the Red Dahlia killer was being hunted.
It was early afternoon when Langton had Edward Wickenham brought up from the cells to be questioned again. One night holed up at the station in a cold, stinking cell had made him tense with pent-up anger. His solicitor tried to placate him, but Edward was implying that if he didn't do something about the situation, he would replace him. Langton sat with Lewis, ignoring the tirade from the sweating young man, and read him his rights again. Yet again he displayed the sickening photographs of Louise Pennel and Sharon Bilkin.
Edward screeched that he had nothing to do with the victims' deaths; he had never met either of them. He was so agitated, spittle formed at the corners of his mouth as he repeated over and over again that he was innocent.
Langton leaned forward, keeping his voice low, forcing Edward to shut up and listen to him. He described the cellar and then went on to list the evidence they had now discovered: the clogged drains, blocked by coagulated blood that had been drained from Louise Pennel's body; the sickening array of saws and knives; the video pornography that also featured the prime suspect's son. His monologue began to take effect.
'We have two hundred tapes of sexual perversion; your own sisters feature, so I am certain we will get to you, Mr Wickenham. So why don't you try and help yourself?'
'I swear before God, I did not have anything to do with those girls, I did not!' He was starting to blubber, twisting his body as he attempted to extricate himself from any connection to the murders.
Edward Wickenham was returned to the cells a little later. He was to be charged with obstructing the police enquiries and with aiding and abetting the depositing of Louise Pennel's body and Sharon Bilkin's body. He would be taken before the magistrate.
Langton stood before the team to give them a brief rundown of the contents of the interview. Lewis had been shaken by what had taken place and was sitting quietly, checking over the interview tape.
Langton touched Louise Pennel's photograph. She had, as Anna had thought, answered an advert for the position of personal assistant to Charles Wickenham. According to his son, Charles had interviewed a number of young girls, and had shown him some of their photographs and CVs. Louise Pennel was the girl he chose. He had subsequently acted like some kind of Svengali, buying her expensive clothes and giving her gifts, mostly cash. She was a very willing partner to his sexual advances, but when he became more perverse he had encouraged her to take drugs, or he had slipped them into her drinks. His son said she was not seen at the Hall itself but would be driven direct to the barn. He swore that he had not had any kind of sexual relationship with her, as his father appeared to be very enamoured of her. It had confused him because, although she was very pretty, 'she was rather a common girl'. He had never heard of the Black Dahlia; his father had never mentioned the case. He was aware that at times his father would have sex sessions in the cellar, but this area was always off limits to him. Often his father, fuelled by drugs, would remain closeted down there for days and nights on end. It was always locked; only a few of his father's friends were ever allowed inside.
Edward Wickenham listed his father's friends. These were men that had the same perversions; they were all into sadomasochistic sex acts. His father had attempted to draw his son into his sadistic sexual activities but he wimped out, deliberately becoming too drunk to perform. Charles had been a brutal and sadistic father, laughing when discovered by his son screwing his young wife. She had been given Rohypnol and had not known what she was doing; she had found out when Charles Wickenham arranged for a family viewing of the tapes. She had been forced to watch herself having sex with her father-in-law and four of his friends. She committed suicide three weeks later.
Even when he talked about his own debauchery and the rape of his wife, Edward was not emotional; if anything, he had become very calm. He never looked at Langton or Lewis; he kept his head bowed, speaking softly. He had occasionally sipped water and a couple of times he had coughed, as if he needed to clear his throat, but it was as if he was talking about someone else.