Jigsaw Man by Elena Forbes Page B

off the Dillon Hotel case
with unanimous and loud objections. Sam Donovan had been universally liked and everybody
wanted to help find her sister’s killer, but Steele had been immovable. He was glad
that it was she, with her calm, unemotional manner, who had had the job of explaining
that the case had already been reassigned to the other team under her command. In
the end they had been forced to accept it, but it was going to be difficult to keep
everybody focussed on the car park case, when their hearts and minds were elsewhere.
    A quick visit to the Sainsbury’s car park had yielded nothing. They had been over
the ground again and looked at the logistics of what might have happened, but nothing
new had emerged and the homeless man known as Dodger was still nowhere to be seen.
Things had not improved as the morning wore on; the lab result had shown that the
DNA sample provided by Richard English’s daughter had no familial connection with
any of the body parts. However, the wallet was still considered significant – it
had to have been placed at the scene deliberately – but if none of the body parts
belonged to English, what was his connection to the others? Could he possibly be
a suspect?
    English’s house was almost at the end of the terrace, with a shiny dark-green door
and a knocker in the shape of a dolphin. Halloween had been and gone a few days before
but a huge pumpkin still stood grinning on the doorstep and the window overlooking
the road was festooned with garlands of fake cobwebs and spiders. Tartaglia pressed
the bell and the front door opened soon after.
    ‘Are you the police?’ A young, blonde-haired woman peered short-sightedly up at him.
    ‘DI Mark Tartaglia.’ He held up his warrant card.
    ‘I’m Lisa English. I was expecting you. Come inside.’
    She was of medium height and very thin, dressed in tight, light-blue tracksuit bottoms
and a T-shirt with some sort of logo on the front mapped out in tiny crystals. He
followed her into the sitting room, where she motioned him towards a beige-coloured
leather sofa.
    ‘Do sit down. Would you like tea or coffee?’ Her voice had a brittle tone, with a
trace of a South London accent.
    ‘I’m fine. Thanks,’ he said, making himself comfortable. ‘We’ve got the results back
from the lab of the DNA sample taken from your daughter, Mrs English. There’s no
familial link with the body we found in the car, which means your husband may still
be alive.’
    He had expected a look of relief, or surprise, but her face showed no emotion. ‘I
thought you found his wallet,’ she said flatly, sitting down opposite him in a large
armchair and crossing her legs. ‘His credit cards haven’t been used since he disappeared.
You can check with the bank.’ She sounded almost irritated.
    ‘Yes, they are still in his wallet, but whatever the explanation, he isn’t the man
in the car.’ He was careful to use the singular. ‘We also found a set of keys close
to the wallet, which we assume belong to him. Could they be for here?’ He held up
the plastic evidence bag containing the keys, showing her the fob with the initial
‘R’.
    She studied them closely for a moment, then shook her head. ‘Our front door’s got
a Banham lock. If they’re his, they’ll be for his office, or maybe his flat.’
    ‘His flat?’ The only address listed in the report was the Markham Square house.
    ‘He’d moved out. We were getting divorced.’
    At least that explained her strange reaction. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
    ‘It was for the best.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘There’s something . . . I don’t want
it to go further than this room. It’s possible Charlotte isn’t Rich’s daughter.’
    He looked at her surprised. ‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’
    She shrugged, a gesture of what he hoped was embarrassment, although he doubted
it. She didn’t look the type. ‘I didn’t know for certain, until now.’
    ‘Does he have any close relatives?