Clean Cut (19 page)

She leaned forwards. ‘Have they completed the forensic search at the Sickert place?’

‘Yes, no further evidence.’

‘You mean no other bodies.’

‘Correct.’

‘So the two children and Sickert—’

She was interrupted as he turned to face her. ‘They are somewhere; just God knows where.’

‘I realize that, but it’s just I feel the investigation is sort of…’ She trailed off as she tried to find the right words.

‘Sort of what?’ he demanded.

‘Well, we are now focusing on this Camorra character, so you must think there is more than just a connection, but we’re going in so many different directions.’

He sighed. ‘Yes.’

‘Maybe Camorra did bring Sickert in; we know he’s possibly involved in Murphy’s murder. This Rashid Burry character seems to be some kind of go-between: he links to Murphy and Vernon and Sickert, but we still have two missing children, and we still have no sighting of Sickert.’

‘So what do you suggest?’ he asked quietly.

‘I’m not suggesting anything. All I am saying is, we seem to have lost focus, and the hours spent attempting to trace Rashid Burry and Camorra should be spent on a bigger manhunt for the kids.’

‘Why don’t
you
try to piece the jigsaw together, Anna?’

‘What jigsaw? The facts are, we have two young children with Sickert; we have Gail and her baby dead! It stands to reason that we have to step up the search.’

‘What do you think I’m doing?’ Langton asked. ‘Ignoring the missing kids? Is that what you think?’

‘No, I never said that. I just said that maybe all this added search for Rashid and Camorra is taking the focus off—’ She should have known that she’d be interrupted again.

‘Really? Well, think about it: sit back and think how it all links together. Camorra is at the top of the pile: he instigated bringing in Sickert to the UK. Rashid fixes up medication and false papers for him.’

‘Do you think Sickert’s taken the kids out of the country?’

‘You tell me. Where would he go, on the run, with no money?’

‘What if he was given money by Rashid, as well as his papers?’

‘So Sickert wanders off to the airport with two white kids; you think Camorra also got passports for them? Think! No way. The biggest lead to the children and to Sickert has to be Camorra; if Sickert was going anywhere, it would be to him. Camorra trades in bringing in children, Anna; if they are anywhere, they will be in his claws.’ At that moment, Langton broke off, leaned forwards and had a coughing fit. His whole body shook; he seemed unable to get his breath. The driver asked if he wanted him to pull over and Langton shook his head, but his face was red and he was sweating as he gasped for air.

‘Pull over, up by that row of shops on the right,’ Anna ordered. The driver slowed down and then indicated to park on the street. Anna told him to go into the small newsagent’s and get some water while she got out of the back seat and opened Langton’s car door. He was hunched forwards in his seat; the coughing had stopped, but he was gasping and still hardly able to breathe.

Anna told him to try to straighten up, but he remained crouched forwards, panting. The driver hurried over with a bottle of water, undid the cap and passed it to Anna.

‘James, here: take some water. Sit back if you can.’

Langton slowly uncurled his body and sat back against the headrest. She passed him the bottle and he gulped at the water, drinking almost half the bottle before he gave it back to her.

‘Do you think you should get out and walk for a minute?’ she asked concerned.

‘No.’ It was hardly audible. He patted his pockets for his pills, and she leaned over him to take them out.

‘Not those,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Try the briefcase.’

Anna reached for his briefcase and opened it: there were four bottles of pills stuffed into the flap. She took one out and showed it to him, but he shook his head. She showed him a second bottle.

‘Yes, two.’

Anna took out two pills and passed them to him with the water. He took them and his chest slowly stopped heaving.

‘What are these for?’

‘Chest pains; be okay in a minute.’

Anna screwed on the cap and put the bottle back into his briefcase. She then felt his forehead. ‘You’ve got a temperature.’

‘No, it’s just the sweats. I’ll straighten out in a minute. Shut the door; go and sit back in the car.’

