“She had too many people around her,” Lewis said flatly.
“She also doesn’t look like the Black Dahlia victim,” Anna said as they headed out of the hotel.
Nicola Formby bore no physical resemblance to Elizabeth Short either, barring her surname: she was not even as tall as Anna, who was only five feet two. Aside from the height issue, she also differed from Valerie in that she was quite highly qualified, having been a PA to a company director for three years; however, when they met Nicola at her flat, she described almost an identical scenario: she had been unable to meet the “very pleasant, well-spoken man” straightaway because of a migraine; she therefore asked if she could contact him when she was recovered. She had sent a photograph and CV care of the box number and called a few days later to arrange to meet. She was to meet him in the lobby vestibule at two o’clock, this time at the Grosvenor Hotel in Park Lane.
Nicola Formby had been on time, unlike Valerie three days earlier. She had waited over three-quarters of an hour sitting in the reception. She had also gone up to the desk to ask if a Mr. Edwards had left a message for her, but he had not. Nicola called the number she had taken from the advert but it had been disconnected; so, disappointed, she decided to leave. She then realized that there was another entrance at the other side of the hotel and waited there for another ten minutes, but no one approached her. Nicola had neither seen nor spoken to a tall, dark-haired man, with or without a long, dark draped coat. When shown the drawing of the possible suspect, she was unable to recognize him.
It was as disappointing as Valerie’s interview and showed yet again how very carefully their suspect, if he was Mr. Edwards, had targeted the hopeful applicants. He must have been able to see them clearly and discard them without ever having shown them his face.
“What has he done?” Nicola asked, looking at the card Anna had given her.
“We’re not certain Mr. Edwards has done anything,” Lewis said.
“Is he a rapist or something like that?”
Anna hesitated; she knew intuitively that Nicola could give them something more. Even though she and Lewis had agreed that they would not mention Louise’s murder, she sat back down and opened her briefcase. “We are actually investigating a murder. This is the victim; her name was Louise Pennel.”
Lewis shot Anna a look as she handed over a photograph of Louise.
“And you think this man I was supposed to see is connected to it?”
“Possibly.”
There was a sharp intake of breath as Nicola looked at the photograph.
“There was another girl there, at the hotel. I can’t be certain, but I think she was waiting for him too.”
Anna could feel her blood rush. “Do you recognize her?
“I’m not sure, but it could have been her. She arrived at the hotel about twenty minutes after me. She kept on looking around as if she was waiting for someone, and I saw her go up to the desk.”
Anna leaned forward. “The Grosvenor is a very big hotel, very exclusive and fashionable. Why do you think she might have been waiting for the same person as you?”
“Because I saw the clerk at the desk point to me, as if to say, ‘She’s also waiting.’ The girl looked over to me, then turned away and went further into the lobby. That’s when I wondered if I’d got the wrong entrance, because a few years ago I came to a big ball and we came in another way.”
Anna and Lewis almost held their breath. Nicola continued.
“When I got to the back entrance, I saw her heading up the escalator. She turned back and looked at me again and then carried on up to the next floor. That was when I thought maybe I was wrong, you know, about her meeting the same person, this Mr. Edwards.”
Anna selected two more photographs and passed them to Nicola. “Have another look, take your time. Do you think this is the girl you saw?”
Nicola sighed apologetically. “I’m sorry, I can’t be certain. It looks like her, but I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure.”
“Do you recall anything else, maybe what she was wearing?”
“Oh yes, I do, I remember that, because it was a very hot day and she was wearing a woolen coat. It was a deep maroon and it had a velvet collar. She also had high-heeled shoes on and she was carrying a small clutch bag under her arm.”
Anna was astonished. “How come you can remember all that so clearly?”
“Part of my job when I worked for an advertising company was buying stuff for commercial shoots. I suppose it really was more like a glorified dresser, but it did teach me a lot about clothes. Maybe that’s why I can’t remember her face; I was looking at her coat.”
It was almost six thirty by the time Anna and Lewis returned to the station and past seven when they finished briefing Langton as to how the interviews had gone.
“I’d say it was our victim and Anna agrees.” Lewis nodded toward her.
Langton was tapping a pencil on the side of his desk. “Did you inquire if this Mr. Edwards booked a room in either of the hotels?”
“Yep, and there was no one of that name.”
“So, what, after all that schlepping around, do we have?”
Anna flipped her notebook closed. “That Louise Pennel met this Mr. Edwards on June tenth and a couple of days later moved into Sharon’s flat. Her wages from the dental clinic would not have covered the rent per week.”
Langton ruffled his hair. “So you think she was being paid by this Mr. Edwards?”
“Maybe; she got new clothes, some very expensive.”
“But if she got the job working for him, why did she stay at the clinic?”
Anna shrugged. “Maybe this Mr. Edwards was just schooling her for his perversions. She was often late, often hungover at work, and didn’t seem to care even when she was warned she’d be fired. Sharon said at one time she had bad bruises on her arms. And a black eye, which Louise put down to falling at work.”
Langton took a deep breath. “And we are still no nearer to tracing this sadistic bastard.”
“I think we are getting closer,” Anna said.
“Do you?” Langton said sarcastically. He stood up and stretched his arms above his head. “There was nothing helpful from his last contact: no fingerprints, just letters cut out of newspapers stuck to the same notepaper, so we just sit and wait for his next missive. All we have is that the notes were more than likely compiled by the same person, whoever the hell he is, this Mr. Edwards. I dunno; it’s like we’re going around in circles.”
