Anna wrapped herself in a large white towel and sat on the edge of her bath. It was over. She could understand why the Black Dahlia case still held such fascination; no one was ever brought to justice for her murder. In a way, Wickenham's victims had had their justice. She wondered if, trapped and unable to breathe, he had given any single one of them a moment's thought. She doubted it.
He arrived on the dot of eight, wearing a smart suit. She had been dressed, ready and waiting like a teenager, since seven.
'You look good,' he said.
'Thank you.'
'Clean slate?'
'Yes.'
'Right, let's go. You know a restaurant called Fernandez?'
'No.' She shut the front door.
He took her hand and tucked it under his arm. She hadn't felt so happy for so long, and as they headed down the stairs she stopped.
'Can I just do something?'
He was on the step below her and looked up. She cupped his face between her hands and kissed him.