Lynda La Plante - The Red Dahlia

There was a child's hand-knitted sweater with a zigzag design and some of the wool fraying at the cuffs. Anna could make out a smudged name on its label: Mary Louise P, Harwood House. Again, she jotted the information down. Next came a threadbare flannelette nightdress, a set of waitress's collar and cuffs and a pair of tired-looking low-heeled court shoes with holes in the soles.

Anna knew that the more expensive garments, like the cashmere sweaters, had been taken to the lab for tests. She also thought it more than likely that, despite her protestations, Sharon had picked over Louise's stuff and taken a number of things. The leftovers were a sad array that even the charity shops would not want. There were three paperback books, well worn, with many pages turned over at the top corner: it was a habit, even when exercised on paperbacks, that Anna loathed. There were also two Barbara Cartland bodice rippers and a small leather-bound dictionary; written on the flyleaf was Harwood House Library and an address in Eastbourne. It was dated 1964, but Anna knew that Louise Pennel was twenty-two years old, so she must have taken it from the library. The last book was equally well-thumbed with many passages underlined. It was a pocket book of etiquette, from table manners to serving dinners, circa 1950.

Packing all the items back into the suitcase made Anna feel a great sadness for the girl they had once belonged to. The tawdry remnants of her life gave Anna little idea of what kind of girl Louise had been, other than that she had wanted to better herself; the horrific circumstances of her death were a far cry from the romantic world of Barbara Cartland.

About to place one of the novels back into the case, Anna flicked through it; caught between the pages was a folded note written on lined paper. The handwriting was childish and there were a number of misspellings and crossings-out. It appeared to be a draft of a job application and began Dear Mr… It went on:

I am enclosing a photograph of myself. I would like to apply for the possition of personal assistant. I am presentlly working for a dental practise but have always wanted to travel and as I have no dependents this would not be a problem. I am able to type but do not have short hand.

That was all; no signature, no name and no address. It felt yet again like a step forwards that abruptly stopped.

Anna lay awake for a while, thinking about Louise Pennel. Could that job application have been how she met their missing tall dark stranger? Anna snuggled into her pillow and tried to distract herself by thinking about what she would wear for her date tomorrow evening. Dick Reynolds had just said a bite to eat, so she didn't want to overdress. She hadn't made up her mind by the time she fell asleep.

Her sleep was deep but not dreamless: the image of Louise Pennel's ghostlike face, with her slit bleeding clown mouth open wide, kept on floating before Anna, as if she was calling out to her. Louise was naked, her skin white as porcelain, as it had been when they had first seen her severed body. She was wearing only the white waitress's collar and cuffs and moved closer and closer as if to touch Anna. That was when she woke and sat bolt upright. It was four o'clock and the alarm would be ringing at six. She flopped down and closed her eyes; so much for a good night's sleep.

Everyone had been instructed to gather in the Incident Room for a briefing. Anna had already passed over her report with the findings from Louise Pennel's belongings. As the team waited for Langton, she began checking out the Mrs F. Pennel in Bognor Regis. She had discovered that the Harwood House address had been a children's home that had closed down over five years ago. A Joyce Hughes, Mrs Pennel's carer, answered the phone and told Anna that she was very elderly and bedridden; she was unable to say whether or not she was any relation to Louise. Anna asked if it would be convenient to call again to speak to Mrs Pennel personally, and Mrs Hughes suggested she try again between four and five that afternoon.

Langton came out of his office looking smart in a grey suit with a pink shirt and grey tie. He had obviously made an effort; he had shaved, and even his hair looked neat.

'Right, we all here?'

Everyone looked attentively towards him as the latecomers scurried in.

'We will have the full autopsy report first thing in the morning. We are also being joined by a profiler who has been working on the statements taken to date.'

The double doors to the Incident Room opened, and Lewis held one wide to allow an elegant blonde woman to walk through. She was wearing a tight-fitting check jacket that Anna thought might be Chanel, with a tight black pencil skirt and patent spike-heeled shoes; she carried a bulging black briefcase. She was tall and slender with perfect legs, and although hers was not exactly a pretty face — it was too angular, her nose too sharp — her wide-apart eyes made her appear exceptionally attractive. A comb caught up her hair in a chignon and she wore no lipstick, just a hint of gloss. Her appearance silenced the room.

Langton introduced Professor Aisling Marshe and then gave the names of all those gathered. She gave a small smile and polite nod, then started to remove files from her briefcase. Coffee was served, Bridget wheeling the trolley around the desks, as Professor Marshe talked quietly to Langton and studied the Incident board. About fifteen minutes later, she removed her jacket and placed it on the back of her chair. She had on a white silk blouse, but no jewellery other than a pair of large gilt earrings. She asked Langton to draw the table closer to her chair, which he did very quickly.

Anna had never seen him be so helpful and charming. He was smiling at the Professor all the time; he served her coffee and asked if she wanted sugar; it looked as if he would even drink it for her if she asked him to. Anna realised that when he had mentioned calling in a profiler he must have already arranged to have the Professor on board; he was keeping things as close to his chest as when they had last worked together.

At last the Professor seemed ready to talk to them. The room fell silent.

'Firstly, I'd like to express my thanks to DCI Langton — James — for giving me this opportunity. I am actually in England on a sabbatical.' She turned to flash a knowing smile at Langton.

Anna was stunned; it was very obvious that Langton and this American knew each other extremely well. If they weren't already sleeping together, Anna was certain that they would be soon. She was so taken aback that she missed what was said next. She wasn't alone; some of the other officers had been shooting glances at each other.

'I want you to have a look at my previous work, so I've had a few sheets typed up for you.' She handed them to Langton, who began passing them around. 'Just so that you know more about me, and hopefully trust in my judgement over the Louise Pennel case.'

She was nervous; she kept turning a pencil in her manicured hands. As the team started reading, the Professor flipped open her own file and waited patiently.

Professor Marshe had been working for Court TV in America for the past eighteen months, participating in live discussions on the cases broadcast. They all appeared to be high-profile murder trials. Her previous work had been in connection with the NYPD homicide unit as a freelance adviser. She had been educated at Vassar and had an impressive list of degrees. She had also spent eight months interviewing serial killers in various prisons across America for her latest book and had guested on two high-profile television documentaries. She was single, aged thirty-eight.

Anna folded the CV and, along with the rest of the room, looked towards Professor Marshe, eager to hear what she had to say.