The Red Dahlia (18 page)

Louise pushed her way past the crowded bar area; she was jostled and yet ignored. The club had begun to fill up; again, she seemed to be looking for someone: whether Sharon or someone else was impossible to tell.

‘So she gets her coat and returns to the bar area, say looking for Sharon, who we know has gone off with her rock-and-roll boy, so what time do you reckon this is?’ Langton asked, stifling a yawn.

‘Quarter to twelve, maybe eleven-thirty. What we’ve looked at is running on actual time.’

‘I am damned sure she either met her killer in the club or outside it; what about that footage?’

‘No go; it was recycled.’

Langton pushed back his chair, pointing to the screen. ‘Get that barman in to look at the tape; get anyone you can from the club that night to look at it. Someone might have seen something, though at the rate we are bloody going, I doubt it.’

He rubbed his chin. ‘I don’t understand it; she’s gorgeous, sitting propped up at the bar and we don’t get anyone that even remembers her. I’d remember her, wouldn’t you?’

He looked at Barolli, who shrugged. Lewis said that he probably would. Langton was just moving when Anna spoke.

‘She didn’t fit in. Yes she’s beautiful, but she’s constantly biting her nails and looking around as if she is waiting for someone. Men can detect that needy quality she has; they can also detect, in my opinion, that Louise could be on the game. We know she was when she worked at the B&B.’

‘Thank you for that insight, Travis,’ Langton said, abruptly.

‘I also think whoever it was might have been there told her to get her coat and she was looking for Sharon to say she was going.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘At the end of the tape, she has an empty champagne glass. When we saw her earlier on, she was drinking beer. Their prices are high, so I doubt she bought the champagne for herself; as Sharon has said often enough, she was very careful with her money. The handbag, by the way, looks like the one which was sent to the newspaper.’

Langton gave a half-smile. ‘Thank you, Travis, good; and this time you go back to the club with Barolli, see what you can come up with. Also put out the description of the clothes she was wearing. Sharon Bilkin had said she was wearing a black dress. She’s obviously not, so put the new styles out — who knows, we may get a break.’

DAY SEVENTEEN

Anna was feeling ragged when she got to work the following morning at seven-thirty. She had been unable to sleep; something about the footage had niggled at her for most of the night. It had also occurred to her that if Louise had arranged to meet her lover at the club, there might be a record of the call. As she walked into the Incident Room, Bridget looked up, surprised.

‘You’re not due in until this afternoon. Aren’t you going to Stringfellow’s?’

‘Yes, but I want to have another look over the footage.’

Bridget pointed to Langton’s office. ‘He’s got it.’

Anna tapped on Langton’s office door and waited. He opened the door in his shirtsleeves. He looked as if he had been there all night: he was in need of a shave, and on his desk was a row of coffee beakers lined up next to an overflowing ashtray. Behind him was a TV set, the footage paused.

‘Morning. I wanted to look over the CCTV footage,’ she said, as he returned to his desk.

‘Be my guest,’ he said, gesturing to the TV.

Anna drew a hard-backed chair closer to the TV. She told him she’d been unable to sleep, wondering about the phone call she felt Louise might have made. He shook his head.

‘No, Lewis checked all the calls from Sharon’s land-line. Sharon said she had never seen Louise with a mobile.’

‘That doesn’t mean she didn’t have one,’ Anna said.

Langton gave her a hooded look. ‘We checked at the dental clinic and no one recalls her using a mobile phone, so it looks like you had a sleepless night for nothing.’

Anna puffed out her cheeks. ‘Ah well; would have been too good.’

‘I’ve not slept either.’ He lit a cigarette and pointed to the TV. ‘I was wondering if we’d got this in the wrong order.’

‘Right, that was something I thought of last night.’

He cocked his head on one side.

‘We have numerous tapes and they are not time-coded.’

Langton nodded. ‘So what do you think?’

‘Well, our last shots of her with her coat over her arm and the empty champagne glass could be much earlier.’

‘What does that give us?’

‘The way she sits at the bar as if waiting, constantly looking around.’

‘Yes, and?’ He sighed, stubbing out his cigarette.

