Clean Cut

Chapter Nine

Vernon Kramer was not a happy man. He was in Wandsworth prison for his part in harbouring Murphy and, as he had broken his parole in so doing, he was now forced to serve out, in addition, what remained of his previous sentence. He now faced three and a half years inside. He was brought before Langton and Anna with two guards, who remained outside the interview room. Vernon was already sweating, and after Langton introduced himself, he seemed even more agitated.

‘Okay, Vernon. Tell me about the time you went to see Gail and Joseph Sickert. You went to see them at the piggery — the place we found Gail’s body. Vernon?’

Vernon’s mouth gaped open and he sat back in his chair.

Anna glanced at Langton. She knew that, in reality, he was just surmising that Vernon had to have met Joseph Sickert; they still could not be certain of this.

‘No, I never saw them there. I swear before God, I didn’t see them.’

Langton leaned over the table. ‘Quit fucking around. You went to visit Gail and Joseph Sickert. When was this?’

‘Oh, shit.’

‘When?’

‘Just before me trial. Listen, this Rashid almost broke me door down and he punched me around.’

‘Rashid? Who’s he, Vernon?’

‘He was at the same hostel.’

‘What’s his surname?’

‘I dunno, I swear to you.’

Langton glared at him.

‘Maybe it’s Burry, somethin’ like that. I just know him as Rashid, nothin’ else. He came and went at the hostel; I dunno if he was supposed to be there, but he was. When she,’ he nodded towards Anna, ‘when she turned up at the hostel, he got very jumpy.’

‘Was this Rashid the man who slammed the door in my face?’ Anna asked.

‘I dunno, just he knew the cops were there, and he didn’t like it.’

‘Did he also know Arthur Murphy?’

‘Yeah, yeah, I guess so.’

‘Describe him,’ snapped Langton.

Vernon twisted in his chair. ‘He was a huge black guy; had some missing teeth in the front.’

‘So, why did you go to see Sickert? Come on, Vernon — we know that you and Murphy were there together, so, this second time, why did you go?’

‘’Cos Rashid told me he was sick.’

Langton sighed. He began tapping the table with his fingers.

Vernon started to fidget even more in his seat. ‘Look, this is the God’s honest truth. Rashid was in a real bad mood, because the cops were crawling all over the hostel. When I come back, he starts on me — you know, wanting to know what was going on. I said to him it was Murphy: he’d been done for murder and they done me for letting him kip on my floor.’

Vernon then told them about a phone conversation: Sickert had called Rashid to say the cops had been to the bungalow. Rashid was very edgy about what was going on. Apparently, some friend of his had ‘cut up a cop’, and he was paranoid that was the reason they’d been at the bungalow.

Anna gave a covert look at Langton. She could see that his whole body had tensed, and could feel her own nerves jangling. The interview was taking a very dangerous twist.

‘He thought they was there because they’d sussed it out.’ Vernon was now shaking.

‘Sussed what out?’ Langton asked.

‘Rashid really put the frighteners on me, you know — asking if the Murphy thing was for real, or just a cover to get into the hostel and check who was there. I said to him that it was for real. I knew about this bloke that got cut: it was in the paper on the seat of the cop car. I then said to him that it might be, you know, a sort of double-up check as she was in the car.’ Vernon pointed to Anna again.

‘Just go over that again, Vernon. You are in a patrol car?’

‘Yeah, I was carrying back fish and chips, right? Been down the chippy when I get busted. I get manhandled into a cop car — it was round the corner from the hostel, right? I get shoved in the car and there’s a uniformed bloke at the wheel and another standing by the car, right? And I am sittin’ there — I mean, I knew I was done for, right? So I wasn’t gonna create, and there’s this newspaper on the back seat. I pick it up and there’s a big headline about the cop what got slashed. Now, I swear before God, I dunno the connections, I dunno nothing about it. Then she gets into the passenger seat.’ Again Vernon gestured towards Anna.

‘Go on,’ Langton grated.

‘Well, the driver leans over and takes the newspaper off me, and he says to her,’ Vernon pointed at Anna, ‘he says something about it was still making headlines. I mean, I can’t remember the exact words, but it was something about did she know him, what a great bloke he was; and she says they was close, something like that.’

