Clean Cut (33 page)

‘Jesus Christ, is it still active?’

‘Gotta be, because Courtney was still keeping quiet about the rock cakes. We told him not to make another call to it until we got hold of the guy.’

‘Did he give a description?’

‘Yeah. A well-dressed black guy, over six feet, real smart. Wore a grey suit, white shirt; said he started off thinking he might be a solicitor, ’cos he looked like one.’

Langton clapped his hands; at long last, it looked as if the case was turning around.

The mobile phone was still active, but they could not trace who it belonged to, as it was a pay-as-you-go
account. They got in touch with the auxiliary team at Scotland Yard, who had to get a trace on the phone; they would try to keep the owner on line to get the location where it was being used.

Anna felt drained; she had been with Keith for an hour and a half. Painstakingly slowly, she had gained details from him. She did not bring up his mother or Sickert, just ‘bad men’ that he could arrest and whom they could only go and get if he could recall where they were. She had tried testing out locations from Sickert’s bus tickets–Tooting and Clapham–but these had brought no reaction. She did not say Peckham, since she was afraid that would traumatize him. Instead, she asked simple questions about the size of the house, the cars and garden. Keith said there was a big dog on a chain, but he didn’t know what kind; they had talked about dogs for a while, until she could draw him back to more detailed descriptions of the house. It did not match the Peckham property. This meant Keith had been taken somewhere else.

Regent’s Park, Hampstead, Croydon, Maida Vale, Kilburn and Chalk Farm all got no response, so she started to move on to locations further out of London. A clue came when he asked if he could go to the theme park in the patrol car. He described a water ride and a shooting range where you fired a gun and water spurted in your face.

Anna asked if he had been taken to the house on a train or bus.

‘Motorway,’ he said. He was starting to get frustrated and asked when he would get his handcuffs.

It was the young care worker who approached Anna;
she had been listening. ‘Chessington? They have a theme park.’

‘And a zoo,’ Keith said. He began to talk about feeding the penguins. He described the monkeys and the chimps, and the two tigers.

Langton listened. Anna was certain that the second Camorra property was near Chessington. Langton asked if she had ever said the name Camorra to the boy: she said she hadn’t. She was worried that anything that touched on the abuse he had been subjected to might stop him from talking freely.

Langton filled her in, in turn, on how they were about to put a trace on a mobile phone that might be connected to Camorra. They were using an officer with about as strong an accent as Courtney’s, and were standing by for him to make the call as if he was Courtney talking from Parkhurst prison pay phone.

Anna felt very emotional: the little boy’s face lit up when he was taken to the patrol car. The uniformed officer took off his cap and saluted him.

‘Afternoon, sir.’

Keith sat in the front seat, as he was a detective. Anna and Alison sat in the back. He was allowed to hold the police radio and they made constant calls to him, addressing him as Detective Keith. Anna watched in the rearview mirror as the unmarked patrol car moved into position behind them.

The phone seemed to ring for a long time before it clicked on.

‘Yes?’

The officer went for it, playing his role as Courtney Ransford to perfection, his voice low and harsh.

‘I’m on the wing, man. I only got about ten minutes left on my phone card. You got some answers for me? I need to know, man, because something went down today that’s freaking me out. I gotta stand trial for this Murphy business, right? These two motherfuckers came and started laying it on me about passing the gear, the rock cakes to Eamon, you hearin’ me?’

‘I said it would all be fine. You know these arrangements take time; with all the extra security at the airports, we have to be very careful. So, what’s your problem?’ The voice was soft, quite well-spoken, with only a slight burr of an accent.

‘They wanna know about the weed; they said Krasiniqe put me in the frame.’

‘He couldn’t do that.’

‘I am just telling you what went down.’

The mobile phone was being used by someone on the move, probably travelling in a car. They got the location as Epsom. As the officer talked on, they were able to pinpoint it as being close to the racetrack. Epsom was close to Chessington, but it was a massive area. There were many houses in both locations that were set well back from the road; many also had hidden access and tight security. Keith’s description had not been very clear, but five minutes later they were dependent on it, as the call was cut off.

Langton now pulled in the locals, as well as all his teams, to give him even more bodies. Covering the area was going to be a nightmare. The child’s description of the house was radioed in to stations at Chessington, Epsom and Leatherhead. Langton orchestrated the search.
He asked for no sirens, plain patrol cars only, and to watch radio contact: Camorra was likely to have a lot of toys that could tune into police frequency. Estate agents in the area were also being contacted and given the description of the house. Langton was back in his stride.