Anna felt slightly irritated, as she thought that she had done a good day’s work, but she said nothing, sitting with her notebook in hand.
“How much was she paying out at the B&B?”
Anna flicked over a page, then looked up at Langton. “Almost as much as at Sharon’s, but she was making money turning tricks then; I am certain she wasn’t once she moved.”
“They both slept with guys for money—Sharon admitted it to me,” Langton snapped.
“Occasionally she might have, but it was by no means regular. For six months, she paid rent, went out, dated the tall, dark-haired man and kept up her job at the dental clinic.”
Langton interrupted, wafting his hand. “Yes, yes, we know all this. But I can’t for the life of me think what all this gives us, Travis.”
“That she was being paid by her lover. Now, what she was actually paid for, I don’t know; I’d say sexual favors. Sharon has stated that Louise offered her drugs a few times—cocaine—and she was often very distressed.”
Langton slapped the table with his hand. “But what does this give us?”
“For Chrissakes, it gives even more on the suspect!” Anna snapped back at him.
Langton grimaced. “In case you are unaware of it, we do not have, after two weeks, a clue as to who this suspect is. We are saying he might look like the drawing of the Black Dahlia killer, but he could not look anything like him. We have had not one positive identification or, even more important, one shred of evidence against this so-ca
lled lover of Louise Pennel. We don’t even have any proof that he was screwing her, or that it was him that put the advert in The Times. We have fuck all, if the truth be known.”
Anna and Lewis were rescued by Barolli, who rapped on the door and put his head round.
“We’ve got lucky on the CCTV footage from Stringfellow’s. It’s only taken fifteen-odd hours, but we’ve got her up on-screen now.”
Langton spread out his arms in a gesture of relief. “Let’s go.”
Langton and Anna sat in the center, with Lewis on the remote. The room went silent as the blinds were drawn. Barolli stood next to the TV with a pencil in his hand; as the footage began, he gestured for Lewis to pause.
“Okay, this is the first sighting of her. She’s just walking in, edge of frame on the right. The time coder didn’t work, but from Sharon’s statements we’ve estimated it to be around ten o’clock; so this is shortly after they arrived.”
Lewis pressed Play and Louise Pennel walked into view: she looked far more beautiful than in any photograph. She was wearing a low-cut sequined top and a denim miniskirt, both of which looked as if they belonged to Sharon. Louise had long, slender legs and she was wearing very high-heeled sandals, making her even taller. She was wearing a flower in her hair; her face was heavily made up. It was annoying to watch, as people kept passing in front of her and hiding her from the camera; in particular, Sharon seemed constantly to mask Louise.
The CCTV camera was at the entrance to the disco section and watched over the clubbers moving toward the blinking spotlights. As the camera slowly turned to look into the club’s main bar and disco, the performing pole dancers were just about visible, but it was very dark. Sharon was all eyes, looking around, but Louise looked shy; she held her clutch bag in one hand and had the other to her mouth as she chewed her nails. Sharon turned to Louise and gestured for her to follow. They disappeared into the darkness.
Barolli leaned toward the TV. “Next sighting is, we think, an hour later; this is tape ten. Again she comes into frame on your right and she’s alone. Sharon is nowhere to be seen.”
Lewis pressed Play and they all watched as Louise, empty glass in hand, edged over to the bar. A stool became vacant and she moved over quickly to grab it; she sat perched with her long legs crossed as she surveyed the room. A few times, she was almost jostled off, as people in the crowd gestured for the barman to serve them. Louise opened her bag and then leaned on the counter. She said something to the barman and he nodded as she turned back, looking over the dancers. She was handed a glass of beer and she paid for it, still perched on the stool, as a young guy with long hair in a ponytail stood next to her. They had a brief conversation, but Louise was obviously not interested, virtually turning her back on him.
It was like watching a ghost. Louise was so very much alive on the tape, yet they all knew what a terrible death she had suffered three days and nights later.
Louise remained on the bar stool for another half an hour. She had another beer and was approached by a couple more clubbers; she didn’t seem at all interested in being picked up, though she was sitting in a very provocative manner. She delved into her clutch bag a few times and took out a mirror, retouched her lipstick, and replaced the compact. Anna noted that it was the same handbag that had been sent to the newspaper.
“I’m getting thirsty,” Langton said impatiently as they watched Louise order her third beer. He checked his watch. They had no sound on the footage, so they all sat watching in silence, broken only by the occasional whisper. Despite the phones constantly ringing and the muffled voices from the incident room, everyone’s attention remained on the TV. After three-quarters of an hour, Louise left her bar stool and walked off. Sharon was seen passing, her young rock musician in tow. If she was looking for Louise, she didn’t appear to be concerned. Lewis stopped the film and Barolli looked at his time sheet. There were more tapes.
“We have two more sightings of her; the next is at the entrance, from when she first came in.”
Louise stood looking around, very much alone, presumably searching for Sharon; this time, she had an empty champagne glass in one hand, her handbag in the other. She returned back into the dark recesses of the club and the film was stopped again.
“Okay, last and, I’m sorry to say, least, we’ve got her passing the bar but not sitting down. This time, she’s got what we think is her maroon coat over her arm.”
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, et cetera. At the end of it, they stared in silence at the frozen image of Louise on the screen.
The Red Dahlia (Anna Travis Mysteries Book 2) Page 14