The driver was outside, leaning on the roof, unsure what he should do. Anna closed Langton’s door, and nodded for him to return to the driving seat. They sat for a few more moments, then Langton said he was fine and they should keep going. They drove on, Langton leaning back on the headrest, eyes closed. Anna remained silent, watching him, deeply concerned; then she saw that he was sleeping and she started to relax. She caught the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror looking at her.

‘He’s overworked,’ she said quietly.

He nodded and continued to drive. Anna, like Langton, closed her eyes, but she didn’t sleep. Instead, she tried to piece together the jigsaw and how the links all led to Camorra, as Langton had suggested. Had this nightmare man got hold of Gail’s two young innocent children? If Vernon was the father of Gail Sickert’s little girl, even though he had denied it, he didn’t even react when he was told that both mother and baby were dead. These people, Anna thought: these sick, perverted men.

She also thought about the unidentified little boy whose body was found in the canal. The investigation into his death had concluded that the child could well have been used in some kind of voodoo ritual. He had quite possibly been brought into the country illegally; she wondered if he had any link to Camorra and decided that, on her return to the incident room, she would contact the officers involved in that enquiry.

When they arrived at the station, Langton was still sleeping. In a low voice, Anna told the driver to go and get himself something to eat, and not to close the car door.

She crept into the driving seat and sat beside him. His breathing was now calm, and she was loath to wake him. She checked her watch. It was after four, and she wondered if the team had any results; she could see by the line-up of unmarked patrol cars that they were back in the station, probably waiting for Langton. She eased open the car door, not wanting to wake him, but he stirred.

He sat up and looked out of the window. He said sleepily, ‘We back?’

‘Yes.’

He turned in surprise to see her sitting in the driving seat beside him. ‘What you doing?’

‘I sent the driver to get something to eat. It’s after four. I was just going to wake you.’

‘Oh.’ He took a deep breath and opened his door. He then hesitated, and turned to her. ‘Might need a bit of help getting out; my knee’s frozen up.’

She walked round and he held out his hand to clasp her arm as he slowly and painfully winched himself out, almost making her topple over as he stood up.

‘Sorry about this,’ he said softly.

‘It’s okay.’

He could not let her go, he was that unsteady.

‘Why don’t you take off to that B and B you’re staying at and get some rest?’ she suggested.

‘I’ll be okay in a second; my knees just got cramped from sitting in the car for so long.’

Being so close to him, literally holding him up, she felt such overwhelming emotion. If she had released her hold, he would have fallen.

‘Like old times,’ he whispered.

She looked up at him. His five o’clock shadow made his face even more gaunt, and his eyes had deep dark circles beneath them.

‘I’m worried about you,’ she said.

‘Don’t be–and give that driver a quiet word: tell him not to put this about. You know what gossips these stations are. See? I’m okay now.’ He let go of her and bent into the car for his briefcase; he grinned, swinging it. ‘Better get to work,’ he said, as he slammed the car door shut.

She dangled the car keys. ‘I’ll give these to reception and see you up there.’

‘Okay,’ he said, and moved past her; the strength of will it took for him to walk unaided and with no sign of pain touched her. She turned away to get her own briefcase out and lock the car, so she didn’t see him lean against the wall, gasping, as he pressed in the entry code to gain access to the station; nor did she see him haul himself up the stairs, one at a time.

She also missed his entry, as he banged into the incident room and said cheerfully, ‘We all gathered? Gimme a few minutes and we’ll have a briefing.’

He sauntered into his office, everyone oblivious to how ill he felt and how much pain he was in, he slammed the door closed and shut the blinds, then opened his briefcase and took out a bottle of pills. He downed them using a cup of cold coffee left on his desk.

Anna went into the canteen and got a sandwich and coffee to take into the incident room. She had that quiet word with their driver, who was halfway through his eggs and chips, and had just reached her desk, when Langton’s office door opened and he strode into the incident room. He was energized and showed no sign of fatigue or pain. He clapped his hands.

‘Okay, everyone, let’s get cracking. I had a very interesting conversation with Vernon Kramer.’

