‘Where’s the memory card?’ she demanded.

‘Dunno.’ The photographer stared at her defiantly with his small beady eyes.

‘Where is the memory card? Did you dump it? Because we can have those gardens searched,’ said Moss.

He smirked and shrugged. ‘You won’t find it.’

‘What’s your name?’

He shrugged.

Erika reached between his cuffed hands, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. She opened it and pulled out his driving licence, reading: ‘Mark Rooney, age thirty-nine. Who do you work for?’

‘I’m freelance.’

‘Why were you taking photos?’

‘That’s a stupid question. It’s Jack Hart. I didn’t know he was dead, did I?’

‘How do we know that you weren’t responsible? It hasn’t been made public. There has been no formal identification.’

‘I told you, I didn’t know he would be dead. He was fine last night.’

‘You were here last night? Why?’ asked Erika.

‘He’s all over the press since that girl killed herself.’

‘What did you photograph last night?’

‘Him coming home in a cab, then I got some shots of him in his bedroom.’

‘What time was this last night?’ asked Moss.

‘Dunno. Twelve-thirty, one?’

‘And did you stay all night?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I got a tip-off. One of the Kardashians is in London, I heard she was staying out late on the lash. Kardashian pictures are worth a lot more than Jack Hart…’

‘Okay, we’ve all had a nice chat. Now I need you to hand over that memory card,’ said Erika.

‘I told you, I haven’t got it!’

‘You had it five minutes ago.’

He smirked. ‘Oh. I must have forgotten to put it in my camera. It happens. Memory cards are fiddly little things. Actually, now I think of it, yes, it slipped my mind. I forgot to put it in.’

‘You know what, I’m sick of this,’ said Moss. She let go of the photographer’s handcuffed arms, unzipped her overalls and retrieved a latex glove from her trousers. She rolled up the sleeve of the overalls and pulled on the glove. With her free hand, she grabbed Mark’s blue mohawk and pulled his head back.

‘Hey! What are you doing? Ow!’ he cried. Moss shoved two gloved fingers in his mouth and deep to the back of his throat. He collapsed forward and threw up over the pavement. Erika and Moss managed to jump back a little.

‘The things we have to do,’ said Moss, as he coughed, gagged and spat. Erika spun him around to face the wall.

‘Just as I thought. You swallowed it, you cheeky bastard,’ said Moss as she retrieved a small, black, dripping memory card from a pile of puke on the pavement, and gingerly bagged it up in a clear evidence bag. ‘Better out than in, as my mother always used to say.’

‘You bitch! I’ll sue for police brutality,’ shouted Mark, slumped against the wall, still coughing.

‘Don’t be a baby, I used a clean glove,’ said Moss, pulling it off and dumping it in a nearby litter bin. A police car rounded the corner with its sirens blaring and came to a stop beside them at the kerb.

‘About bloody time,’ said Erika, as the same two uniformed officers from the police cordon climbed out of the car.

‘Sorry, boss, there’s a one-way system we hadn’t anticipated,’ started one.

‘They assaulted me, police brutality!’ shouted Mark.

‘Take him to the nearest train station and drop him off,’ said Erika.

The officers pushed him into the car and they drove off, leaving Moss and Erika still panting and out of breath.

‘Good work,’ said Erika, taking the evidence bag with the grubby memory card and holding it up to the light.

‘Did I go too far? Sticking my fingers down his gullet?’ asked Moss.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Erika. ‘Now come on, let’s get back to the house.’

32

The crowds had built at the top of the road when Erika and Moss returned to the crime scene. They could see that news crews from the BBC and ITN had joined the Sky News van. They were met by the crime scene manager, Nils Åckerman, who gave them fresh blue overalls to change into.

‘The phone lines have been severed, just like they were at the Laurel Road crime scene,’ he said, as Erika and Moss got changed.

‘It’s the same killer, it’s got to be,’ said Moss, as she zipped up the blue overall and pulled up the hood. Erika zipped her suit up, silent for a moment. They handed their soaked and muddy suits over to a technician, who placed them into an evidence bag.