The Jigsaw Man

by Nadine Matheson

  ‘You don’t have to do this,’ Stanford said. ‘You don’t have to put yourself in a place which is going to drag up painful memories.’

  ‘And what do you think talking about it now is going to do?’ Henley snapped.

  Stanford leaned back and folded his arms.

  ‘Don’t do that. I’m your mate and I know what it’s like.’

  ‘I know that you’re concerned but there’s no need.’

  ‘You could give the case to Eastie. She proved herself more than once while you were on restrictive duties. You know that Eastie can handle it.’

  ‘And I can’t?’

  Stanford’s tipped his head back and spoke his words to the ceiling. ‘That’s not what I’m saying.’

  ‘And how would it look if I just handed the case over to Eastwood? People would gossip, Paul. There’re enough rumours floating around me as it is. I’ll lose respect.’

  ‘You won’t lose—’ Stanford stopped as Henley turned her back and headed towards the door. ‘Anjelica,’ he pleaded.

  ‘I know that you care, but don’t ever ask me to drop a case again.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ Stanford said as Henley slammed the door behind her.

  Chapter 11

  ‘I still can’t believe it,’ Jacob Kennedy said as he sat on the sofa. Three cups of coffee rested on the table. Henley hadn’t wanted any, but she could see that Jacob had needed something to do. They only had one photo of Daniel, taken six months earlier in custody, but she could see the similarities. The same thick curly brown hair and sharp hazel eyes. ‘I’m supposed to be working from home this week but that’s all gone to pot. I can’t really concentrate on anything.’

  ‘What do you do?’ Ramouter asked.

  ‘Financial consultant. I advise people who are setting up new businesses, help them find investors, that sort of thing. Dan… my brother works with me. Design and construction. He is… sorry… oh God… was really good… Don’t get me wrong. I know that he wasn’t an angel. He had a rough few years. He had to go inside for a bit, but you probably already know that—’

  His voice trailed off as he looked towards the mantelpiece where there was a collection of photographs.

  ‘When was the last time you spoke to him or saw him?’ asked Henley.

  ‘Dan? I think that it was the bank holiday weekend. It was the missus’s birthday, so we had a barbecue.’

  ‘And how was he?’

  ‘He was fine. I mean he was pissed off about his curfew, so he couldn’t stay late, but other than that he was fine.’

  ‘And had you spoken to him after your wife’s birthday?’

  ‘I must have done.’ Jacob squinted and rubbed his temples. ‘As I said, we were talking about him coming back to work. Oh, I did see him after my wife’s party. We went to watch West Ham at home against Arsenal. That was about three weeks ago.’

  ‘You were close?’ Ramouter asked.

  ‘He was my little brother. Our dad died when we were kids and our mum couldn’t really cope. Drank a lot. Drugs. So, it was just me and him looking out for each other.’

  Jacob rocked back and forth as his shoulders heaved and he began to cry. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Henley said gently, and indicated for Ramouter to pass the tissues from the coffee table. ‘I really am sorry.’

  Jacob nodded his thanks as he took the tissues from Ramouter.

  ‘Your brother was on court bail for affray and ABH?’ asked Henley.

  ‘The court said that his flat was too close to where the victim lived,’ Jacob said bitterly. ‘I wanted him to stay here with us. I could have kept an eye on him, but the wife said that it would be too disruptive for the kids, which is rubbish. The kids love their uncle Dan. Maybe… I dunno. None of this would have happened… It’s my fault.’

  ‘Please. It’s not your fault.’ Henley could feel her own bruised heart ache at the rawness of Jacob’s grief. She put a hand on his shoulder, not sure how reassuring the gesture actually was. ‘What do you know about the charges your brother faced?’

  ‘Dan was just defending himself. We were working on a project in Dalston and Dan suspected that one of the builders was stealing material. The thing is, Dan has… had a bit of a temper. I doubt very much that he would have been polite about confronting him. Apparently, they got into an argument—’

  ‘You were there?’ Henley asked.

  ‘No. This is what Dan told me. There was a fight. It spilled out onto the street and Dan hit him on the head. Dan was the one who was arrested and charged.’

  Ramouter flicked back through the pages of his notebook. ‘Tomas Nowak,’ he said. ‘That was the builder that Dan got into a fight with?’

