Clean Cut (25 page)

Anna returned to the caller. ‘Have they been able to give their names?’ She listened, then said, ‘Someone is coming over there straight away.’

It took a while longer for Anna to take further details, before she was able to send Harry to pick up a Family Liaison Officer to accompany him to the Tooting nursery school.

‘Fingers crossed, Harry, we might have found Gail Sickert’s kids, but neither is talking and both seem traumatized. Pick them up and arrange for a counsellor. You know what to do.’

Harry nodded and sat down to make sure he had all the details as Anna hurried to join Langton, Dr Elmore and his wife Esme.

Anna was taken aback by the stature and appearance of the doctor. He was way over six feet tall and wore an immaculate charcoal grey-suit. His wife Esme was in traditional African wraparound skirt and flowing loose top, with a matching cotton turban. They were a quiet and unassuming couple, with excellent manners. The doctor waited for Anna to sit down, helping her move the chair closer to the table, before he sat down opposite
her. Esme did not meet her eyes, but kept her head bowed and her hands folded in her lap.

Langton had already described in detail the murder of Arthur Murphy and the resulting condition of Eamon Krasiniqe. He said that the boy had refused food and was now in isolation, with an oxygen tent helping him breathe.

Anna said nothing as she opened her notebook, listening to Langton.

He explained how Anna had subsequently interviewed Idris Krasiniqe, the sick boy’s brother. Dr Salaam asked her to give as much detail about Idris as possible–how he had behaved towards her, and whether she had any more information about the boys’ backgrounds. Both were illegal immigrants, she told him; the police were not even sure if their names were real, as they had come into the UK on fake passports.

‘Are they twins?’ was his next question.

Anna looked to Langton, and they both shrugged; not according to their passports.

Langton continued, moving on to the murder of Carly Ann North. Dr Salaam made no further interruptions. He occasionally glanced at his wife, but she never raised her eyes. Langton went on to outline the death of Gail Sickert and her small child; even though there was now a possibility the other two children might have been found, he implied that they were dead, or being used as sex objects. Esme looked up at the details of the children, then turned away, shaking her head. Langton kept his voice low; in the bare room, the silences when he paused hung in the air. Anna watched him draw on the emotion and aim it especially at Esme.

Langton showed the children’s photographs, placing
each one down slowly. Elmore Salaam took out a case and put on a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. Next Langton brought out the hideous mortuary shots of Gail Sickert’s body and the skull of her dead child, followed by the photographs of Carly Ann. Lastly, he opened the envelope containing pictures of the torso of the dead boy found in the canal.

‘We believe that all these murders have a link to Camorra. We have also just discovered this man, Rashid Burry. His body was found in the rear of a white Range Rover. He had been garrotted and stuffed into black plastic bin-liners; the vehicle was to be crushed.’

Elmore peered very closely at Rashid Burry’s photograph; his wife, by now, was sitting well back in her chair, her head averted from the appalling array of death laid out on the table.

Langton gave a small nod to Anna.

‘Doctor Salaam, Mrs Salaam,’ she began, ‘we are very much in need of someone to help with the boy Eamon Krasiniqe. If we are able to save him, his brother Idris has promised me that he will give us information. We believe that both the brothers were involved with Camorra, but Idris is too afraid to speak to us. He is in prison for the murder of Carly Ann North. He admitted the murder, and when first arrested he—’

Langton interrupted her. ‘He gave us two names–men he said were part of the murder–but we were unable to trace them.’

Anna looked at him. He made no mention of his attack and, by interrupting her, made sure she did not bring it up either.

‘Idris pleaded guilty to the murder, but retracted his statement,’ she went on. ‘He said no one else was
involved, and that he alone committed the rape and attempted mutilation of her body. We have two samples of DNA taken from her body, so we know Idris was not the only man who raped her or had sex with her before she died.’ Anna looked nervously at Langton, wondering if he wanted her to give even these details.

Amongst the array of mortuary shots and pictures of Gail Sickert’s children was the computer e-fit of Joseph Sickert. Dr Salaam, who, unlike his wife, had shown no emotion, pointed to it, and Langton passed it to him. He stared at it, then turned to his wife. Side by side, the couple gave the picture their full attention, then placed it down on the table in front of them.

‘Do you recognize this man?’ Langton asked.

The doctor gave a slow nod of his head, and his wife seemed to agree.

‘I think it is the same man,’ he said. ‘He came to see us about ten months ago. He was very sick, suffering from a blood disease. It was advanced: his eyes were yellow with kidney infection. Esme said she was certain he had sickle cell anaemia, but we would require blood tests. We arranged for another appointment and gave him some herbal remedies to help his condition.’