‘It’s the way she’s dressed; it’s as if she is making some kind of statement.’

Anna took the book from her briefcase and showed him a photograph of Elizabeth Short. ‘Look at the way she made up her face: white base, deep red lipstick, dark eyeliner.’

‘Yes, and?’

‘Well, if she was meeting our mystery man, and we go with the Svengali thing, then she made her face up the way he might have wanted it, but her low-cut top and that tiny skirt…’

‘Yes, and?’ He was impatient, rocking in his chair.

‘She knew he would be there.’

Langton nodded, then pushed back his chair and picked up the remote. ‘Right, let’s look at the footage in the order we think it happened and see if it makes any difference.’

They worked side by side, switching tapes, scrolling through until they saw their victim sitting at the bar, ordering drinks, etcetera. At the end of it, they stared in silence at the frozen image of Louise on the screen.

‘So having dicked around for half an hour, what do you think?’

Anna hesitated. ‘I think our killer was at the club, and someone must have seen him.’

He nodded, and then checked his watch. ‘I’ll come to the club with you; now I need a shower, so get some breakfast.’

‘I doubt anyone will be there; it’s not yet nine.’

Langton opened his office door to be confronted by Lewis who was red in the face.

‘We’ve got another letter.’

A certain girl is going to get the same as LP got if she squeals on me. Catch me if you can.

On the back of the envelope, there was more:

L. Pennel got it. Who’s next?

A speeding patrol car took Langton, Anna and the handwritten note directly to the forensic labs to meet a handwriting expert. As they arrived, they received a call from the Incident Room: Dick Reynolds had called; he too had received another note, not handwritten, but using newspaper cut-out letters.

HaVe cHanGed mY mind. YoU wOuld Not hAVe giVeN me a sQuare dEal. Dahlia kIlliNg was JuStiFied.

The handwriting expert deduced that their writer had taken great pains to disguise his or her personality by printing the message and endeavouring to appear illiterate; however, the style and formation of the handwriting betrayed the writer as an educated person. He loathed being put under such pressure but he said that the sender was, in his opinion, an egomaniac and possibly a musician.

Langton tried to contain his impatience. ‘Musician? What do you mean? I mean, what gives you that he was a musician from these notes?’

‘The highlighting of certain letters is as if he is giving a musical weight to them.’

‘Really? How about if he’s just trying to disguise his writing?’ Langton said edgily

‘That’s also quite possible.’ The expert added that the letter was feeding the writer’s ego and that the writer would be unable to keep a secret; in his estimation, what had been written was the truth.

Langton and Anna went next to the Suns offices. Barolli confirmed to Anna over the phone that the wording of the letters was almost identical to notes sent by the Black Dahlia killer, the only difference that, unlike the LA killer, their sender had not named his next victim.

Anna could see the pressure coming down on Langton: these contacts said so much but held no clue as to the sender. The team had no fingerprints, just the handwriting and the expert’s opinion that all contacts to date had been sent by the same person.

Reynolds was waiting in the reception; as he handed over the note in a plastic bag, his mobile rang. He listened and then looked shocked.

‘We’ve got another one; it’s in the mail room.’

It was after two when Langton and Anna returned to the Incident Room. The team were stunned to be told that Reynolds had had a second contact. Langton read the message out loud.

Go slow. Mankiller says Red Dahlia Case is cold.

Langton was handed yet another letter by Lewis:

I have decided not to surrender. Too much fun fooling police. Red Dahlia Avenger

Langton looked around the team and then shook his head. ‘This is bloody unbelievable. Four contacts from the crazy bastard, and we can’t keep the fucking journalist Reynolds quiet. He’s going to print his letters!’

‘What do we get from them?’ Lewis asked.

Langton glared at him. ‘That he’s playing silly buggers with us — with me — and that if we are to believe him he’s going to kill again!’

‘But he says someone is squealing: who does he mean by that?’ Barolli asked.

‘I don’t bloody know!’ Langton snapped. ‘I think he’s just goading me.’

Anna watched as he headed towards his office. Everything about him was crumpled; he still had not had time to take a shower. She felt sorry for him. ‘Are you coming to the club?’ she asked.