  Jacob’s expression brightened slightly. ‘Yeah, that’s him. Do you think he’s got something to do with what happened to Dan?’

  ‘We will be talking to him,’ said Henley. ‘Is there anything else that you can think off?’

  Just then a woman’s voice shouted out: ‘Jay. I’m back.’

  ‘My wife,’ said Jacob, almost apologetically.

  Henley and Ramouter stood up as a well-dressed woman with long straight brown hair stood in the doorway.

  The woman dropped the large yellow shopping bags at her feet. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Anjelica Henley and this is Trainee Detective Constable Salim Ramouter,’ answered Henley.

  ‘You’re here about Daniel?’ the woman asked unsympathetically. ‘Whatever he was into has nothing to do with us.’

  ‘Zara! He wasn’t into anything,’ said Jacob, jumping to his feet.

  ‘I was only saying—’

  ‘Well, don’t.’

  ‘Didn’t they get on?’ Henley asked as Zara turned around and left, her heels clacking against the wooden floorboards. Jacob shuddered as a door slammed shut.

  ‘She’s just upset,’ he said. ‘We all are.’

  ‘There was one other thing,’ Henley admitted. ‘Daniel went into prison for a GBH.’

  Jacob huffed and wiped his face with the back of his hand. ‘He was trying to defend Zara, if you can believe it. We were at a party and this idiot wouldn’t leave Zara alone. Dan told him to get lost and then it all kicked off. There was a fight and the guy fell against a table and cracked his eye socket. Dan said he was acting in self-defence, but the jury didn’t believe him.’

  ‘Did you believe him?’

  Jacob shot Henley an indignant look. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘My little brother had a bad temper and he was an idiot at times, but he never went out looking for trouble. I didn’t bring him up like that.’

  Chapter 12

  ‘Did you feel that?’

  The man looked down. He tried to open his mouth as he watched fingers curl around a silver-handled knife. He tried to move his tongue. To form words as the six-inch blade pierced his flesh. Blood, dark in the dimmed light, ran across his thigh, but there was no pain. The fingers uncurled and the knife stayed rigid in place.

  ‘That was a stupid question. You can’t feel a thing. It probably seems like one of those dreams. You know the one, don’t you?’

  The man tried to move his head. To follow the voice that was circling the room. ‘You think that you’re awake, but you can’t move. Not one single muscle. Not even your little finger, but you’re scared, aren’t you? That’s something you can feel. All-consuming, suffocating fear.’

  The man tried to move his hand. He wanted to pull out the knife, but nothing happened. All he could do was stare straight ahead at his bare legs stretched out in front of him. His ankles were bound with clear plastic ties that were cutting into his skin. His feet had turned white with patches of purple and blue. He wasn’t sure where he was or how he’d got to this place. He couldn’t tell if it was night or early morning. He wanted to shake his head. To try and dislodge a memory. To sharpen the image of opening the door to someone who he thought he knew.

  ‘I can’t make false promises and tell you that this is going to
be quick, because it won’t be. It’s going to be slow.’

  He couldn’t feel anything, but he could hear everything. Cats fighting outside. Rain falling like heavy nails against the roof. And the person that he couldn’t see, moving around the room. He heard the sound of a zip being pulled back. Metal caught against metal. Then, something was pulled out of a bag.

  His heart jumped, but his body didn’t, as something heavy bounced along the concrete floor. He could smell rusted metal, damp dirt, the earthy scent of rain and spilt blood. The odour of stale sweat swam up his nose. A nauseating combination of soured fruit and rancid fish.

  A voice buzzed in his ear like a mosquito.

  ‘If it makes you feel better, you won’t feel a thing, but I think that watching what I’m going to do to you – that has to be a mind-fuck.’

  He blinked. That was all he could do. Then the buzzing stopped. He smelt fresh blood and then he couldn’t hear anymore.

