Clean Cut (26 page)

If Langton had pains in his leg, it didn’t show as he marched along the hospital corridor. They were met by a battery of doctors and nurses, who did not feel the patient could be interviewed.

Langton let rip. In no uncertain terms, he set out the reasons why it was imperative. He brought up the dead child, the skull at the bungalow; they wanted to question him and they should be given access, whether he was dying or not.

‘Just keep him alive long enough for me to talk to him, that’s all I ask.’ Langton faced down the doctor, almost daring him to argue.

The young doctor was shaking; he said that his
responsibility was to his patient. Langton almost pinned him against the wall.

‘That animal you are so intent on saving butchered a two-year-old toddler–cut off her head, all right? Now, ultimately, I don’t give a fuck if he lives or dies–all I want is ten minutes with him.’ He didn’t shout; it was more unnerving as he kept his voice low, but he was so angry, he was frightening.

Langton insisted on speaking to anyone with the authority to allow him access to Sickert. Lewis raised his eyebrows at Anna, but she turned away, refusing to be drawn into approving or disapproving of Langton’s actions.

After fifteen minutes, they were given permission to be taken to the Intensive Care Unit.

As they followed two nurses, Langton turned to Lewis. ‘Fucking brilliant, isn’t it? Illegal immigrant, murderer–and look at the way they are treating him–like he was royalty! This is where our taxes go. How much do you think it’s costing to keep this son of a bitch alive?’

The Intensive Care Unit was manned by specially trained nurses, who moved around his bedside. There was so much equipment, Sickert could barely be seen. The oxygen pumped away, making loud hissing noises. Anna looked through the window into the room, Langton by her side.

‘Can you see him?’ Langton demanded.

‘Not really.’

‘For Chrissakes, is it him?’

‘I don’t know–I can’t see him,’ she said tetchily.

Langton signalled to a nurse for Anna to be gowned up and taken into the room. He was still waiting for the moment when they could question Sickert and, judging
by the amount of concerned activity in the room, it was not looking likely to be any time soon.

Anna was led to the bedside. She shook her head; it was impossible for her to say if this was the man she had met for that brief moment at Gail’s bungalow. He had been muscular, with dreadlocks. Now all she saw was this wizened creature, whose frame was like a skeleton and whose face was obscured by an oxygen mask.

Anna rejoined Langton. ‘I can’t say if it’s him.’

‘Shit! Well, whoever it is has sickle cell blood disease, and it’s killing him. He gave his name as Joseph Sickert. He must have been walking around without medication, deteriorating until he crawled into Casualty. You want to take another look?’

‘I’ve told you, that man is rake thin and shaven-headed. The man I saw was huge and muscular, with dreadlocks.’

‘This disease wastes muscles. It can affect the heart, lungs and kidneys; his blood count is almost zero and his heart is only just holding out, so whether you can ID him or not, I’m going in. If he’s been living rough for all the bloody weeks we’ve been searching for him, then he might have lost some fucking weight.’ Langton took off to talk to the same, very nervous doctor.

Lewis and Anna were handed a plastic bag containing the patient’s clothes. Sitting on hard-backed chairs, they checked for anything that could help identify him. There was a small blue teddy bear, chewed and worn, almost bald, stuffed into the pocket of an old denim jacket. They also found a screwed-up five-pound note, some loose change, bus tickets, a broken pencil and, folded over and over until the cracks in the photograph almost made it fall apart as it was opened, a picture of two small
black children and a woman wearing a wraparound cotton dress. Nothing was written on the back; neither Lewis nor Anna recognized the people in the photograph.

‘Not a lot, if this was all he had,’ said Lewis, placing the items into a plastic evidence bag. Anna continued to search through his clothing: she patted the filthy jeans, turning the pockets inside out. Lewis did the same with a flowered shirt; it stank of body odour and was torn almost to shreds. There were socks, equally stinking, and a pair of filthy trainers. They smelt disgusting but Anna felt inside them, almost pulling them apart. They were a big size, at least twelve; she frowned and then looked again at the denim jacket.

‘It’s huge, so are the trousers; do we know how tall the patient is? Sickert was at least six foot three. I mean, if he’s been sick for weeks…’

At that point, Langton approached to say he was being allowed to go in.