As Anna ate her sandwich, Langton made large notes on the board, drawing more arrows linking the named suspects and pinpointing Camorra as the prime target. At the end, he tossed the pen aside and, hands on hips, looked to Harry Blunt and Mike Lewis.

‘Right–let’s hear about your day!’

Blunt and Lewis detailed their search for Camorra’s residence. They had trawled the streets and the electoral roll, to no avail. They had questioned estate agents in
the Peckham area, and done street searches of any property possibly owned by Camorra, but at the end of the day, had come up with zilch. They had no result from the press articles asking for information and no result from the television news coverage, apart from crank calls.

Langton was edgy and impatient; everyone was coming up blank. Even the update on Murphy’s murder was negative. Both men involved were still held at Parkhurst, and there had been no change in the zombie state of Krasiniqe, apart from him now being incapable of feeding himself.

By now, it was almost six o’clock; everyone was tired and ready to quit for the night. It was Grace who stirred up their energy. She had read in the
Evening Standard
that a refuse company had called in the police after the discovery of a limb, found in a skip.

Langton covered his eyes, shaking his head. ‘For Chrissakes, Grace, what is this to do with our case?’

‘It was in a skip close to Peckham; so far, the forensic scientists have been able to ascertain that the limb, a right leg with the foot attached, a sock and trainer—’

Langton moved closer to Grace. ‘Yes–and? Come on, Grace, it’s bloody six o’clock; what’s this got to do with our investigation?’

‘The leg, sir, is of a black adult male, around twenty-five years of age.’

‘Yes–
and
?’

‘We have been trying to track down Camorra; we know he’s supposed to live in Peckham and you have already stated in your briefing that it is possible that Joseph Sickert on the run would turn to Camorra. DI Travis’s ident picture of him is in every newspaper…’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Langton muttered, as he rubbed his face. ‘I’m with you. I’m with you.’

‘They are still testing the dismembered limb and they will have results by tomorrow, but I just thought I would bring it to your attention. From the tests, they should be able to ascertain if the limb belonged to someone suffering from sickle cell disease.’

‘Well, if it is connected to our case, then it’s a step forwards!’ Langton joked, and it eased the tension.

The team then broke up for the night with instructions for an early start the following morning.

Anna drove home, feeling tense and irritable. She made some hot chocolate and toasted cheese, and took it to bed, where she read the evening papers, including the article about the discovery of the man’s limb. Sighing, she put the paper aside and decided that, first thing in the morning, she would do something that she had never done before: she would call in sick.

She felt she needed to sit back from the enquiry–and from Langton. She had not been able to add anything to the briefing; Langton had given all the details from their interview. She had felt under-used, and she didn’t like it. She knew Langton was covering the fact that he was sick and in constant need of painkillers. If anyone should take time out, he should, but she knew he’d be first into the incident room in the morning. She was certain he would also be taking more of whatever had given him the energy for their briefing.

Anna sipped the chocolate. It was cold and she’d eaten only a few bites out of her toasted cheese. Tomorrow, she would take a long slow look at the entire enquiry to date. She would also instigate a couple of interviews
and judge for herself whether or not the case should be reviewed and Langton brought to task. It felt strange to dissociate her personal feelings towards him from the way he was running the case, but she no longer had any hope of them getting back together. She did not look on this as any kind of betrayal; if he was moving out of control, he needed to be replaced, for his own protection.

A
nna left a message with Grace to say that overnight she had come down with some kind of flu. If she didn’t feel any better later in the morning, she would go to her doctor.

That done, she called the incident room who were investigating the discovery of the limb found in the skip, in her capacity as one of the DIs on the enquiry into the murders of Gail Sickert and her small daughter. She then spoke to the administration department at Wakefield prison to arrange an interview with Idris Krasiniqe, the man convicted of the murder of Carly Ann North. With the two appointments organized for the morning and the afternoon respectively, Anna sat down and, as Langton had done in the incident room, listed cases one, two, three and four.

