Lynda La Plante - The Red Dahlia

'Gov, was Lewis checking out any previous boyfriends?'

'We've traced one: a student from the bed-and-breakfast hotel. He's in the clear, as he now lives in Scotland; another boy from the hostel was interviewed, but he works at a pub in Putney and had not seen Louise for eighteen months, but we've a shedload of other names we are still checking out, so we'll need another visit to the hostel and the B&B. The hotel is run by a Lebanese woman; she says Louise was hardly ever there. She wasn't very helpful.'

'Do you think the dentist or anyone from where she worked was seeing her?'

'Not as far as I know.'

'If we go on what we saw in the lab, maybe she had been putting it about more than we think.'

Langton shrugged. 'Two semen stains and grubby underwear does not give us much to go on.'

Anna rested back in her seat and got out her notebook. She spent the rest of the journey flicking back and forth. She remembered that, at her visit to Florence Pennel, the housekeeper had described Louise as looking scruffy with lank hair; she made a note to call Mrs Hughes when she got to the station.

Langton marched ahead of her as usual. She was expecting to have the door slammed in her face as usual, but he surprised her by waiting. 'What is ticking in that little head, Travis?'

'I'm sorry?'

'You always chew your lip, and you were buried in your notebook for fifteen minutes. What? Well, spit it out; what's got to you?'

Anna sat opposite Langton in his office, stirring her coffee.

'This suspect, the tall dark man; I think he puts an advert into the paper for a PA, making it a very inviting job to any applicant.'

'Yes yes, we've been through that. You or anyone else had any joy tracing this advert?'

'Not as yet, but we do have Louise, broke, working for a pittance at the dentist's, hating her job; she was always late and, according to one of the nurses there, often hungover.'

'Can you get to the point, Travis?' Langton snapped as he spooned sugar into his coffee. He then opened a drawer and took out a bottle of brandy, pouring a heavy measure into the cup.

'If we have a man wanting to do a copycat kill of the Black Dahlia, he could have used the advert to find the right girl. Louise Pennel, desperate, bored, broke and sexually permissive, wants to make a big impression; she even goes to visit her grandmother, who she's never met, to borrow money for some clothes to go to the appointment.'

'This is just you surmising.'

'I know, but hear me out; the point is—'

'I am, Travis; can you get to it?'

'The French underwear, the good clothes, she kept clean; so maybe this tall dark stranger had become a sort of Svengali. He's found the right victim: my God, she even chewed her nails like Elizabeth Short. He also had months to work on her; during that time she moves out of the hostel into a B&B and then Sharon's rented flat. The cashmere sweaters, the suit, the shoes: all expensive. It's like we have two women: one, the old Louise in her cheap and dirty used knickers, and the new model.'

Langton sighed, impatiently.

'We need to check where that underwear came from; in fact, check every expensive item Louise Pennel had in her wardrobe. Most important, we need to put more energy into tracking down that advert.' He was drumming his fingers on the desktop; however, she continued, defiantly. 'We do have a bit more to go on.'

'You mean that we now know he wore a ring on his pinky finger? That's a very big lead, Travis!'

He was beginning to really annoy her. 'Add it to the drawing, which got the result from the landlady. We have a tall dark-haired man; the ring might help us.'

'To do what exactly? If we put it in print, it might also tip him off to remove it!' Langton leaned back and lit a cigarette; he squinted at her as the smoke trailed from his lips. 'If we are to go with the copycat theory, then the next person our killer will contact will be me! After sending the package to the LA journalist, he then wrote to what they called the Examiner. In our case it will be me as I am heading up the enquiry, and the letter should be here tomorrow.'

Langton always surprised her. She hadn't realised that he was paying that much attention to the Black Dahlia copycat theory. There was a long pause as he inhaled deeply, and then wafted his hand to get rid of the cigarette smoke. She hesitated for a moment; he looked up and stared at her. 'What?'

'Do you think we should put out more press? Keeping silent has not really worked, has it? I mean, I know you are being guided by Professor Marshe, but this is not LA in 1947. We have far more chance of him entrapping himself if we give him enough rope. There's been nothing in the papers for days.'

Langton stubbed out his cigarette. 'You don't rate her, is that it?'

'I didn't say that. I just mean that the risk we are taking is that he might be forced into proving himself by killing again, simply because he has not been able to read about how clever he is.'

Lewis tapped and poked his head round the door.

'The address book; you want to come in and give us a rap on what you want us to do? We maybe need some more help if you want every address checked out.'

Lewis left the door open. As Langton left his desk and passed Anna, he swung it open wider. 'After you.'

Anna collected her briefcase and notebook. 'Thank you. Professor Marshe is obviously working on your social skills.'

'What?'

Anna scooted out ahead of him, pretending that she hadn't heard.

Pasted up along a board were the pages blown up from Louise Pennel's address book. The first page had her name in looped writing, like a child's. As they had been told at the lab, different pens had been used — sometimes a Biro, sometimes a felt-tip pen — other names and addresses were written in pencil and some even in a red crayon. They were not in alphabetical order, but jotted haphazardly. Some had been crossed out; others were scribbled over. They had also blown up the jagged edges where pages had been torn out from the back of the book; these would have been the most recent, and more than likely had the killer's name and address.

Questioning all those people listed would mean hours of legwork, tracing them and taking statements. A number of names and addresses would turn out to be obsolete, people having moved on elsewhere. Everyone would have their work cut out; it would be tedious and painstaking. Anna moved along the board, doubtful they would gain anything: she was certain the most relevant pages were the ones missing. After they had discussed who was doing what, a tetchy Langton drew up further instructions on how they should go about tracing the advert they believed their killer had placed. They had asked Sharon what papers Louise had read, but she couldn't recall ever having seen her with one. Langton suggested they check out the waiting room at the dental surgery where Louise had worked.

It felt like the killer was looking over their shoulders and laughing at their lack of results; however, by the end of the day they knew that Louise would often sit in the reception area of the dentist's and read the newspapers. The surgery only had The Times delivered, as the dentist read it himself. They had tracked down twenty-five per cent of the people whose names and addresses were in Louise Pennel's book, and the phones were hopping as the detectives prepared to meet every single one of them. Anna had also contacted Mrs Hughes, who agreed without hesitation that the clutch bag with the suede flower motif was the one she had given to Louise Pennel.

Anna arrived at her desk the following morning to a flurry of excitement. It was obvious something was going down: the Commander was in with Langton.

He had received a postcard, sent care of the station. It was bagged immediately and sent over to the lab for them to check out. It was a mixture of handwriting and cut-out newspaper letters.