Keith continued to chatter; he recognized the signs for Chessington on the A3, but he couldn’t recall when they left the motorway or on which route. They headed towards the theme park as the other cars covered the areas that fitted the description he had given.

Langton had now joined the search. He was with Mike Lewis; they were covering a section of properties past the racecourse.

‘He might not even be there,’ Langton said, lighting one cigarette from the butt of another.

‘We’re due some luck,’ Lewis replied. The reality was they were looking for a needle in a giant haystack.

Anna was beginning to get concerned. Keith was tired; he no longer seemed interested in looking out of the window, but fiddled with the radio. Alison asked if he wanted to go back; he said he wanted a Coca-Cola. They pulled over to a small row of shops and Alison went into an off-licence. It only took a few minutes, but Anna was on edge: they were in a marked patrol car. She stepped away from the car to call Langton and say they were going to head back.

‘We shall keep going,’ he replied.

‘You know, he’s described two cars: one he said was a big four-door, the other was a red low sports car, maybe a Ferrari.’

‘Yeah, yeah, gatepost, dog kennel, big fences, big hedges.’ He was beginning to think he should have waited.

Anna got back in the car and asked the driver to do a U-turn and head back to the motorway.

Alison leaned forwards. ‘Keith, hold the can up, love, you’re spilling it.’

‘Bad man. I want my handcuffs,’ the boy said fiercely.

By now, the patrol car had turned round. They saw a man come out of the off-licence with a carrier bag. He took an
Evening Standard
from under his arm and flipped it open.

‘Bad man!’ screeched Keith.

‘Let me check him out for you,’ Anna said, opening her door as the car slowed down for her. She instructed Alison to calm Keith and for the driver to keep going.

Anna kept control: she opened her mobile phone and starting talking as she waited to be put through to Langton. ‘But you said you’d pick her up from school, James! I’m at the shops…well, I can, but she’s waiting at the gates.’

The man continued to read the newspaper and turned left at the end of the row of shops. He had glanced at Anna, but dismissed her as some frantic housewife.

‘Hello, what’s this?’ came Langton’s voice.

‘Maybe have target: the kid got very distressed. He’s about ten feet in front of me now, turning into a cul-de-sac: Edge Lane. He’s short, dark-skinned, suit, rimless glasses.’

Anna gesticulated wildly as if she was still having an argument on the phone as the target drove out of the cul-de-sac; he paused to let a cyclist pass, then turned left
and drove off. Anna passed on a description of the car: a black Mitsubishi, registration number 345-A.

She crossed the road, as the patrol car reversed back to pick her up, and got in. Keith was very distressed, holding up his handcuffs, saying he wanted to get the bad man, he wanted to arrest the bad man. Anna picked up the radio and held it out, this time for real. ‘You are going to be able to listen now: this is going to be really exciting.’

In came the radio call. ‘We have target, heading past Chessington Garden Centre. Over.’

Langton looked at Mike as he studied the map; the vehicle had been picked up on the A23 heading towards Redhill. It was then a game of follow the target, as one car after another moved into position. The driver went round the big roundabout and turned down towards Redhill Lane. Unaware of the tail both back and front, he continued for a few miles before indicating and turning into the drive of a large gated property. The electric gates opened, and there was a sound of a dog barking.

Langton radioed to Anna: she, Keith and Alison were to swap into an unmarked patrol car. They were then to drive past the target property and not stop until they saw an open gateway, where he would be waiting.

Keith had perked up: he liked switching cars and, as Anna said, going undercover. Alison sat next to him in the back.

Anna turned to him. ‘We are going to drive past the house that we think you’ve been telling us about. We will have to drive past and not stop, as the bad man might try to escape. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’ The small boy was clutching his handcuffs.

It was only ten minutes before they, too, were heading down Redhill Lane. They passed the electric gates and the big posts that the child had described. The car slowed down; they could not stop in case they gave the game away, but they didn’t need to. Keith began to cry, his small chest heaving, as he sobbed and garbled barely intelligible words: ‘Bad men, bad men hurt me in there.’

Langton was waiting by the gateway as promised; as their car drew up, he opened the door. Alison had Keith in her arms.

‘You the detective heading up this arrest?’ he asked.

Keith looked at him: the fear had come back and he couldn’t play the game.

Langton bent down to his level. ‘Keith, listen to me: you are going to be okay. I am very proud of you and I am going to recommend you get a bravery award for helping us.’

It broke Langton’s heart the way the child turned away, his eyes brimming with tears, his voice croaky from crying. ‘Thank you.’

