Clean Cut (27 page)

She looked over to the closed blinds of Langton’s office, unaware that, despite all the mounting pressure, he was fast asleep.

L
angton had still not made an appearance. Harry Blunt, who had been trying to track down information about Sickert’s background, was still in his usual state of belligerence.

‘The bloody Government is in paralysis! They were supposed to have made the criminal system a top priority, and after four Home Secretaries, forty-three pieces of legislation, and nine years, it’s still a total effing shambles.’

Frank Brandon raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Give us a break, Harry.’

‘I’d like someone to fucking give us one. Sickert isn’t on any single scrap of paper! He comes into this country, slices up kids, runs off with two others; Christ only knows what he was doing to them.’ He turned to Grace. ‘We got anything more from the Child Protection Unit as to how those two little ones are doing?’

Grace shook her head.

Harry paced around, still squeezing his rubber ball in his fat hand. ‘Damaged for life, poor little sods. I’d like to have got my hands round his throat.’ He sat back in his chair with a thud.

The tension of waiting for the briefing was getting to
all of them. Coffee and sandwiches were wheeled in on a trolley; they gathered around it.

Anna took her lunch to her desk, and then went to Langton’s office. Just as she was about to tap on the door, it swung open.

‘Right, everyone gathered?’ he asked, as he passed her. He paused at Harry’s desk and leaned in to talk to him. ‘Listen, Harry, you got to start keeping that yapping mouth shut, whatever your private feelings are. You want to go up the ranks, you won’t stand a hope in hell if you carry on like that. Maybe we all feel the same way–just don’t broadcast it, okay?’

‘Yeah, sorry, Gov.’

Langton patted his shoulder, walked along to the incident board and then turned to the room. ‘Okay, Operation Eagle is set to roll. Doctor Salaam is in a segregated unit at the hospital, with his wife and both prisoners.’

Anna and Lewis would accompany Langton to the hospital; he then listed priorities for the rest of the team.

When told by Harry that they still had no information about Sickert, Langton shrugged; he had been expecting as much.

‘Did you get anything from him?’ Harry asked.

Anna glanced at Mike Lewis; both had been waiting to hear what had been said in the ICU.

‘Not a lot. When shown the picture we found in his clothes, there was a reaction, but who the two children and the woman are, we probably will never know. Travis is pretty sure the small teddy bear found in his jacket pocket belonged to Gail’s dead child, so we are testing it for DNA.’ Langton dug into his pocket and brought out his notebook. ‘I didn’t have long to question
him, and most of his answers were physical reactions.’

Langton reported that when he had asked Sickert about Gail, the sick man had said what sounded like, ‘She was good to me.’

‘I asked him how she had died, and he became agitated. When I told him how we had discovered the death of her young daughter, he gave a guttural moan. When I asked if he had killed Gail and the toddler, he shook his head.’

Langton continued to go through all his questions. Sickert’s responses were often unintelligible. He did, however, manage one whole sentence. This was connected to Gail’s two children.

Langton read from his notebook. ‘“I took care of them; I took them. I knew they had come for me.’”

Langton sighed. He had pressed for clarification–like, who had come for him?–but got no response. He did get a reaction, however, when he asked if the people who came to the piggery drove a white Range Rover: Sickert had nodded his head.

Brandon put his hand up to say that forensic had verified the vehicle had been there from soil tests. They were still waiting for results from tests on the inside of the vehicle. Prints had been taken and run through the database; so far, that had come up blank.

‘One step forwards, two back,’ Langton muttered, and shut his notebook. He then turned to the board. ‘There was one name that made the dying man almost lift off the bed: I asked if Clinton Camorra had arranged for him to enter the UK.’

Sickert had gasped, and tried to get hold of Langton’s clothing. ‘Bad man, bad man–him powerful. He want me dead.’

Langton picked up a red marker and crossed out Sickert’s face on the board. ‘Well, he is now.’ He paused. ‘This is yet another link to this bastard Camorra. I tried to get out of Sickert his whereabouts but, by this time, he was fading fast. We found a couple of bus tickets in his jacket: I want the areas checked out as they are not in Peckham, where we’ve concentrated on trying to find Camorra. He could have moved to Christ knows where, but one ticket is Tooting, another Clapham. It’s a bit of a wild-goose chase but, Harry, it’s worth getting onto the transport people to find out which stops the tickets are from.’

