'Pardon?'
'I said, have you had lunch? Only I haven't, and there's a nice pub a few minutes away.'
She flushed and buttoned her coat, unable to look at him. 'I have to get back, but thank you for the invitation.'
By the time Dick Reynolds had led Anna back through the maze of corridors and out to her Mini, she had agreed to have dinner with him the following evening. She was feeling very pleased with herself; it had been a long time since she had been attracted to anyone and she had liked him from the moment she had set eyes on him.
Reynolds was soon back at his desk, logged onto the internet. As they had not had a press release detailing the exact similarities, he still believed it was a case of both victims being very pretty girls who wore flowers in their hair and who were only twenty-two when they were killed. He hadn't realised how much information there was: an entire website for the Elizabeth Short murder which detailed much more appalling similarities; with almost sixty years between the two murders, he decided to concentrate on his missing schoolboy story — for the time being, at any rate.
Chapter Four
Anna sat with a surly Langton in his office. 'I knew that silly girl was lying,' he said.
'They sold the photograph for a hundred pounds; split it fifty-fifty.'
'I can read,' he said, as he flipped through her report detailing her interviews with Sharon, Ken Dunn and Dick Reynolds. 'So if they were notes written by the killer, we've lost them! Maybe they were just as they said — some crank.'
'No!'
Langton looked up.
'The first note mentioned the cuts to Louise Pennel's mouth — that detail had not been released. The second was more like a teaser; the journalist had never heard of the Black Dahlia, so just presumed it was the flower connection. Both letters, I think, came from the killer.'
'Really?'
'Yes.'
'Well this last journalist didn't bite or use it, did he?'
'Because he presumed—'
'Yes, yes! That it was just a crank, like the bloody phone calls we've had from all the nutters. I'm just surprised that neither kept the notes. Probably wet behind the ears; an old pro wouldn't have tossed it.'
'Well, neither of them are old,' Anna said, and felt a hot flush spreading over her cheeks.
Langton leaned back in his chair and grinned. 'Weren't they now? Well, word of warning: you can never trust them, young or old. I would put money on the fact that, after your visit, they'll be beavering around to see what they can dig up, and that worries me. Yes?'
Lewis had tapped the door and peered in. 'You want all the files to go over to the hotel?'
Langton nodded. Lewis closed the door again.
'Bringing in a profiler. Don't know if we can get Parks, as he's writing some book and doing a freebie on the Cunard.'
'What?'
Langton stood up and yawned. 'Profiler we used for the Alan Daniels case. He's since become quite a high-profile himself, so I dunno who we'll get in to look over the case. But whoever it is, I hope to Christ they can help us, as we've still got fuck all.'
He perched on the corner of his desk. 'I don't suppose Sharon gave us any more details on this tall dark stranger and his shiny fucking car?'
'No.'
'Well we've got nothing from anyone else either. I am loath to do a TV slot: if the facts get out, it'll create a nightmare. You know, they never released the details on exactly how the Yorkshire Ripper killed.'
'He murdered eleven women, so maybe they should have,' Anna said tetchily.
Langton ignored her tone. 'They didn't with Fred West, either. Apparently it puts readers off: too much gore and they won't buy the paper; they need just enough to titillate their appetite. We give anything near the truth with our case and it'll create mayhem. I'm going for a press embargo.'
'But we need help from someone,' Anna said, standing.
'I am aware of that,' he snapped and barged out into the Incident Room. Anna picked up her report and followed, as there was to be a briefing any minute.
Langton paced up and down in front of the Incident Room board. He constantly pulled at his hair so it stood up on end; his tie was loose and his five-o'clock shadow made his face look hollow. Anna wondered how long it would be before the Commander paid a visit; her office must be monitoring the progress on their case, or lack of it.
'Right, we're going nowhere fast, so if anything has come in, speak now or forever hold your peace.'
There seemed to be no breakthrough from any quarter. Checks had unearthed no suspicious doctor or surgeon. They also had no further details as yet from the forensic team.
Langton tugged at his tie. 'We have to trace this suspect, the dark-haired, middle-aged boyfriend; it doesn't make sense that none of Louise's so-called friends knew anything about him. Someone must have seen him or met him; someone knows more than we've uncovered. So tomorrow, go back to square one and reinterview her known associates. We know she only lived at Sharon's flat for six months, so dig further back; where she lived before, anyone found out?'
Barolli held up his pencil. 'I've got a bed-and-breakfast address in Paddington and a flat in Brixton off the DSS. She was also at a hostel in Victoria, but so far we're coming up empty-handed: people are saying she used to keep herself to herself
'Get back to all those places and try again. Yes!' Langton pointed to Lewis.
'We've got a previous employer: a dog clipper! She worked there for some time before the dental surgery. It's also a boarding kennels. She was a poor worker, always late; she only lasted four weeks. Owner hired her from the Job Centre; we've been back there trying to trace any other work she may have got through them, but so far, not much luck.'
Langton nodded, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He sounded tired and ratty. 'Louise was at Stringfellow's and yet no one sees her there, or sees her leave with anyone; that was thirteen days ago. Thirteen! For three days and nights, she was somewhere with somebody and whoever that was mutilated her and tortured her to death. Whoever that was drained her blood and cut her in half! And we do not have a single clue to his identity! All we know is that she was having a relationship with an older man, a tall, dark-haired, middle-aged man. Now from the photographs that Sharon Bilkin sold to the press, someone has to recognise her. It just isn't logical for a girl as attractive as our victim to be able to disappear into fucking thin air!'
Langton told the team about the notes that had been sent to the press and destroyed by the two journalists, who could remember nothing unusual about the postage stamps or franking on the envelopes. If they had held a clue, they no longer had access to it now. By the time he finished the briefing, he was in a foul mood, and the entire team was left feeling depressed. They had only one option: to go back over what little they had, hoping to uncover something they had missed.
Anna did not get back to her flat until nine-fifteen. She hoped her dinner date with Dick Reynolds the following evening would not have to be cancelled. She was on the early-morning shift though, so should be able to leave the station by four in the afternoon to give her time to wash her hair, have a nice long bath and get ready. She brought Louise Pennel's suitcase in from the car and left it by an armchair. She was tired out and so just made some cheese on toast and a big mug of tea, which she took into her lounge to eat in front of the TV. She zapped through a few channels and ended up watching some gameshow in which a team of hysterical women were trying to cook a three-course dinner that cost no more than five pounds. She finished her own meal and decided it was bedtime, using the remote to turn off the set.
Without the TV on, the room was almost in darkness; the cheap suitcase drew Anna's attention as she drank the last of her tea. Even though she was tired out, she dragged it over to the sofa, switched on a lamp and opened it up. The clothes she had taken from Louise's bedroom were neatly folded, as she had packed them herself. She took out each item and laid them on the floor. She then searched the suitcase again for anything they might have missed.