The Red Dahlia

Chapter Eight

Now that she and Lewis had two names to check out, Anna felt really energised. The women lived on different sides of London: one in Hampstead, the other in Putney. They had no luck in contacting Nicola Formby but they left an urgent message on her answerphone; however, Valerie Davis was at home and agreed rather nervously to see them. She asked if it was to do with a parking offence. Lewis said it was nothing for her to worry about; they simply needed to question her about something they would prefer to discuss personally.

Valerie lived in a basement flat close to Hampstead Heath. She was attractive, with shoulder-length blonde hair and the aristocratic tones of a debutante. She was wearing a wide baggy sweater over a very small miniskirt and big furry boots.

'Hi, do come in,' she said. Her cheeks were flushed pink.

It looked as if each of the untidy rooms in the flat was let out to someone or other.

'Sorry about the mess; we've got some friends staying, over from Australia.'

'How many of you live here?' Anna asked pleasantly.

'Four girls and one boy. Tea or coffee?'

They both refused either and sat in the equally untidy kitchen.

'Did you answer this advert?' Lewis went straight in. Anna would have taken more time.

Valerie glanced at the wording of the advert which had been typed out onto a sheet of paper. 'Yes; well, I think it was the same one, about eight months ago.'

Anna's stomach clenched. 'Could you tell us exactly what happened?'

'How do you mean?' Valerie crossed her endless legs. Such a short skirt didn't leave much to the imagination.

'Well, did you write a letter in response?'

'Yes, I sent in my CV, for what it's worth. I don't actually have shorthand, but it sounded like a great opportunity.'

'You sent in a photograph?'

'Yes, though not a very good one: I had to cut off people either side of me, because I didn't really have one that wasn't me fooling about. I was going to go to one of those passport thingies, but I didn't get a chance.'

'When was this?'

Valerie screwed up her face, and then rubbed her nose with the cuff of her sweater. 'Oh gosh, let me think. Be about… early June?'

'Did you get a reply?'

'Not a letter; I got a phone call.'

Anna leaned forwards. 'To here?'

'No, I gave my mobile number and this man asked if I would come for an interview. He wanted to see me straight away. But it was granny's birthday, so I told him I was going to the country and he asked something like when would I be available. I wasn't sure, so I said I'd call him when I got back to London, which I did.'

Anna was itching to direct the conversation, but Lewis was the more experienced officer.

'And you arranged to meet him?' Lewis continued.

Valerie nodded, as Lewis made a note and then looked back to her. 'Where was this?'

'At Kensington Park Hotel, just next to Hyde Park Gardens'

'What date was this?'

Valerie looked up to the ceiling as she wound a strand of her hair round her finger. 'It was a Tuesday, about the fourteenth of June. I was to be there at two-fifteen.'

Lewis carefully wrote down the information. 'Can you describe the person you went to meet?'

Valerie shook her head. 'No, because he never showed up. There's a large, well, it's a massive long room, with the hotel reception, a coffee bar and lots of seating areas. I was late; not too much, 'bout ten minutes. I went to the reception desk and asked if anyone had left a message for me, but no one had. I sat on a sofa for a while and then went and had a coffee.'

'So you never met up with the man you had made the appointment with?'

'No.'

Lewis leaned back, frustrated.

'Did he give you a name?'

'Yes, he said his name was John Edwards.'

He turned to an equally disappointed Anna, who asked if Valerie had seen anyone that might have been Mr Edwards. Valerie said she didn't know what he looked like. She was shown the drawing of their suspect, but she did not remember seeing anyone that resembled him.

Lewis stood up, but Anna was not ready to go. She asked Valerie if she could describe Mr Edwards's voice.

'Describe the way he spoke, you mean?'

'Yes.'

'Well, he sounded a bit like my father: quite pompous, upper-crust, but nice at the same time.'

'Could you repeat the conversation you had with him?'

'Well we didn't really have much of a conversation; he just asked me what previous work I had been doing, and if I had a CV he could check. He wanted to know if he could contact anyone to check me out, I suppose. He asked me about my shorthand speed and I said it was a bit rusty, but that I'd worked in a film production office as a runner.'

'Did you ask him what the job entailed?'

Valerie nodded. 'He said it would be transcribing his novel. He said that it would also involve a lot of travel, because it was a book set all over the world, and that it was really very much a personal assistant requirement rather than a straight secretary. He asked if I had a passport and if I was married, as he needed someone that could travel at a moment's notice.'

Anna smiled. 'It must have sounded like a really interesting job.'

Valerie nodded, and then swung her foot in the big furry boot. 'There was something odd though, which is I suppose why you are asking me about him.'

'What was odd?' Anna said quickly.

'Well he asked if I had a boyfriend and did I look like my photograph. When I told my Dad about it, he said it all sounded a bit iffy to him.'

'Did you try and make contact with Mr Edwards again?'

Valerie shook her head. 'I couldn't be bothered.'

On their way to Putney, Anna and Lewis stopped off at the Kensington Park Hotel. The vestibule was as Valerie had described it: very large, with many guests passing to and fro.

'He could have been watching from any of these sofas or at the coffee bar. You can see anyone coming in or out of the hotel.'

'She had too many people around her,' Lewis said, flatly.

'She also doesn't look like the Black Dahlia victim,' Anna said, as they headed out of the hotel.

Nicola Formby bore no physical resemblance to Elizabeth Short either, bar to her surname: she was not even as tall as Anna, who was only five feet two. Aside from the height issue, she also differed from Valerie in that she was quite highly qualified, having been a PA to a company director for three years; however, when they met Nicola at her flat, she described almost an identical scenario: she had been unable to meet the 'very pleasant, well-spoken man' straight away because of a migraine; she therefore asked if she could contact him when she was recovered. She had sent a photograph and CV care of the box number, and called a few days later to arrange to meet. She was to meet him in the lobby vestibule at two o'clock, this time at the Grosvenor Hotel in Park Lane.

Nicola Formby had been on time, unlike Valerie three days earlier. She had waited over three quarters of an hour sitting in the reception. She had also gone up to the desk to ask if a Mr Edwards had left a message for her, but he had not. Nicola called the number she had taken from the advert but it had been disconnected so, disappointed, she decided to leave. She then realised that there was another entrance at the other side of the hotel and waited there for another ten minutes, but no one approached her. Nicola had neither seen nor spoken to a tall dark-haired man, with or without a long dark draped coat. When shown the drawing of the possible suspect, she was unable to recognise him.

