The Red Dahlia

'Thank you for bringing this in to us, Mr Reynolds,' Langton said and ejected the tape. 'You said you had not made a copy.'

'No. But it must be obvious that I'd like one.'

'I have to ask that you do nothing with this. I do not want this call to be made public until I give you permission.'

'Hang on a second—'

'Mr Reynolds, this is very serious. I do not want the contents of this call printed in your paper or used for any other reason. We will need to have it sent over to the lab and see what they make of it. It will be vital evidence if the killer is arrested, as we will be able to do a voice match.'

Anna went over to her desk to double-check the contacts made by the original Black Dahlia killer, and then returned to Langton's office. She passed over her memo, comparing his original call to the one that Reynolds had received. It was almost word for word.

'I know,' Langton said, quietly.

'So what do we do now?' she asked.

'Exactly what I said: we get the lab to test and see what they can give us. The journalist in the LA case didn't tape the call, so at least we are making some fucking progress. Also, if he has her belongings, he will send them to your friend. The original killer did, didn't he?'

'Yes, he sent the contents of her handbag.'

Langton drummed his fingers on his desk. 'Christ Almighty, this is unbelievable, isn't it?'

She said nothing.

'I hope to God he doesn't play silly buggers and go to print on it, especially after talking with Professor Marshe; she was very sure that if we kept no publicity the killer would make contact. She's been right so far.'

'Yes, you said,' Anna felt irritated. 'I'm sure Mr Reynolds won't do anything that would harm the investigation.'

'We have to make bloody sure he doesn't,' Langton snapped.

The tape was treated and tested. It did not appear that the caller had been trying to disguise his voice. The lab determined that it was a middle-aged man, well spoken and well educated, with a distinct aristocratic tone, exuding confidence. They felt it would be problematic to try to match it because of the muffled and often indistinct sound. There was no distinctive background noise that would help to pinpoint a probable location but, given time, they could strip the tape down to get more information.

Langton sighed with frustration. He had smoked throughout the briefing. 'Right, outcome: despite the portrayals by the media and the entertainment industry, there are serious limitations for the experts. They seriously doubt being able to identify taped voices; it's looking not very positive.'

There was a unanimous moan.

'I know, I know, but we only have a minute's worth and they need more. They kept on saying that this type of phonetic analysis is very time-consuming; it requires painstaking preparation of speech samples and close observation of their acoustic and other characteristics. So, in the meantime, we stick our thumbs up our arses because it could take weeks. To match an unknown taped voice with another — should we be so lucky to bloody get one — is not a matter of simply making voiceprints which can be compared in the same way as fingerprints. They reject this in court as evidence, because it can create an erroneous picture in people's minds: so, in other words, the chaps at the lab are dicking around trying to bring us something, so that if — if! — we do get a friggin' suspect, we might be able to match it. But this would only give us a lead; nothing more conclusive.'

Disappointed, the team had little to do but continue covering old ground. There was nothing new to work on apart from trying to trace the advert Louise Pennel might have answered. They had so far been unsuccessful, despite contacting virtually every newspaper and magazine, not helped by the fact that they did not know the exact wording; all they could do was to check out anyone advertising for a PA on or around 16 May.

That night Anna couldn't sleep; the call to Reynolds kept on replaying in her mind. They all knew that they were clutching at straws, but she couldn't shake the feeling that this latest contact had to be significant.

DAY THIRTEEN

The next morning, Anna called Sharon and asked if she would be available to meet. She was evasive and said she had an appointment at nine-fifteen, but would more than likely be at home beforehand.

Anna was outside her flat by nine but when she rang the doorbell, she got no reply. Frustrated, she kept her hand on the bell, but Sharon did not appear. She was just turning away when the door opened.

'She's not in.'

The woman was wearing a tweed skirt and pink twinset with a string of pearls. 'She left about five minutes ago.'

Anna showed her ID and asked who she was speaking to.

'I'm Coral Jenkins; I live on the ground floor.'

'Ah yes, you must be the landlady.'

'Yes; I did get a note to say someone from the police wished to talk to me, but I've been away at my sister's; she's been ill.'

'That was from me. I am DI Anna Travis.'

'I know what it's about. Sharon told me what had happened to her flatmate; it was a shock, not that I knew her. Do you want to come in? I can talk to you now: I don't go to work until eleven today.'

Anna was led into the ground-floor flat which was crammed with antique furniture.

Mrs Jenkins noticed Anna looking round. 'I run an antique stall in Alfie's Market over in Paddington.'

Anna smiled. 'I can tell you have some lovely pieces.'

'I had a lot more, but I had a very unpleasant divorce. I used to live over in St John's Wood but I had to sell the house to pay him off. It was a lump settlement, so I bought this place. It was already divided up into flats so I didn't have to do anything to it, and it's close to my work.'

The woman hardly draws breath, Anna thought. 'Mrs Jenkins, you say Sharon told you about Louise Pennel?'

'Oh yes, terrible, just terrible. I wasn't here, you see. My sister was ill so I had to go to Bradford, just after it happened, I think. Of course I read about it in the papers but I didn't recognise her from the photograph. I didn't pay it much attention, so many terrible things happen.'

Anna interrupted. 'Mrs Jenkins, did you ever see anyone with Louise?'

'I didn't really know her. I know she lived in the top flat. I only allow two to share up there: it's very small.'

'I know you don't allow visitors to stay.'

'House rule: they know when they move in. Reason is, these young girls get a steady boyfriend and the next minute, they've moved them in as well! So, I make it very obvious from the start: no overnight boyfriend full stop. If they want to do whatever they do, they can go and stay with them. Sharon has a new girl renting with her, and I told her straight away—'

'Mrs Jenkins!' Anna was now impatient. 'Did you ever see Louise Pennel with a man friend?'

'He rang the wrong bell once; quite a while back when she had just moved in, and so I answered the door.'

'So you did see a man with Louise?'

'No dear, I said I never saw them together. I saw him, just the once. He rang my bell by mistake, so I answered the door.' Mrs Jenkins got up and crossed to the window. 'I have a clear view of the road outside, but you can't see someone if they're standing close to the front door.'

Anna could feel her heart pounding. 'Can you describe this man?'

'I had no more than two words with him. I didn't think it was a boyfriend, to be honest; he might have been a relative.'

'What did he look like?'

'Oh, now you're asking; well, he was tall, maybe six foot, slim build, very well dressed, very refined voice. He had on a long dark coat, I remember that, but I doubt if I'd recognise him again. He called here for her a couple of times; never rang my bell again though. He used to ring her bell and then go back to his car.'