The Red Dahlia

'I might well have done,' she said, moving away from him as he went to kiss her cheek. 'Go on through into the lounge. I'll dish up straight away. I am starving.'

'Me too,' he said, shrugging out of his suede coat and tossing it onto the floor by the front door. 'Do you want me to open the wine?'

'Bottle open on the table,' she said, banging around the kitchen as she put the garlic bread into the oven.

He did at least wait to start eating before she sat down, though he had consumed a glass of wine and was already pouring another. 'Cheers, and I'm sorry to be so late.'

'That's all right.' They touched their glasses and he then tucked in with relish.

'This is delicious,' he said, with his mouth full.

She responded by serving him some salad on a side plate.

'Do I detect a slight frost in the air?'

'You do, but let's finish eating.'

'I think I know what it's about,' he said, winding the spaghetti round his fork.

'I should think you do. It's made things very difficult for me.'

'How come?'

She put down her fork and sat back. 'You were asked not to go to press on the Red Dahlia note or the package. I was told tonight that, despite being warned that it would be detrimental to our enquiry, you are going to press regardless: so how do you think I feel? Especially as DCI Langton is more than aware that we are friends, from seeing us together in that restaurant. He actually thinks we have some kind of relationship; he had a right go at me.'

'Did he?' Reynolds wiped his plate with a piece of garlic bread.

'Do you have any idea what repercussions this could have? We have maintained a low profile for a bloody good reason.'

'Tell me about it.' He wasn't smiling any more.

'We have a suspect, one we believe is a very dangerous man—'

'Or not,' he interrupted arrogantly.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Well you may have a suspect, but from what I gather, you are nowhere near identifying him.'

'You gather incorrectly!' she snapped.

'Then I apologise. Who is he?'

She pushed her plate aside and wiped her mouth with her napkin. 'You really imagine I'd disclose that kind of information? Our investigation has nothing whatsoever to do with you!'

'Really?'

'Yes, really!' She was beginning to lose her cool.

'So the conversation I had with your possible suspect was no help? And the package that was sent to me, that I could have chosen not to contact you about? I was, if you recall, witness to the contents.'

'Yes you were and, as I recall, you were also requested not to go to press on either. I have told you: this killer is very dangerous.'

'I am aware of that; I have read up on the Black Dahlia.'

She whipped his plate away, picked up her own and stalked into the kitchen. 'DCI Langton warned you. He'll be coming down on you tomorrow like a ton of—' She dropped the top plate and swore.

Reynolds came into the kitchen as she was picking up the pieces of plate. 'So you think this is all down to me, do you?'

She threw the broken china into the bin. 'Of course I do!'

She opened the fridge and took out some pieces of cheese, then dumped them, still in the wrappers, onto a cheeseboard. 'Can you take this through for me?'

He snatched the board and walked out. She turned the coffee percolator on and carried a biscuit tin after him into the lounge. She banged it down on the table. 'Help yourself.'

'Thank you. Entertain often, do you?'

'This is not funny.' Anna drained her glass of wine and poured another.

'Do you want cheese?' he asked, delving around to find a cracker he liked.

'No.'

Anna watched as he munched his cheese. He was a very good-looking man; right now, however, the expression in his intensely blue eyes was icy.

'You calmed down?'

'Yes,' she said, grudgingly.

'Right.' He refilled his glass and took a sip before carefully placing it down. 'I had nothing to do with the article that will be coming out at the weekend. Just as you have a boss, a.k.a. DCI Langton, I also have a boss: the editor of the paper. She's a very strong-willed woman. She was at some big function for all the bigwigs the day we were at the forensic lab: politicians and crimebusters. Their guest speaker was a Professor Marshe.'

Anna stopped sulking and started listening.

'It appears that your esteemed United States profiler had a lengthy conversation with my editor. Apparently, she even mentioned the fact that we had met at the forensic lab; seemed quite taken with me!' He smiled but Anna was not amused. His tone became more serious. 'I never let any cat out of the bag, Anna. I had a furious editor giving me a lengthy ticking off for sitting on what would be a centre-page spread, if not a headliner. I got another tirade for not telling her what was going on.'

'Is this true?'

'For Chrissakes, Anna!' he snapped suddenly, pushing back his chair. 'You jumped to the wrong conclusions and you never even gave me the opportunity to tell you my side of the story before having a go at me.'

Anna took a deep breath. 'So Professor Marshe told your editor about the case?'

'That's what I've just told you, isn't it? She also said that she feels it is our public duty to let the readers know that we have a nightmare killer at large, and one it appears you are nowhere near even identifying at that.'

Anna took her glass and went to sit on the sofa. He followed, sitting in the large and only armchair opposite her.

'I'm sorry,' she said.

'So you should be. As for you getting into hot water about it, you should have a go at your DCI Langton; he brought her into the case, didn't he?'

Anna said nothing. He crossed his legs, dangling the glass from his hand. 'Shall I open the bottle I brought? It is a slightly better vintage than this one.'

She shrugged; he got up and walked into the kitchen. Anna was feeling foolish and wasn't sure what to say. He returned and filled his own glass, then went over and stood in front of her.

'Refill?'

'Yes please, thank you.'

'My pleasure.' He put the bottle onto the table and then sat beside her on the sofa. 'Forgiven?'

'Yes. I am sorry.'

He sipped his wine, and then looked up at the TV; it had remained on throughout dinner with the sound turned off.

'Is that your only means of entertainment?'

She gestured to the stereo and he got up, rifled through her CDs and put one on, then took out a box of matches and lit the candles on the bookcase. He turned the lights down, the TV off, and as the strains of Mozart began to fill the room, he sat back down beside her.

'This is better.'

'So's your wine,' she said, thawing out.

'So now you know why I was late. I am really sorry, but she wasn't going to let me out of there until I got the article out.' He leaned back. 'No wonder you don't want to talk about it. I logged onto the Black Dahlia website and found all the gory details: sickening. To think there is some maniac trying to emulate that is beyond belief. I know there are copycat killers, but this is freaky; why copycat a murder that happened in 1947?'

'Because the killer was never caught.'

'But the pre-planning — to drain Louise's blood before slicing her body in two—'

Anna closed her eyes and tensed.

He turned towards her. 'Do you get to sleep okay?'

'Usually; it depends. You get used to horror — it's the job, you know — but sometimes images creep into your mind and stay there.'

'You know the image that I can't get rid of?'

Anna didn't respond.

'The look in her eyes. I never knew that dead eyes held an expression; I thought they just blanked out when the heart stopped, but there is so much pain in her eyes. Terrible.'

'Yes.'

'Did Louise Pennel's face have the same expression as Elizabeth Short?'