It was as disappointing as Valerie's interview and showed yet again how very carefully their suspect, if he was Mr Edwards, had targeted the hopeful applicants. He must have been able to see them clearly and discard them without ever having shown them his face.

'What has he done?' Nicola asked, looking at the card Anna had given her.

'We're not certain Mr Edwards has done anything,' Lewis said.

'Is he a rapist or something like that?'

Anna hesitated; she knew intuitively that Nicola could give them something more. Even though she and Lewis had agreed that they would not mention Louise's murder, she sat back down and opened her briefcase. 'We are actually investigating a murder. This is the victim; her name was Louise Pennel.'

Lewis shot Anna a look as she handed over a photograph of Louise.

'And you think this man I was supposed to see is connected to it?'

'Possibly.'

There was a sharp intake of breath as Nicola looked at the photograph.

'There was another girl there, at the hotel. I can't be certain, but I think she was waiting for him too.'

Anna could feel her blood rush. 'Do you recognise her?

'I'm not sure, but it could have been her. She arrived at the hotel about twenty minutes after me. She kept on looking around as if she was waiting for someone, and I saw her go up to the desk.'

Anna leaned forwards. 'The Grosvenor is a very big hotel, very exclusive and fashionable. Why do you think she might have been waiting for the same person as you?'

'Because I saw the clerk at the desk point to me, as if to say, she's also waiting. The girl looked over to me then turned away and went further into the lobby. That's when I wondered if I'd got the wrong entrance, because a few years ago I came to a big ball and we came in another way.'

Anna and Lewis almost held their breath. Nicola continued.

'When I got to the back entrance, I saw her heading up the escalator. She turned back and looked at me again and then carried on up to the next floor. That was when I thought maybe I was wrong, you know about her meeting the same person, this Mr Edwards.'

Anna selected two more photographs and passed them to Nicola. 'Have another look, take your time. Do you think this is the girl you saw?'

Nicola sighed apologetically. 'I'm sorry, I can't be certain. It looks like her, but I couldn't be one hundred per cent sure.'

'Do you recall anything else; maybe what she was wearing?'

'Oh yes I do, I remember that, because it was a very hot day and she was wearing a woollen coat. It was a deep maroon and it had a velvet collar. She also had high-heeled shoes on and she was carrying a small clutch bag under her arm.'

Anna was astonished. 'How come you can remember all that so clearly?'

'Part of my job when I worked for an advertising company was buying stuff for commercial shoots. I suppose it really was more like a glorified dresser, but it did teach me a lot about clothes. Maybe that's why I can't remember her face; I was looking at her coat.'

It was almost six-thirty by the time Anna and Lewis returned to the station and past seven when they finished briefing Langton as to how the interviews had gone.

'I'd say it was our victim and Anna agrees.' Lewis nodded towards her.

Langton was tapping a pencil on the side of his desk. 'Did you enquire if this Mr Edwards booked a room in either of the hotels?'

'Yep, and there was no one of that name.'

'So, what, after all that schlepping around, do we have?'

Anna flipped her notebook closed. 'That Louise Pennel met this Mr Edwards on 10th June and a couple of days later moved into Sharon's flat. Her wages from the dental clinic would not have covered the rent per week.'

Langton ruffled his hair. 'So you think she was being paid by this Mr Edwards?'

'Maybe; she got new clothes, some very expensive.'

'But if she got the job working for him, why did she stay at the clinic?'

Anna shrugged. 'Maybe this Mr Edwards was just schooling her for his perversions. She was often late, often hung over at work and didn't seem to care even when she was warned she'd be fired. Sharon said at one time she had bad bruises on her arms. And a black eye, which Louise put down to falling at work.'

Langton took a deep breath. 'And we are still no nearer to tracing this sadistic bastard.'

'I think we are getting closer,' Anna said.

'Do you?' Langton said, sarcastically. He stood up and stretched his arms above his head. 'There was nothing helpful from his last contact: no fingerprints, just letters cut out of newspapers stuck to the same notepaper, so we just sit and wait for his next missive. All we have is that the notes were more than likely compiled by the same person, whoever the hell he is, this Mr Edwards. I dunno; it's like we're going around in circles.'

Anna felt slightly irritated as she thought that she had done a good day's work, but she said nothing, sitting with her notebook in hand.

'How much was she paying out at the B&B?'

Anna flicked over a page then looked up at Langton. 'Almost as much as at Sharon's, but she was making money turning tricks then; I am certain she wasn't once she moved.'

'They both slept with guys for money — Sharon admitted it to me,' Langton snapped.

'Occasionally she might have, but it was by no means regular. For six months, she paid rent, went out, dated the tall dark-haired man and kept up her job at the dental clinic.'

Langton interrupted, wafting his hand. 'Yes, yes, we know all this. But I can't for the life of me think what all this gives us, Travis?'

'That she was being paid by her lover. Now, what she was actually paid for, I don't know, I'd say sexual favours. Sharon has stated that Louise offered her drugs a few times — cocaine — and she was often very distressed.'

Langton slapped the table with his hand. 'But what does this give us?'

'For Chrissakes, it gives even more on the suspect!' Anna snapped back at him.

Langton grimaced. 'In case you are unaware of it, we do not have, after two weeks, a clue as to who this suspect is. We are saying he might look like the drawing of the Black Dahlia killer, but he could not look anything like him. We have had not one positive identification or, even more important, one shred of evidence against this so-called lover of Louise Pennel. We don't even have any proof that he was screwing her, or that it was him that put the advert in The Times. We have fuck all, if the truth be known.'

Anna and Lewis were rescued by Barolli, who rapped on the door and put his head round.

'We've got lucky on the CCTV footage from Stringfellow's. It's only taken fifteen-odd hours, but we've got her up on screen now.'

Langton spread out his arms in a gesture of relief. 'Let's go.'

Langton and Anna sat in the centre, with Lewis on the remote. The room went silent as the blinds were drawn. Barolli stood next to the TV with a pencil in his hand; as the footage began, he gestured for Lewis to pause.

'Okay this is the first sighting of her. She's just walking in, edge of frame on the right. The time coder didn't work, but from Sharon's statements we've estimated it to be around ten o'clock; so this is shortly after they arrived.'

