The Red Dahlia (14 page)

‘Is this true?’

‘For Chrissakes, Anna!’ he snapped suddenly, pushing back his chair. ‘You jumped to the wrong conclusions and you never even gave me the opportunity to tell you my side of the story before having a go at me.’

Anna took a deep breath. ‘So Professor Marshe told your editor about the case?’

‘That’s what I’ve just told you, isn’t it? She also said that she feels it is our public duty to let the readers know that we have a nightmare killer at large, and one it appears you are nowhere near even identifying at that.’

Anna took her glass and went to sit on the sofa. He followed, sitting in the large and only armchair opposite her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘So you should be. As for you getting into hot water about it, you should have a go at your DCI Langton; he brought her into the case, didn’t he?’

Anna said nothing. He crossed his legs, dangling the glass from his hand. ‘Shall I open the bottle I brought? It is a slightly better vintage than this one.’

She shrugged; he got up and walked into the kitchen. Anna was feeling foolish and wasn’t sure what to say. He returned and filled his own glass, then went over and stood in front of her.

‘Refill?’

‘Yes please, thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’ He put the bottle onto the table and then sat beside her on the sofa. ‘Forgiven?’

‘Yes. I am sorry.’

He sipped his wine, and then looked up at the TV; it had remained on throughout dinner with the sound turned off.

‘Is that your only means of entertainment?’

She gestured to the stereo and he got up, rifled through her CDs and put one on, then took out a box of matches and lit the candles on the bookcase. He turned the lights down, the TV off, and as the strains of Mozart began to fill the room, he sat back down beside her.

‘This is better.’

‘So’s your wine,’ she said, thawing out.

‘So now you know why I was late. I am really sorry, but she wasn’t going to let me out of there until I got the article out.’ He leaned back. ‘No wonder you don’t want to talk about it. I logged onto the Black Dahlia website and found all the gory details: sickening. To think there is some maniac trying to emulate that is beyond belief. I know there are copycat killers, but this is freaky; why copycat a murder that happened in 1947?’

‘Because the killer was never caught.’

‘But the pre-planning — to drain Louise’s blood before slicing her body in two—’

Anna closed her eyes and tensed.

He turned towards her. ‘Do you get to sleep okay?’

‘Usually; it depends. You get used to horror — it’s the job, you know — but sometimes images creep into your mind and stay there.’

‘You know the image that I can’t get rid of?’

Anna didn’t respond.

‘The look in her eyes. I never knew that dead eyes held an expression; I thought they just blanked out when the heart stopped, but there is so much pain in her eyes. Terrible.’

‘Yes.’

‘Did Louise Pennel’s face have the same expression as Elizabeth Short?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why would one human being want to inflict such agony on another? What makes them that way?’

‘I don’t know: a madness is all one can put it down to.’

‘How come you are on a murder team?’

‘Because I wanted to be.’

‘You chose it?’

‘Yes, my father was a homicide officer for thirty years.’

‘You ever work with him?’

‘No, he died almost three years ago.’

‘I’m sorry. No doubt he would be very proud you had followed in his footsteps.’

‘Yes; yes, I think he would.’

‘What about your mother?’

‘She died before Dad.’

He leaned closer, his head almost on her shoulder. ‘So you are an orphan?’

‘I never really thought about it, but I suppose I am.’

‘You ever get lonely?’

‘Well, I don’t have any relatives that I’m close to.’

‘What about friends?’

‘Not many; mostly work colleagues. Why are you asking me all these questions?’

‘To try and get to know you.’

‘Well, as you can see, there’s not much to know about.’

He smiled. ‘From what I can see, you have a great CD collection, a neat little flat, and you are very pretty.’

She laughed. ‘Rubbish.’

‘You are. Well, I think so; I love that red curly hair. Did you know you have a ring of freckles over your nose?’

Anna’s hand went to her face, involuntarily. ‘I am always trying to cover them up, but I didn’t do my makeup when I got home.’

‘You have beautiful skin, and very pretty hands.’ He reached out and caught her hand in his.