Langton looked at his watch: time was moving fast. He next concentrated on Grace and the Child Protection Unit. He needed to find out if either of the children had been able to give any details of where they had been. Grace could only state that, after numerous calls, the Unit had said neither child was fit enough to be questioned; they were still very traumatized.

‘Cut out the phone calls, Grace, and get over there. Talk to them yourself, if you can. Traumatized or not, we need some answers. They were bloody missing for weeks.’

Grace was very uneasy about having to put pressure on the two children. The boy had been sexually assaulted, but the little girl had not. They had both been well fed and, although they had headlice, they were not in poor physical shape. Mentally, however, they were still terrorized.

‘Sometimes, we all have to do things we don’t feel are appropriate,’ Langton said tiredly, reading her expression. ‘We might get some detail of where they were held, and
if they had been kept at Camorra’s place. So, do what you have to do.’

‘Yes, sir. Are we still calling him Clinton Camorra, or are we using the other name given by Doctor Salaam–Emmerik?’

‘Listen, call him both. With so many false names, who in Christ knows what he’s really called. See if the kids react to either.’

Langton sighed. ‘Okay, that’s it. We move out in half an hour. Frank, put pressure on forensics to see if they can give us anything more from the Range Rover. We’re still running pretty much on empty; let’s hope to God, after this afternoon, that changes.’

The convoy of unmarked patrol cars left the station at two o’clock and arrived at the hospital shortly before three. It was a modern building, set well back from the road, with a high wall and wrought-iron gates. The Contagious Disease Units were listed as A, B, C and D; they were to use D gate, and D building. This was used for highly contagious diseases and was set apart from the rest of the hospital. Two armed guards stood at the entrance.

Parked outside was a prison van and a back-up car of uniformed officers; they had brought Idris Krasiniqe from Wakefield. There was also a police ambulance; this had picked up Eamon Krasiniqe from the local airport, where the emergency medical helicopter had brought him from Parkhurst.

An unmarked patrol car, which had been used to bring Dr Salaam and his wife Esme to the hospital, was also parked nearby. They couple had been installed in a safe
house, and would remain there until the doctor agreed that it was safe to return to his surgery. This added cost had made Langton tear at his hair, but the Salaams had insisted and refused to take part in the session with Eamon Krasiniqe unless he agreed.

Langton, Lewis and Anna were led through a maze of white-walled corridors. There were no notices, no advertising, no signs directing anyone anywhere. They reached a thick glass sliding door. Waiting for them was a white-coated doctor, who said he would lead them to the first anteroom, where the Salaams were waiting. He had travelled with the patient from Parkhurst prison. They were led through yet more white-walled corridors; only the odd fire extinguisher was visible and, high up on the ceiling, cameras and speakers.

The room was glass-walled, with a vast amount of equipment including oxygen cylinders, heart monitors and breathing apparatus. In the centre of the room was a trolley, with a white sheet over it. The window to the next consulting room was covered by a green blind.

Dr Salaam was standing at a steel table, a medical case open, various bottles and rows of folded packets of herbs inside. His wife was beside him, carefully checking the contents; both were wearing white coats. They turned as Langton and his team entered. The silence was palpable.

Salaam did not waste time. He spoke so softly that it was, at times, hard to hear what he was saying. ‘The medical team that brought Krasiniqe here are very concerned. His blood pressure is very low and he is suffering from malnutrition.’

Langton nodded; this was all he wanted to hear. It wasn’t going to do much for them if he died. ‘But he is alive?’

‘Yes, he is alive, but I have not been allowed to examine him yet.’

‘Well, we’d better get on with it fast,’ Langton muttered.

Salaam held up his hand. ‘One moment. I first need to ask you some questions.’

‘Very well.’

‘I have the patient’s medical history. I have asked if the man who assisted him in the assault—’

‘Bit more than that, Doctor; he slit a man’s throat.’

Salaam nodded. ‘Did anyone physically check out the man who helped in this murder?’