Gail Sickert’s murder was number one. Gail Sickert was, at first, known to them by her maiden name, Gail Dunn, but when she took over the lease of the bungalow, she had actually been married to someone called Donald Summers. They appeared to have no record of who he was, where he was, or if he even existed. All they did know was that, when they first interviewed Gail, she referred to Joseph Sickert as her partner and, by
that time, she was using his surname. According to the dates that Vernon Kramer had given for Sickert’s arrival at the bungalow, it seemed that there was only a matter of weeks before Gail and Joseph Sickert became involved with each other.

Anna checked her notebook for the date she had gone back there to confront Gail over the photograph. This was the time she had been confronted by an irate Joseph Sickert, who had threatened that she would get the same treatment ‘as her bloke’.

Anna worked on through her copious notes. Just before Arthur Murphy’s trial, she had been contacted by Beryl Dunn, worrying about her daughter. Nothing more was heard of Gail until her mutilated body was discovered at the bungalow (or, as Langton described it, the piggery). The murder team had also unearthed the body of Gail’s little girl; or her skull, at least. They were now searching for Sickert and Gail’s two other children.

Case two: the murder of Carly Ann North. Idris Krasiniqe had tried to bargain by giving the names of his two accomplices. Langton was then attacked in a halfway house. After that attack, Idris had withdrawn the names, denying he had ever given them to the police. Langton was hospitalized and almost died, and as yet no one had been charged with the attack. Idris was sent to trial and attempted to plead diminished responsibility, but the judge gave him fifteen years. He subsequently refused to discuss either the attack or his two accomplices, saying he had made their names up; he also maintained that he was scared of voodoo being used on him if it was discovered that he had given up information. Anna underlined this section, as Langton had not brought it up as a major factor in his enquiry.

Whilst Anna was working on the murder of Irene Phelps, using Gail Sickert’s photograph of Arthur Murphy and Vernon Kramer, she had come face to face with the man later identified as Rashid Burry. This same Rashid Burry was connected to Sickert because he had helped him out with medical treatment for his sickle cell anaemia. Burry was also connected to Camorra, a known people transporter, who had at one time also lived at the same hostel. Camorra was also linked to Sickert, as it was likely that he had arranged his illegal entry into the UK.

Case three: the murder of Arthur Murphy. Killed in prison, his assailant was Eamon Krasiniqe, apparently no relation to Idris, though Eamon was also an illegal immigrant. Eamon was now in prison, in a zombie-like stupor caused by a so-called voodoo hex.

Anna underlined the two voodoo links. It was only ten-fifteen, yet she already felt tired out by trying to fathom how the cases all linked together. The unpalatable but obvious explanation that kept presenting itself was that Langton
wanted
them to be linked: this way he could, whilst ostensibly working on the Gail Sickert murder, make enquiries into his own attack.

At half past ten, she had to stop working and drive to Hounslow police station, where she would meet the DCI running the enquiry into the dismembered limb found in the skip. When she went into the reception, she was disappointed to be told he was not available; however, she knew it wasn’t a wasted journey when Barolli walked in.

‘Eh, I heard you were coming in,’ he greeted her.

‘I don’t believe it, are you on this one?’

‘For my sins.’

‘I’d like you to tell me as much as you can,’ she said affably, quite pleased to see him.

Barolli took her into an empty interview room and placed down a beaker of coffee. ‘Listen, I don’t mind who knows it, but when I was brought in on this–it’s a step down, ha ha. Actually, we’re all sick of footloose jokes–but I was surprised that Jimmy never asked for me to join his team.’

‘I heard it was because you were on a case.’

‘I was, but winding down–I could have moved over. Mind you, schlepping out to the New Forest every day must be a pain.’

‘It is.’

Barolli munched on a sausage roll. She saw that he had indeed put on a considerable amount of weight, as Langton had jotted down in his notebook.

‘You got any further in ID-ing the owner of the leg?’ she asked.

