Anna had been given five addresses and contact numbers: two girls and one man who had lived in the hostel with Louise, and two men who had known her a couple of years ago. They were scattered all over London.
Anna opened her desk drawer and took out her A to Z to work out which route would save her the most traveling time.
“Travis!” came the bellow from Langton’s office. She’d been waiting for this and she was ready for him. She ran her fingers through her hair, pulled down her sweater, and smoothed her skirt as she headed into his office.
“Sit down.”
She perched on the edge of her seat. He tossed the paper over to her. “You read this fucking garbage?”
“Yes.”
“What did you give your boyfriend, our case file?”
“No.”
“So he just grasped all of this from thin air, did he?”
“He had to have inside information.”
“You bet your sweet arse he has! This has put us in a bloody awkward situation. The phones are hopping with nutters; we’ve had Yellow, Blue, Pink Dahlias—it’s going to take up a lot of valuable time.”
“I know.”
“You know, do you? Well, for Chrissakes, use this as a lesson to keep your yapping mouth shut.”
“I don’t like the way you are talking to me.”
“What?”
“I said, I don’t like your tone of voice.”
“You don’t like my tone of voice? It’s the same one I use on everybody, Anna! Do you think I should treat you any differently?”
“No, but I do think you should show me some respect, and not jump automatically to the wrong conclusion.”
“What?”
“I did not discuss the Red Dahlia case with Richard Reynolds.”
“Christ, even his name is like some cartoon character!” he snapped.
“Professor Marshe discussed the case with Mr. Reynolds’s editor, who returned to the crime desk and hit the roof. She had not been privy to any contacts made, so when she found out what a newsworthy story it was, she insisted they publish an article comparing the old case and ours. As Mr. Reynolds simply works for the crime section, he does not have the power to veto a story; even though he was attempting to honor the press embargo you requested, his editor paid short shrift to it and insisted it was in the public interest to release the facts that we have a nightmare murder and a maniac on the loose.”
She had to gasp for breath, she had spoken so quickly.
“That’s enough,” he snapped, and glared. “I get the picture, Travis.”
“An apology would be nice,” she said tartly.
Langton glowered. “I’m sorry, sorry I jumped down your throat and to the wrong conclusion.”
Anna stood up and smiled primly at him. “Thank you.”
She walked out, closing the door softly behind her.
She had arranged to meet all five people on her list by the time Langton came into the incident room. The phones had not stopped ringing and they had two extra clerks working the switchboard. Langton looked dishevelled: hair standing on end, unshaven as usual.
“We have not as yet had any response to my press release. We have got a stream of lunatics from the newspaper article, but we have to hope one might give us something. Using the victim’s address book, we’ll cover everyone she knew, see if they can throw any light on this suspect.”
Langton gestured to the drawing of the LA suspect, then he dug his hands into his pockets. “All we can do is keep going. Now that the public are aware of the comparison between the LA case and ours, we will be inundated with calls, so I am giving a press conference later this afternoon. We will be disclosing our drawing, and expressing hope that someone will come forward, etcetera etcetera. What will not be disclosed is that the suspect may have made contact with Louise Pennel via an advert for a PA. We still do not have anything to back this up as yet, but keep going. We will also not disclose the fact that we have some DNA from the victim’s underwear that may or may not help us if and when we catch this bastard!”
Langton covered old ground for another ten minutes and then the briefing broke up. The detectives who were to question the known associates of Louise Pennel prepared to leave.
Anna had been gone only five minutes when DS Barolli got a hit. As Anna had requested, The Times had made contact with a list of job adverts covering the period that Louise worked at the dental clinic. There were over a hundred and they had been slowly eliminating each one when Barolli came across something suspicious: a novelist, seeking a PA with shorthand and typing and a willingness to travel worldwide at a moment’s notice, but requiring no previous experience: just that applicants should be between twenty-four and thirty, attractive and well dressed. There was a box number only.
Barolli showed the advert to Langton. “This could be the one: ran eight months ago. It was withdrawn five months ago. Payment was by postal order, and we have a box number to trace.”
Langton stared at it. “If it’s our man, he’s covered his tracks, but see if they can give us where the postal order came from and check out the box number.” He smiled. “Little Travis beavering away again. She’s good.”
Barolli raised an eyebrow. “But not that good, if she raps to a bloody journalist about the case.”
“She didn’t; it came from another source.”
“Like who?
Langton stood up. “Someone who has a lot to answer for. I’ll see you later.”
Anna’s first interview was with Graham Dodds, who had lived in the same hostel in Brixton as Louise Pennel. He was waiting for Anna as she walked into a small, rather seedy hostel in Victoria. He was a small, wiry youth with a nervous tic; he wore torn jeans and a thick polo-neck sweater. He looked and smelled like he needed a good wash; his hair and nails were filthy.
“Mr. Dodds?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you for seeing me. Is there anywhere we could talk?”
He gestured toward the TV room. “We can go in there. It’s usually empty at this time of day.”
The room reeked of stale cigarettes. Ashtrays overflowed on the arms of worn foam sofas and armchairs. The threadbare curtains were a dirty orange.