Lewis pressed Play and Louise Pennel walked into view: she looked far more beautiful than in any photograph. She was wearing a low-cut sequinned top and a denim miniskirt, both of which looked as if they belonged to Sharon. Louise had long slender legs and she was wearing very high-heeled sandals, making her even taller. She was wearing a flower in her hair; her face was heavily made-up. It was annoying to watch, as people kept passing in front of her and hiding her from the camera; in particular, Sharon seemed constantly to mask Louise.

The CCTV camera was at the entrance into the disco section and watched over the clubbers moving towards the blinking spotlights. As the camera slowly turned to look into the club's main bar and disco, the performing pole dancers were just about visible, but it was very dark. Sharon was all eyes, looking around, but Louise looked shy; she held her clutch bag in one hand and had the other to her mouth as she chewed her nails. Sharon turned to Louise and gestured for her to follow. They disappeared into the darkness.

Barolli leaned towards the TV. 'Next sighting is, we think, an hour later; this is tape ten. Again she comes into frame on your right and she's alone. Sharon is nowhere to be seen.'

Lewis pressed Play and they all watched as Louise, empty glass in hand, edged over to the bar. A stool became vacant and she moved over quickly to grab it; she sat perched with her long legs crossed as she surveyed the room. A few times, she was almost jostled off, as people in the crowd gestured for the barman to serve them. Louise opened her bag and then leaned on the counter. She said something to the barman and he nodded as she turned back, looking over the dancers. She was handed a glass of beer and she paid for it, still perched on the stool, as a young guy with long hair in a ponytail stood next to her. They had a brief conversation, but Louise was obviously not interested, virtually turning her back on him.

It was like watching a ghost. Louise was so very much alive on the tape, yet they all knew what a terrible death she had suffered three days and nights later.

Louise remained on the bar stool for another half an hour. She had another beer and was approached by a couple more clubbers; she didn't seem at all interested in being picked up, though she was sitting in a very provocative manner. She delved into her clutch bag a few times and took out a mirror, retouched her lipstick and replaced the compact. Anna noted that it was the same handbag that had been sent to the newspaper.

'I'm getting thirsty,' Langton said impatiently, as they watched Louise order her third beer. He checked his watch. They had no sound on the footage, so they all sat watching in silence, broken only by the occasional whisper. Despite the phones constantly ringing and the muffled voices from the Incident Room, everyone's attention remained on the TV. After three quarters of an hour, Louise left her bar stool and walked off. Sharon was seen passing, her young rock musician in tow. If she was looking for Louise, she didn't appear to be concerned. Lewis stopped the film and Barolli looked at his time sheet. There were more tapes.

'We have two more sightings of her; the next is at the entrance, from when she first came in.'

Louise stood looking around, very much alone, presumably searching for Sharon; this time, she had an empty champagne glass in one hand, her handbag in the other. She returned back into the dark recesses of the club and the film was stopped again.

'Okay last and, I'm sorry to say, least, we've got her passing the bar but not sitting down. This time, she's got what we think is her maroon coat over her arm.'

Louise pushed her way past the crowded bar area; she was jostled and yet ignored. The club had begun to fill up; again, she seemed to be looking for someone: whether Sharon or someone else was impossible to tell.

'So she gets her coat and returns to the bar area, say looking for Sharon, who we know has gone off with her rock-and-roll boy, so what time do you reckon this is?' Langton asked, stifling a yawn.

'Quarter to twelve, maybe eleven-thirty. What we've looked at is running on actual time.'

'I am damned sure she either met her killer in the club or outside it; what about that footage?'

'No go; it was recycled.'

Langton pushed back his chair, pointing to the screen. 'Get that barman in to look at the tape; get anyone you can from the club that night to look at it. Someone might have seen something, though at the rate we are bloody going, I doubt it.'

He rubbed his chin. 'I don't understand it; she's gorgeous, sitting propped up at the bar and we don't get anyone that even remembers her. I'd remember her, wouldn't you?'

He looked at Barolli, who shrugged. Lewis said that he probably would. Langton was just moving when Anna spoke.

'She didn't fit in. Yes she's beautiful, but she's constantly biting her nails and looking around as if she is waiting for someone. Men can detect that needy quality she has; they can also detect, in my opinion, that Louise could be on the game. We know she was when she worked at the B&B.'

'Thank you for that insight, Travis,' Langton said, abruptly.

'I also think whoever it was might have been there told her to get her coat and she was looking for Sharon to say she was going.'

'What makes you say that?'

'At the end of the tape, she has an empty champagne glass. When we saw her earlier on, she was drinking beer. Their prices are high, so I doubt she bought the champagne for herself; as Sharon has said often enough, she was very careful with her money. The handbag, by the way, looks like the one which was sent to the newspaper.'

Langton gave a half-smile. 'Thank you, Travis, good; and this time you go back to the club with Barolli, see what you can come up with. Also put out the description of the clothes she was wearing. Sharon Bilkin had said she was wearing a black dress. She's obviously not, so put the new styles out — who knows, we may get a break.'

Anna was feeling ragged when she got to work the following morning at seven-thirty. She had been unable to sleep; something about the footage had niggled at her for most of the night. It had also occurred to her that if Louise had arranged to meet her lover at the club, there might be a record of the call. As she walked into the Incident Room, Bridget looked up, surprised.

'You're not due in until this afternoon. Aren't you going to Stringfellow's?'

'Yes, but I want to have another look over the footage.'

Bridget pointed to Langton's office. 'He's got it.'

Anna tapped on Langton's office door and waited. He opened the door in his shirtsleeves. He looked as if he had been there all night: he was in need of a shave, and on his desk was a row of coffee beakers lined up next to an overflowing ashtray. Behind him was a TV set, the footage paused.

'Morning. I wanted to look over the CCTV footage,' she said, as he returned to his desk.

'Be my guest,' he said, gesturing to the TV.

Anna drew a hard-backed chair closer to the TV. She told him she'd been unable to sleep, wondering about the phone call she felt Louise might have made. He shook his head.

'No, Lewis checked all the calls from Sharon's land-line. Sharon said she had never seen Louise with a mobile.'

'That doesn't mean she didn't have one,' Anna said.