Anna showed him the photograph. ‘We don’t recognize them though.’

Lewis felt his mobile jangle in his pocket; all around the corridor were notices forbidding their use. He got up and walked a short distance away. Langton took the photograph in its plastic bag and went over to a nurse, who was waiting with a gown and mask.

Lewis huddled in a corner, listening to Harry Blunt. Forensic had unearthed some more information from the white Range Rover. Tests on the wheels of the vehicle were proving very positive: there were small traces of manure and mud. Each sample had been sent to a special laboratory for analysis; they had confirmed that, at some stage, the vehicle had been at the bungalow. They were
still carrying out further tests on hairs and fibres, and would have more results that afternoon.

Anna had remained sitting on the hard-backed chair outside the ICU; Lewis updated her, then looked through the window.

‘He talking yet?’

‘Not that I can tell; Langton’s only been in there five minutes.’

‘Christ. What if, after all this, it isn’t him?’

The patient’s clothes had all been packed into plastic containers and put on the seat next to Anna. She picked them up, so Mike could sit next to her. On the top, in a plastic bag, was the small, moth-eaten teddy bear.

Anna stared at it and tried to recall the child in the swing at the bungalow. It had all been so long ago, but she concentrated.

‘You okay?’ Mike asked, as she sat very still, her eyes shut.

She sat up. ‘I am not one hundred per cent certain, but I think this was at the bungalow; the little girl Tina had it in her mouth. I think it’s the same toy, but I just can’t be sure.’

‘Well, they’ll get DNA off it.’

Inside the unit, Langton stared into the face of the dying man, trying to recall if he had been at the halfway house. Spittle had formed in globules around the patient’s thick pallid lips. His eyes were like dead purple flowers; his fingers were swollen, the nails a strange milky white.

The more Langton stared, the more he was certain it was not the man who had cut him down.

He carefully unfolded the photograph and held it close. ‘You need to let them know where you are.’

No response.

‘I can contact them for you–get them to come and see you,’ he whispered.

No response.

‘Two little children–are they yours? And this lovely woman–is she your wife?’

No response.

As Langton folded the picture back up, one of the bulbous fingers lifted, as if to stop him putting it away.

‘Do you want it?’

No response.

Langton began to unfold the photograph; he saw tears filling the washed-out eyes.

‘I need to talk to you. Are you Joseph Sickert?’

He nodded. It was such a small movement, but at last Langton had the confirmation that the dying man was Joseph Sickert.

‘Gail’s kids are safe now,’ Langton whispered, saying that he knew Sickert had helped them.

This also elicited a response, another small nod of his head.

‘Did you have them with you? Did you take the children from Gail?’

No response.

The heart monitor was jumping; Langton could almost hear the dying man’s lungs filling with fluid. The staff were getting agitated; Langton knew that any moment now, they would kick him out.

Langton stood up and leaned over him, his voice like the hiss of the machines. ‘Gail was found in the yard, mutilated, her body fed to the pigs; is that what you want to die with? It’ll haunt you; you’ll lie with the devil, you bastard! Talk to me, talk to me!’

The doctor entered the room; the nurses looked to
him in a panic. He was about to ask Langton to leave, but Sickert lifted his thick, bulbous hand and tried to reach out to Langton. The word, ‘No…’ sounded out loud. Langton leaned over him, trying to catch the words that Sickert spewed out between terrible guttural gasps, as the phlegm in his lungs moved up into his throat.

Anna and Lewis were astonished to see that Sickert was talking; they could not tell what he was saying, as Langton’s arched body hid him from their sight. It felt like a long time, but it was no more than two minutes at the most before Langton was ushered out. He didn’t seem in any way emotionally moved by what had taken place; he merely ripped off his mask and gown, tossing them aside.

‘Let’s go,’ he grunted, heading down the corridor, and they hurried after him, carrying the evidence bags.

As they left the building, Mike informed Langton that the Range Rover had been at the piggery. He just nodded his head and looked at his wristwatch; time was against them, and they had one hell of an afternoon ahead.

Anna reported that she was certain the teddy bear had belonged to Gail’s dead toddler. He slammed the door of the patrol car, turned and glared at her; then faced front.

‘I think Sickert’s belongings should be dropped off at the lab,’ she added.

Langton snapped that they should call in a squad car to take them; they didn’t want to lose time.