‘No, I’ve got my work cut out here; you get off there. Take Barolli with you.’

He slammed the door behind him. Anna was on her way to Stringfellow’s with Barolli fifteen minutes later. They were driven in an unmarked patrol car, both sitting in the back with a driver up front. Anna explained to Barolli about the reordering of the CCTV footage.

‘It’s possible; do you know how many tapes we had to wade through? It’s not my fault if we got it wrong.’

‘Nobody is blaming you,’ she said, quietly.

‘Fifteen hours I had to sit through, fifteen!’

‘Yes I know. By the way, did you check if Louise ever had a mobile phone?’

‘Yes, and we don’t think so. But at the same time, she could have bought one of those ten-quid, pay-as-you-go things which doesn’t have to be registered.’

‘Did you also check all the calls made from Sharon’s land line?’

‘Yes, don’t you read the reports? Hairdressers, agent, nail extensions, hair extensions, gym classes! I bloody checked them all. No calls to our suspect, unless he runs a salon — that girl spends a fortune! So maybe one of them that did her beauty treatment is a suspect. I don’t bloody know!’

Barolli huffed and puffed almost the entire way to the club. They had been under pressure for some time without a breakthrough, and it didn’t look as if one was coming.

Anna and Barolli were met by the club’s manager, an impatient man eager to get on with his day. He had arranged for both doormen and the two bartenders to come in early to talk to them, but none had arrived. He led them through a maze of Hoover cables past the cleaners who were putting broken glasses, cigarette packs and stubs from the previous evening into large black bin liners. None paid any attention to Anna or Barolli as they waited in a velvet-covered booth. Anna looked across to where Louise Pennel had sat and crossed to the bar. Anna sat on a stool, surveying the vast dance floor. She had a clear view of the entire club via the mirrors behind the bar. If Louise Pennel was, as she suspected, waiting for someone, it was a very good position: she could see the main entrance from reception into the disco area. She swivelled on the stool, then slid off to cross to the ladies’ room. It also was in the process of being cleaned: by a group of girls who jabbered away to each other in Portuguese as they swept away the mounds of tissues and toilet paper strewn around the floor.

Barolli was drinking a cup of coffee when she returned to the booth.

‘Did anyone question the cloakroom attendant?’

‘No.’

‘Well, we see Louise with no coat on, then with her coat off and over her arm, so she must have left it there.’

Barolli looked at his watch impatiently. ‘I’ll ask the manager if he can contact whoever was on duty that night.’

Ten minutes later, a heavy-set man with a crew cut, wearing a bomber jacket and jeans, strolled over. ‘You wanted to see me?’ he said begrudgingly.

‘Yes; you want to sit down?’ Anna gestured to her side.

‘Okay, but I’m off duty you know. I don’t usually come in until just before we open.’ He slid into the booth. His chest was so wide that he nudged Anna.

‘I really appreciate your time,’ she said sweetly, and opened her file to take out the photographs of Louise Pennel.

‘I’ve been shown them before,’ he said.

‘I know, but I would appreciate it if you looked at them again.’

He sighed. ‘Like I said before, I work the doors; we get hundreds of girls every night. I remember the ones that cause trouble or the famous ones, but I don’t remember this girl at all.’

Anna laid down the photograph of Louise with the flower in her hair.

‘No, no memory of ever having seen her here, sorry.’

Anna next laid on the table the drawing of their suspect.

He looked at it, then shook his head. ‘I don’t know; I mean, he could be a number of blokes, but I can’t say he’s someone I remember. If you know he’s a member that might help, but no, I don’t know him.’

‘He’s maybe older than most people that come here?’

‘Not really; we get them all shapes and sizes and all ages; lot of middle-aged guys come here, for the young girls, to watch the dancers, but I’m outside the club.’

‘Well, thank you very much,’ Anna said, stacking the photographs.

‘I can go then, can I?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

He squeezed himself out of the booth and walked back towards the entrance where he met another equally broad-shouldered man, who was at least six feet four; he pointed over to Anna and walked out.

Anna moved further round the booth to give the next doorman space to sit beside her. He reeked of cheap cologne and his hair was greased back.