  Chapter 13

  Her name was Uzomamaka Darego, but she liked to be called Zoe. She was twenty-six years old. A description of the girl in the park and an artist’s sketch of her face circulated in the local press. No one needed to see a photograph of a dead girl with missing eyes. Her uncle had formally identified her while Henley had been dropping Emma off at nursery. Linh had done a good job of making it look as though Zoe were whole, her eyelids lowered as though she was sleeping. Henley placed Blu Tack onto the A4-sized photograph and placed it on the whiteboard next to the photograph of Daniel Kennedy. It was a recent photograph, taken three weeks ago on a girls’ night out. Zoe’s eyes were large, light brown and bright.

  ‘She was working as a nurse at Lewisham Hospital, and as we know, Lewisham Hospital backs onto Ladywell Fields.’ Henley turned her back on the whiteboard and faced the office. Stanford, Eastwood and Ramouter had all arrived at the SCU early. It was almost nine and unusually there was no sign of Pellacia.

  ‘Pretty girl,’ Eastwood said, peeling back the plastic cover of her coffee cup. ‘What are we thinking? Maybe she was killed on the hospital grounds and dumped nearby?’

  ‘It’s a possibility, but remember her right arm was found the day before in Greenwich. There’s 2.4 miles between the two locations. Her grandparents reported her missing on Sunday evening at Forest Gate police station, but her details weren’t sent to the Missing Persons Unit until the next day. Her information wasn’t circulated among the station, social media or the press. The last time that I checked our internal database there were 10,980 black females missing but the public website that Ramouter checked only shows details for fourteen.’

  ‘Fourteen!’ Stanford said incredulously. ‘How could it only be showing fourteen?’

  ‘The website only shows unidentified missing people, but let’s not get distracted with how rubbish the system is. Right now, we’ve got names for our two victims. Linh is carrying out a post-mortem this morning. Daniel Kennedy’s post-mortem has been completed but we’re still missing his left arm.’ Henley flipped open her notebook. ‘Stanford, I know that you’re due back at court this afternoon but I want you and Eastie to go to Lewisham Hospital. Speak to her colleagues and also check with hospital security. They must have CCTV of Zoe Darego leaving the hospital. Uniform have completed house-to-house on Watergate Street. No one saw anything that could be described as suspicious behaviour and there are no CCTV cameras on that street. So, in terms of eye-witnesses we’ve come up short.’

  ‘Right, boss.’ Stanford screwed up the paper bag that had contained his bacon sandwich and threw it into the bin.

  ‘What about Greenwich Pier?’ asked Pellacia.

  Henley hadn’t heard him come in and wondered how long he had been standing there watching her. The look in his eye signalled more than professional interest. Henley looked away.

  ‘I’ve asked Joanna to chase Greenwich Council and also the service management company for the flats along the river,’ she replied.

  ‘Good. She’ll definitely put the fear of God into them.’

  ‘Oi,’ said Joanna from her desk at the back of the room. ‘I’m right here, you know. Manners will take you far.’

  ‘My apologies, Jo,’ said Pellacia as he bowed mockingly. ‘Can you pull up the CRIS reports for the Daniel Kennedy GBH case and his current ABH case?’

  ‘Already on it. Ramouter emailed me last night.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll leave you all to it. I’m going to give the guv’nor at Lewisham a call. See if they’re prepared to spare us any bodies from the Community Safety Unit to help us with the CCTV.’

  Henley nodded her thanks and caught Pellacia’s gaze a second longer than she should have.

  ‘And what will you be up to?’ Pellacia asked Henley.

  ‘Ramouter and I are going to pay a visit to Zoe Darego’s grandparents.’

  ‘We tried to report her missing on Friday night, but they said that we had to wait forty-eight hours. Why forty-eight hours? I told the woman at the counter that there was something wrong, but no one cares about a black girl going missing.’

  Henley saw Ramouter flinch, but she didn’t. It wasn’t the first time that she had heard those words ‘No one cares about a black girl.’ She had echoed those words herself throughout her life and career, knowing that the usual stereotypes and negative images of black people meant that the media didn’t care and were biased towards reporting the disappearance of a blonde, blue-eyed white girl instead of a black woman.

  Khalifa looked up at Henley with angry red eyes. Looking at her as if she was responsible, as though she could have done more. Khalifa’s wife, Ndidi, sat next to him and reached for his hand. She hadn’t said a word since she opened the door to Henley and Ramouter. Just silent acceptance when they showed her their warrant cards.