Alison and Keith were taken back into London by an officer in an unmarked patrol car. Alison had been very impressed by the way everyone had handled the situation. The small silent boy, who now had tears trickling down his cheeks, stared ahead; clasped in his hand were the handcuffs he had wanted to put on the bad man.

The same question was in all the officers’ minds:
was this the right bad man?

The house now under surveillance, Langton regrouped at the nearest police station to determine how many people occupied the premises and to work out the best strategy for entering. It would be getting dark soon. He
ordered a helicopter to move over the house with an infra-red camera to determine what they would be faced with.

The property had extensive land, both in front and behind, with about an acre of dense woodland and a small manmade lake. They knew there were dogs at the front of the house, but didn’t know if they would be loose or chained. There was a red Ferrari parked outside a double garage and, behind it, the Mitsubishi.

Langton was standing in a corridor, lighting a cigarette when Anna walked towards him.

‘Only place you can smoke in here without the alarms going off,’ he grumbled.

‘We’re ordering some food for everyone,’ she said. ‘You want anything?’

He shook his head, and took a deep drag on the cigarette; then rested his head against the windowpane. ‘We’ve got the authority to deploy firearms officers. As soon as the armed response guys get here, we go in. I’ve waited long enough.’

She put her hand on the small of his back, but said nothing. She then returned to the waiting teams of officers, and gave a silent prayer that Camorra would be at the house.

L
eatherhead police station had never seen so much action. Boxes of pizza and beakers of coffee were handed round. Langton’s team had taken over a large room on the first floor, used as an incident room when necessary. They now had a map of the area, plus a detailed layout of the property from a prominent estate agency, which had sold it about two years ago, for over three million pounds, to someone called Emmerick Orso. The previous owners, a Mr and Mrs Powell, had remained on the estate, retaining as their home what would once have been the staff cottage. The estate agency had recently been approached by Mr Orso, with the particulars of the property, to query the boundary line that crossed the lake. They had not as yet contacted Mr and Mrs Powell to discuss it, but were intending to do so.

Everyone was poised, adrenalin pumping, waiting for Langton’s decision on how to orchestrate the raid. Langton joined them, and did actually have a slice of pepperoni pizza, but he was strangely distant and didn’t interact with anyone. Eventually, he called Mike Lewis over and asked him to get the key team together. He needed a talk, and fast. In a small anteroom off the main
incident room, allocated for Langton’s personal use, his team gathered.

Langton sat on the edge of a table. ‘I’ve put a hold on the armed response team.’ He said it very quietly.

Anna glanced at Mike: he seemed as surprised as she was.

Langton continued. ‘From the copter’s aerial take, we have maybe four adults; the heat sensors said there could also be another two that might be children. Orso’s married with one child, according to the electoral register. He’s got a legitimate import/export company, shipping in artefacts from Africa, and a string of properties, including a warehouse close to Heathrow. He has no police record and he doesn’t fit the profile of our prime suspect, Camorra, but we do know that Camorra, at one time, used the Christian name Emmerick. That’s about all we know until we start pushing some more buttons.’

‘You saying we got the wrong bloke?’ Frank slurped his coffee.

‘Something doesn’t fit. What we have here doesn’t match with that hellhole in Peckham. This guy, Orso: his kid goes to the local school, he’s lived here for two years.’

‘Was he the bloke the little kid saw?’ This was Harry.

‘The estate agent described Orso as tall, elegant, well-educated and very charming, which doesn’t sound like that bloke, or Camorra. Camorra’s a crazy voodoo freak, surrounded with sickos and heavies, whereas we’ve got a respectable business guy in Orso. We’ve so far got nothing on him, or the bloke at the off-licence.’

Anna sipped her coffee. They had already been to the off-licence and interviewed the staff, who knew the
bloke only as a semi-regular customer. They did not know his name, just that he lived close by. He always bought good wines and spirits, and paid in cash. They had also checked, and the house did not have milk or newspapers delivered. They had not yet had time to question other local shops, like the butcher’s; nor had they spoken to any neighbours.

Langton lit a cigarette, then put it out when he noticed the fire alarm sensor was above his head; he swore.

‘My gut feeling is that this Emmerick has to be properly checked out. Up until now, we’ve been going along the lines that Camorra is the big cheese but, the more you think about it, the more it doesn’t gel. We’re saying that he’s getting literally hundreds of thousands of pounds, from illegal immigrants to drug-trafficking, but we have found no trace of how he’s been moving the money or where it is stashed: that would need very sophisticated accounting brains! I am not saying that Camorra isn’t wily, because he is; but he’s also crazy. My gut feeling is, he could not have engineered this trafficking solo. So, now we are switching tactics: not going in wham-bam-thank-you. We want to get more information. Yes?’