Langton gave her a hooded look. 'We checked at the dental clinic and no one recalls her using a mobile phone, so it looks like you had a sleepless night for nothing.'

Anna puffed out her cheeks. 'Ah well; would have been too good.'

'I've not slept either.' He lit a cigarette and pointed to the TV. 'I was wondering if we'd got this in the wrong order.'

'Right, that was something I thought of last night.'

He cocked his head on one side.

'We have numerous tapes and they are not time-coded.'

Langton nodded. 'So what do you think?'

'Well, our last shots of her with her coat over her arm and the empty champagne glass could be much earlier.'

'What does that give us?'

'The way she sits at the bar as if waiting, constantly looking around.'

'Yes, and?' He sighed, stubbing out his cigarette.

'It's the way she's dressed; it's as if she is making some kind of statement.'

Anna took the book from her briefcase and showed him a photograph of Elizabeth Short. 'Look at the way she made up her face: white base, deep red lipstick, dark eyeliner.'

'Yes, and?'

'Well, if she was meeting our mystery man, and we go with the Svengali thing, then she made her face up the way he might have wanted it, but her low-cut top and that tiny skirt…'

'Yes, and?' He was impatient, rocking in his chair.

'She knew he would be there.'

Langton nodded, then pushed back his chair and picked up the remote. 'Right, let's look at the footage in the order we think it happened and see if it makes any difference.'

They worked side by side, switching tapes, scrolling through until they saw their victim sitting at the bar, ordering drinks, etcetera. At the end of it, they stared in silence at the frozen image of Louise on the screen.

'So having dicked around for half an hour, what do you think?'

Anna hesitated. 'I think our killer was at the club, and someone must have seen him.'

He nodded, and then checked his watch. 'I'll come to the club with you; now I need a shower, so get some breakfast.'

'I doubt anyone will be there; it's not yet nine.'

Langton opened his office door to be confronted by Lewis who was red in the face.

'We've got another letter.'

A certain girl is going to get the same as LP got if she squeals on me. Catch me if you can.

On the back of the envelope, there was more:

L. Pennel got it. Who's next?

A speeding patrol car took Langton, Anna and the handwritten note directly to the forensic labs to meet a handwriting expert. As they arrived, they received a call from the Incident Room: Dick Reynolds had called; he too had received another note, not handwritten, but using newspaper cut-out letters.

HaVe cHanGed mY mind. YoU wOuld Not hAVe giVeN me a sQuare dEal. Dahlia kIlliNg was JuStiFied.

The handwriting expert deduced that their writer had taken great pains to disguise his or her personality by printing the message and endeavouring to appear illiterate; however, the style and formation of the handwriting betrayed the writer as an educated person. He loathed being put under such pressure but he said that the sender was, in his opinion, an egomaniac and possibly a musician.

Langton tried to contain his impatience. 'Musician? What do you mean? I mean, what gives you that he was a musician from these notes?'

'The highlighting of certain letters is as if he is giving a musical weight to them.'

'Really? How about if he's just trying to disguise his writing?' Langton said edgily

'That's also quite possible.' The expert added that the letter was feeding the writer's ego and that the writer would be unable to keep a secret; in his estimation, what had been written was the truth.

Langton and Anna went next to the Suns offices. Barolli confirmed to Anna over the phone that the wording of the letters was almost identical to notes sent by the Black Dahlia killer, the only difference that, unlike the LA killer, their sender had not named his next victim.

Anna could see the pressure coming down on Langton: these contacts said so much but held no clue as to the sender. The team had no fingerprints, just the handwriting and the expert's opinion that all contacts to date had been sent by the same person.

Reynolds was waiting in the reception; as he handed over the note in a plastic bag, his mobile rang. He listened and then looked shocked.

'We've got another one; it's in the mail room.'

It was after two when Langton and Anna returned to the Incident Room. The team were stunned to be told that Reynolds had had a second contact. Langton read the message out loud.

Go slow. Mankiller says Red Dahlia Case is cold.

Langton was handed yet another letter by Lewis:

I have decided not to surrender. Too much fun fooling police. Red Dahlia Avenger

Langton looked around the team and then shook his head. 'This is bloody unbelievable. Four contacts from the crazy bastard, and we can't keep the fucking journalist Reynolds quiet. He's going to print his letters!'

'What do we get from them?' Lewis asked.

Langton glared at him. 'That he's playing silly buggers with us — with me — and that if we are to believe him he's going to kill again!'

'But he says someone is squealing: who does he mean by that?' Barolli asked.

'I don't bloody know!' Langton snapped. 'I think he's just goading me.'

Anna watched as he headed towards his office. Everything about him was crumpled; he still had not had time to take a shower. She felt sorry for him. 'Are you coming to the club?' she asked.

'No, I've got my work cut out here; you get off there. Take Barolli with you.'

He slammed the door behind him. Anna was on her way to Stringfellow's with Barolli fifteen minutes later. They were driven in an unmarked patrol car, both sitting in the back with a driver up front. Anna explained to Barolli about the reordering of the CCTV footage.

'It's possible; do you know how many tapes we had to wade through? It's not my fault if we got it wrong.'

'Nobody is blaming you,' she said, quietly.

'Fifteen hours I had to sit through, fifteen!'

'Yes I know. By the way, did you check if Louise ever had a mobile phone?'

'Yes, and we don't think so. But at the same time, she could have bought one of those ten-quid, pay-as-you-go things which doesn't have to be registered.'

'Did you also check all the calls made from Sharon's land line?'

'Yes, don't you read the reports? Hairdressers, agent, nail extensions, hair extensions, gym classes! I bloody checked them all. No calls to our suspect, unless he runs a salon — that girl spends a fortune! So maybe one of them that did her beauty treatment is a suspect. I don't bloody know!'

Barolli huffed and puffed almost the entire way to the club. They had been under pressure for some time without a breakthrough, and it didn't look as if one was coming.

Anna and Barolli were met by the club's manager, an impatient man eager to get on with his day. He had arranged for both doormen and the two bartenders to come in early to talk to them, but none had arrived. He led them through a maze of Hoover cables past the cleaners who were putting broken glasses, cigarette packs and stubs from the previous evening into large black bin liners. None paid any attention to Anna or Barolli as they waited in a velvet-covered booth. Anna looked across to where Louise Pennel had sat and crossed to the bar. Anna sat on a stool, surveying the vast dance floor. She had a clear view of the entire club via the mirrors behind the bar. If Louise Pennel was, as she suspected, waiting for someone, it was a very good position: she could see the main entrance from reception into the disco area. She swivelled on the stool, then slid off to cross to the ladies' room. It also was in the process of being cleaned: by a group of girls who jabbered away to each other in Portuguese as they swept away the mounds of tissues and toilet paper strewn around the floor.

