invitation.’
By the time Dick Reynolds had led Anna back through the maze of corridors and out to her Mini, she had agreed to have dinner with him the following evening. She was feeling very pleased with herself; it had been a long time since she had been attracted to anyone and she had liked him from the moment she had set eyes on him.
Reynolds was soon back at his desk, logged onto the internet. As they had not had a press release detailing the exact similarities, he still believed it was a case of both victims being very pretty girls who wore flowers in their hair and who were only twenty-two when they were killed. He hadn’t realised how much information there was: an entire website for the Elizabeth Short murder which detailed much more appalling similarities; with almost sixty years between the two murders, he decided to concentrate on his missing schoolboy story — for the time being, at any rate.
Chapter Four
DAY TEN
Anna sat with a surly Langton in his office. ‘I knew that silly girl was lying,’ he said.
‘They sold the photograph for a hundred pounds; split it fifty-fifty.’
‘I can read,’ he said, as he flipped through her report detailing her interviews with Sharon, Ken Dunn and Dick Reynolds. ‘So if they were notes written by the killer, we’ve lost them! Maybe they were just as they said — some crank.’
‘No!’
Langton looked up.
‘The first note mentioned the cuts to Louise Pennel’s mouth — that detail had not been released. The second was more like a teaser; the journalist had never heard of the Black Dahlia, so just presumed it was the flower connection. Both letters, I think, came from the killer.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well this last journalist didn’t bite or use it, did he?’
‘Because he presumed—’
‘Yes, yes! That it was just a crank, like the bloody phone calls we’ve had from all the nutters. I’m just surprised that neither kept the notes. Probably wet behind the ears; an old pro wouldn’t have tossed it.’
‘Well, neither of them are old,’ Anna said, and felt a hot flush spreading over her cheeks.
Langton leaned back in his chair and grinned. ‘Weren’t they now? Well, word of warning: you can never trust them, young or old. I would put money on the fact that, after your visit, they’ll be beavering around to see what they can dig up, and that worries me. Yes?’
Lewis had tapped the door and peered in. ‘You want all the files to go over to the hotel?’
Langton nodded. Lewis closed the door again.
‘Bringing in a profiler. Don’t know if we can get Parks, as he’s writing some book and doing a freebie on the Cunard.’
‘What?’
Langton stood up and yawned. ‘Profiler we used for the Alan Daniels case. He’s since become quite a high-profile himself, so I dunno who we’ll get in to look over the case. But whoever it is, I hope to Christ they can help us, as we’ve still got fuck all.’
He perched on the corner of his desk. ‘I don’t suppose Sharon gave us any more details on this tall dark stranger and his shiny fucking car?’
‘No.’
‘Well we’ve got nothing from anyone else either. I am loath to do a TV slot: if the facts get out, it’ll create a nightmare. You know, they never released the details on exactly how the Yorkshire Ripper killed.’
‘He murdered eleven women, so maybe they should have,’ Anna said tetchily.
Langton ignored her tone. ‘They didn’t with Fred West, either. Apparently it puts readers off: too much gore and they won’t buy the paper; they need just enough to titillate their appetite. We give anything near the truth with our case and it’ll create mayhem. I’m going for a press embargo.’
‘But we need help from someone,’ Anna said, standing.
‘I am aware of that,’ he snapped and barged out into the Incident Room. Anna picked up her report and followed, as there was to be a briefing any minute.
Langton paced up and down in front of the Incident Room
By the time Dick Reynolds had led Anna back through the maze of corridors and out to her Mini, she had agreed to have dinner with him the following evening. She was feeling very pleased with herself; it had been a long time since she had been attracted to anyone and she had liked him from the moment she had set eyes on him.
Reynolds was soon back at his desk, logged onto the internet. As they had not had a press release detailing the exact similarities, he still believed it was a case of both victims being very pretty girls who wore flowers in their hair and who were only twenty-two when they were killed. He hadn’t realised how much information there was: an entire website for the Elizabeth Short murder which detailed much more appalling similarities; with almost sixty years between the two murders, he decided to concentrate on his missing schoolboy story — for the time being, at any rate.
Chapter Four
DAY TEN
Anna sat with a surly Langton in his office. ‘I knew that silly girl was lying,’ he said.
‘They sold the photograph for a hundred pounds; split it fifty-fifty.’
‘I can read,’ he said, as he flipped through her report detailing her interviews with Sharon, Ken Dunn and Dick Reynolds. ‘So if they were notes written by the killer, we’ve lost them! Maybe they were just as they said — some crank.’
‘No!’
Langton looked up.
‘The first note mentioned the cuts to Louise Pennel’s mouth — that detail had not been released. The second was more like a teaser; the journalist had never heard of the Black Dahlia, so just presumed it was the flower connection. Both letters, I think, came from the killer.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well this last journalist didn’t bite or use it, did he?’
‘Because he presumed—’
‘Yes, yes! That it was just a crank, like the bloody phone calls we’ve had from all the nutters. I’m just surprised that neither kept the notes. Probably wet behind the ears; an old pro wouldn’t have tossed it.’
‘Well, neither of them are old,’ Anna said, and felt a hot flush spreading over her cheeks.
Langton leaned back in his chair and grinned. ‘Weren’t they now? Well, word of warning: you can never trust them, young or old. I would put money on the fact that, after your visit, they’ll be beavering around to see what they can dig up, and that worries me. Yes?’
Lewis had tapped the door and peered in. ‘You want all the files to go over to the hotel?’
Langton nodded. Lewis closed the door again.
‘Bringing in a profiler. Don’t know if we can get Parks, as he’s writing some book and doing a freebie on the Cunard.’
‘What?’
Langton stood up and yawned. ‘Profiler we used for the Alan Daniels case. He’s since become quite a high-profile himself, so I dunno who we’ll get in to look over the case. But whoever it is, I hope to Christ they can help us, as we’ve still got fuck all.’
He perched on the corner of his desk. ‘I don’t suppose Sharon gave us any more details on this tall dark stranger and his shiny fucking car?’
‘No.’
‘Well we’ve got nothing from anyone else either. I am loath to do a TV slot: if the facts get out, it’ll create a nightmare. You know, they never released the details on exactly how the Yorkshire Ripper killed.’
‘He murdered eleven women, so maybe they should have,’ Anna said tetchily.
Langton ignored her tone. ‘They didn’t with Fred West, either. Apparently it puts readers off: too much gore and they won’t buy the paper; they need just enough to titillate their appetite. We give anything near the truth with our case and it’ll create mayhem. I’m going for a press embargo.’
‘But we need help from someone,’ Anna said, standing.
‘I am aware of that,’ he snapped and barged out into the Incident Room. Anna picked up her report and followed, as there was to be a briefing any minute.
Langton paced up and down in front of the Incident Room
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