Langton shrugged, and said if it was not on any medical report, then he wouldn’t know.

‘Specifically for puncture marks.’

‘Like injections?’

‘Yes.’

Langton sighed. He looked to Mike Lewis and mimed picking up a phone. Lewis nodded and walked out.

Esme placed onto the table a large square leather box. She opened it, and Anna saw that it contained electrodes, old-fashioned ones, and a rubber mouth-guard. She wondered if they were going to give Krasiniqe ECT treatment.

‘Right,’ Salaam said, as he shook out a pair of rubber gloves. ‘Let me have a look at him.’

Eamon Krasiniqe lay on a narrow bed. The room was otherwise empty, apart from a small steel chair. There was, above the bed, a large domed light that could be drawn down. Langton, Travis and Esme were led into a small viewing room. They gathered by the window and looked in, as Dr Salaam switched on the overhead light
and aimed it at the sick man. He lay completely still. Only his breathing showed that he was still alive. His body seemed stiff; the hands at his sides were straight, his fingers outstretched.

The doctor took a wooden spatula and brought the lamp down over the sick man’s head. He was painstakingly slow, examining every inch of the thick black tight curly hair. He then checked each ear, behind and inside, and then around his eyes and nose. It was eerie: as Krasiniqe’s eyes were opened, he just seemed to stare into the light. The doctor placed the spatula inside his mouth and focused the light to get a clearer view.

Langton glanced at Anna. Salaam was certainly taking his time. He went over the sick man’s body literally inch by inch: chest, arms, fingers, belly. Then he drew the light very close; opening the legs a fraction, he bent down and searched over the genitals. He then took out a small silver pen-light and bent even closer.

Langton whispered to Anna, ‘Well, he’s very thorough…’

After a while, he straightened to examine the legs. As he turned the man over, Mike Lewis joined them and quietly said that the other prisoner involved in the murder, the one who had held Murphy down, had not been physically examined, but he had been drug tested. They had found traces of marijuana, but nothing else; no heroin or cocaine.

Langton gestured for him to be quiet: Salaam was turning off the overhead light.

They all reconvened in the anteroom. Salaam sipped a glass of water.

‘There is a drug that can create a zombie-like effect.
It’s actually nicknamed Zombie’s cucumber or Jimson weed; the Latin name for it is
Datura stramonium
. This is a poisonous plant, similar to deadly nightshade, and is often used in voodoo practices by quack witch doctors. In those who have been injected over a period of time, it produces an inability to talk or move. They get delirious and often have hallucinations. The effects can last for days or weeks, depending on the dosage. It can also cause seizures and comas, and will eventually kill you. There is no antidote.’

Langton looked at the doctor and waited, but he remained silent. ‘Is that what he’s got?’

Dr Salaam gestured for him to stay quiet. ‘You have to understand, if someone believes in voodoo and is threatened that a hex will be placed on him, it is the strength of the belief that is of most importance. If that person has been, shall we say, unwilling to do whatever is wanted, and that person then ingests even a little
Datura stramonium
, he would feel frightening symptoms. All parts of the plant are toxic. The poison causes a dry mouth, dilated pupils and a high temperature. The early psychological effects are confusion, euphoria and delirium. According to Eamon’s medical report, he showed signs of all of these; even, I believe, during his trial. At times, he was incoherent, babbling and confused, is that correct?’

Langton was getting impatient. ‘Is that what he’s got? Is that why he is the way he is?’

Salaam took out a large white notepad with the outline of a male body. Using a pen, he indicated with tiny dots. ‘Eamon Krasiniqe has several small puncture marks: on the top of his head, right earlobe, and four more around his genitalia; he also has another near his
anus. These puncture marks are still visible, but they can be very easily overlooked. I will obviously require blood and urine to test, but I would say from all his symptoms that he has been fed a considerable amount of this poison over a considerable length of time.’

‘Can you cure him?’

‘No. Medical intervention should have been sought earlier. We may have some time, but he will eventually have a cardiac arrest. He is dying, both from the poison and from his own conviction that he is under a voodoo hex, making him one of the walking dead.’

Anna coughed. Everyone turned towards her. ‘Would ECT help? Maybe give him more time?’