Barolli was drinking a cup of coffee when she returned to the booth.

'Did anyone question the cloakroom attendant?'

'No.'

'Well, we see Louise with no coat on, then with her coat off and over her arm, so she must have left it there.'

Barolli looked at his watch impatiently. 'I'll ask the manager if he can contact whoever was on duty that night.'

Ten minutes later, a heavy-set man with a crew cut, wearing a bomber jacket and jeans, strolled over. 'You wanted to see me?' he said begrudgingly.

'Yes; you want to sit down?' Anna gestured to her side.

'Okay, but I'm off duty you know. I don't usually come in until just before we open.' He slid into the booth. His chest was so wide that he nudged Anna.

'I really appreciate your time,' she said sweetly, and opened her file to take out the photographs of Louise Pennel.

'I've been shown them before,' he said.

'I know, but I would appreciate it if you looked at them again.'

He sighed. 'Like I said before, I work the doors; we get hundreds of girls every night. I remember the ones that cause trouble or the famous ones, but I don't remember this girl at all.'

Anna laid down the photograph of Louise with the flower in her hair.

'No, no memory of ever having seen her here, sorry.'

Anna next laid on the table the drawing of their suspect.

He looked at it, then shook his head. 'I don't know; I mean, he could be a number of blokes, but I can't say he's someone I remember. If you know he's a member that might help, but no, I don't know him.'

'He's maybe older than most people that come here?'

'Not really; we get them all shapes and sizes and all ages; lot of middle-aged guys come here, for the young girls, to watch the dancers, but I'm outside the club.'

'Well, thank you very much,' Anna said, stacking the photographs.

'I can go then, can I?'

'Yes, thank you.'

He squeezed himself out of the booth and walked back towards the entrance where he met another equally broad-shouldered man, who was at least six feet four; he pointed over to Anna and walked out.

Anna moved further round the booth to give the next doorman space to sit beside her. He reeked of cheap cologne and his hair was greased back.

'I've been asked about this girl before,' he said, as he sat down.

'Yes I know, but we are just hoping that something might jog your memory.'

'Right, I understand. I've been reading about her, but you know, I said before, I don't recall ever seeing her; we get hundreds a night in.'

Anna's patience was being tried. 'Yes I know, but could you just look over the photographs again, please?'

It was virtually the same response as from the previous doorman. Anna was relieved when he left; his cologne was making her feel sick.

Barolli returned and hovered. 'No luck?'

'Nope.'

'Well, like I said, I have questioned them, and all the taxi cabs that work the club.'

'Did you get any joy with the cloakroom attendant?'

'Yeah, she's coming in; should be another half hour.'

Anna sighed; it was feeling like a waste of time.

'This is the barman,' Barolli said, nodding over to the reception, as a tall handsome man headed towards them. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with trainers. He smiled.

'Hi, I'm Jim Carter. I'd have been here earlier but I had a problem with my car.' He slid in beside Anna.

Anna introduced herself as Barolli wandered off, looking bored.

She laid out the photographs and drawing. 'Do you recall her at all?'

He shook his head. 'Nope, and this guy isn't familiar.'

Anna pointed across to the bar. 'She sat on that stool for some considerable time. Can we walk over there?'

'Sure, anything to help.'

Anna sat on the stool used by Louise Pennel, and Jim Carter moved behind the bar.

'She was sitting here for a good while on the night she went missing. She had two beers, glasses not bottles.'

Jim nodded. 'If I'm serving, I'm on the go; we do a lot of cocktails, so it's shake and serve, shake and serve.'

'She paid for her drinks in coins, counting them out on the counter.'

Anna swivelled on the stool and leaned on the bar with her elbows. Jim stood with his hands on his hips, still no memory.

'She was constantly looking to the doorway into the reception area, as if she was waiting for someone.'

Yet again he shrugged. Anna described what Louise was wearing, and he still looked vague.

'I'd like to help you, but I'm sorry. I mean, she was very attractive, obviously, but when I'm working, you hardly get time to think, never mind remember anyone specifically.'

Anna thanked him and sat alone as he walked out into the reception area. She saw him chat to the two doormen still hanging around; they looked as if they were discussing the waste of their time as they turned back to look at her.

Barolli passed them with another cup of coffee. Anna watched him via the mirror behind the bar. He crossed to the booth and slumped inside. She watched as he tapped his foot, looked at his watch, and slurped his coffee. He leaned back and caught her eye, shrugged, then pointed to his coffee; she shook her head.

It was another ten minutes before Doreen Sharpe arrived. She was the cloakroom attendant, a single mother in her early thirties.

'This shouldn't take long.' Anna once again laid out the photographs of Louise Pennel. 'Her coat was maroon with a velvet collar,' she said and described the rest of Louise's outfit.

Doreen took her time; she looked from one photograph to the next and licked her lips. 'I've been reading about the murder,' she said, softly. 'Terrible thing; they call her the Red Dahlia, don't they?'

'Yes, that is correct.'

'She didn't leave me a tip.'

'I'm sorry?' Anna leaned forwards.

'She left her coat. I put it on a hanger for her, gave her the ticket; it's sort of a courtesy thing the club has, you know: they don't charge you for leaving your coats, but you make it up in tips.'

'You remember Louise Pennel?'

'The coat didn't fit what she was wearing underneath it — very low-cut top and short skirt — it was more a coat worn by a rich teenager in the fifties. I used to have a second-hand one but it was green, vented collar and six velvet-covered buttons, but hers was red, dark maroon, and came from Harrods. I saw the label.'

Anna was flabbergasted.

'I put it on a hanger for her and gave her a ticket. It was quite early on. I have a system, you know; the early birds I put on the back rail because as the evening goes on, they are the ones that leave late. Don't ask me why, but they do; we get a big rush between eleven and two, people coming in from shows or dinner, and they usually stay only an hour or so, you have to have a system or you'd be searching through the racks like a demented idiot.'

