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‘It’s about the Black Dahlia murder.’
    Langton swore, fed up with the constant references to a girl just because she had a flower in her hair, but Anna continued. ‘Elizabeth Short was murdered in 1947 in the United States; her killer was never caught. This book is written by a former police officer who believes that his father was the man who killed her.’
    Langton stopped doodling and stared at the cover of the book.
    ‘If you flick through to the middle part, I’ve put a yellow sticker on the relevant pages. There are also mortuary photographs you should look at.’
    He sniffed and began turning over the pages. ‘What am I looking at?’
    ‘The body: look how she was found.’
    Langton frowned, turning the book this way and that to look at the black-and-white photographs. ‘Jesus Christ.’
    ‘There’s a website.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘There’s a website; it contains more detailed photographs of the way the victim was discovered.’
    ‘Holy shit. I don’t believe this.’
    ‘I read it last night and I couldn’t believe it either. If you look at the pages marked with blue stickers, they are also relevant, I think.’
    Langton sat back and began reading. He read in silence for about ten minutes, then he slowly lowered the book.
    ‘So what are you suggesting? That the same guy killed Louise? He’d have to be in his nineties, for God’s sake!’
    ‘No, no: the police officer’s father has been dead more than five years. Another possible suspect died in a fire in the sixties. Look at the next set of stickers.’
    ‘What colour?’ He looked up and gave her that smile.
    ‘Green. The man they hunted for Elizabeth’s murder was never traced; he is described as a “tall dark stranger”. There are also some sketches of him.’
    ‘Fuck me!’ Langton said, then snapped the book closed. ‘So?’
    ‘So, I think we might have a copycat killer. I called both the Mirror and the Sun and spoke to their crime reporters. The Sun described Louise as the Red Dahlia. We thought it was just due to the flowers in the two victims’ hair. But they were both contacted.’
    Langton leaned forwards. ‘And?’
    ‘In both cases they received an anonymous letter; neither thought anything of it, you know possible crank, murder aficionado…’
    ‘Yeah yeah, and?’
    ‘They destroyed them.’
    ‘Fuck!’
    ‘But look at the yellow stickers again. The LA killer sent many letters to the police and the newspapers, always gloating about how clever he was and that they’d never catch him…’
    ‘I’m reading, I’m reading!’ Langton snapped.
    Anna waited until he had finished.
    ‘The anonymous note to the journalist at the Mirror, as far as he could remember, said something about Louise’s mouth being slit in two. The one sent to the other journalist, Richard Reynolds at the Sun, mentioned the Black Dahlia case and called Louise the Red Dahlia. Until then, Reynolds had never even heard of the murder of Elizabeth Short.’
    Langton flicked back and forwards over the relevant photographs in the book.
    Anna continued. ‘The first note was sent to the Mirror journalist after his article had been published.’
    Langton sprang to his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘This is bloody good, Travis, bloody sick… but it’s possible. Jesus Christ, can you leave this with me for a while and I’ll chew it over? Don’t mention it to anyone. Not yet.’
    Anna nodded and walked out. Langton didn’t come into the Incident Room until two hours later. He bent down to place the book on Anna’s desk. He was so close she could smell his aftershave.
    ‘Can you get the website up for me?’
    ‘Sure.’
    He stared at the grotesque images of the dismembered Elizabeth and then said, very quietly, ‘Sick bastard, he even placed our body ten inches off the centre. It’s bloody identical. My God, explain this one, huh?’
    ‘Copycat,’ Anna said, without emotion.
    Langton ran his fingers through his hair so that it stood up