Lynda La Plante - The Red Dahlia

Anna outlined the reason for her visit to Mrs Pennel. DS White, a grey-haired thick-set officer, listened intently. He had a habit of breathing heavily through his nose, leaning his elbows on the desk.

'I know the old lady, quite a character. I was very wet behind the ears when I was called out to the place: big garden party going on, and the cars had blocked the through road down to the beach. She used to be quite the social queen. To be honest, I amazed she's still going strong; she must be, what?'

Anna smiled. 'She is ninety-four.'

'I reckon she must be, cos she was no spring chicken then. After the Major died, she took to her bed. He was a character: we'd picked him up a couple of times the worse for drink. He had an old Rolls-Royce and we'd find him sitting sleeping over the wheel; he'd wag his finger: 'Not drivin' officer, just sleeping it off.' So we'd take him home and often have a drink together. I was fond of the old boy, but he was an old soak really.'

Anna took out the photograph of Louise Pennel. 'Did you ever see the granddaughter, Louise Pennel?'

'No, never met her. I knew the son, Raymond; he was a sad case. Florence doted on him. We gave him a slap on the wrist when he was caught down by the sea front, cottaging by the gents' toilets. He was warned not to be seen there again; he was, quite a few times, but his mother always pulled strings. She worshipped the ground he walked on.'

'He was gay?'

'Yes; he knew from a very early age.'

'But he married a local girl, didn't he?'

DS White smiled. 'He did. I can't recall her name, but I knew she'd got a bit of a reputation for putting it about. Mrs Pennel called us in once: there was all hell let loose. She was screaming and smashing things up; she wanted us to help her talk sense into her son, wailing and throwing her arms around. Nothing we could do but try and calm her down. I'd got fond of the family, so would help out when I could. A few nights later, I got called out again: she claimed some of her jewellery had been stolen and a silver tea service had gone missing. Turned out Raymond had packed it into a suitcase and gone off with this girl.'

'Did she press charges?'

'No. I never saw her again until years later when Raymond was buried; died of a burst appendix. Apparently he was broke, living in some rented place, with the same drink problem as his father. Mrs Pennel got his body brought home and as far as I recall, his wife never came to the funeral.'

'Do you know what happened to the wife and to Mrs Pennel's granddaughter?'

He nodded. 'Again, I can't be exactly sure of the dates, but about four or five years later, I was told that Raymond's wife had died of cancer. One of her mother's relatives had contacted Mrs Pennel to see if she could take the little girl but apparently she refused, so she went into a children's home; must have been about eleven years old. Sad, isn't it? All that money and that big house and she wouldn't have anything to do with her, and now: tragic. What a waste.'

'Yes,' Anna said, declining to enlighten DS White as to just how tragic Louise's death had been.

Returning to London on the train, Anna felt depressed. Fitting Louise Pennel's background together had not exactly taken the enquiry a stage further. There was one thing that might bring a result: the advert that Louise had answered: they might get lucky and be able to trace a link to their suspect. It was imperative that they discover which paper or magazine Louise had read the advert in. All Anna knew was that Louise was to have a job interview sometime after 16 May. Was that when Louise had met her killer?

Anna sighed. Despite all their modern technology they were, as with the original Elizabeth Short murder, grasping at straws. Sixty years between, and yet they had so far been unable to use any of their scientific expertise to unlock the pitiful clues they had acquired to date. Anna leaned back and dialled the Incident Room on her mobile. She spoke briefly to Barolli to see if he could start running a check on the newspaper ads that Louise might have answered. She suggested they first try Time Out, as she knew that was where Louise had read Sharon's advert. She got quite an earful from the frazzled detective as he had had yet another fruitless day's work trying to find previous employers of Louise but, nevertheless, he said they would get onto it a.s.a.p.

She felt confident that the advert, if it was traced, might just be the clue that would break the case. Reassured that it had not been an entirely wasted journey, Anna gave a small satisfied smile: the dinner that evening might just be the cream.

It was eight-fifteen. Dick Reynolds had said he would collect Anna at eight, so he was late. Anna had hesitated about giving him her home address: it was not really professional, but then again, nor was her eagerness to see him on a personal level. She was wearing a white cashmere pullover she had bought in the sales, black trousers and boots. She had washed and blow-dried her hair and taken more time and care over her make-up than her usual quick powder and bit of mascara required. She opened a bottle of Chablis and left it in the fridge. She wandered around her small flat, adjusting cushions and fiddling with the stereo. It was almost eight-thirty when her doorbell rang.

'Hi, I'm parked out front, so shall we just go straight out?'

Anna hesitated; the wine, low lighting and softly playing CD were about to go to waste.

'There's a nice Italian round the corner; I popped in and they have a table.'

'Oh that'll be Ricardo's. I don't know if it's any good, I've not eaten there.'

'Well, it's always useful to test out your local restaurants,' Dick said, as he jangled his keys impatiently.

'Do you own this or is it rented?' he asked as she locked the door behind them.

'I own it.'

He crossed the road to a badly parked green Morgan sports car. She had to bend low to get into the passenger seat. He waited before slamming her door and hurrying round to the driver's side.

The engine roared as it kicked into start, and he grinned, shouting, 'Needs a bit of tuning, but I've not had the time. You hungry?'

'Yes, I am. I spent most of the day in Bognor Regis.'

'Nothing like sea air to work up an appetite.'

He drove down the road like a lunatic and without fastening his seat belt; the one on her side was broken. She tried not to appear nervous as they screeched up to the restaurant.

They had a very nice table at a booth, with no other table too close. He immediately buried himself in the menu and then tossed it aside.

'Red or white?'

'Erm… red please.'

He swivelled round to signal to a waiter, as Anna took off her coat. 'Bottle of merlot and I'll have cannelloni to start and then veal marsala to follow. Anna?'

She had hardly had time to read the menu, let alone make a choice so, rather flustered, she ordered the specials at the waiter's suggestion.

The waiter brought the bottle of wine, uncorked it and poured out a small amount for Dick to taste; he wafted his hand not to bother. Anna watched as the waiter filled their glasses.

'To us; glad you could make it.'

She took a sip; he drained half his glass and then leaned back. 'I'll chill out in a minute. I was late because we had a sudden breakthrough on this missing kid story we've been headlining.'

He picked up his glass and stared into it, then drank again. 'They found his body in Highgate cemetery.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Yep. Stuffed into a half-dug grave.'

Anna winced. 'It's always hard to keep your distance emotionally when it's a child.'

'It's the peripheral things that go on that take it out of you. His poor mother was just in total shock. She couldn't speak, just sat there with these big wide eyes and tears streaming down her face. Get her to talk about how she feels! — my editor on the mobile — and I am looking at these tragic people. You don't need to get them to explain how they feel, you can see it.'