The Red Dahlia

'But he says someone is squealing: who does he mean by that?' Barolli asked.

'I don't bloody know!' Langton snapped. 'I think he's just goading me.'

Anna watched as he headed towards his office. Everything about him was crumpled; he still had not had time to take a shower. She felt sorry for him. 'Are you coming to the club?' she asked.

'No, I've got my work cut out here; you get off there. Take Barolli with you.'

He slammed the door behind him. Anna was on her way to Stringfellow's with Barolli fifteen minutes later. They were driven in an unmarked patrol car, both sitting in the back with a driver up front. Anna explained to Barolli about the reordering of the CCTV footage.

'It's possible; do you know how many tapes we had to wade through? It's not my fault if we got it wrong.'

'Nobody is blaming you,' she said, quietly.

'Fifteen hours I had to sit through, fifteen!'

'Yes I know. By the way, did you check if Louise ever had a mobile phone?'

'Yes, and we don't think so. But at the same time, she could have bought one of those ten-quid, pay-as-you-go things which doesn't have to be registered.'

'Did you also check all the calls made from Sharon's land line?'

'Yes, don't you read the reports? Hairdressers, agent, nail extensions, hair extensions, gym classes! I bloody checked them all. No calls to our suspect, unless he runs a salon — that girl spends a fortune! So maybe one of them that did her beauty treatment is a suspect. I don't bloody know!'

Barolli huffed and puffed almost the entire way to the club. They had been under pressure for some time without a breakthrough, and it didn't look as if one was coming.

Anna and Barolli were met by the club's manager, an impatient man eager to get on with his day. He had arranged for both doormen and the two bartenders to come in early to talk to them, but none had arrived. He led them through a maze of Hoover cables past the cleaners who were putting broken glasses, cigarette packs and stubs from the previous evening into large black bin liners. None paid any attention to Anna or Barolli as they waited in a velvet-covered booth. Anna looked across to where Louise Pennel had sat and crossed to the bar. Anna sat on a stool, surveying the vast dance floor. She had a clear view of the entire club via the mirrors behind the bar. If Louise Pennel was, as she suspected, waiting for someone, it was a very good position: she could see the main entrance from reception into the disco area. She swivelled on the stool, then slid off to cross to the ladies' room. It also was in the process of being cleaned: by a group of girls who jabbered away to each other in Portuguese as they swept away the mounds of tissues and toilet paper strewn around the floor.

Barolli was drinking a cup of coffee when she returned to the booth.

'Did anyone question the cloakroom attendant?'

'No.'

'Well, we see Louise with no coat on, then with her coat off and over her arm, so she must have left it there.'

Barolli looked at his watch impatiently. 'I'll ask the manager if he can contact whoever was on duty that night.'

Ten minutes later, a heavy-set man with a crew cut, wearing a bomber jacket and jeans, strolled over. 'You wanted to see me?' he said begrudgingly.

'Yes; you want to sit down?' Anna gestured to her side.

'Okay, but I'm off duty you know. I don't usually come in until just before we open.' He slid into the booth. His chest was so wide that he nudged Anna.

'I really appreciate your time,' she said sweetly, and opened her file to take out the photographs of Louise Pennel.

'I've been shown them before,' he said.

'I know, but I would appreciate it if you looked at them again.'

He sighed. 'Like I said before, I work the doors; we get hundreds of girls every night. I remember the ones that cause trouble or the famous ones, but I don't remember this girl at all.'

Anna laid down the photograph of Louise with the flower in her hair.

'No, no memory of ever having seen her here, sorry.'

Anna next laid on the table the drawing of their suspect.

He looked at it, then shook his head. 'I don't know; I mean, he could be a number of blokes, but I can't say he's someone I remember. If you know he's a member that might help, but no, I don't know him.'

'He's maybe older than most people that come here?'

'Not really; we get them all shapes and sizes and all ages; lot of middle-aged guys come here, for the young girls, to watch the dancers, but I'm outside the club.'

'Well, thank you very much,' Anna said, stacking the photographs.

'I can go then, can I?'

'Yes, thank you.'

He squeezed himself out of the booth and walked back towards the entrance where he met another equally broad-shouldered man, who was at least six feet four; he pointed over to Anna and walked out.

Anna moved further round the booth to give the next doorman space to sit beside her. He reeked of cheap cologne and his hair was greased back.

'I've been asked about this girl before,' he said, as he sat down.

'Yes I know, but we are just hoping that something might jog your memory.'

'Right, I understand. I've been reading about her, but you know, I said before, I don't recall ever seeing her; we get hundreds a night in.'

Anna's patience was being tried. 'Yes I know, but could you just look over the photographs again, please?'

It was virtually the same response as from the previous doorman. Anna was relieved when he left; his cologne was making her feel sick.

Barolli returned and hovered. 'No luck?'

'Nope.'

'Well, like I said, I have questioned them, and all the taxi cabs that work the club.'

'Did you get any joy with the cloakroom attendant?'

'Yeah, she's coming in; should be another half hour.'

Anna sighed; it was feeling like a waste of time.

'This is the barman,' Barolli said, nodding over to the reception, as a tall handsome man headed towards them. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with trainers. He smiled.

'Hi, I'm Jim Carter. I'd have been here earlier but I had a problem with my car.' He slid in beside Anna.

Anna introduced herself as Barolli wandered off, looking bored.

She laid out the photographs and drawing. 'Do you recall her at all?'

He shook his head. 'Nope, and this guy isn't familiar.'

Anna pointed across to the bar. 'She sat on that stool for some considerable time. Can we walk over there?'

'Sure, anything to help.'

Anna sat on the stool used by Louise Pennel, and Jim Carter moved behind the bar.

'She was sitting here for a good while on the night she went missing. She had two beers, glasses not bottles.'

Jim nodded. 'If I'm serving, I'm on the go; we do a lot of cocktails, so it's shake and serve, shake and serve.'

'She paid for her drinks in coins, counting them out on the counter.'

Anna swivelled on the stool and leaned on the bar with her elbows. Jim stood with his hands on his hips, still no memory.

'She was constantly looking to the doorway into the reception area, as if she was waiting for someone.'

Yet again he shrugged. Anna described what Louise was wearing, and he still looked vague.

'I'd like to help you, but I'm sorry. I mean, she was very attractive, obviously, but when I'm working, you hardly get time to think, never mind remember anyone specifically.'

Anna thanked him and sat alone as he walked out into the reception area. She saw him chat to the two doormen still hanging around; they looked as if they were discussing the waste of their time as they turned back to look at her.

Barolli passed them with another cup of coffee. Anna watched him via the mirror behind the bar. He crossed to the booth and slumped inside. She watched as he tapped his foot, looked at his watch, and slurped his coffee. He leaned back and caught her eye, shrugged, then pointed to his coffee; she shook her head.