Read The Red Dahlia for Free Online

— preferably the sort who would pick up the bill.
    Anna had not been asked to join the lads on their club crawl, but she didn’t mind. Her head ached from monitoring call after call, still with nothing tangible at the end of the day. During her lunch break, she had begun reading the book about Elizabeth Short’s murder. It had been written by a former Los Angeles Police Department officer, who had been attached for many years to the homicide division of LA County. He made some startling deductions and even put forward his own father as the killer. Anna continued reading once she was home. She didn’t expect to be up still at two o’clock in the morning, but she had been unable to put the book down. Even when she finished it, sleep didn’t come: all she could do was think about its nightmarish contents. Although Elizabeth Short had been murdered in the forties, there was nevertheless a sickening link beyond the similarities between her photograph and Louise’s. The murders were virtually identical.
     
    Langton and Lewis looked tired out. They had spent hours at the clubs with little result. Louise was remembered by two waiters at Stringfellow’s, but so far as they could recall, she was always with a different man. They could not, from the vague description, identify any specific tall dark stranger who had been with her. Her male friends were often young rock singers who she picked up in the club. The last night she was there had been a big showbiz occasion, with many glitzy guests who had been to a film premiere. They had roped off private sections and the place was jumping. The doormen and bouncers were no help; it seemed Louise came and went without a trace.
    Barolli had not fared any better; a few people recalled seeing Louise, but not recently. He had tramped from one rather seedy nightclub to the next, showing her photograph. They had all recognised her; some knew she was dead, others didn’t. She was often alone, and would chat to the barmen about waiting for a modelling agent to contact her. It appeared she never drank too much and was always polite and friendly; if she was on the game, it was not obvious. Not one person questioned remembered seeing her with an older man; the clubs were mainly for people her age. She was known, but not known; they all thought of her as being a very attractive girl but something about her was not quite right. One barman said it was as if she was always waiting for someone, often looking to the club’s entrance expectantly.
    Langton had asked for the cashmere sweaters they had taken from Louise’s flat to be traced. They were part of a large special deal for Harrods’ January sales the previous year, but none of the assistants could recall any tall dark stranger buying one, either with cash or a credit card. The perfume, although costly, could have been sold to any one of hundreds of customers in a range of department stores. The search for Louise’s maroon coat also drew a blank. Sharon had made an attempt at describing Louise’s handbag, but ‘large black leather with a wide strap’ was not much use. She also said that Louise sometimes used smaller clutch bags, but could not describe any in much detail. A search of the area where the body was found also yielded nothing. They were back almost to square one.
     
    DAY NINE
     
    Anna placed a call to the crime desk at both the Mirror and the Sun. She then went into the ladies to refresh her make-up. Running a comb through her hair, she stared at her reflection and took a deep breath. Langton might laugh her out of his office but, then again, he might not.
    ‘Well, this is another fucking fruitless day,’ he muttered as she tapped and entered his office.
    ‘I wanted to have a quick chat.’
    ‘I’m all ears.’ He wasn’t; he was doodling on a notepad, his face set in anger.
    ‘I just want to run something by you,’ she said.
    He sighed, impatiently. ‘Well, bloody get on with it.’
    She put the book on his desk.