The Red Dahlia

what to do with it. And with no rent from her, I've got to find someone else.'

'Ah, so that's the reason for the house cleaning,' Anna said.

'Yeah, well, want the place to look nice, and no way am I going to say to a prospective tenant that the previous girl that shared with me was murdered. So, I don't want her stuff. They took a lot, even her dirty laundry, but there's still drawers full, and that old suitcase.'

'Is there no one she knew that would want her things?'

'I don't know anyone.'

'But you still have her photographs?'

Sharon blushed and began to wash down the draining board.

'Sharon, you said that you did not give that photograph to the press. It's very important, because if you did…'

'I didn't sell it,' she said, rinsing the cloth.

'But you did give it to Kenneth Dunn. Sharon, please stop wasting my time.'

Sharon folded the dishcloth and hung it on the cooker rail, refusing to look at Anna.

'Sharon, this is very important. It may not seem as if you are withholding evidence, but I need to know exactly what happened.'

Sharon sat down. 'All right, I know him. He's done some snaps of me: a couple for a magazine called Buzz. He works up in Kilburn at a Radio Shack part time until he gets his career as a photographer off the ground. I just bumped into him by accident: I didn't arrange it; it was just a coincidence. We got talking and I told him about Louise, you know, what had happened to her, and we came back here for a coffee. I showed him some photographs and… I didn't think it would matter.'

Anna said nothing.

'Nobody told me not to do anything with them, and I'd already given you a whole lot. Anyways, Kenneth said he could get me some publicity as well, so I let him have the one of Louise with the flower in her hair and some pictures of me.'

'Did you give him anything else?'

'No, he gave me fifty quid. He said he only got a hundred, so we split it.'

'Did you tell Kenneth Dunn about the marks on Louise's mouth?'

'No, no I didn't, I swear I didn't. I haven't told anybody about them, I swear before God.'

'Did you give anything else to the journalist?'

'No, I never met him.'

'Has anyone called you, wanting to talk about Louise?'

'Only calls I've had are about the advert in Time Out; in fact, I've got a girl coming round this afternoon, so could you get Louise's stuff out, because I don't want it? It might sound awful, getting someone to move in, but I got to pay the rent and Louise owed me for a month.' Sharon smoothed her skirt with the back of her hand. 'She was always on the scrounge. She'd say 'can I borrow five quid?', and I'd always have to ask for it back. She was always short of money, and she wouldn't buy groceries, she'd just eat my stuff. It wasn't just food: she'd take my Tampax and nail varnish remover. I know it sounds petty, but it really annoyed me.'

Sharon was agitated, her cheeks flushed pink. 'I know I shouldn't be talking about her like this, but it's the truth and she was such a liar. I'd say to her about paying me back, and she'd always plead poverty and that she'd pay me on her next week's wages. One time, I was so fed up that when she went to work, I went into her room. She had two hundred quid in a drawer! I faced her out when she came back and she just said that she'd forgotten about the cash!'

'So she did pay you back?'

'Yes, eventually, but the point is I always had to ask. Like I said, she didn't pay the rent on time, so I'm out four weeks. I often thought about asking her to leave.'

'But you didn't?'

She shook her head, then frowned. Anna could almost see Sharon's brain ticking over.

'What is it?' Anna said, encouragingly. 'Anything you think of might help me.'

'You know, there was something about her: I mean, she made you feel sorry for her. It was always as if she was waiting for something. Every time the phone rang, she'd give this expectant look towards it; never pick it up, though. I can't explain it; it was like she was always hoping for something to happen. We did have a few good times. She could be very funny and the blokes always came on to her; she was a big flirt — well, at first.'

'What do you mean, at first?'

Sharon sighed. 'When she first turned up, I rented the room to her because she was really sort of excited about her future, but after a couple of months, she was different, sneaking in and out, and she got very secretive. To be honest, I couldn't really make her out at all. If you asked her a question about what she'd done before, where she lived, anything personal at all really, she'd never give you a direct answer. I think, well, it was kind of my in-tu- …' She frowned.

'Intuition?' Anna suggested.

'Yeah. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know what. Well, I'll never know now, will I?'

Anna put Louise's suitcase into the boot of her Mini. She'd helped Sharon pack up the rest of Louise's belongings. There wasn't that much: a few clothes and shoes, and some books. Anna was unsure what she would do with them. It was sad that this was all that was left of Louise's life and no one wanted them.

The forensic team began checking over Louise's garments. They were paying special attention to the dirty underwear, in case they found DNA that might be of use at a later date. The clothes were all tagged and listed and then pinned out on white paper, laid flat on a long trestle table. At the same time, the pathologist was completing his detailed autopsy. It had taken considerable time, due to the fact there were so many injuries; the dismembering and draining of her blood had hampered the usual tests. DCI Langton had called for an update and didn't like what he was told. If it was at all possible, Louise Pennel's murder was even more horrific than they had first thought. The pathologist said that it was without doubt the worst case he had ever had to work on, but that he would be able to give full disclosure within twenty-four hours.

A frustrated Langton sat in his office, brooding darkly. Nine days and they still had no suspect. Even with extra officers working alongside his team, they had not come up with a single witness who had seen Louise Pennel in those days before her body was discovered. He had an uneasy feeling that something was about to explode, and he would be at the receiving end of it.

Anna was kept waiting, as Richard Reynolds was not at his desk. She sat in the reception area of the Sun's offices, reading back issues of the paper, for almost three quarters of an hour. She was just getting impatient when Reynolds strode over to the reception desk. He was tall, with a thatch of sandy hair and the most extraordinary blue eyes.

'Hi, I'm sorry to keep you waiting but I expected you earlier, so when you didn't show, I popped out to see someone. I'm Dick Reynolds.'

Anna stood up and shook his hand. 'Anna Travis.'

'Nice to meet you. Do you want to come through to the news desk?' He bent down to pick up her briefcase and gestured that she should follow him. 'If you'd prefer, we can bag someone's office, more private; crime section's a bit like Piccadilly Circus!' He held open a swing door, standing to one side to allow her to pass in front of him.

'Whatever,' she said, pleasantly. It made a nice change from the usual stride and swinging doors of Langton and his mob.

'Someone's office' turned out to be a cordoned-off corner with a desk cluttered with bright potted plants, stacks of papers and computer.

'Right, have a seat, and I'll get some coffee organised.'

Dick left her for only a moment before returning and giving her a lovely wide smile. 'On its way, Anna. Right, how can I help you?'

'It's about the article you wrote, which showed a photograph of the murder victim Louise Pennel.'

'Right, yes; what about it?'