Anna sat down and smiled pleasantly as Mr. Dodds twitched and hovered. “I know what happened to Louise; I read about it in the paper, it was terrible. I’ve never known anyone that was murdered before. When you called here, it made me nervous, you know, and I didn’t tell nobody what it was about, but I did know her.”
“Would you like to sit down, Graham? Do you mind if I call you Graham?”
“No.” He sat down opposite her and leaned forward intently.
“I am here to ask you about the time you lived in the same hostel as Louise Pennel.”
“Yes, I know, you said that on the phone, but I don’t know what I can tell you. I mean, I’ve not seen her for a long time.”
“Can you tell me a little about the time you were there?”
He nodded. “I was there for nine months. It was in Brixton; my social worker got me in there.”
“Did you know Louise?”
“Not really; I saw her the odd times she was in the recreational room. It was similar to this. She liked to watch the soaps. I wouldn’t say that I got to know her; we just had a few chats. She was signing on at the job center so I saw her there, and once we got a bus back to the hostel together. She was very nice. It’s a terrible, terrible thing: I mean, she was only twenty, wasn’t she?”
“Twenty-two. Did you meet any of her friends?”
“No, I never saw her with anybody outside the hostel.”
“When she left, did you maintain any contact with her?”
“No, like I said, I didn’t know her that well. She got work at some clinic, doctor’s or dentist’s, quite a distance from the hostel, which I suppose is why she left.”
Anna took out a photograph and showed it to him. “Are you in this photograph?”
He stared at it
for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, the hostel organized a bus trip to the Regent’s Park zoo one bank holiday. I’d forgotten about that.”
Anna leaned forward. “Do you know anyone else in this photograph?”
“That’s me; the other bloke is Colin someone or other: he was staying at the hostel as well.” He frowned. “They didn’t like each other, Colin and her. They had some kind of argument over something stupid, like who had ordered Coke or orange juice; he said something to her and she got really uptight. They had a bit of a slanging match and then she walked off, didn’t come back with us. She got in really late and I think she got told off, because the door closed at eleven.”
“Do you know where this Colin is living now?”
“No.”
“Is there anything else you can recall about Louise?”
“She put it about a bit.”
“What do you mean?”
He leaned back, embarrassed. Anna waited.
“I mean, I dunno for sure, but we used to sort of talk about it, because she didn’t have a job; this was before she got work at the clinic, right? There was a bar across the street and she used to go in there, and sort of get blokes to pay for meals and other things.”
“Sex?”
“I dunno, but we reckoned she was on the game. Not seriously, though.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, she had to be in the hostel at eleven, so it wasn’t as if she was out on the streets all night.”
“But you think she was picking up men?”
“Yeah.” He flushed.
“Did you actually see her doing this?”
He shook his head.
“When was the last time you saw Louise?”
“You mean apart from at the hostel?”
“Yes.”
“I never saw her again; she never even said good-bye to anyone.”
Anna returned to her car, the smell of nicotine in her nostrils and on her clothes. The hostel had been a forlorn place, almost on a par with the bed-and-breakfast hotel she next went to in Paddington. Louise had stayed here before moving to live at Sharon’s flat. The residents were mostly traveling salesmen and she began to feel it was going to be another waste of time. The woman that managed the hotel was Lebanese, and not very friendly: Mrs. Ashkar had already been questioned by DS Barolli and resented having to repeat herself to Anna. She glanced at the photographs and said she did not know anyone; the only person she did know was the victim, Louise Pennel, and she said that she was very sorry for what had happened to her.
“Did she ever bring back anyone to the hotel?”
“No, not that I knew of, but a couple of times she was with some of the guests at the bar.”
Anna listed a few names taken from Louise’s address book. Again, there was no one Mrs. Ashkar recognized as ever staying at the hotel, though she did at least flick perfunctorily through the hotel register, her red nail varnish chipped, before shaking her head. Anna next showed the drawing of their suspect.
“Did you ever see Louise with this man, or someone similar? He’s tall, well dressed, sometimes wears a long, draped black or charcoal-gray coat.”
Mrs. Ashkar shrugged. “No.” She had a thick, guttural accent.
“Do you have someone at the bar I could talk to?”
“We don’t have a full-time barman. Joe works at the bar and in the kitchens; she used to help sometimes.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I said, she worked in the kitchens sometimes, washing up, cleaning; she was always short of money. Sometimes she would help the cleaner in the morning make up the beds.”
“So this helped pay her bills?”
“Yes, she was moved out of one of the bigger rooms to the box room at the back. Joe used to get her to wash the glasses at the bar. I told all this to the other man that came round asking.”
“Is Joe here? I’d like to speak to him.”
Mrs. Ashkar gave a sigh and then spoke into an intercom phone in Arabic.
“Go through the double doors, he’ll come out and see you.”
