The Red Dahlia (9 page)

‘So you had never met her before?’

‘I knew there was a granddaughter, but the old lady would have nothing to do with her; I didn’t even know her name. I said for her to come back and I told Florence she’d called round, but she said if she came again, not to let her in.’

‘Did she say why she had turned up?’

Mrs Hughes dipped a biscuit into her tea. ‘She needed some money. She said she had a good job opportunity and wanted to buy a new coat. It was strange, you know, never having seen her before; to be honest, I did think she was a bit desperate. She said this job was very important.’

‘Did she tell you anything about it?’

‘Not really; she said it was going to take her abroad and she would have to get a passport; sounded too good to be true to me. I think she answered an advert in the paper for a PA to someone wealthy. She’d sent a letter and got a reply asking to meet her, so she wanted some new clothes. She needed shoes as well: she had these worn old things on, very down at heel they were.’

‘Was anyone with her?’

‘No, she’d come on the train from London. She said she was renting a room in a hostel; where, she didn’t say, but she looked very shabby and pale, and her hair needed washing. I felt sorry for her, but there was nothing I could do.’

Mrs Hughes cupped her hand to draw the biscuit crumbs from the table then stood, listening, her head tilted to the ceiling.

‘She’s quiet; probably fallen asleep.’

Mrs Hughes crossed to the old-fashioned big square sink and brushed the crumbs from her hands. She turned on the tap, swilling around the sink and draining board.

‘Are you sure Louise Pennel never came here before?’

Mrs Hughes returned to the table and picked up Anna’s cup. ‘I lost my husband; he committed suicide fourteen years ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘He was a bankrupt; couldn’t live with it. I have a daughter but she emigrated to Canada. I’ll go over there one day and see her; she’s got three children. I doubt if the old lady will last much longer. Her solicitors asked me to stay on caring for her, so that’s why I’m here; I’m supposed to have Sundays off, but I never take them. I’m always here so if the girl had come by, I would have known about it. We hardly ever have any visitors, just her solicitor and sometimes Social Services to check on her health.’ Mrs Hughes gave an embarrassed smile. ‘Not a very exciting life, is it? But the old lady’s solicitors said I’m mentioned in her will; she keeps telling me that after she’s gone I’ll be looked after, so here I am.’

‘But she wouldn’t see her granddaughter?’

Mrs Hughes shrugged and began washing the teacups.

‘Did you give Louise a suitcase?’

Mrs Hughes kept her back to Anna and made no answer.

‘The reason I contacted Mrs Pennel was because there was a label on a suitcase with this address; it was in Louise’s flat.’

Mrs Hughes dried the cups, still with her back to Anna. ‘It was mine.’

‘I’m sorry?

‘I said it was my case, one I used when I moved in here.’

Anna kept her voice very calm and steady. ‘You gave it to Louise?’

‘Yes.’ Mrs Hughes seemed preoccupied as she put the crockery into a cabinet.

Anna persisted. ‘Why did you give her your suitcase?’

Mrs Hughes closed the cabinet door. She had two pink spots high on her cheeks. ‘I felt sorry for her; when the old lady wouldn’t see her, she looked desolate. She kept on chewing her nails, saying she just needed a couple of hundred pounds and that she would pay it back as soon as she got this job. Well, I didn’t have the money to give her and I knew if I asked Mrs Pennel for it, she’d go ballistic; her solicitors count every penny — God forbid if I overspend on the groceries. I didn’t have any cash to give her.’

Anna smiled warmly. Mrs Hughes was obviously upset, constantly touching the roll of curl at the side of her head.

‘So you gave her your suitcase?’

‘Yes; there are wardrobes full of clothes that Mrs Pennel will never wear. I’ve taken armfuls to the local charity shop.’

‘So you gave her some clothes?’

‘Just a few dresses and coats and things, I mean they weren’t suitable for a young girl but they were very good quality.’ The pink spots on Mrs Hughes’s cheeks deepened and she seemed flustered.

‘Anything else?’ Anna asked innocently, wondering why she seemed so nervous.

Mrs Hughes sat down and rested her head in her hands. She then explained how she had gone up the stairs to fetch the suitcase and clothes. When Louise had turned up, she had been polishing some silver in the kitchen. It was not until Louise had left that Mrs Hughes realised that two snuff boxes and a solid silver candlestick were missing.