Anna was at a loss. She found him so attractive but she was so unused to the whole flirting thing. ‘Am I supposed to say nice things about you now?’ she asked softly.

‘You could. I mean, it’s been pretty one-sided up until now. You’ve not given me much indication that you find me interesting; attractive even.’

‘You are both.’

‘Good.’

He reached down and picked up his wine glass, drained it and got up for a refill.

‘You should be careful; are you driving?’

He turned and cocked his head to one side. ‘Are you trying to tell me that I should be leaving?’

‘It’s just that we’ve already had one bottle, so if you’re in the car, you’ll need some coffee. I’m a police officer, remember.’

He smiled as he picked up her glass and topped it up.

‘So do you want coffee?’ she asked.

‘No, thanks.’ He sat beside her again, and stretched out his legs in front so he leaned back again very close to her. ‘Do you have a pet?’

‘No.’

‘Well, there is this disgusting moggy that’s sort of moved in with me, her name is Blott: she’s a sort of tabby cross with what could be a hamster; she has this very odd, uncatlike face that I think may be from someone having kicked her; it’s sort of squashed. Can we go to bed?’

DAY SIXTEEN

It was no good making the excuse that she was drunk. She was a little tipsy, but she knew what she was getting into, though the wine had made her a lot less inhibited. She had never actually slept with anyone who had just suggested bed without any physical preamble; her previous experiences had begun with unbuttoning shirts and blouses and escalated from there. Langton had been a very tender and experienced lover, so totally at ease the morning after; it was a night that she knew had been special. She had not been in a sexual relationship since. It was not that she had been unable to consider anyone else as a lover; it was simply there hadn’t been anyone who appeared to find her attractive, let alone make a play for her. Now there was Mr Reynolds. The world had not exactly moved when they had made love, but he was sweet and considerate, and made her laugh during and after sex; in the morning, however, when he had woken her with kisses, it had been more passionate. He brought her a cup of coffee in bed and then went for a shower. Unfortunately, the coffee was dreadful: it was the stewed brew that had been percolating all night. Anna smiled but said nothing when he came back in, pulling on his suede jacket and smelling of her moisturiser and shampoo. She loved it when he knelt on the bed to kiss her again.

‘I’ll call you later.’

Then he was gone. She stood on tiptoe in the kitchen, watching him speed off in his Morgan.

She scrambled some eggs and made some fresh coffee. She hummed to herself as she showered, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Brimming with confidence, she parked her Mini at the station. She saw Langton’s beat-up Rover taking up two spaces; typically inconsiderate, she thought.

As she walked into the Incident Room, the hubbub of voices lowered as the officers glanced over.

‘Morning,’ she said cheerfully, and crossed to her desk.

Lewis propped up the headline — COPYCAT BLACK DAHLIA KILLER.

She said nothing as she took the paper and glanced over it. It was exactly what they had hoped would not happen. The article compared the old case and the new, complete with photographs of the two victims side by side, and gory details of the murder of Louise Pennel.

‘Your boyfriend’s got the Gov in a white-hot rage.’

Anna slapped the paper down on her desk. ‘My relationship has nothing to do with this article. I resent everyone in this station giving me snide glances and implying that this has something to do with me: it hasn’t!’

‘He certainly knows a hell of a lot about the cases, so if you didn’t brief him, who did?’ Lewis said nastily.

‘He probably checked on the Elizabeth Short website.’

Anna got up and walked past Lewis to get herself a coffee, not that she wanted one; she could sense all the ears wigging at their conversation. She stood by the board and read the press release that the Commander had instructed Langton to issue when he received the postcard; it requested that the killer should make contact at any location of his choice.

‘Have we heard anything back from this?’ she asked Barolli, who shook his head. ‘Anything from her address book?’

‘You mean apart from damage to the eardrums? We’ve arranged meetings with all the ones we’ve been able to trace so far. There’s a list on your desk.’

Anna had been given four addresses and contact numbers: two girls and one man who had lived in the hostel with Louise, and two men who had known her a couple of years ago. They were scattered all over London.

Anna opened her desk drawer and took out her A to Z to work out which route would save her the most travelling time.