‘Yeah. We also know he was heavily into drugs–crack cocaine. We reckon he may have been a dealer, but why he was bumped off, we’re no closer to finding out. DNA gave us nothing from records. Young kid was tipping in bottles when he saw it; that was at eight-thirty. The skip gets emptied at eight forty-five, so it was a stroke of luck we found it. We’ve found no other body parts, so we were making enquiries with known drug dealers, then we got a call in from a woman reporting her bloke missing. Poor cow had to come into the morgue to see if she recognized his sock!’ he chortled. ‘What she did okay was a scar on his knee, as her boyfriend had recently had keyhole surgery.’

‘So do you have a name?’

‘Yeah, Murray White. We’re still checking, but
nobody has seen him for a couple of days; I reckon they’d spot him if they saw him, hopping along minus his right leg.’

‘What about his drug contacts?’

‘What about them? We’re not going to get much out of any of them. As for the rest of him, he could have been sliced up and chucked in God knows how many skips around the area, been crushed and on the tips by now.’ Barolli suddenly went quiet. ‘How’s Langton doing?’

Anna hesitated. ‘Well, he’s still in a lot of pain.’

Barolli shook his head. ‘I honestly thought he’d never pull through. I had a couple of weeks’ leave afterwards, you know. I just sort of folded. It all happened so fast, and seeing him covered in blood…’ He sniffed. ‘Keep on thinking, could I have done more? But I was behind him; when he got cut he fell against me, almost knocking me down the stairs.’

‘I know Mike Lewis feels the same way,’ she said.

‘Yeah, but I sort of felt that maybe he reckoned I should have done more, you know? Reason why he didn’t want me working alongside him again.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘When I talked to him, he sounded…Well, not like himself.’

‘When was this?’

‘Last night. I gave him all the details we’d got to date.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘That why you’re here?’

‘Yes, just checking it all out.’

‘Well, I don’t see how it’s connected to your case.’

‘Did Langton think it was?’

‘I guess so–reason he called.’

‘But you don’t think it has any connection to the attack on him?’

Barolli shook his head. ‘Nah–well, apart from the guy being black–but he’s not, as far as we know, connected to the murder of Carly Ann North.’

Anna sipped her coffee, aware she had to play the interview carefully. The last thing she wanted was for Barolli to be suspicious and contact Langton.

‘This guy you sent down for Carly Ann’s murder?’ she began.

‘Idris Krasiniqe? Is he connected to our dismembered limb? I can’t see it; we’ve not come up with any links to illegal immigrants. Our bloke–if it is him, and we think it’s pretty positive–was born in Bradford.’

‘What was he like?’

‘Who?’

‘Krasiniqe.’

Barolli took a deep breath. ‘Crazy son of a bitch. We don’t know if that’s his real name, since all his documents were fake–but he admitted the murder; couldn’t not, as he was found with the fucking meat cleaver in his hand trying to hack off her head. I tell you, this world is getting sickening.’

‘He’s in Wakefield, isn’t he?’

‘Yeah, down for fifteen, then they’ll probably want him deported, but if you read the papers, that’s a joke. All we really knew about him was that he was probably Somali–but even that could be a lie. He took all the blame, but there were two other blokes with him; after he gave us their names, he withdrew the statement and said it was a lie, but we acted on his information, and you obviously know the fucking result. We reckoned that even though the names were fake, the address wasn’t,
because of what happened to Jimmy, so someone had to have got to Krasiniqe whilst he was held at the nick. Suddenly he knew nothing? Bastard.’

‘You know there was a murder of a prisoner?’

‘Yeah, I know, and by another Krasiniqe; maybe they just take someone’s legitimate name and keep on using it.’

‘What about Camorra–you know anything about him?’

Barolli shook his head. ‘No. Jimmy asked me, but I’ve never come across him.’ He sighed. ‘I know it must really tear him up. He almost dies, and it’s like these bastards just run into the sewers like rats and disappear. I tried to track them down, but just hit a dead end.’

Anna looked at his fat round face, sweat already standing out on his forehead. ‘You feel bad about it, don’t you?’