Anna calmed Mrs Hughes by asking her to describe the clothing and shoes. The poor woman was so afraid she would lose her job or her place in Mrs Pennel’s will that she had never mentioned it to anyone. Anna doubted if the items could have been worth more than a few hundred pounds and she saw no reason to contact Mrs Pennel’s solicitors. She would nevertheless have to mention it in her report, so that the items could be traced in case Louise had sold them.

Checking her watch, Anna remembered she had asked the taxi to wait. She knew she’d get a ticking-off at the extra cost, but she had gained some worthwhile information. She had three quarters of an hour before her train was due and so decided to call in at the local station.

Bognor Regis police station was not exactly a hive of activity. The duty sergeant suggested she talk to a DS Len White, who had been at the station for thirty years and was now there on a semi-retired basis, giving talks to the local schools.

Anna outlined the reason for her visit to Mrs Pennel. DS White, a grey-haired thick-set officer, listened intently. He had a habit of breathing heavily through his nose, leaning his elbows on the desk.

‘I know the old lady, quite a character. I was very wet behind the ears when I was called out to the place: big garden party going on, and the cars had blocked the through road down to the beach. She used to be quite the social queen. To be honest, I amazed she’s still going strong; she must be, what?’

Anna smiled. ‘She is ninety-four.’

‘I reckon she must be, cos she was no spring chicken then. After the Major died, she took to her bed. He was a character: we’d picked him up a couple of times the worse for drink. He had an old Rolls-Royce and we’d find him sitting sleeping over the wheel; he’d wag his finger: ‘Not drivin’ officer, just sleeping it off.’ So we’d take him home and often have a drink together. I was fond of the old boy, but he was an old soak really.’

Anna took out the photograph of Louise Pennel. ‘Did you ever see the granddaughter, Louise Pennel?’

‘No, never met her. I knew the son, Raymond; he was a sad case. Florence doted on him. We gave him a slap on the wrist when he was caught down by the sea front, cottaging by the gents’ toilets. He was warned not to be seen there again; he was, quite a few times, but his mother always pulled strings. She worshipped the ground he walked on.’

‘He was gay?’

‘Yes; he knew from a very early age.’

‘But he married a local girl, didn’t he?’

DS White smiled. ‘He did. I can’t recall her name, but I knew she’d got a bit of a reputation for putting it about. Mrs Pennel called us in once: there was all hell let loose. She was screaming and smashing things up; she wanted us to help her talk sense into her son, wailing and throwing her arms around. Nothing we could do but try and calm her down. I’d got fond of the family, so would help out when I could. A few nights later, I got called out again: she claimed some of her jewellery had been stolen and a silver tea service had gone missing. Turned out Raymond had packed it into a suitcase and gone off with this girl.’

‘Did she press charges?’

‘No. I never saw her again until years later when Raymond was buried; died of a burst appendix. Apparently he was broke, living in some rented place, with the same drink problem as his father. Mrs Pennel got his body brought home and as far as I recall, his wife never came to the funeral.’

‘Do you know what happened to the wife and to Mrs Pennel’s granddaughter?’

He nodded. ‘Again, I can’t be exactly sure of the dates, but about four or five years later, I was told that Raymond’s wife had died of cancer. One of her mother’s relatives had contacted Mrs Pennel to see if she could take the little girl but apparently she refused, so she went into a children’s home; must have been about eleven years old. Sad, isn’t it? All that money and that big house and she wouldn’t have anything to do with her, and now: tragic. What a waste.’

‘Yes,’ Anna said, declining to enlighten DS White as to just how tragic Louise’s death had been.

Returning to London on the train, Anna felt depressed. Fitting Louise Pennel’s background together had not exactly taken the enquiry a stage further. There was one thing that might bring a result: the advert that Louise had answered: they might get lucky and be able to trace a link to their suspect. It was imperative that they discover which paper or magazine Louise had read the advert in. All Anna knew was that Louise was to have a job interview sometime after 16 May. Was that when Louise had met her killer?

