The Red Dahlia by Lynda La Plante Page B

board. He constantly pulled at his hair so it stood up on end; his tie was loose and his five-o’clock shadow made his face look hollow. Anna wondered how long it would be before the Commander paid a visit; her office must be monitoring the progress on their case, or lack of it.
    ‘Right, we’re going nowhere fast, so if anything has come in, speak now or forever hold your peace.’
    There seemed to be no breakthrough from any quarter. Checks had unearthed no suspicious doctor or surgeon. They also had no further details as yet from the forensic team.
    Langton tugged at his tie. ‘We have to trace this suspect, the dark-haired, middle-aged boyfriend; it doesn’t make sense that none of Louise’s so-called friends knew anything about him. Someone must have seen him or met him; someone knows more than we’ve uncovered. So tomorrow, go back to square one and reinterview her known associates. We know she only lived at Sharon’s flat for six months, so dig further back; where she lived before, anyone found out?’
    Barolli held up his pencil. ‘I’ve got a bed-and-breakfast address in Paddington and a flat in Brixton off the DSS. She was also at a hostel in Victoria, but so far we’re coming up empty-handed: people are saying she used to keep herself to herself
    ‘Get back to all those places and try again. Yes!’ Langton pointed to Lewis.
    ‘We’ve got a previous employer: a dog clipper! She worked there for some time before the dental surgery. It’s also a boarding kennels. She was a poor worker, always late; she only lasted four weeks. Owner hired her from the Job Centre; we’ve been back there trying to trace any other work she may have got through them, but so far, not much luck.’
    Langton nodded, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He sounded tired and ratty. ‘Louise was at Stringfellow’s and yet no one sees her there, or sees her leave with anyone; that was thirteen days ago. Thirteen! For three days and nights, she was somewhere with somebody and whoever that was mutilated her and tortured her to death. Whoever that was drained her blood and cut her in half! And we do not have a single clue to his identity! All we know is that she was having a relationship with an older man, a tall, dark-haired, middle-aged man. Now from the photographs that Sharon Bilkin sold to the press, someone has to recognise her. It just isn’t logical for a girl as attractive as our victim to be able to disappear into fucking thin air!’
    Langton told the team about the notes that had been sent to the press and destroyed by the two journalists, who could remember nothing unusual about the postage stamps or franking on the envelopes. If they had held a clue, they no longer had access to it now. By the time he finished the briefing, he was in a foul mood, and the entire team was left feeling depressed. They had only one option: to go back over what little they had, hoping to uncover something they had missed.
    Anna did not get back to her flat until nine-fifteen. She hoped her dinner date with Dick Reynolds the following evening would not have to be cancelled. She was on the early-morning shift though, so should be able to leave the station by four in the afternoon to give her time to wash her hair, have a nice long bath and get ready. She brought Louise Pennel’s suitcase in from the car and left it by an armchair. She was tired out and so just made some cheese on toast and a big mug of tea, which she took into her lounge to eat in front of the TV. She zapped through a few channels and ended up watching some gameshow in which a team of hysterical women were trying to cook a three-course dinner that cost no more than five pounds. She finished her own meal and decided it was bedtime, using the remote to turn off the set.
    Without the TV on, the room was almost in darkness; the cheap suitcase drew Anna’s attention as she drank the last of her tea. Even though she was tired out, she dragged it over to the sofa, switched on