Brandon said that he was sorry to interrupt, but wasn’t the key objective time? The longer they left it, the more chance Camorra had to skip the country, if he hadn’t already. Harry agreed.

Langton shook his head. ‘You think I haven’t thought about that? If he is in the house, then we will pick him up. If he leaves, we’ll pick him up. I think he could have gone to ground at Orso’s, if he is the main man. We have hanging loose the last days of Joseph Sickert: did he
go to the house in Peckham, with Gail’s two children, and did something happen there that made him take the kids to Orso’s place?’

‘But what about the bastards we’ve been after?’ Brandon asked, chucking his empty coffee beaker into a bin.

Langton was getting tired of their interruptions. ‘We do a full-scale surveillance of the property day and night: we find out exactly how many people are in there and what they are doing. We get phone intercepts set up; we get every possible toy to find out what is going down inside. Anyone moves out, we tail them. In the meantime, we check out the warehouse and we check out Emmerick Orso. I want to know what this guy eats for breakfast.’

They broke up and joined the rest of the waiting officers. Langton would oversee the surveillance operation. His team was to return home, get a case packed, and book into local hotels, so they would be on site. In the meantime, the wheels were set in motion. The four officers already staking out the house reported that there had been no movement so far, other than someone putting some rubbish out at eleven o’clock. The house, apart from the security lights, was in darkness.

Anna packed a small overnight bag and was returning to her car, when she received a call from Grace. The DNA of the dead child found in Regent’s Canal matched the DNA of Joseph Sickert: they were the same blood group. The dead child also had the sickle cell trait.

From her hotel room, Anna relayed the information to Langton who, at eleven-fifteen, was still at the Leatherhead station. She also said that she would contact
Alison first thing in the morning, to try and get further details from Keith. She had called earlier and been told that he was not showing any severely adverse reactions to the afternoon, but had been withdrawn and quiet. Alison said she would try to talk to him if he was still making progress, rather than regressing.

Anna asked that Alison specifically try to find out what the bad man did, and to now talk to the boy about Joseph Sickert. Someone took him to the zoo and to the Chessington theme park, and they needed to know who that was.

There were a few hours’ delay, as Langton had to get clearance to allow Brandon and Harry to go into Orso’s warehouse. He wanted a covert operation and photographs which, without prior authority, would be a breach of the Human Rights Act. He also organized for an actual customs officer to accompany them.

They were taken to a massive new storage warehouse, ten miles from the airport. There were over 40,000 square feet of cages, containing shipments from West Africa, already labelled as cleared by customs. Many of the wire containers were stacked with hand-woven baskets of various shapes and sizes, from laundry baskets to flat fruit bowls.

Harry peered at them. They had labels saying that all were handmade and took many weeks to complete; they had the maker’s name for authenticity.

‘Fucking brilliant. You ever think what China left–the dynasties, the artwork–and what did Africans do? Ignored their own diamond and mineral mines for centuries to make baskets.’

‘You’re a racist bigot,’ Brandon said.

‘It’s the truth, though. Go to the museums and see: baskets and a few masks a kid could hack out of a tree trunk!’

‘Just shut the fuck up and look at that mask: where have you seen that before?’

Harry looked. Stacked, with Bubblewrap between them, were big masks carved from dark wood. The one on top had been unwrapped: it was identical to the one in the cellar in the Peckham house. Just as they were about to take a closer look, the customs official joined them.

‘This is Job Franklin,’ he said, introducing a tall African in a brown overall. ‘He is the manager here. This is customs official Frank Brandon and—’

Harry put out his hand. ‘Harry Blunt. Nice to meet you, and thanks for helping us out. You’ve been told, have you, the reason we’re here?’

‘We had customs check these cargoes out last week,’ the man said sullenly. ‘They’re all cleared and ready to be sent out.’

‘I know, and we won’t hold you up any longer than necessary, but I’m afraid we’re gonna need to check the papers.’

‘Why?’ Franklin asked.

Brandon lowered his voice. ‘They just picked up the guy that okayed this lot for taking bribes.’

‘Not from us!’

‘I’m sure they are all legit, but we have to just check.’

‘Come into the office then.’ Franklin led them round the back of the cages to a small office. He lifted down a massive file and placed it on the desk. ‘These are all the particulars of the last shipment.’

‘Mr Emmerick Orso is the boss, right?’

Franklin gave a small nod.

‘He comes here on a regular basis?’

‘No.’

‘But you know him?’ Harry said, drawing up a chair.