'So you took her coat?'

'Yes, and hung it on the back rail. She took her ticket and went into the bar area, I think.'

Anna could hardly believe what she was hearing.

'It would be about eleven-thirty, maybe a bit after when she came back. I said to her that she was leaving early and she said that she had to go, so I got her coat. I passed it over and she walked off, without so much as a thank-you, let alone a tip!'

Anna showed her the sketch of their suspect. 'This is just a drawing of the man we think Louise might have been waiting for; did you see him?'

'I've been thinking about him,' Doreen said, tapping the sketch.

Anna could hardly contain herself. 'You saw him?'

'Well I think I might have; I couldn't be one hundred per cent sure.'

'In the club?'

'No, outside.'

'Outside the club?'

'Yes, by the fire escape doors, they lead into an alley; when we need a cigarette break, we nip out there. At the end of the alley is the road that runs behind the club. It's only a few feet away, and the parking attendants have a field day because punters think they can park out there, but they hand out tickets like confetti!'

'You saw this man?'

'Like I said, I am not one hundred per cent sure; it could have been him. I didn't get that much of a good look, what I saw was him sitting inside his car.'

'Do you know what make of car it was?'

'Black, very shiny, caught the lights, maybe the new Rover? I'm not good with cars, but my boss on the other job has one and it was similar to his, which is why I remember it.'

'He was sitting inside the car?'

'Yes, then he got out and walked round to the passenger side as she came up to the car. He opened the door and she sort of hung back; then he pulled her towards him and they looked like they were having some kind of argument, but from where I was standing I couldn't hear what they were saying. She pulled away from him and then he gripped her by the arm and pushed her into the car; he slammed the door so hard, it rocked the car. The reason I remember it was I saw her coat and I wondered if he was maybe her father, because I thought she was very over made-up. I mean she was only twenty-two, wasn't she?'

'Yes,' Anna nodded, glancing at Barolli who stared at Doreen in total silence. 'And he looked like this sketch?' Anna persisted.

'Yes, thin-faced, short hair, and he had this long dark coat on. It could be him; quite tall as well, but not well built.'

'Can you recall anything else?'

'No, I went back in, in fact before they drove off. I can only take a few minutes out there or there would be coats up the ying-yang, and I got to get someone to look after the tickets. I usually get one of the girls from the toilets: they have two on duty because people make such a mess in there.'

Just as Anna was about to thank Doreen for coming in, she dropped another jewel in their lap. 'She had a friend with her, blonde girl, she's often at the club; she's a naughty one. She didn't stay more than an hour.'

Anna closed her eyes; this had to be Sharon.

'So I had to get her wrap, it was one of those bits of fur; you know, sort of a collar thing that's in fashion at the moment: you can't really hang them up on the hangers, you've got to tie them or they slip off. She was quite a little madam: she said for me not to tie a knot in the ribbon; anyways, she came back and she was with her.'

'I'm sorry, who was with her?'

'Your dead girl, she was with her; they were arguing and then the blonde girl opened her bag and gave her some money.'

Anna opened her file, searched around and brought out the photograph used by the newspapers of Sharon. 'Is this the blonde girl?'

'Yes, that's her. I mean, I don't know her, but I saw her picture in the newspaper as well, I recognised them both. The blonde has quite a mouth on her, and they was really having a row, and then she almost threw this money at her and screeched out something, then sort of pushed her; you know, like a smack, but it was a push.'

As Anna put the photographs back in the file, Barolli beat her to the next question.

'Why haven't you come forward with this information?'

Doreen looked startled. 'Well I didn't think it was anything interesting, you know. I didn't think it meant anything, really; it doesn't, does it?'

'It's a great help to us.' Anna smiled, though she didn't feel happy at all. She was furious that Sharon had not told them the truth about her last night with Louise. Doreen led them to the alleyway and fire exit. The road was not that far from the doorway and, as Doreen pointed out, it was very well lit. As they returned to the club, Doreen, who by now fancied herself as some kind of detective, stopped to show them the cloakroom.

'I think there was some jealousy going on between them. I mean, as I said, I didn't hear exactly what they were saying, but it was quite a nasty squabble; the dead girl was very upset afterwards. She went into the ladies', then next minute she's wanting her coat!'

Doreen was about to repeat everything she had told them about her methods of running the cloakroom, but Anna cut her short. 'You have been really very helpful, Doreen, thank you.'

'Is there a reward?'

Barolli glanced at Anna as he headed out.

'No, I'm sorry, there isn't.'

Barolli already had the engine ticking over as Anna joined him.

'Don't bloody believe this,' he muttered.

'What, you think she's lying?' Anna said, slamming her door closed.

'No, just the one person I didn't question, and bingo! Not that we got too much out of it.'

'You want to bet? I think that little cow Sharon has been holding out on us, so I want to get to see her a.s.a.p. I know it would be too much luck, but can you check if a traffic warden saw the car parked up? She said they stick tickets on anything parked in that road.' Barolli nodded and made a call on his mobile as Anna tried to contact Sharon on hers. There was no reply. By the time they returned to the station, it was after twelve. As Anna was updating Langton, they were interrupted with a message to say that there had been no ticket issued to a black Rover; all the other vehicles parked in the road behind the club would now be checked, in case one of them proved to be their suspect's car. Two steps forward, one back, and by three o'clock, Anna still had not been able to contact Sharon.

The team were all gathered for a briefing; Langton had received yet another contact from their suspect. It read, LP derserved to die, another victimm will pay the same price

Partly in cut-out newspaper letters and partly handwritten in ink, it was signed The Dahlia Killer. The forensic experts felt this latest note was from the same person, deliberate spelling mistakes and all.

The press office was becoming agitated, wanting an update on what they could or could not release. Langton, with no suspect, was at his wits' end. It seemed, as the killer said, that the police could not catch him; despite the audacity of actually sending the notes to the Incident Room, the postmarks were from so many different locations that tracing the sender was impossible. The cheap lined notepaper and manila envelopes were both sold in bulk. Whoever had sent them had not licked the envelope, leaving no DNA, nor even a single fingerprint.

Langton maintained a calm front but he was looking worn out. Even with the latest information from the nightclub, they still were no closer to identifying the tall, dark-haired man. The sketch had been in the papers over three consecutive days; he could not believe that no one had come forward. The Commander and her team were putting the pressure on and considering bringing in backup; to Langton, this meant he could be removed from the case.

