Ignoring another warning glance from his solicitor, he said, ‘Yes, correct.’

‘Giving the officers the impression that she had taken it with her, wherever she had gone?’ Exton continued.

‘Yes – well – that was my conclusion. Why else would she have taken it?’ Paternoster replied.

‘We’re not here to speculate,’ Exton said, giving Rattigan an exaggerated smile. ‘We are trying to establish facts. You have repeatedly maintained that your wife has disappeared. Certainly, it would be logical if she had disappeared that she would take her passport with her. Would you agree?’

Rattigan looked like he was going to object to that, but then leaned back in his chair and let it go.

Exton went on. ‘Niall, do you have any explanation for why your wife’s wedding ring, engagement ring and passport were discovered by our Forensics Team last night? They were concealed underneath a bedroom floorboard.’

He shook his head, looking numb. Neither Potting nor Exton could read his expression. Then, anger rising, he said, ‘I – you – you found – you found WHAT? Her wedding ring and passport?’

Rattigan leaned across to his client and spoke quietly. There was an exchange of nods.

‘Can you explain these items, Niall, and the hidden T-shirt?’ Exton pressed.

Niall looked at both detectives. ‘No comment.’

Rattigan made some notes, looking relieved. ‘I have advised my client not to answer any more of your questions until I have spoken to him again. I suggest we reconvene this afternoon,’ he said.

Norman Potting leaned forward and placed a finger on the control panel to terminate the second interview.

36

Tuesday 3 September

Despite the bad start to the test drive, Larry Olson had to admit his customer knew what he was doing. Goodman had done a lot of track days, he’d reassured Olson, as well as an ice-racing course in Sweden a couple of winters ago. Once he’d got the feel of the BMW, he’d handled it well through the fast, wet, twisty two-lane road over Devil’s Dyke and onto the A23.

On the return journey there had been a couple of moments when he’d overtaken a little sharply, but they’d made it without Olson needing to reach into his pocket for the vial of white pills.

Now they were inside the city limits, heading downhill in the relative calm of a 40 mph limit. Goodman duly braked as they approached the 30 mph roundel, muttering that he’d been caught in a sneaky radar trap just past this sign a couple of years ago.

Olson could relax again now and resumed his sales patter, not that he really needed to. He was pushing at an open door. He could see from the broad smile of his customer’s face that he was all but ready to sign any piece of paper he shoved under his nose, once they were back in his showroom.

They turned left at traffic lights onto the Old Shoreham Road, in electric mode now.

‘She’s so incredibly smooth!’ he said, beaming. ‘And silent – a different experience. And does she go, wow!’