The Red Dahlia

'Yes.'

'Why would one human being want to inflict such agony on another? What makes them that way?'

'I don't know: a madness is all one can put it down to.'

'How come you are on a murder team?'

'Because I wanted to be.'

'You chose it?'

'Yes, my father was a homicide officer for thirty years.'

'You ever work with him?'

'No, he died almost three years ago.'

'I'm sorry. No doubt he would be very proud you had followed in his footsteps.'

'Yes; yes, I think he would.'

'What about your mother?'

'She died before Dad.'

He leaned closer, his head almost on her shoulder. 'So you are an orphan?'

'I never really thought about it, but I suppose I am.'

'You ever get lonely?'

'Well, I don't have any relatives that I'm close to.'

'What about friends?'

'Not many; mostly work colleagues. Why are you asking me all these questions?'

'To try and get to know you.'

'Well, as you can see, there's not much to know about.'

He smiled. 'From what I can see, you have a great CD collection, a neat little flat, and you are very pretty.'

She laughed. 'Rubbish.'

'You are. Well, I think so; I love that red curly hair. Did you know you have a ring of freckles over your nose?'

Anna's hand went to her face, involuntarily. 'I am always trying to cover them up, but I didn't do my makeup when I got home.'

'You have beautiful skin, and very pretty hands.' He reached out and caught her hand in his.

Anna was at a loss. She found him so attractive but she was so unused to the whole flirting thing. 'Am I supposed to say nice things about you now?' she asked softly.

'You could. I mean, it's been pretty one-sided up until now. You've not given me much indication that you find me interesting; attractive even.'

'You are both.'

'Good.'

He reached down and picked up his wine glass, drained it and got up for a refill.

'You should be careful; are you driving?'

He turned and cocked his head to one side. 'Are you trying to tell me that I should be leaving?'

'It's just that we've already had one bottle, so if you're in the car, you'll need some coffee. I'm a police officer, remember.'

He smiled as he picked up her glass and topped it up.

'So do you want coffee?' she asked.

'No, thanks.' He sat beside her again, and stretched out his legs in front so he leaned back again very close to her. 'Do you have a pet?'

'No.'

'Well, there is this disgusting moggy that's sort of moved in with me, her name is Blott: she's a sort of tabby cross with what could be a hamster; she has this very odd, uncatlike face that I think may be from someone having kicked her; it's sort of squashed. Can we go to bed?'

DAY SIXTEEN

It was no good making the excuse that she was drunk. She was a little tipsy, but she knew what she was getting into, though the wine had made her a lot less inhibited. She had never actually slept with anyone who had just suggested bed without any physical preamble; her previous experiences had begun with unbuttoning shirts and blouses and escalated from there. Langton had been a very tender and experienced lover, so totally at ease the morning after; it was a night that she knew had been special. She had not been in a sexual relationship since. It was not that she had been unable to consider anyone else as a lover; it was simply there hadn't been anyone who appeared to find her attractive, let alone make a play for her. Now there was Mr Reynolds. The world had not exactly moved when they had made love, but he was sweet and considerate, and made her laugh during and after sex; in the morning, however, when he had woken her with kisses, it had been more passionate. He brought her a cup of coffee in bed and then went for a shower. Unfortunately, the coffee was dreadfuclass="underline" it was the stewed brew that had been percolating all night. Anna smiled but said nothing when he came back in, pulling on his suede jacket and smelling of her moisturiser and shampoo. She loved it when he knelt on the bed to kiss her again.

'I'll call you later.'

Then he was gone. She stood on tiptoe in the kitchen, watching him speed off in his Morgan.

She scrambled some eggs and made some fresh coffee. She hummed to herself as she showered, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Brimming with confidence, she parked her Mini at the station. She saw Langton's beat-up Rover taking up two spaces; typically inconsiderate, she thought.

As she walked into the Incident Room, the hubbub of voices lowered as the officers glanced over.

'Morning,' she said cheerfully, and crossed to her desk.

Lewis propped up the headline — COPYCAT BLACK DAHLIA KILLER.

She said nothing as she took the paper and glanced over it. It was exactly what they had hoped would not happen. The article compared the old case and the new, complete with photographs of the two victims side by side, and gory details of the murder of Louise Pennel.

'Your boyfriend's got the Gov in a white-hot rage.'

Anna slapped the paper down on her desk. 'My relationship has nothing to do with this article. I resent everyone in this station giving me snide glances and implying that this has something to do with me: it hasn't!'

'He certainly knows a hell of a lot about the cases, so if you didn't brief him, who did?' Lewis said nastily.

'He probably checked on the Elizabeth Short website.'

Anna got up and walked past Lewis to get herself a coffee, not that she wanted one; she could sense all the ears wigging at their conversation. She stood by the board and read the press release that the Commander had instructed Langton to issue when he received the postcard; it requested that the killer should make contact at any location of his choice.

'Have we heard anything back from this?' she asked Barolli, who shook his head. 'Anything from her address book?'

'You mean apart from damage to the eardrums? We've arranged meetings with all the ones we've been able to trace so far. There's a list on your desk.'

Anna had been given four addresses and contact numbers: two girls and one man who had lived in the hostel with Louise, and two men who had known her a couple of years ago. They were scattered all over London.

Anna opened her desk drawer and took out her A to Z to work out which route would save her the most travelling time.

'Travis!' came the bellow from Langton's office. She'd been waiting for this and she was ready for him. She ran her fingers through her hair, pulled down her sweater and smoothed her skirt as she headed into his office.

'Sit down.'

She perched on the edge of her seat. He tossed the paper over to her. 'You read this fucking garbage?'

'Yes.'

'What did you give your boyfriend, our case file?'

'No.'

'So he just grasped all of this from thin air, did he?'

'He had to have inside information.'

'You bet your sweet arse he has! This has put us in a bloody awkward situation. The phones are hopping with nutters; we've had Yellow, Blue, Pink Dahlias — it's going to take up a lot of valuable time.'

'I know.'

'You know, do you? Well, for Chrissakes, use this as a lesson to keep your yapping mouth shut.'

'I don't like the way you are talking to me.'

'What?'

'I said, I don't like your tone of voice.'

'You don't like my tone of voice? It's the same one I use on everybody, Anna! Do you think I should treat you any differently?'

'No, but I do think you should show me some respect, and not jump automatically to the wrong conclusion.'

'What?'

'I did not discuss the Red Dahlia case with Richard Reynolds.'

'Christ, even his name is like some cartoon character!' he snapped.