The Red Dahlia

He continued to say over and over again that he did not understand why he was being held or why they were asking him about the two girls that he had never met.

'Because these two girls, as you describe them, were brutally murdered, Mr Wickenham.'

'I don't understand. I have nothing whatsoever to do with either of them.'

Langton pressed on; all the while, he knew he was jumping the gun. He was desperate to get the forensic evidence to back up his accusations. After two hours, he decided to end the interview. He still refused to release either Edward or Gail because of their relationship with his prime suspect, much to the anger of their solicitors.

It was eight o'clock when Langton called a briefing. He was looking very tired, as they all were. He said to call it quits for the night, and reconvene first thing in the morning.

The team started to pack up. Anna could sense the depression and just wanted to get home. They had issued a press release and photographs of Charles Wickenham, asking for the public to be on the alert. The Red Dahlia yet again featured in all the papers.

Anna let herself into her flat. They should have some forensic evidence by the morning; she knew they all had pinned their hopes on it confirming that they had the right man. That in itself was a farce: they might have named him, but they did not have him. Her phone rang just as she was heading into the bathroom.

'Anna, it's me, it's Dick Reynolds.'

She said nothing.

'Are you still there?'

Anna took a deep breath. 'I have nothing to say to you.'

'Come on, let's just forget the coffee in the face and have a talk. I mean, these new press releases!'

'Piss off!' she said and hung up.

The phone rang again. She picked it up and dropped it straight back onto the cradle — so much for his cheek, she thought.

Anna had a shower, did some clearing up and was putting some laundry on when her front door went. She physically jumped, and was glad of her double locks and safety chain.

She picked up the intercom. 'Hello?'

If it was Justine Wickenham, no way would she let her in. Then she thought it could be Dick Reynolds.

'Hi, it's me; it's James.'

She was surprised, but eager to talk to him, sure he must have some new evidence. She buzzed him in.

Anna unlocked the door and swung it open. He headed up the stairs; his feet sounded leaden. He appeared at the top of the stairs and she knew he was drunk.

'You'd better come in.'

'Thank you,' he said and walked slowly towards her. She could smell the alcohol; he looked as if he was about to crash out. He was unshaven and his eyes were red-rimmed. As he passed her, he rested an arm heavily on her shoulder.

'Well, I fucked up, didn't I?'

She shut the door and almost keeled over as his dead weight leaning on her made her stumble. 'Come on through, I'll make some coffee.'

He staggered down her small hall into her bedroom. She followed and watched as he flopped down on her bed. She helped him off with his coat; he was like a child, holding one arm out, then the other.

'How could he fucking walk out; how could he just disappear? It's fucking madness!'

She folded his coat and placed it on a chair.

'I'm going to have to release his son, and that stupid bitch of a fianc�e, you know that, don't you?'

'Yes, but we've not had the results in yet.'

'I know, I know, but if they come in, and we get to know what the fucker did, we are going to look like prize fucking idiots, because he walked out right under our noses. How in Christ's name did he do it? And you know who's gonna get the bollocking — me! Me: because I should have put more officers on the bastard, but I reckoned with his handcuffs on he wasn't going to try anything. Shit! Why didn't I bang him up and take him in when we knew it was him? I'll tell you why: because I wanted to prolong his agony. I wanted him to know we'd got him cornered. My vanity, my stupid fucking ego!'

'He had every right to remain at the house while we searched: be it a good or bad decision, everyone went along with it.'

Langton gave a lopsided grin, and then lifted his hands in a helpless gesture of defeat. 'I've lost my way, Travis.'

'You mean lost your way home or in life?'

'Come here.'

'No, we've been there once already, and this is not the right time to go there again.'

'Jesus Christ, I just wanted to hold you.'

'I'm going to put some coffee on.'

'I really care about you, Travis; why don't you get into bed with me?'

'Let me get you some coffee.'

'Fuck the coffee. Come here; let me hold you.'

'No, let me get you some coffee.' She went into the kitchen. This was exactly what she had wanted: for him to want to hold her and make love to her, but not drunk and certainly not in the mood he was in. So she brewed up a pot of fresh coffee; by the time she carried it into the bedroom, he was out cold. She pulled off his shoes and left him to sleep it off. She would sleep on the sofa. It had been yet another long day, and the frustration of losing Wickenham had got to them all. She could only think that, just like the suspect in the original Black Dahlia case, their killer had escaped justice. It would be something that they would all have to face unless he was caught, and the more time that elapsed, the less likely it was they would find him.

Chapter Nineteen

DAY THIRTY-ONE

Anna woke; her neck was stiff from sleeping crunched up on the sofa. She could hear her shower running and smell bacon frying.

She went into the kitchen and turned down the grill as the bacon was getting charred.

'Morning,' he said as he wandered into the kitchen, a bath towel slung around his hips.

'Morning; how's your head?'

'Swollen, but I'm starving hungry.'

'Me too; let me take a shower.'

'Sure, I'll get the eggs on. Coffee?'

She could hardly believe it. He wasn't embarrassed in the slightest; seeing his clothes strewn all over her bedroom made her even more amazed at his cheek.

By the time she went into the kitchen, his eggs and bacon had been wolfed down and her plate was under the grill, about to crack any second.

'You eat while I get dressed.'

'Fine, thank you.'

He smiled, and then put his arms out; she went into them and held him tight. He smelt of her shampoo.

'Thank you for last night, Travis.'

'It was nothing.'

'Yes it was; I didn't know who else I could go to.'

'I'm glad you came to me.'

'Are you?'

'Yes.'

'Good.'

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, a light sweet kiss, and then he was gone.

'Oh Christ,' she muttered. She wasn't sure how to handle it and could hardly eat a thing. He came back in, dressed, all smiles.

'Right, get dressed. Let's get out of here.'

She gave a mute nod; it was as if it was his apartment. He even started washing up the dirty dishes.

She drove them to the station. His good mood had already started to evaporate.

'I'm sorry about last night,' he said, gruffly.

'That's okay; it's over and done with.'

'Yeah, but I have to start watching it, you know.'