Jazz frowned, wondering why he’d started interviewing him without her. She turned to Miles. ‘Anything interesting come up at Julian Forbes’s office last night?’

‘Only that the seven o’clock appointment was with a Mr Smith. But it may be a false name. There was no telephone number or address registered in the diary. The secretary said she didn’t remember taking the call, but she’d been off sick the week before and they had a temp in. I tried the agency yesterday but they’d closed for the day. I checked the client database and there are a hundred and thirty-two Smiths registered. It’s a needle in a haystack job, Ma’am.’

‘What about Forbes’s computer? Anything there?’

‘I’ve got a chap trying to hack in as we speak. It’s the usual password problem, but he reckons he’ll have it sorted in an hour or so. I’m off to the school to see the troops. Apparently, the press have turned up.’ Miles raised his eyebrows. ‘They don’t know what’s going on, apparently, but we can’t keep a lid on the truth for long. I’ll drop Issy on the way. See you later.’

Jazz felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Martin Chapman.

‘Hello.’

‘Morning, Martin.’

‘Bye,’ waved Issy, following Miles to his car and giving him a playful tap on the bottom as they walked towards it.

‘Are those two . . .?’ Martin let the question hang in the air. ‘They were very touchy-feely when I joined them for a late brandy at the hotel last night.’

‘As a highly trained police officer, I’d deduce from the suspects’ joint behaviour that the odds are, yes.’ Jazz smiled. ‘Any news?’

‘I’ve just given Patrick the full pathology and forensic reports.’

‘Find anything?’ she asked.

‘I’ll let you speak to Patrick about that,’ he answered diplomatically.

‘How about my DNA sample?’

‘Someone’s on the case.’

‘Good.’ Jazz pulled two plastic wallets from her pocket and handed them to Chapman. ‘Here are two more for cross-referencing. One is a lock of hair from Baby X. At least one or both of the other samples should match it.’

Chapman looked at her questioningly. ‘I presume this was obtained with the complete co-operation of its owner?’

‘Of course.’

‘And this hairbrush?’ Chapman scratched his chin.

‘No.’ Admitted Jazz. ‘I stole it from the top of a holdall while he wasn’t looking.’

‘Thought so,’ Chapman sighed. ‘Legally, you’re stealing DNA, which is a criminal offence, and I should have refused to process it.’

‘Martin, please. There was no other way. And I can’t prove anything until I know whether that matches.’

‘All right, all right, as it’s you, Ma’am . . . But I insist that if this proves conclusive to your case, once you’ve made an arrest, we proceed with the usual DNA profile, so that he, and everyone else, is unaware you had prior knowledge. Okay?’

‘Of course,’ agreed Jazz. ‘And I need them very, very urgently.’

Chapman raised his hands. ‘Enough, already. I hear you, okay?’