The Red Dahlia

'Why?'

'Well, he's very… I don't know, forget it.'

'If you need any help trying to track down that advert, just give me a ring; maybe I can call in a few favours for you.'

'Thank you, I will. Goodnight.'

Dick gave her a lovely smile and then was gone. She shut the door and leaned against it. Why had it rattled her so, seeing Langton? Was it just seeing him, or was it the way he was behaving with Professor Marshe? And exactly how was he behaving? she asked herself sharply; well, truth was that he was being courteous. He had looked very smart; handsome, if she was being honest. There had been no one else since she had ended their affair until Dick Reynolds, but she was unsure how that would work out. She wasn't even sure if he felt anything towards her. It hadn't appeared as if he had fancied her; moreover, did she fancy him? Though Langton had wanted to continue seeing her after the Alan Daniels case, she had not wanted to jeopardise her career; she felt that, as a very junior officer, it would have become common gossip. She was now wondering, however, if she should have let the relationship run its course…

DAY TWELVE

Langton leaned back in his chair. 'Let me get this straight; you want to check every advert for a PA from nine months ago, but you don't know which newspaper or magazine she might have seen it in? And just how many people do you think I can free up to do this?'

'It's a long shot, I know,' she said, sheepishly.

'Long? It's the bloody Ml motorway, Travis! For Chrissakes, see if you can at the very least narrow it down to a couple of possible papers; go back to the dentist, back to that silly cow Sharon — we can't get stuck tracking down every fucking advert for a PA!'

'Yes sir.'

'That journalist you were with last night?'

'Yes?'

'I hope he wasn't pumping you for information.'

'No, he's just an old friend,' she lied.

'Really. Well, keep your mouth shut around him; when we want the press involved, we will rope them in. Don't go spilling any beans they are not supposed to be privy to.'

'I wouldn't do that.'

'Good, I hope not. So how old a friend is he?'

'Oh, we've known each other for quite a while.' The fib made her blush and she was unable to meet his eyes.

He looked at her, then gave a tight, unfriendly smile. 'They're all the same as far as I'm concerned: I hate them; they're like leeches, sucking on blood. You watch what you say to him.'

'I will; thank you for the advice.'

'And don't you be shirty with me, Travis!'

'I wasn't aware that I was!'

He laughed and wafted his hand for her to leave his office. He flicked open her lengthy report on her day at Bognor Regis.

There had been no further press reports about the case; if, as Professor Marshe had suggested, their killer would be eager to read about their lack of progress, he would not have been getting any satisfaction. He was not alone: the rest of the team were still not making any headway. Checking out every doctor in the area past and present, paying particular attention to any allegations of malpractice, was time-consuming and, to date, had yielded no result.

Langton slammed out of his office and paused as he passed Anna's desk.

'Do you make a habit of retaining local taxis to chauffeur you around? The Bognor Regis taxi receipt is ridiculous. Why didn't you get in touch with the local cop shop and use one of their patrol cars?'

'I'm sorry. I didn't expect to be at Mrs Pennel's for so long.'

'You have to anticipate these kind of things, Travis: we're not a bloody charity!'

He took up his usual position at the front of the room for a briefing. He was surly and had his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets as he paced up and down.

'I had another meet with Professor Marshe; we discussed our mystery man, the tall dark stranger we have so far been unable to trace. His description matches the killer of Elizabeth Short. This is what the LA homicide reckoned their suspect looked like.'

Langton turned over a blank page on the big drawing board to reveal a drawing of the Los Angeles suspect, drawn in 1947.

'The only description we have of our killer is from Sharon, so let's see how we match up. It could, at a pinch, be the same man: long dark coat, collar turned up; tall, about six feet; dark, close-cropped hair, a touch of grey at the temples. Our guy has no moustache, but he might have grown one if he's as obsessed with copycatting the Elizabeth Short case as we think he is. We can put this drawing out alongside a request for anyone with any information about him to come forward.'

Anna's desk phone rang; it was Dick Reynolds. She was irritated that he had called her at work until he said, 'I've just had a phone call; I think it was your killer.'

Anna sat bolt upright. 'What?'

'I've just got off the phone; he called the crime desk and asked to speak to me.'

'Did you tape it?'

'Of course.'

'Oh my God, can you bring it to us?'

'Can't you come to me?'

'Hold on.'

Anna put up her hand and Langton, who had continued discussing the drawings, looked over to her, visibly displeased at the interruption.

'Yes?'

'The crime desk at the Sun just had a call they think is from the killer.'

Langton almost jumped along the desks to snatch the phone. 'Who am I speaking to?'

'Richard Reynolds.'

Langton took a moment to steady himself. 'Mr Reynolds, I would be most grateful if you could bring over the tape of the call immediately.' Langton listened for another few moments, and then nodded. 'Thank you.' He replaced the receiver and looked to Anna. 'He's coming in directly.'

Langton then looked to the team. 'Professor Marshe was right. Our killer just made verbal contact with the press.'

Twenty-five minutes later, Dick Reynolds was ushered into Langton's office. Lewis, Barolli and Anna were there waiting.

Reynolds took a miniature cassette from one pocket and then, from the other, a small tape recorder with an attachment for plugging into a telephone.

'I've not made copies because I don't have another tape this size. It was lucky I'd got this in my desk drawer. I did miss a section as I was plugging it in.'

Langton gestured for Lewis to insert the tape into the machine. Reynolds was introduced to Lewis and Barolli.

'You know Anna Travis.'

Reynolds smiled at Anna who smiled back politely.

'So what happened was, I was at the crime desk and the call was transferred from the switchboard. It came straight to me as I was the only person there at the time. That machine's a bit old and dodgy, so some of his dialogue isn't that clear.'

'Right,' Langton said, pressing Start. There were a few moments of silence.

The voice was crisp and to the point.

'Well Mr Reynolds, I congratulate you on what your newspaper has done on the Red Dahlia case.'

'Er, thank you.'

'But you seem to have gone silent on it; have you run out of material?'

'You could say that.'

'Maybe I can be of some assistance. 'This was muffled, with a lot of crackling.

'Well we need it, or the police do.'

'I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll send you some of Louise Pennel's things that she had with her when she, shall we say, disappeared.'

'When will I get them?'

'Oh, within the next day or so. See how far you can get with them. Now I have to say goodbye. You may be trying to trace the call'

'Wait a minute—'

The phone clicked dead. Langton rubbed his head, and gestured for the call to be replayed. It was, three times. Everyone listened in silence.