Anna had assumed that after Professor Marshe had tripped up with the newspaper editor, she would not be called on again. Anna was wrong. Professor Marshe, looking her usual sophisticated self, arrived as the briefing ended and went straight into Langton's office.

While everyone waited for them to emerge, Anna yet again called Sharon Bilkin. There was still no reply; this time, her answerphone did not click on but made a whirring sound. Anna called Mrs Jenkins, the landlady, also without success. She felt as disillusioned as the other members of the team. They talked quietly to each other, mulling over statements and the nonstop phone calls coming in to the station. To date, they had had three 'confessors': three men of various ages appearing at the station to admit to the murder. It was a known hazard of any murder enquiry; some were even known to the police because they were persistent 'I done it' time-wasters. The three were all questioned and released.

Langton returned to the Incident Room at almost five forty-five, accompanied by Professor Marshe. He did not seem in any way attentive to her; if anything, he was cold and aloof, gesturing for her to sit. She produced notes and files and laid them out, then sat, straight-backed, in the chair.

'I have been studying the original case history of the Elizabeth Short murder, obviously, as you have all been doing, matching the notes and threats alongside your Red Dahlia.' She held up the two women's photographs. 'If we are to believe our killer has an obsession with the Los Angeles murder, and is now making a sickening mirror of it, then we have to take very seriously the threat to kill again.'

Anna gave a sidelong glance to Lewis to see him rolling his eyes at Barolli.

The Professor continued, laying out details of the LA victims, all purported to have been murdered by the same man. The first had been killed before Elizabeth Short: she had been an heiress, and had been found brutally killed in the bathtub of her own apartment. 'If this was his first kill, although it was messy and brutal, it did not have the same hallmarks as the murder of Elizabeth Short; the third victim, however…'

She held up a photograph of a woman called Jeanne Axford French. 'She had been kicked and stomped, which was similar to victim one, but this girl also had almost the identical slash wounds to her mouth as the Black Dahlia. The killer used the victim's own lipstick to write obscenities on her naked body: he printed "fuck you" on her chest. As with your victim, Louise Pennel, and as with the Black Dahlia, her underwear and clothes were missing. The killer struck four weeks after he killed Elizabeth Short, and possibly again another month later. No one was ever charged with these murders and it was surmised the killer either left LA or became dormant.'

Langton coughed and she turned towards him.

'I don't mean to sound impatient, Professor Marshe, but this has been in the papers! We are all privy to these cases, we've not exactly got the T-shirt but we've read the case history, the books, etcetera.'

'I'm aware of that,' she said, tetchily 'I'm sorry if this is something you are aware of already, but I think it is necessary for me to explain the reasons for my grave concerns. You have a very dangerous killer on the loose, and one I believe has killed again. You must not think that the letters written are just threats, a ploy to get into the press. As well as enjoying himself playing games, he has to make sure that you are aware of the pattern of murders in the Black Dahlia case.'

Langton interrupted. 'Professor Marshe, we have taken every contact made very seriously. If he does intend to kill again, what we need is a profile that will help us catch him; so far we have the one suspect.'

'That you have been unable to trace,' she said brusquely.

'Not for want of trying,' Langton said tight-lipped.

'If he is intending to kill again, then it has to be someone that would have known Louise Pennel; his last note said that she deserved to die, that she betrayed him, isn't that correct?'

'Yes,' Langton said quietly.

'Then it is imperative you understand that his intention is to prove himself cleverer than you.'

'Me?' Langton said; it was as if he was mocking her.

'Yes, you. This game, although directed at the police as a whole, is a personal cat-and-mouse with the person heading the hunt for him, which is you, right? His notes have been addressed to you personally, correct?'

'Yes.'

'In the Black Dahlia case, the killer wrote copious notes to the press. When they actually made an arrest, he became enraged, saying that they were a forgery and that he would kill whoever sent them. What I am trying to make clear to you is that right now, your killer is out of control. His rage will manifest itself in another kill and it will be someone either that he knows, or that we know.'

Lewis had raised his hand to speak, but she chose to ignore him.

'It will be someone close to this enquiry, someone who will have information as to who he is.'

'We have not interviewed anyone that even knew him, let alone could give us any clue to his identity.'

'Go back and check. I truly believe his threat is very real and someone who knew Louise holds a clue.'

As Anna watched Langton interact with Professor Marshe her mind ranged over anything that she might have missed. If what Marshe was saying was true, then none of them would get home tonight.

Professor Marshe held court for another half hour, discussing each note in detail, but gave them nothing new to grasp, other than the concern that they might have overlooked some clue.

Anna went over to Lewis's desk; he was chatting to Barolli.

'I think she's a bullshitter. I mean, she started off telling us what we all knew and continued rabbiting on.'

Anna tapped his shoulder. 'Listen, if she is right, and it is someone we have interviewed, what about Sharon Bilkin?'

'What about her?' Lewis said, looking at his watch.

'Well, we got some more details today from the nightclub: it looks like Sharon lied about what exactly happened at the club between her and Louise, so maybe she's lied about other things.'

Barolli yawned. 'So we talk to her again?'

'I've been trying to contact her, but I've had no reply. Now her answermachine sounds like it's full. I've also tried to contact her landlady, but no answer.'

'Let's haul her in tomorrow,' Lewis said, yet again looking at his watch.

'But I've not been able to get in touch with her!' Anna persisted. Barolli hesitated.

'You want to go over there?'

Anna nodded.

'Okay, I'll get a car arranged; you okay it with the Gov.'

Anna returned to her desk, packed up her briefcase and then went towards Langton's office. As she approached, she could hear raised voices.

'It is still just your submission; you don't have anything that will help me catch the fucker. We sat there listening to most of what you said, having known it before you even came onto the bloody case! If you think we haven't taken seriously these letters from this lunatic, then…'

'I never said you had not taken them seriously; what I did say was you have to take them as a real threat.'

'We have, but without a clue as to this fucker's identity and with no DNA, nothing from the letters, nothing from the package he sent, there's not a lot we can do. Right now, I've got the team sifting through every statement we've taken, because you think we've missed something. Well, it would be a bloody good move if you had something that would help; so far, all you've done is hamper the enquiry by gossiping to that editor.'