“Thank you,” Anna said, disliking the woman’s attitude. The so-called bar-cum-lounge was dark and dingy, with old maroon velvet curtains and an overpowering smell of stale cigarettes and alcohol. There were a couple of easy chairs and a sofa, all threadbare, and a maroon and yellow carpet whose swirls were heavily stained. The bar itself was a glass-fronted, kidney-shaped counter in the corner of the room. Glasses and bottles were stacked on a shelf behind it alongside packets of peanuts and crisps in open boxes.
Anna turned as Joe breezed in. He was broad-shouldered and unshaven in a stained T-shirt and jeans; his pitch-dark hair was oiled back from his swarthy face and he had a jaded, handsome look. He smiled warmly at Anna and shook her hand. His hands were big, square, and rough.
Annie went through the photographs and the names from Louise’s address book. No result. When he was asked if any of the customers were friendly with her, he shrugged.
“Sure; she was always in here and if they bought her drinks, she’d sometimes stay up until two in the morning.”
“Did she favor anyone special?”
He shook his head, then went behind the nasty little bar and opened a beer. He proffered one to Anna but she refused. He took a swig, then placed the bottle on a stained beer mat.
“She would sometimes go out to the station.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I said she went round to the station, picked up men there.”
He gulped more beer, and then burped. “Excuse me.”
“Did she bring them back here?”
“No way, not allowed: you get one tart and they come round like ants.”
“Did you ever see her with any regular man?”
“No, she was usually on her own; it always took a few drinks before she loosened up, then she’d be laughing and joking with us.”
Joe turned as the sour-faced Mrs. Ashkar walked in, stared pointedly at them, and walked out again.
“I better get back to work.” He drained his beer and tossed the bottle into a crate beneath the bar. “I was sad to see her go, she was quite a fixture, but she’d found a flat over near Baker Street. She was excited about some new job prospect that was going to pay her a shedload of money.”
Anna at last felt she might be getting somewhere. “Did she tell you anything about the job?”
“Not much; to be honest, I wasn’t sure if it was true: she could spin some stories, especially after a few drinks.”
“Joe, it is very important that you try and remember anything she told you about this job.”
He shrugged. “I only know she answered an advert. I think she worked in some dental clinic; she went out every day in the same clothes: white shirt and black skirt. I know she hated her job, they paid her peanuts, but she said she didn’t have any qualifications. I think she was a receptionist, but she often didn’t bother going; hung out here and helped change the sheets and stuff like that.”
“I know she worked for a dentist. This other job, can you remember anything she said about it?”
Mrs. Ashkar walked in again; this time she said something to Joe and he looked at Anna.
“I got to go back to work.”
Anna whipped around and glared at Mrs. Ashkar. “A young girl that stayed here was murdered. I would appreciate it if you did not interrupt my conversation. I would hate to have to return here in a patrol car, with uniformed officers.”
It had the desired effect: Mrs. Ashkar turned on her heel, the door swung open and shut behind her. Joe took a cloth, sprayed it with glass cleaner, and began to wipe down the glass on top of the bar.
“Go on please, Joe.”
“Well, like I said, I knew she wanted to find other work; she even asked if we needed anyone here, you know, on a permanent basis, but we didn’t. She was always skint and late paying her bill. One night, when she’d had a few too many, she started crying. She said she’d been to see some relative t
o borrow some money—she had a job interview and wanted to look good—but they’d refused to help her out. She’d called in sick at her work; she’d taken the day off to go somewhere.”
“Bognor Regis.”
He looked surprised. “Yeah, right. I knew she’d been somewhere, because she had this big suitcase. In fact, I helped her take it up to her room. She had a couple of things she wanted me to buy.”
“Exactly what did she offer you?”
“Couple of little silver boxes and a candlestick.”
Anna asked how much he had given to Louise for the items. Joe hesitated.
“How much?”
“Twenty quid,” he said at last, somewhat embarrassed. Anna was certain the candlestick alone would have been worth a lot more, but did not pursue it.
“Was it after she came back with the suitcase that she told you about her new job?”
He nodded. “She never said much about the job, just that she wanted to make an impression and needed money to get some new clothes. The next night she went out, probably to the station; I say that, because she had to have got money from somewhere: a few days later, she passed me in the reception and I hardly recognized her, she was so smart—a reddish coat, high-heeled shoes—when I said how good she looked, she laughed. She told me to keep my fingers crossed, as she was going for the interview. I reckoned she must have got the job, because she moved out to this place she said she’d found in Baker Street a week or so later.”
Anna took a deep breath. “Can you remember the exact date this job interview happened?”
Joe nodded and walked out. Anna heard a gabble of Arabic: Mrs. Ashkar was obviously having another go at him. He returned with the hotel registry book and began to flick through it to find the date four days before Louise had left—it was June tenth.
Anna jotted the date down and smiled. “Thank you. I really appreciate your help.”
“That’s okay. I’m sorry about what happened to her.”
“Did you like her?”
He shrugged. “She was very pretty, but there was something odd about her that sort of put you off.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno, like she was frightened of something, nervous, always biting her nails; sometimes she really needed a wash.”
The Red Dahlia (Anna Travis Mysteries Book 2) Page 12