‘Travis!’ came the bellow from Langton’s office. She’d been waiting for this and she was ready for him. She ran her fingers through her hair, pulled down her sweater and smoothed her skirt as she headed into his office.

‘Sit down.’

She perched on the edge of her seat. He tossed the paper over to her. ‘You read this fucking garbage?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did you give your boyfriend, our case file?’

‘No.’

‘So he just grasped all of this from thin air, did he?’

‘He had to have inside information.’

‘You bet your sweet arse he has! This has put us in a bloody awkward situation. The phones are hopping with nutters; we’ve had Yellow, Blue, Pink Dahlias — it’s going to take up a lot of valuable time.’

‘I know.’

‘You know, do you? Well, for Chrissakes, use this as a lesson to keep your yapping mouth shut.’

‘I don’t like the way you are talking to me.’

‘What?’

‘I said, I don’t like your tone of voice.’

‘You don’t like my tone of voice? It’s the same one I use on everybody, Anna! Do you think I should treat you any differently?’

‘No, but I do think you should show me some respect, and not jump automatically to the wrong conclusion.’

‘What?’

‘I did not discuss the Red Dahlia case with Richard Reynolds.’

‘Christ, even his name is like some cartoon character!’ he snapped.

‘Professor Marshe discussed the case with Mr Reynolds’s editor, who returned to the crime desk and hit the roof. She had not been privy to any contacts made, so when she found out what a newsworthy story it was, she insisted they publish an article comparing the old case and ours. As Mr Reynolds simply works for the crime section, he does not have the power to veto a story; even though he was attempting to honour the press embargo you requested, his editor paid short shrift to it and insisted it was in the public interest to release the facts that we have a nightmare murder and a maniac on the loose.’

She had to gasp for breath, she had spoken so quickly.

‘That’s enough,’ he snapped, and glared. ‘I get the picture, Travis.’

‘An apology would be nice,’ she said, tartly.

Langton glowered. ‘I’m sorry; sorry I jumped down your throat and to the wrong conclusion.’

Anna stood up, and smiled primly at him. ‘Thank you.’

She walked out, closing the door softly behind her.

She had arranged to meet all four people on her list by the time Langton came into the Incident Room. The phones had not stopped ringing and they had two extra clerks working the switchboard. Langton looked dishevelled: hair standing on end, unshaven as usual.

‘We have not as yet had any response to my press release. We have got a stream of lunatics from the newspaper article, but we have to hope one might give us something. Using the victim’s address book, we’ll cover everyone she knew, see if they can throw any light on this suspect.’

Langton gestured to the drawing of the LA suspect, then he dug his hands into his pockets. ‘All we can do is keep going. Now that the public are aware of the comparison between the LA case and ours, we will be inundated with calls, so I am giving a press conference later this afternoon. We will be disclosing our drawing, and expressing hope that someone will come forward, etcetera etcetera. What will not be disclosed is that the suspect may have made contact with Louise Pennel via an advert for a PA. We still do not have anything to back this up as yet, but keep going. We will also not disclose the fact that we have some DNA from the victim’s underwear that may or may not help us if and when we catch this bastard!’

Langton covered old ground for another ten minutes and then the briefing broke up. The detectives who were to question the known associates of Louise Pennel prepared to leave.

Anna had been gone only five minutes when DS Barolli got a hit. As Anna had requested, The Times had made contact with a list of job adverts covering the period that Louise worked at the dental clinic. There were over a hundred and they had been slowly eliminating each one when Barolli came across something suspicious: a novelist, seeking a PA with shorthand and typing and a willingness to travel worldwide at a moment’s notice, but requiring no previous experience: just that applicants should be between 24 and 30, attractive and well dressed. There was a box number only.

Barolli showed the advert to Langton. ‘This could be the one: ran eight months ago. It was withdrawn five months ago. Payment was by postal order, and we have a box number to trace.’

Langton stared at it. ‘If it’s our man, he’s covered his tracks, but see if they can give us where the postal order came from and check out the box number.’ He smiled. ‘Little Travis beavering away again. She’s good.’