Anna sighed. Despite all their modern technology they were, as with the original Elizabeth Short murder, grasping at straws. Sixty years between, and yet they had so far been unable to use any of their scientific expertise to unlock the pitiful clues they had acquired to date. Anna leaned back and dialled the Incident Room on her mobile. She spoke briefly to Barolli to see if he could start running a check on the newspaper ads that Louise might have answered. She suggested they first try Time Out, as she knew that was where Louise had read Sharon’s advert. She got quite an earful from the frazzled detective as he had had yet another fruitless day’s work trying to find previous employers of Louise but, nevertheless, he said they would get onto it a.s.a.p.

She felt confident that the advert, if it was traced, might just be the clue that would break the case. Reassured that it had not been an entirely wasted journey, Anna gave a small satisfied smile: the dinner that evening might just be the cream.

Chapter Six

It was eight-fifteen. Dick Reynolds had said he would collect Anna at eight, so he was late. Anna had hesitated about giving him her home address: it was not really professional, but then again, nor was her eagerness to see him on a personal level. She was wearing a white cashmere pullover she had bought in the sales, black trousers and boots. She had washed and blow-dried her hair and taken more time and care over her make-up than her usual quick powder and bit of mascara required. She opened a bottle of Chablis and left it in the fridge. She wandered around her small flat, adjusting cushions and fiddling with the stereo. It was almost eight-thirty when her doorbell rang.

‘Hi, I’m parked out front, so shall we just go straight out?’

Anna hesitated; the wine, low lighting and softly playing CD were about to go to waste.

‘There’s a nice Italian round the corner; I popped in and they have a table.’

‘Oh that’ll be Ricardo’s. I don’t know if it’s any good, I’ve not eaten there.’

‘Well, it’s always useful to test out your local restaurants,’ Dick said, as he jangled his keys impatiently.

‘Do you own this or is it rented?’ he asked as she locked the door behind them.

‘I own it.’

He crossed the road to a badly parked green Morgan sports car. She had to bend low to get into the passenger seat. He waited before slamming her door and hurrying round to the driver’s side.

The engine roared as it kicked into start, and he grinned, shouting, ‘Needs a bit of tuning, but I’ve not had the time. You hungry?’

‘Yes, I am. I spent most of the day in Bognor Regis.’

‘Nothing like sea air to work up an appetite.’

He drove down the road like a lunatic and without fastening his seat belt; the one on her side was broken. She tried not to appear nervous as they screeched up to the restaurant.

They had a very nice table at a booth, with no other table too close. He immediately buried himself in the menu and then tossed it aside.

‘Red or white?’

‘Erm… red please.’

He swivelled round to signal to a waiter, as Anna took off her coat. ‘Bottle of merlot and I’ll have cannelloni to start and then veal marsala to follow. Anna?’

She had hardly had time to read the menu, let alone make a choice so, rather flustered, she ordered the specials at the waiter’s suggestion.

The waiter brought the bottle of wine, uncorked it and poured out a small amount for Dick to taste; he wafted his hand not to bother. Anna watched as the waiter filled their glasses.

‘To us; glad you could make it.’

She took a sip; he drained half his glass and then leaned back. ‘I’ll chill out in a minute. I was late because we had a sudden breakthrough on this missing kid story we’ve been headlining.’

He picked up his glass and stared into it, then drank again. ‘They found his body in Highgate cemetery.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yep. Stuffed into a half-dug grave.’

Anna winced. ‘It’s always hard to keep your distance emotionally when it’s a child.’

‘It’s the peripheral things that go on that take it out of you. His poor mother was just in total shock. She couldn’t speak, just sat there with these big wide eyes and tears streaming down her face. Get her to talk about how she feels! — my editor on the mobile — and I am looking at these tragic people. You don’t need to get them to explain how they feel, you can see it.’

He broke some bread and slathered butter over it, then took such a huge mouthful he couldn’t speak for a few moments.

‘So, how’s your case going?’

‘Slowly I actually wanted to ask your advice about something. How would I go about tracing an advert, placed about nine months ago?’

‘Advert for what?’

‘A job: a PA, with travel.’

Dick ruffled his hair. ‘Which paper?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, it won’t be easy; there must be thousands of jobs advertised: Times, Time Out, Evening Standard. They’re all computerised, but if that’s all you’ve got to go on, it’ll take someone a lot of…’ He mimed holding a telephone to his ear. ‘Unless you know more?’