Esme spoke up. ‘We do not have the facilities to carry out blood tests; that would have had to be done at the local hospital, as with any medical practice. With advanced sickle disease, if not given the correct medication, the organs begin to fail. This man was very sick.’

‘So what happened?’

Esme looked to her husband. ‘He never kept his appointment. He was also unable to pay for the treatment. We never saw him again.’

Dr Salaam placed the e-fit picture of Joseph Sickert to
one side, almost on the edge of the table away from all the other photographs. He then drew forwards Rashid Burry’s picture. ‘This man brought him to my surgery–the man found in the car; he was very unpleasant and threatened my wife. He said that he would pay for the treatment. Correct?’ He turned to Esme and she nodded.

‘Was he a regular patient? I mean, did he bring other people to your surgery?’ Langton asked, hardly able to contain himself. Rashid Burry’s photograph had been plastered all over the newspapers and on television crime shows, along with Joseph Sickert’s, and yet here were this couple, calmly identifying them.

‘No, he did not. As I said, he was very unpleasant and threatened my wife. I told him he was not welcome to come to my place of work again and that if he did, I would call the police.’

‘So you were never paid?’ Anna asked Esme.

The woman glanced at her husband, her eyes half-closed; she had the faintest of smiles on her full lips. ‘Yes–yes, he did pay. Some patients we do not even ask for money; others, especially men like that one, do eventually pay–sometimes a lot more than we have asked.’

Dr Salaam reached out to gently cover his wife’s hand, as if warning her to keep silent. He then picked up Gail Sickert’s photograph.

‘I do not know this sad woman.’

He left that photograph in front of him; next, he took the picture of the headless corpse of the little boy and placed it on top of Rashid Burry. The child’s skull he moved aside, as if not interested. He collected Idris and Eamon’s mug shots and stacked them on top of
the Rashid Burry picture. Lastly, he passed the picture of Carly Ann North to Esme, who looked at it very carefully and nodded as he added it to the pile.

Langton and Anna watched in fascination, no idea what he was doing or why, as Dr Salaam then placed his hands gently on top of the stack and bent his head. His deep voice was even lower.

‘They are connected,’ he said.

Langton waited and glanced at Anna, who sat staring at the massive man’s beautiful hands spread over the pictures. Grace, who had not said one word throughout, but sat silently listening to everything, was as nonplussed. The three of them were unsure what to say next.

‘We will need protection,’ Elmore Salaam murmured. He then sat bolt upright, picked up the mug shot of Clinton Camorra and placed it to one side.

‘The link between these souls is this man. His real name, I believe, is Emmerick Camorra. He uses many aliases, but the name by which he is known to me is Emmerick Camorra. If I help you with this tortured boy Krasiniqe, if it is known that my wife and I are involved, we will be targeted by Camorra. He has an army of crazed, dependent soldiers. They will do anything he asks, and if it is to cut my throat, rape and murder my beloved wife, they will do it. If we agree to see this Krasiniqe boy, it must be kept secret; if it isn’t, then we cannot help you. Remove him from the prison, remove his brother to somewhere safe, and we will attempt to help you; if this cannot be done, then we cannot place ourselves at risk.’

Langton was speechless. He half-rose out of his seat and then sat down again. ‘Doctor Salaam, I assure you that I will arrange round-the-clock protection for you
and your wife. We have been unable to track down Camorra, but if you could help us and assist—’

Elmore Salaam leaned over the table. His voice boomed. ‘I do not think you have any understanding of how dangerous this man is. I do, because he learned from me; but then he became obsessed, and not with the good. Camorra has embraced the devil and worships Satan; he uses terror and threats to naive innocent souls who believe that he is a high priest.’

Salaam eased himself away from the table and walked to the far wall. He pointed, just as they had seen Krasiniqe do. ‘This is someone controlling time; when they stop, you die. This boy is trying to keep the hours to live. If he can no longer lift his hand, the finger of death has stopped his heart.’

Esme quietly rose from her chair and went to her husband’s side. For the first time, they could see that he was close to weeping. She held his hand, and it seemed to soothe him.

‘We have to go now,’ she said.

Langton remained sitting, staring over the table covered in photographs, while Grace took the doctor and his wife out. They refused to leave in an unmarked patrol car, but had chosen a circuitous route of trains, buses and taxis, afraid lest anyone should find out about the police interview.

Anna began to gather up the photographs. She felt really shaken. ‘What do you think?’ she asked Langton.