The door was flung open and an irate Professor Marshe almost bumped into Anna. She turned back into the room to look at Langton. 'I have apologised for that, but I am not staying here another second for you to swear at me!'

'I am almost begging you to give us something we can work on.'

'I have; I did; and that is as much as I can do,' she said, as she stormed past Anna.

Anna hovered a moment before she edged into the open doorway. 'I want to go and talk to Sharon Bilkin,' she said quietly.

Langton lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the ashtray.

'I have been trying to contact her all afternoon.'

'Fine, if you think she has the clue we have missed all the better.' He took out a hip flask and poured a measure, a very large one, into a coffee beaker. Anna closed the door, leaving him to drink alone. She suspected he was doing a lot more of the tippling; he had been, to her mind, very unlike himself during Professor Marshe's presentation. Whatever he might think, he usually was able to keep his temper under control, but he had been rude, and pointedly so. Perhaps he wasn't having an affair with her after all.

In the patrol car, she asked Barolli if there was anything going on between Langton and Marshe.

Barolli shrugged. 'She talked to us as if we were all fresh out of training school, and she's a bloody Yank! I don't know why he brought her to see us in the first place, I think she's been ruddy useless. Maybe he is getting the leg over. I wouldn't, frosty bitch.'

Anna gave a sidelong glance at the plump, sweaty detective; chance would be a fine thing. She gave a sigh as she looked out of the window: that was the difference between men and women; a woman would always have a clear assessment of who she could or couldn't pull, but men! As her father had once said to her, every actor thinks he should play Hamlet. She sighed again.

'You're doing a lot of sighing,' Barolli said.

'Am I? Maybe I'm just tired out; it's been a long day.'

'Yeah, for all of us, and another without a result. We carry on like this and old Langton will be replaced. I heard that the DCI he replaced is out of hospital, so they could bring him back; that'll be a smack in the face.'

'Yes,' she said, and sighed again, more quietly this time.

They pulled up outside Sharon Bilkin's flat and left the driver to wait as they rang the doorbell. No reply. Anna stepped back and looked up; there were no lights on. She rang Mrs Jenkins's bell. After a moment, her voice came through on the intercom.

'Mrs Jenkins, this is DI Anna Travis.'

The door buzzed open before she could say that Detective Sergeant Barolli was also with her. Mrs Jenkins hovered at her front door, wearing a towelling dressing gown.

'I was just going to have a bath; this is very late.'

'I'm sorry, but there is no reply from Sharon's flat.'

'I doubt she's in; I've not seen her for days.'

'Did she say she was going away?'

'No, I hardly ever speak to her; I go out to work every day, so I wouldn't really know what she's doing.'

'But doesn't she have another tenant?'

'No. She did have one, but she moved out; they didn't get along.'

'I see, well thank you very much.'

Anna turned to Barolli, who was checking his watch. It was getting late. 'What do you want to do?' she asked.

'Go home; we'll try again in the morning.'

Anna jotted down a note on her card and left it on a small side table in the narrow hallway. Like Barolli, she was ready to get home. Without a search warrant or any real reason to ask Mrs Jenkins to open Sharon's front door, there was not much more they could do. Mrs Jenkins hovered by her own door watching them leave.

Anna decided not to return to the station to pick up her car but get a tube home. Barolli left her walking along the road towards Baker Street station. Midway, something made her stop and turn back to Sharon's house. She rang Mrs Jenkins's bell again and had to wait for some considerable time before her voice answered on the intercom.

Mrs Jenkins was not best pleased and took some persuading to let Anna into Sharon's flat. 'Is it still about the murder?' Mrs Jenkins asked, gasping for breath, as they climbed the stairs.

'Yes.'

'So nobody's been arrested then?'

'No, not as yet.'

'I would have thought you'd have got him by now; it's been quite a while, hasn't it?'

'Yes, yes, it has.'

Anna looked into one small room after another to the soundtrack of Mrs Jenkins's heavy breathing. Louise Pennel's old room was extremely untidy and smelt stuffy; the bed was unmade, and a bag of laundry had been left in the middle of the floor with dirty sheets dumped beside it. Anna looked into the bathroom. Discarded underwear lay on the floor next to the half-full bath; when Anna tested the water, it was cold. In Sharon's bedroom, too, the bed was unmade; clothes were strewn across the chair and the bed, and the tops were off the make-up bottles on the dressing table. In the kitchen, Anna found half a cup of cold coffee and a slice of toast; a bite had been taken out of the crust.

'Looks like she left in a hurry,' Mrs Jenkins said, peering over Anna's shoulder. 'Mind you, these young girls are so untidy. I don't think she's ever used the Hoover, you know, let alone dusted.'

Last, Anna checked the answerphone; as she had suspected, the message box was full. She took her handkerchief and pressed Play to listen to the calls that had been left. There were two calls from herself, a few from friends, and two girls answering the new advert Sharon must have put in to rent Louise Pennel's room.

'Well, my bath will be cold,' Mrs Jenkins said as she locked Sharon's front door. They headed down the stairs, and after thanking Mrs Jenkins again, Anna started to walk back to the tube station.

Relaxed after taking a long hot soak herself, and wrapped in a big bath towel, Anna made some Horlicks. She jumped when her phone rang; it was by now eleven-thirty.

'What did you get from the blonde bimbo?' Langton said.

'Nothing, she wasn't home, but I had a look over her flat and it looked like she had left in a hurry.' Anna added that the landlady hadn't seen her for a few days, but that wasn't unusual.

'Right okay, I want you and Lewis with me at the lab for the full details. Maybe he's got something, maybe not.'

'What?'

His voice was slurring, and she asked if he was still at the station. He said he was working over the statements.

He continued talking without really making any sense and it was Anna who ended the call, having to repeat twice that she was going to bed. Unable to sleep, she lay there with her eyes open. The Professor had said that their killer had made threats and they must take them very seriously because someone they had interviewed might know something that connected to him. She wondered what Sharon had not told her about the night at the club; did she know something? Had someone contacted her? The clothes strewn across her bedroom made Anna think that Sharon had been making up her mind what to wear. If she had run a bath and not got into it, made a coffee and toast but not consumed them, something had to have happened to make her leave. She sighed; thinking about what it might have been gave her a very uneasy feeling.