‘Not as much as he must do, but like I said, I had to take two weeks off, it affected me so badly. He’s a great guy, a one-off. I really did feel bad about him not using me.’ He took another deep breath then changed the subject. ‘Those two kids–you found the missing boyfriend yet?’

‘No.’

‘Been enough press, but like I said, there must be some kind of network that lets them scurry into the sewers.’

‘Hard with two kids though.’

Barolli nodded. ‘They still looking for other body parts at the piggery?’

‘I believe so; the pens have all been torn apart, but there were a lot of outhouses, so I don’t know if they have given it the all-clear yet.’

‘Pigs eat anything.’

She picked up her briefcase; things were depressing enough, without Barolli adding to it. ‘Thanks for your time.’

‘My pleasure, and do me a favour? Put in a good word for me, would you? ’Cos this’ll be wound up soon, and if…Well, I leave it to you.’

She patted his arm. ‘I’ll do that, and don’t say anything about my being here–you know the way he is. I’d hate him to think I was double-checking.’

He cocked his head to one side. ‘Are you?’

‘Just keeping the records straight.’

His dark eyes bore into her. ‘Is he okay?’

‘Yes. Like I said, he’s doing really well–just has some pain.’

‘Don’t we all,’ he said softly.

Anna’s next port of call was Wakefield prison, to visit Idris Krasiniqe. Instead of driving, to save time, she took the train. Sitting at an empty table, she made a call to the incident room to say she had taken herself off to a doctor for some antibiotics. Harry Blunt took the message. She asked if there had been any developments and he said that there had been no result on the search for Sickert and the children. They had also as yet not discovered the whereabouts of Camorra, but were working on it. He suddenly paused. ‘Hang on.’

Anna waited for some time before he came back to her.

‘Jesus Christ, you won’t believe it; just as the forensic team were packing up, they’ve found more remains.’

‘The children?’ Anna asked immediately.

Harry was having a muffled conversation with some
one and had obviously covered the phone with his hand.

‘Hello?’ Anna waited.

‘Anna?’ It was Langton.

‘Yes, I was just calling in.’

‘You sick?’

‘It’s just a sore throat. I should be back tomorrow.’

‘Well, take as much time as you need,’ he said.

‘What’s happened?’

Langton said they had unearthed part of a skeleton buried beneath the henhouse. ‘The area had already been searched, but it was in a pretty shambolic state. That pest of a landlord was hovering around, making sure everything was back to better than it was before–he was virtually asking the blokes to rebuild the bloody thing! Anyway, they removed some planks from the floor and there it was, under a thick layer of manure. It looks as if it’s a grown man, not a child, thank Christ.’

‘Sickert?’ she asked.

‘I dunno. We’ll know more when they’ve taken it to the lab, but it’s a bloody nightmare.’

‘I’ll get back as soon as I can.’

‘Good.’ He put the phone down.

Anna sat back and stared out of the window as a waiter appeared.

‘Are you having lunch?’ he asked, removing the stained paper mat left on the table.

‘No, but I’d like a coffee.’

‘This is the first-class dining section. There’s a buffet bar further up the train,’ he said, whipping another mat off the table opposite.

Anna went to the buffet car and stood in line for a beaker of terrible coffee and a sandwich. She then made
her way to a second-class compartment and had to sit opposite two women who were, thankfully, asleep. She put her briefcase on the table between them and began to search through her old notes; then after a while, she too sank back into her seat, closing her eyes.

Langton stood by the trestle table as the skeleton was pieced together. The body was totally decomposed, and had been buried naked. The skull still had some blond frizzy hair attached, so it was obviously not Sickert.

Langton sighed. ‘This is bloody unbelievable. Who the fuck is this? I mean, how many do you think have been buried in the outer fields, never mind the piggery?’

It would take a considerable amount of time before they would get any kind of a result from the skeleton: DNA would be extracted from the bones and hair, and dental records checked. Judging by the look of the teeth, the skeleton was not that of a young man but someone in his mid-thirties or forties, as there were some missing, and numerous fillings.