‘Of course.’

‘What kind of bloke is he?’

‘I work for him.’ Job Franklin was very obviously not about to get into a conversation with them about his boss, but he didn’t appear to be nervous: more irritated at the intrusion.

‘How many workmen do you have?’

‘Fifteen, and five drivers.’

‘You got their details?’ Brandon asked.

‘Naturally.’ Franklin went to the filing cabinet and withdrew a file.

‘Thank you very much,’ Brandon said, sitting down himself.

‘Do you need me to stay?’

‘No, no, you carry on. We shouldn’t be long.’

Brandon watched Franklin walk out. ‘Well, he seems legit.’

Harry nudged him. ‘Any money he’s on to his boss now: take a look.’

Through the glass panel in the door, they saw Franklin dialling on his mobile as he walked away.

Harry took out a small camera and began to photo each page of employees, while Brandon did the same with the cargoes. They worked very fast, and didn’t speak.

At eight-forty, the black Mitsubishi drove out, with the same driver as before at the wheel. Beside him was a well-dressed woman, in Western clothes, with heavy gold earrings. Seated in the back, safety belt on, was a
small girl in a school uniform: a grey coat with a grey felt hat. They drove to the local private school where the woman got out to drop the girl off, leading her inside by the hand. After five minutes, the woman came back and the couple drove to a large Sainsbury’s. Both went in. She did quite a grocery shop: steaks and chops with vegetables, fresh milk and ice cream. He carried the shopping back to the car and they returned to the house. At twelve-fifteen the driver and the woman, who they presumed was the mother of the child, collected her from school and returned to the house.

Langton had been through all the hoops to gain phone interceptions, but there had been no calls. They knew there was a gas Aga, and a gas hob and oven; the Aga heated water for one section of the house. At twelve-forty, the main gas link to the house was cut off.

At twelve-fifty, they had the first call from the house. A woman, calling herself Mrs Orso, phoned the Gas Board, asking someone to come out: their Aga had gone out and she didn’t know if it was a problem with the stove or the gas. She was told that they would try to get someone out to her that day, but could not give a time. She complained, and said they needed it, as it also heated their hot water. She was told, again in typical jobsworth fashion, that they would try to send an engineer as soon as possible.

Mr and Mrs Powell sat with Langton and Anna. They had been very nervous to begin with, but Langton had told them they were investigating a tax fraud and it was nothing to be concerned about. It seemed to satisfy them. Mr Powell, ex-Army, said that he’d always wondered
where the chap got all his money from. He was able to give a very detailed description of the man he knew as Emmerick Orso. It matched the one given by the estate agents.

The couple were unable to give details of anyone coming and going to the house, however, as it was so secluded, with the wood in front and the lake.

‘We heard voices sometimes.’ This was Mrs Powell.

‘Yes, sound travels across the water,’ Mr Powell agreed.

‘Did you ever see anyone suspicious?’

‘Not really. We did complain about the dogs being loose. They barked all night when they first arrived.’

‘When was that?’

‘Quite recently. I saw a tall man, out by the boat hut, and I said to him that we were concerned about the dogs. He was quite pleasant and said he would keep them to the front of the house.’

‘Was this Mr Orso?’

‘No, I think it was his chauffeur. Anyway, we had no real problems again; they do still bark, but it’s not so intrusive.’

‘Was there anything else? We are really interested in the people that Mr Orso has staying with him.’

‘There was only the one time; it was very strange,’ said Mrs Powell.

Mr Powell looked at his wife. ‘Yes, that was very strange. When was it?’

‘A few weeks ago, maybe even more.’

Langton waited: they were both wrapped up in trying to pinpoint the exact date.

Finally, Mr Powell said gravely, ‘We wondered if someone had broken in.’

‘It’s amazing: the echo is so loud, even with the wood in between,’ mused Mrs Powell.

‘You said it was possible someone had broken in–to the main house, do you mean?’

‘I don’t know. They were searching around the water’s edge with flashlights, and looking into the boathouse.’

‘Before that, we heard children. They have a child, don’t they?’ said her husband.

Langton was losing patience, so Anna took over. What she was able to piece together was that the couple had heard children’s voices and then some kind of argument. It had been so loud that Mr Powell had got up, as it was very late–well, to the elderly couple it was–they thought it was about ten in the evening. He had taken a flashlight and walked through the woods and to the edge of the lake; then it had gone silent.

Mrs Powell then interjected to say that they had found the small rowing boat on their side of the lake. There was an old rope attached to the small jetty; you could, she said, literally pull yourself across from one side to the other.