Lynda La Plante - The Red Dahlia

He broke some bread and slathered butter over it, then took such a huge mouthful he couldn't speak for a few moments.

'So, how's your case going?'

'Slowly I actually wanted to ask your advice about something. How would I go about tracing an advert, placed about nine months ago?'

'Advert for what?'

'A job: a PA, with travel.'

Dick ruffled his hair. 'Which paper?'

'I don't know.'

'Well, it won't be easy; there must be thousands of jobs advertised: Times, Time Out, Evening Standard. They're all computerised, but if that's all you've got to go on, it'll take someone a lot of…' He mimed holding a telephone to his ear. 'Unless you know more?'

'I think it's put in by a male.'

He grinned. 'Do you have the exact date?'

'It would have been around the sixteenth of May last year.'

Dick looked around for the waiter. 'Be like looking for a needle in a haystack. What's so important about it?'

Anna hesitated and then shrugged. 'Maybe a link, maybe not.'

'Link to what?'

Again she hesitated, not wanting to say too much. In fact, she shouldn't have been talking about it all. 'Oh, something that was said. It'll probably mean nothing.'

He finished his glass of wine. 'You mean you won't tell me,' he said, not unkindly.

'Yes,' she smiled.

'Look, Anna, we're having a friendly dinner. I've not come here with you to pump you for any information. I know it wouldn't be ethical, okay? But you have no need to worry about anything you might be telling me being used against you. M'Lud.'

Anna grinned as the waiter topped up their glasses; again, Dick drank half the glass in one go.

'I don't suppose you have had any more anonymous letters?' she said.

'Nope, and your boss man — Langton, is it? — gave us stern warnings that if we did, we go straight to him first. Do you think my note was from the killer?'

'Possibly.'

'God, there are some sick people around. Let's change the subject: tell me about you.'

Anna sipped her wine. 'I'm a detective inspector, so I can be attached to any murder team that requires an officer of my capabilities! That's a joke. I'm still very raw around the edges.'

'Really?' He had the most amazing, penetrating blue eyes. 'So, are you married?'

'Good heavens, no! Otherwise I wouldn't have agreed to have dinner with you.'

'What about a partner?'

'No, there's no one. What about you?' She leaned forwards.

'Me? Unmarried these days; we broke up about a year ago. She's living in Spain with a karate instructor; actually, one I introduced her to.'

'Do you have children?'

'She had a parrot, but her mother took it.'

At that moment, the waiter appeared with their starters. Dick had become much less hyper, and she was starting to enjoy his company. He was very open and witty, and had her laughing over a story about when he first started as a journalist. By the time their main course had been served, they were chatting about all and sundry; in fact, they ended up talking about their different relationships with their fathers. Dick had been very much a black sheep: his father a doctor and man of letters, his mother a very educated linguist. They had wanted him to follow in his father's footsteps, but instead he had left university and gone into journalism; however, his elder sister was now a qualified doctor. It was not until he was talking about her that he referred back to the Louise Pennel case.

'Do you think your killer would have had medical training? I know we've been asked to put a press embargo on the grisly details, not that we've been given much, but I looked up the Elizabeth Short murder on the internet. Mind-blowing; shocking to think they never caught the guy.'

Anna tensed up, suddenly nervous. She didn't reply, giving just a small shrug of her shoulders.

He twisted the stem of his glass between his fingers. 'So if this Louise Pennel case is similar, it kind of makes the hair stand on end. Dismembering her like that had to have been done by someone with surgical experience or, at the very least, someone with medical training. It's not easy to cut someone in two and drain their blood; well, it isn't according to my sister.'

Anna was just about to reiterate the fact that she could not discuss the case when DCI Langton walked into the restaurant, accompanied by Professor Marshe. It was not that much of a coincidence as Langton didn't live too far away, but seeing him made her blush. She watched him talking intently to Professor Marshe as the maitre d' led them to the table virtually opposite theirs.

Dick turned to see where she was looking and then looked back. 'What's up?'

'It's my boss; he's with a profiler that has been brought in from the States.'

Langton was waiting for Professor Marshe to sit down when he noticed Anna. He hesitated and then approached. 'Hi, surprise; not really I suppose, as this is your local. I've not been here before,' he said, quite affably.

'Nor me. This is Richard Reynolds.'

Dick turned, half-rising. 'Dick Reynolds, nice to meet you.'

Langton gave a tight nod; he recognised the name, but said nothing. 'Enjoy your dinner.' He gave a cold smile and headed back to his table.

Though Langton sat with his back to Anna, she still felt very self-conscious. Dick leaned across the table. 'Why don't we have coffee back at your place?'

Anna was still feeling uneasy when they walked up to her flat. Dick looked at his watch. 'Listen, I have to be up at the crack of dawn; maybe leave coffee until another time?'

'Whatever,' she said, opening her front door.

'Okay, well, I'll call you,' he said, hovering.

'I'd like that. Thank you for dinner.'

'My pleasure.' He leaned forwards and kissed her cheek. He stepped back and looked at her with his head cocked to one side. 'Are you okay?'

'I'd just have preferred not to have been clocked by my boss.'

'Why?'

'Well, he's very… I don't know, forget it.'

'If you need any help trying to track down that advert, just give me a ring; maybe I can call in a few favours for you.'

'Thank you, I will. Goodnight.'

Dick gave her a lovely smile and then was gone. She shut the door and leaned against it. Why had it rattled her so, seeing Langton? Was it just seeing him, or was it the way he was behaving with Professor Marshe? And exactly how was he behaving? she asked herself sharply; well, truth was that he was being courteous. He had looked very smart; handsome, if she was being honest. There had been no one else since she had ended their affair until Dick Reynolds, but she was unsure how that would work out. She wasn't even sure if he felt anything towards her. It hadn't appeared as if he had fancied her; moreover, did she fancy him? Though Langton had wanted to continue seeing her after the Alan Daniels case, she had not wanted to jeopardise her career; she felt that, as a very junior officer, it would have become common gossip. She was now wondering, however, if she should have let the relationship run its course…

Langton leaned back in his chair. 'Let me get this straight; you want to check every advert for a PA from nine months ago, but you don't know which newspaper or magazine she might have seen it in? And just how many people do you think I can free up to do this?'

'It's a long shot, I know,' she said, sheepishly.

'Long? It's the bloody Ml motorway, Travis! For Chrissakes, see if you can at the very least narrow it down to a couple of possible papers; go back to the dentist, back to that silly cow Sharon — we can't get stuck tracking down every fucking advert for a PA!'

'Yes sir.'

'That journalist you were with last night?'

'Yes?'

'I hope he wasn't pumping you for information.'

'No, he's just an old friend,' she lied.