He yawned and stretched his arms above his head. ‘What I think is, why the fuck didn’t they come forward before? We’re months into an enquiry. Don’t they read the fucking newspapers?’ He mimicked the doctor. ‘Oh, this is Joseph Sickert, he came as a patient.’ He banged
the table. ‘We’ve been hunting that bastard for fucking weeks: he’s been on the front page of all the papers, on the TV news, on TV crime shows. Oh, and yes, we’ve got the wrong name for the bastard. They call him Emmerick not Clinton.’ Langton held up the mug shot of the man they knew as Clinton Camorra. ‘And they fucking know him! Taught him his sicko voodoo shit! Yet God forbid they know where he is now. It makes me wanna strangle the pair of them. This bastard Camorra’s gonna do my fucking head in.
That’s
what I think.’

‘Well, maybe they were scared.’

Langton picked up the dead boy’s photograph. ‘Tell that to this little child, his head and hands cut off; don’t give me that shit about them being scared. That bastard has been shipping in Christ knows how many kids, and they’ve been doing their crap stuff out of their make-believe surgery with all those bullshit credentials.’

‘What about giving them protection?’ Anna asked.

‘Oh, they’ll get it; it’ll look like we’ve got Bin Laden under fucking wraps! My budget’s already through the bloody roof.’

The door opened midway through his tirade. It was Grace.

‘Harry just called in. We have found Gail Sickert’s children.’

Langton’s reaction surprised Anna: he put his hand over his face and almost wept. ‘Oh, thank Christ!’

H
arry Blunt was sitting at his desk; he had the telephone cupped to his ear.

‘Kiss them goodnight for me and tell them I love them. I’ll be late, sweetheart, so don’t wait up.’

Anna put down a cup of coffee as he replaced the receiver. She gave him a kindly pat on his shoulder. ‘Maybe we won’t be that late tonight.’

‘Thank you, sorry to be…At least they’d been fed and they were quite clean–well, the little girl was, but the boy had soiled his pants.’

‘You think it was Sickert who dropped them at the nursery school?’

‘I guess, I dunno. It was a pretty poor description, but it could have been him.’

Anna sighed. ‘Well, they’re in good hands now, and the counsellors will help. They’ll stay with them at the unit.’

‘Good hands? Their mother’s dead,
and
their little sister–and Christ only knows what’s been done to them. Those units are pretty sterile. You know what, Anna? I wanted to pick them both up and take them home. Tore my heart out, the little girl especially. She clung onto her brother…’ He turned to Anna. ‘I bent
down to talk to her, you know, trying to get on her level, and she shrank away from me with such a look of terror on her face, and the boy, Christ, as young as he is, he put his fists up as if he wanted to protect her.’

‘Well, don’t think about it,’ she said gently.

He shook his head. ‘One day, you might have kids, and let me tell you, your whole perspective changes. They become the most important part of you. If anything happened to mine, I’d bloody kill for them.’

‘Have they contacted their grandmother–Beryl Dunn?’

Harry shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t leave a stray cat with that woman, but yes, I guess they will speak to her. In the meantime, they’re just gonna try and see if they can get the kids to talk; neither one’s said a word. They’re like mutes.’

Mike Lewis joined them, looking depressed. Like everyone else in the incident room, he’d been told about the children. With one toddler and a new baby, he had also been upset.

Langton decided they should call it quits for the night. Tomorrow, they would have more details from the forensic department and, by then, he would also have a safe house and round-the-clock protection arranged for the doctor and his wife.

Negotiations with the prison service were proving tough. Langton wanted both brothers removed from their prisons. They would require a secure room at a hospital, with officers guarding both of them. Eamon Krasiniqe would be lifted by emergency helicopter from Parkhurst. This would also require medical staff on board, and staff waiting to take him into the allocated hospital wing. The planned removal of Idris Krasiniqe from
Wakefield also entailed numerous officers and vehicles. The prison authorities had kicked up about removing Idris, but Langton had talked himself hoarse in explaining the importance of his presence at the hospital. After much discussion, it had been decided the safest place would be the Contagious Disease Unit at Farmworth. The cost was breaking the back of his already depleted budget, and the hours of calls and discussions had taken its toll. He looked exhausted; they all did.

Langton gave a look around the incident room and clapped his hands. ‘Tomorrow is going to be a big day, so get a good night’s sleep and let’s hope to Christ it’ll all be worth it.’

Anna was packing up her desk when Langton passed; he gave her a small half-smile. ‘You think this is all going to play out?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Terrific,’ he muttered. ‘You don’t know, I don’t fucking know, but I’m pulling out all the stops. Those two voodoo experts could be quacks, but they’re all we’ve got. You instigated the Krasiniqe situation.’

