‘Yes, coupled with the print we’ve lifted from the outside of the door, down here in the bottom half,’ he said, indicating the glossy blue paintwork.
‘You lifted a fingerprint?’ asked Erika.
Nils beckoned the fingerprint technician back over. ‘It’s not a fingerprint…’ He showed them a piece of white card with the perfect outline of an ear. ‘He put his ear to the door, to listen,’ said Nils.
The ear print was small, almost child-like. Despite the sweltering heat in the garden, it gave Erika the shivers.
33
Erika and Moss had moved to one of the large police support vehicles parked in front of the house. Sitting across from them at one of the small plastic tables was Danuta McBride, the woman who had discovered Jack Hart’s body. A uniformed officer came over with three plastic cups of tea and placed them on the table. They all took a cup and sipped.
Erika calculated that Danuta was in her late forties. She looked pale and shocked. Her dark hair was long and sleek, worn with a blunt fringe. She wore a floral print wraparound dress over her large frame, cinched in at the waist by a thick belt. She had a large smartphone on a lanyard around her neck, and on her feet she wore hot pink toe trainers.
‘How did you know Jack?’ asked Erika.
‘Um, I’m the executive producer of his show. And we’re partners in HartBride Media. Our company, which makes the show.’
‘Have you known him long?’
‘Yes, we were at university together. We studied journalism.’ Danuta looked at them with disbelief in her eyes. ‘Can I have a cigarette? I’ve been asking your colleagues for the past couple of hours.’ She indicated the two young uniformed officers at the door.
‘Course. I could use one, too,’ said Erika, pulling out her cigarettes and lighter.
‘Sorry, you can’t smoke in here – health and safety,’ said one of the uniformed officers, a dark-haired lad.
‘Well, you go and breathe outside, and we’ll make sure we don’t burn the furniture,’ said Erika, easing a cigarette into the corner of her mouth and offering the pack to Danuta. She took one gratefully. As Erika lit up for them both, the uniformed officer went to say something else, then thought better of it.
‘Can you think of anyone who would want to do this to Jack?’ asked Erika, placing the cigarette packet down on the table. The ceiling fans were working hard inside, but it was still hot.
‘Take your pick,’ Danuta said, exhaling smoke and looking down at the small plastic table.
‘You need to be more specific,’ said Moss.
‘He was a pantomime villain… He was Marmite. Loved by millions and hated by millions in equal measure. He was an investigative journalist for years on the Sun, then the Mirror and the Express, the News of the World. He was a bloody good one. Always got the story, whatever it took. And he’d split up with his wife a few months back, after she caught him shagging one of our researchers. So he’s made plenty of enemies on the way to the top, but who hasn’t? I can’t think of anyone who’d do… that…’ Danuta’s eyes filled up with tears for a moment and she wiped them with the back of her hand. ‘Since Megan Fairchild committed suicide, he’s been getting a lot of hate mail. Well, I say hate male, most of it’s from trolls online.’
‘How did he feel about Megan’s death?’
‘What do you think?’ Danuta snapped. ‘We both felt devastated. The crazy thing is that Megan wrote to us. She came down to London for auditions. Twice. We explain to everyone what the show is like. We warn them about the press coverage, potential intrusion, but they still want their fifteen minutes of fame. Although they barely get five minutes, let alone fifteen. Jack used to say he wished Andy Warhol was still around, so he could see what these crazies are prepared to do to get on TV.’
‘What time did you come over to Jack’s house?’
‘Dunno, around eleven. He was supposed to come to a crisis meeting with the producers and the network about the whole Megan business.’
‘I thought the show went out live every morning at 9 a.m.? Today is a Friday,’ said Erika.
‘It’s only live Monday to Wednesday. We record another two shows “as live” on a Wednesday, after the live morning show. Saves money on studio time.’
‘And you didn’t see anyone hanging around?’
‘No, I only saw the bedroom and I freaked out, climbed back down into the back garden and called 999.’
‘Do you know Jack’s wife?’