‘Did he say what was wrong?’
Moss paused just long enough to show Erika she knew something, then said, ‘No, boss, he didn’t. I’ll make sure everyone has their reports ready for you by noon.’
‘Thanks,’ said Erika. Realising that they both wanted to say things they couldn’t, she watched as Moss made her way back into the incident room.
29
The rest of the morning passed in a depressing haze of an overheated incident room, and the dismantling of an investigation that had got under Erika’s skin.
What Moss had said kept running through Erika’s mind. From my cold, dead hands… Here she was, with an incredible lead in the Gregory Munro murder, her team poised to work their arses off, and she was going to give up on the case! Just before one, Erika was still sitting at her desk, staring at the computer screen, when Moss came over.
‘Boss…’
‘Yeah?’
‘Did you send the case files over yet?’
Erika looked up, ‘No. Why?’
‘We’ve had a call come in from uniform. White male, found naked and asphyxiated in bed in a house in Dulwich. No signs of forced entry or a struggle. Preliminary ID is that it’s Jack Hart.’
‘Why do I know that name?’
‘He hosts The Jack Hart Show, tabloid TV for the unemployed and stay-at-home parents. Celia watches it.’
‘And uniform think it’s the same guy who killed Gregory Munro?’
‘Uniform is waiting for someone from the murder investigation, but it sounds like him. Is this still our case?’
‘Yeah. Officially, it’s still our investigation. Let’s get over there,’ said Erika.
30
Jack Hart’s house was in an upmarket area of Dulwich, South London. The road climbed steeply, and then fell sharply away. A police cordon had closed off the road, and beyond it they could see five police cars, an ambulance and two large support vans blocking the street. Erika parked close to where three uniformed officers were manning the police tape cordon. A crowd was growing on the pavement in front, holding cameras and mobile phones aloft.
‘Christ, word travels fast,’ said Erika, when she and Moss got out of the car. They pushed their way through the crowd, which was made up of a large group of teenagers, a cluster of elderly ladies and a woman clutching a tiny dark-haired baby.
‘Is it Jack Hart?’ shouted a lad with ginger hair.
‘That’s Jack Hart’s house. I’ve seen him around,’ added a young girl with a pierced lip.
‘This is a crime scene, turn off your camera phones,’ said Erika.
‘It’s not illegal to film in public,’ said a small, ratty-haired girl with a pink fluffy handbag, and for emphasis she held up her phone to Erika’s face. ‘Smile: you’re on YouTube.’
‘What about having some respect? This is a crime scene,’ replied Moss, evenly. The elderly ladies remained silent, just watching.
‘He was a right bastard, Jack Hart. He good as killed that Megan Fairchild. He exploited people, so why shouldn’t I exploit him?’ asked a boy with a shaved head. Emboldened by his statement, more of the teenagers started to hold up their mobile phones.
‘Get this lot moved further back,’ said Erika to one of the officers.
‘But this is the police tape cordon,’ he replied.
‘Then use your common sense: move the cordon further back!’ snapped Erika.
Just then, a Sky News van arrived with a large satellite dish perched on the roof and parked on the opposite side of the road.
‘If you need extra officers, that’s not a problem. Just do it,’ said Erika.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the officer.
Erika and Moss signed in, ducked under the tape and made their way over to the house.
Erika and Moss were met by a uniformed officer, who took them inside. The temperature in the hallway was cooler. It was tastefully decorated, with a large gilt mirror on the wall and a cream carpet leading up a set of stairs with dark polished wood bannisters. They followed the officer up the stairs, reaching a long landing where the cream carpet continued. The house was eerily silent. Erika realised it must be well insulated to block out the sounds of chaos from the street outside. The master bedroom was at the end of the landing. Sunlight streamed through the open door and particles of dust twirled lazily in the air.
‘Jesus,’ said Moss when they rounded the bedroom door. The victim’s naked body was splayed out on the mattress. He looked tall, with pale skin that was smooth and almost hairless. He lay on his back with a plastic bag over his head, tied tightly around his neck. His mouth was open and so was one eye, the lid squashed against the plastic. The other eye was badly bruised, so that it had swollen shut. His lips were pulled back, as if he were baring his teeth.