The Red Dahlia

Sharon was agitated, her cheeks flushed pink. 'I know I shouldn't be talking about her like this, but it's the truth and she was such a liar. I'd say to her about paying me back, and she'd always plead poverty and that she'd pay me on her next week's wages. One time, I was so fed up that when she went to work, I went into her room. She had two hundred quid in a drawer! I faced her out when she came back and she just said that she'd forgotten about the cash!'

'So she did pay you back?'

'Yes, eventually, but the point is I always had to ask. Like I said, she didn't pay the rent on time, so I'm out four weeks. I often thought about asking her to leave.'

'But you didn't?'

She shook her head, then frowned. Anna could almost see Sharon's brain ticking over.

'What is it?' Anna said, encouragingly. 'Anything you think of might help me.'

'You know, there was something about her: I mean, she made you feel sorry for her. It was always as if she was waiting for something. Every time the phone rang, she'd give this expectant look towards it; never pick it up, though. I can't explain it; it was like she was always hoping for something to happen. We did have a few good times. She could be very funny and the blokes always came on to her; she was a big flirt — well, at first.'

'What do you mean, at first?'

Sharon sighed. 'When she first turned up, I rented the room to her because she was really sort of excited about her future, but after a couple of months, she was different, sneaking in and out, and she got very secretive. To be honest, I couldn't really make her out at all. If you asked her a question about what she'd done before, where she lived, anything personal at all really, she'd never give you a direct answer. I think, well, it was kind of my in-tu- …' She frowned.

'Intuition?' Anna suggested.

'Yeah. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know what. Well, I'll never know now, will I?'

Anna put Louise's suitcase into the boot of her Mini. She'd helped Sharon pack up the rest of Louise's belongings. There wasn't that much: a few clothes and shoes, and some books. Anna was unsure what she would do with them. It was sad that this was all that was left of Louise's life and no one wanted them.

The forensic team began checking over Louise's garments. They were paying special attention to the dirty underwear, in case they found DNA that might be of use at a later date. The clothes were all tagged and listed and then pinned out on white paper, laid flat on a long trestle table. At the same time, the pathologist was completing his detailed autopsy. It had taken considerable time, due to the fact there were so many injuries; the dismembering and draining of her blood had hampered the usual tests. DCI Langton had called for an update and didn't like what he was told. If it was at all possible, Louise Pennel's murder was even more horrific than they had first thought. The pathologist said that it was without doubt the worst case he had ever had to work on, but that he would be able to give full disclosure within twenty-four hours.

A frustrated Langton sat in his office, brooding darkly. Nine days and they still had no suspect. Even with extra officers working alongside his team, they had not come up with a single witness who had seen Louise Pennel in those days before her body was discovered. He had an uneasy feeling that something was about to explode, and he would be at the receiving end of it.

Anna was kept waiting, as Richard Reynolds was not at his desk. She sat in the reception area of the Sun's offices, reading back issues of the paper, for almost three quarters of an hour. She was just getting impatient when Reynolds strode over to the reception desk. He was tall, with a thatch of sandy hair and the most extraordinary blue eyes.

'Hi, I'm sorry to keep you waiting but I expected you earlier, so when you didn't show, I popped out to see someone. I'm Dick Reynolds.'

Anna stood up and shook his hand. 'Anna Travis.'

'Nice to meet you. Do you want to come through to the news desk?' He bent down to pick up her briefcase and gestured that she should follow him. 'If you'd prefer, we can bag someone's office, more private; crime section's a bit like Piccadilly Circus!' He held open a swing door, standing to one side to allow her to pass in front of him.

'Whatever,' she said, pleasantly. It made a nice change from the usual stride and swinging doors of Langton and his mob.

'Someone's office' turned out to be a cordoned-off corner with a desk cluttered with bright potted plants, stacks of papers and computer.

'Right, have a seat, and I'll get some coffee organised.'

Dick left her for only a moment before returning and giving her a lovely wide smile. 'On its way, Anna. Right, how can I help you?'

'It's about the article you wrote, which showed a photograph of the murder victim Louise Pennel.'

'Right, yes; what about it?'

'I need to know where you got the photograph from.'

'Well, that's easy: from a journalist that worked here.'

'You linked Louise Pennel's murder and another case?'

'Right, the Black Dahlia. To be honest, it was a bit far-fetched; I hadn't even heard of the old case, but as they both had a flower in their hair, it was just something to hook the story onto really. I didn't have much else to go on, as we hadn't had a press release.'

'Have you since read up on the Black Dahlia case?'

'No, I've been on the missing kid from Blackheath.'

'So the only similarity between the two cases, as far as you're concerned, was the flower?'

'Yep.'

'You said you got the photograph from another journalist; did he mention to you the Black Dahlia case?'

'No. I wouldn't have known anything about it, but I got an anonymous letter that likened your girl, Louise Pennel, to…' He frowned. 'Elizabeth Short was the other victim, wasn't she? Happened years ago in Los Angeles.'

'Yes; have you checked into any details of her case?'

'Nope; went on the internet to get a bit of info, but to be truthful, it was sort of sidelined by this young boy that's missing; he's only twelve.'

'Do you still have the letter?'

'No. I should maybe have kept it, because you are here and there's obviously something going on, but we get a shedload of crank letters every time we headline a murder story. I spoke to someone investigating the case, Richmond station. I did tell them I'd destroyed it. I'm sorry.'

'Can you recall exactly what it said?'

Dick looked to the door as a young secretary carried in a tray of coffee and a packet of biscuits. By the time he had offered milk and sugar and then leaned back in his chair, Anna was feeling very relaxed in his company.

'It didn't say much; just that the Black Dahlia killer was never caught. It also said that there was now another one, the Red Dahlia. In the photograph we had, the flower in Louise's hair looked like a rose to me, but it made a good header.'

'Was it handwritten?'

'No, it was typed. Not from a computer; well, I don't think it was, because it was quite heavy print. It was on a piece of cheap lined paper.'

'I have to ask you that if you do get any further contacts regarding the Louise Pennel case, you get in touch with me immediately. This is my direct line.' Anna handed him her card. He slipped it into his wallet as she put her coffee cup back into the saucer. 'Thank you very much for your time.'

'My pleasure. Have you had lunch?'