‘Well, I just reported what Idris said to me. He could be bullshitting,’ she said defensively.

‘Now you tell me!’

‘I am not telling you anything! I just reported back to you what he said to me, but if you want me to take the responsibility for the set-up tomorrow, then fine.’

He snapped back at her, ‘That’s my job. No way would I want you or anyone else to take responsibility for my decisions; it’s just taken me bloody hours to arrange.’ He gave a hands-up gesture. ‘Maybe I just needed some assurance, I obviously came to the wrong person.’

‘Please don’t. You know that I–in fact, everyone on the team–we’re behind you one hundred per cent. You don’t need any of our assurance, because whatever you are doing is for one reason, to get this case closed.’

He cocked his head to one side and leaned close. ‘No. It’s to get Camorra. That’s who I want.’ He walked away before she could answer.

She watched as he invited everyone to the pub for a drink. His mood changed so fast; he laughed and bellowed as he shrugged into his overcoat. ‘I dunno about anyone else but I need a drink; I’m in the chair.’ She watched Grace hurry to his side, saw him rest his arm around her shoulders. Lewis, Brandon and Harry all trooped around him as they left the incident room.

Anna continued clearing her desk. She felt paranoid, certain that Langton had deliberately not included her. She was sometimes at a loss how to even talk to him. At least she no longer felt like having a good cry over his behaviour; she was, if anything, becoming more adroit in dealing with him. Picking up her coat, she looked around the depleted incident room and hesitated: should she go to the pub? Langton had told her in no uncertain terms about being a team player; and here she was, dithering about whether or not she should join the team for a drink. Getting into her Mini, Anna drove to the local pub that they had commandeered as their drinking hole.

The Anchor was a large, modern, rather tacky place, with a lot of bingo machines and piped music, but the landlord was a very open and friendly man who joked that having the cops in every night had lost him some of his customers, but not the ones he missed!

Anna felt very self-conscious as she joined everyone at the bar.

Langton turned, a surprised expression on his face. ‘Ah, Travis! Well, come and sit down. This is a first. What’ll you have?’

‘White wine, please.’

Langton ordered, as Brandon drew up one of the high stools. She perched next to him as a rather sweet and tepid white wine was placed in front of her. She lifted the glass to Langton to thank him, but he was listening to one of Harry’s shaggy dog stories. It felt as if he was pointedly ignoring her; she drew a bowl of peanuts closer.

‘I was thinking of grabbing some fish and chips,’ Brandon said, as he dug into the bowl. ‘You fancy coming along?’

‘No, I’ll just have this one and then hit the road.’

‘There’s an Italian joint, if you’d prefer it,’ Brandon continued. ‘They do a reasonable spaghetti meatballs.’

Anna smiled. ‘Thanks, but I’m not that hungry.’

Harry finished his shaggy dog story; Langton laughed and launched into one himself, at the same time gesturing to the landlord for another round. Anna noticed he was drinking beer with whisky chasers; empty packets of crisps were crumpled in front of him.

She had to apologize to Brandon, as she realized that he’d been talking to her and she hadn’t heard. ‘Sorry, what was that?’

‘I said, there’s also a Chinese takeaway.’

‘Frank, I’m not hungry, really.’

‘I suppose a fuck’s out of the question?’

‘What?!’

‘Joke! Just a joke. By the look of the Gov he’ll be here all night. He is here most nights, but then he’s only a few
yards down the road; the rest of us have to schlep back to London.’

Anna sipped the tepid wine, another glass already placed down beside it.

‘What about going out one evening in Town? I know some really good restaurants.’

‘Yes, maybe–that would be nice.’

‘When?’

‘What?’

‘I said, when do you want to come out?’

She suddenly realized Brandon was asking for a dinner date, and she flushed. ‘Well, it depends on when I’m free. Right now, it doesn’t look as if any of us will get time off.’

He put his arm around her waist, leaning in too close for comfort.

‘Let’s take a rain check,’ she said, uneasy at his hand pressing into her back.

At least he’d cut down on his cologne. She didn’t touch the second glass but excused herself, saying she had a long drive. It was a cue for everyone to go. She left, with Brandon and Lewis, as Harry went to the gents. Waving goodbye, she headed for her Mini. She dug in her pockets for her keys, then in her handbag. She swore: she was sure she’d had them in her hand when she went into the pub. Certain now that she must have left them on the counter, she went back in as everyone drove off.

Langton was still sitting at the bar, resting his head in his hands. She looked around the stool she’d been sitting on, then saw the keys on the floor. She picked them up and glanced over to him; he didn’t seem to notice she had returned. She was about to walk away, when some
thing made her change her mind. Going up to him, she touched him lightly on his back.