  They weren’t the only ones in the house. A man who looked to be in his mid-fifties sat on a high-backed chair in the corner of the room. Khalifa had introduced him as their pastor and he eyed Henley cautiously. She knew that internally he was asking why a black woman had chosen to work for them? The rest of the family – an aunt, an uncle, a family friend and a boy and a girl who were no more than fifteen and sixteen had been sequestered into the back room. Through the closed door, Henley could faintly hear someone crying.

  ‘No one cares,’ Khalifa said again. ‘And they did nothing.’ He pulled his calloused hand away from his wife and she clutched the gold crucifix around her neck. They were probably in their early seventies. The room they were sitting in was clearly the ‘good room’. The hoover had left faint lines in the oatmeal-coloured carpet. The couch cushions were still firm, hardly sat on. The room smelled of pine furniture polish and sandalwood air freshener. Against the far wall was a fake mahogany sideboard covered with framed photographs. A photograph of their granddaughter showed her in a graduation gown and holding a scroll, a mortar board balancing precariously on top of her long braids. Her smile was large and bright. Henley could see the mixture of excitement and anticipation in her eyes.

  ‘Uzomamaka,’ Henley said gently.

  ‘Zoe.’ Ndidi spoke for the first time. Her voice, filled with pain, carried a hint of a Nigerian accent that had anglicised over time. Henley couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.

  ‘Uzomamaka,’ Khalifa said stubbornly. ‘Our granddaughter. She always came home. Always. She was a good girl. Not running around the streets. She was training to become a midwife. She could have been a doctor, but she said no.’ His wife nodded in agreement.

  ‘When was the last time that you saw Zoe?’ asked Henley.

  Ndidi reached for a black leather bag and pulled out a slim red diary. ‘I always put Zoe’s shift times in my diary. On Friday, her shift was 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. but sometimes she finished later. They’re short-staffed.’

  ‘How long had she been working at Lewisham?’

  ‘Almost two years now. She started at Park Royal Hospital but that was too far. It used to take her almost two and a half hours to get home. It takes her about an hour to get home from Lew
isham. She didn’t have a car. If she had a late shift, Khalifa would sometimes pick her up.’

  ‘But she didn’t come home?’

  Khalifa shook his head. ‘Sometimes the traffic makes her late. I called her phone, but it went straight to voicemail. My son texted her, but nothing. At eleven o’clock we went to the hospital, but no one had seen her. I went to the police station. They refused to report her missing. They said that maybe she was with her boyfriend.’

  ‘Her boyfriend? Do you know his name?’

  ‘Daniel. I can’t remember his last name.’

  ‘Was it Daniel Kennedy?’ asked Ramouter.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Ndidi looked confused. ‘Maybe. I’m not sure.’

  ‘He was a bad influence,’ Khalifa shouted. ‘Uzomamaka was a good girl. She went to work, and she went to church. She was a good…’ His shoulders collapsed, and he let out a guttural wail.

  The pastor, who had been sitting silently, got up and gently lifted up Khalifa by the arm. ‘Maybe some air will be good for him,’ he said. Henley nodded her agreement.

  ‘She loved him, and he loved her very much,’ Ndidi said as soon as the door was closed. ‘Daniel wouldn’t have been my choice but… What can you do?’

  ‘How would you describe their relationship?’ asked Henley.

  ‘They seemed happy.’

  ‘Happy?’ Ramouter seemed surprised. He bent his head as Henley shot him a disapproving look.

  ‘Yes. Happy. I mean, she didn’t talk about him all of the time. Zoe wasn’t like that. She was discreet.’

  ‘You weren’t aware of any problems?’ asked Henley.

  ‘No. I don’t know how things were in the beginning. She didn’t tell us straight away that she was seeing Daniel.’

  ‘When did she tell you?’

  ‘About a year later.’

  ‘How long have… had they been together?’

  ‘I’m not too sure. A couple of years.’

  ‘They didn’t live together?’ Henley asked.

  ‘No.’ Ndidi’s eyes were filled with water but the tears did not fall. ‘They were planning to. They had found a flat near Zoe’s work but after all of the trouble they couldn’t move there because of his bail conditions, so they had to wait. Have you spoken to him yet?’