Mike Lewis put in the call and Anna sat chewing her lip, waiting. Lewis finished the call, glanced at Anna and gave a shrug. Langton had still not said one word about the interaction with Sickert.

‘So, did you get anything, Gov?’ Mike asked finally.

Langton nodded and again looked at his wristwatch. ‘We’ll have a working lunch, then get over to do the interviews with the Krasiniqe pricks and the voodoo nutters.’

By the time they reached the New Forest, they had confirmation that Operation Eagle was on course. There were now fifty more officers brought in; Langton knew he could not put on pressure for any more.

He strode into the incident room, his positive energy and physical appearance still confusing Anna. He appeared to have no ill-effects from the previous evening; on the contrary. He paused only to tell Grace to order in sandwiches and coffee, as there would be a lunchtime briefing. Just as he reached his office, Grace received a call from Westminster Hospital; she asked if he wished to take it. He shook his head.

Joseph Sickert had died fifteen minutes after they had left the hospital. Langton didn’t even react; he simply nodded his head and then instructed her to arrange for the body to be taken to the mortuary, as he wanted a post mortem. Then he strode into his office and shut the door.

The room erupted, everyone wanting to know what had taken place. Anna and Lewis filled them in as much as they could, but they did not know if Sickert had said anything of any consequence; Langton had not discussed it with them.

‘Well–one down. Still a few more bastards to get,’ Harry Blunt said.

Langton closed the blinds in his office, took out three painkillers and uncapped a flask to gulp them down with vodka. Then he opened his notebook and began
to write copious notes. As he returned the flask to his desk drawer, he glanced down at Camorra’s details. He touched them lightly with his index finger.

‘Getting closer,’ he whispered.

Removing his tie, he neatly folded his jacket into a pillow and lay down on the floor, closing his eyes. He would need all his strength for the afternoon. He just hoped to God that he would still be able to stand upright, let alone cope; he knew better than anyone else that this was killing him.

By three o’clock, Operation Eagle would be rolling; the vast number of officers required was costly and he would have to prove it worthwhile. If he didn’t, there would be major repercussions: first and foremost, the Met would bring in another team. Langton had, at no time, even hinted to the incident room just what was on the line. However, if he got Camorra–and he fully intended to physically get to him before anyone else–the man who had, to his mind, almost destroyed him, then nothing else would matter.

Resting flat out on the floor, his head on his folded jacket, the constant ringing of the phones and the murmur of voices in the incident room lulled him into a deep sleep.

Harry was sitting on the edge of Anna’s desk; he had just got a call from his brother-in-law. He squeezed a small rubber ball in his right hand.

‘It’s fucking unbelievable. He goes to start work on a big building project, only to be told that he and his crew won’t be required–they’ve fucking hired a mound of Polish workmen at half the price. He’s got three kids, what’s he supposed to do? Agree to work for a pittance?
He said that Westminster Council’s homeless teams are warning the Government about them; they’ve started on substance abuse, criminal activity and prostitution. It’s bad enough with the bloody Romanians—’

‘Harry! Please give it a rest, will you?’

‘Sorry, sorry. It’s just seeing those two little kids–it really got to me, you know? I couldn’t sleep last night. It’s just all kind of crazy, I mean, what’s happening? If you think what it costs to keep Ian Brady alive…’

‘What?’ Anna couldn’t follow his train of thought.

‘He was a fucking child killer, right? Been banged up for over thirty years–how much has that cost? Thousands, bloody thousands. Meanwhile, they got killers escaping from fucking open prisons, no idea where they are. Have you any idea what dangerous men are on the loose?’ The constant squeezing of the rubber ball showed how much Harry was on edge.

‘Harry, please–go and get a cup of tea.’

‘Hang the bastards, that’s what I think–get rid of them for good. Catch them and then let them rot.’

Anna was relieved when he moved off, with his rubber ball, to bend someone else’s ear. She checked the time. Everyone in the incident room was visibly tense; like Anna, they were all waiting for Langton to appear. The clock was ticking, and if Operation Eagle was on schedule, both the Krasiniqe brothers would be heading towards their destination. She gave a silent prayer that it would be worthwhile; for she was certain that, if the vast cost to arrange it culminated in no gain, she would be in trouble.