‘Dropped my keys,’ she said.

He raised his head and turned to face her. He looked terrible.

‘You all right?’

‘No. My leg’s stiffened up.’ He sighed. ‘I can’t get off the bloody stool.’

‘Well, let me help you. Lean on me.’

He placed one arm around her shoulders as she bent forwards, grimacing in agony as he tried to ease himself into a standing position. She could hardly take the weight of him, and almost toppled over.

She looked to the landlord and gasped, ‘Could you give me a hand?’

With his help, they got Langton standing and, with one either side of him, he walked very slowly to the door.

‘This is getting to be a nightly ritual,’ the landlord joked, as he helped Langton and Anna out into the car park.

Together, they got him into the passenger seat of her Mini, pushing it as far back as it would go, with a lot of moans and groans from Langton. He directed her a short distance across the car park and into a road of terraced houses. The end house was the small Bed and Breakfast.

Anna had a hard time helping him out to stand upright; again, he needed to lean heavily on her shoulders to walk up the path. He fumbled for his keys and passed them to her. Anna opened the front door as he leaned against the doorframe.

‘Okay, I can make it from here. I’m on the ground floor.’

Anna ignored him and continued to prop him up until they reached his bedroom door.

He grinned and made shushing sounds. ‘Don’t let the old biddy hear; we’re not allowed company!’

The room was old-fashioned, with a large dressing table, heavy oak wardrobe and awful flowered carpet. The bed was a single, with a candlewick bedspread. His clothes and shoes were strewn around the room, and beside the bed were files and old newspapers.

She got him to sit on the bed and removed his shoes and socks; he took off his own jacket, chucking it across the bed to land on a wicker chair. He loosened his tie. His face became red with exertion as he tried to undo his shirt buttons.

Anna looked around for some pyjamas, but couldn’t see any. He flopped back onto the pillows. On the bedside table were a couple of empty whisky bottles and an array of pill bottles and containers.

‘Do you need to take any of these?’ she asked, looking over them.

‘No, I’ll sleep now.’ He offered his hand, and she clasped it. ‘Sorry about this; no need to mention it to anyone, okay?’

‘As if I would,’ she said.

Still he clasped her hand. ‘You okay to drive home?’ he asked.

She shook her head, smiling. She found it farcical that he was concerned about her. ‘One glass of wine!’

Eventually, he released his hold of her hand.

She suggested he take a shower and get into bed but he laughed, saying there was only the shared bathroom and no way was he going to get up.

‘Just leave me, let me sleep it off.’

She bent forwards, wanting to kiss him. She still cared deeply about him, and it hurt to see him so crumpled. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

He gave a half-smile. ‘I’ll be okay, just need to crash out.’

By the time she had folded his clothes and tidied up the room, he was asleep. She switched on the small lamp by his bed and took a long look at him. In the half-light, the face she had loved so much seemed grey. Even in sleep, it was etched with pain. It was distressing: she felt as if she was looking at a shell of what he had been, thinner and more gaunt than ever. She suspected he wasn’t eating properly, and the overflowing ashtrays she’d tipped in the bin were proof that he had not given up smoking as he had been warned to.

It was late by the time Anna got home. She hadn’t eaten, but she was now too tired. She crawled into her clean fresh sheets, but sleep didn’t come easily: she was unable to stop thinking about Langton.

In theory, she knew that his health issue should be made known, but no way could she make out a report, detailing that DCI Langton should be given leave of absence because he was dependent on alcohol and painkillers to get through the day.

She was surprised when her alarm rang; she’d fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep, leaving the bedside light on.

Operation Eagle was to swing into action mid-afternoon. This would give the team time to co-ordinate all the different cases. Anna arrived at half-past eight; the incident
room was already a hive of activity. Just as she reached her desk, Langton’s office door banged open. She could hardly believe her eyes.

He strode in, wearing a smart suit and fresh shirt, his energy level at top notch. He clapped his hands.

‘Joseph Sickert has been traced. He’s in Westminster Hospital. He walked into Casualty and collapsed; he’s on a life-support machine.’

He gestured for Anna and Mike Lewis to accompany him. It was doubtful Sickert was going to last long; his blood disease had reached crisis level and his organs were failing.

As they drove out, with sirens blasting, Langton turned to face Anna and Mike in the rear seat. ‘Bloody unbelievable. We’ve got one dying prisoner being flown in, now we’ve got another bugger at death’s door.’

‘How bad is he?’ Lewis asked.

‘Dying; liver and kidney failure. He’s on a dialysis machine but they have said it’s only a matter of time. His heart’s giving out as well, bastard!’