‘Go on.’ Langton wafted his hand with impatience.

‘I told Rashid about what I’d heard, that was all, then he kicked me and went back to his room. He might have been doing business there, I honest to God don’t know. I dunno if he was even supposed to be living there, but a day later he come and said to me that I needed to take some medication to Sickert. I didn’t argue; he give me this box of pills and stuff and I went to see Gail. I never saw Sickert apart from for a few minutes when I give him the box. I swear before God that was the only time I was there, after when me and Murphy went to see her.’

‘Did Sickert ask about me?’ Anna interjected.

‘Well, I repeated what I had told Rashid: that this policewoman’s bloke had been cut up, and that I was certain she wasn’t at the hostel because of it — it was just a coincidence.’

‘What else did you say to him?’ Langton asked.

‘I said she had red hair, that was all. Then he took the stuff I’d brought and told me to get lost.’ Vernon looked from Anna to Langton; sweat was glistening on his face. ‘That’s all, I swear before God, that was all that happened. I mean, I got nothin’ to do with Gail’s murder. I swear on my life.’

‘So you took Sickert what, exactly? Drugs? Medication?’

‘I dunno. Rashid said that Sickert needed it; he’s got some blood disease, that’s all I know.’

‘Blood disease? You mean like sickle cell anaemia?’

‘I dunno.’

‘Are you the father of Gail’s youngest daughter?’ Anna asked.

Vernon turned towards her. ‘Me?’

‘Yes, you.’

‘No way! Listen, I mean I don’t wanna speak ill of the dead, right, but she put it about. I mean, all her kids had different fathers, an’ I’m not one of them.’

‘What work did this Rashid do?’

‘What?’

Langton sighed and tapped the table. ‘What work did this guy Rashid do?’

‘I dunno. Like I keep on saying, I didn’t really know him. I swear before God I’ve told you all I know about him.’

‘Describe him,’ Langton snapped.

‘Who?’

Langton shoved the table hard towards Vernon and he crunched back in his seat.

‘I already did, for Chrissakes! He was a big black mother with muscles. That’s it — I keep on telling you I didn’t really know the guy.’

‘Think — what else?’

‘Shit, I dunno. I’m gettin’ threats in here; they think I’m a grass.’

Langton stared at him, waiting.

‘Like I said before: teeth missing, but one or two gold capped ones, in the front.’

And then Vernon smiled nervously, showing his own crooked, tobacco-stained teeth.

Anna felt drained when they drove away from Wandsworth. Langton was in a very dark mood.

He asked her over and over again to repeat the description of Rashid. They soon realized that it must have been Rashid whom the landlord had seen at the bungalow, when he had met Sickert in the kitchen there, to discuss the new henhouse.

When she had gone to the hostel on the day they had arrested Arthur Murphy, Anna had only had a quick glimpse of the man who slammed the front door in her face. He was wearing boxer shorts, was big and muscular and, as far as she could recall, had gold teeth in the front of his mouth.

‘No coincidences,’ Langton muttered.

This also raised the possibility that Rashid could have been involved in Gail’s murder and, most importantly, that he could also have been one of the two men who had slashed Langton to pieces.

‘Well, I said I’d get the bastards, and it’s looking like I’m getting closer,’ he said to himself.

‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ asked Anna.

‘Nothing.’

‘Yes, you did.’

‘I just said it feels like I am getting closer — the murder of Gail and her kids, okay?’ He made no reference to what he really felt he was getting closer to. Before Anna could pursue it, Langton’s phone rang. It was Mike Lewis. Langton listened to the call, then covered the mouthpiece and turned to Anna.

‘Forensic have just had confirmation that the child’s skull found at the piggery was a relative of Gail Sickert, most likely that of the youngest girl, due to its size. They’ve not found any other remains yet, but they’re still working there.’

Langton returned to the call. ‘I want a trace on a black male: Rashid Burry.’ He spelled it out. ‘He was at the hostel, and now we are sure he was also at the piggery. Also, our suspect Sickert may be suffering from sickle cell disease as he was in need of medication, so get someone checking hospitals down there.’

Anna watched Langton and felt very uneasy when he laughed softly and said, ‘Okay, Mike, keep at it. Shaping up, isn’t it?’

Then he cut off the call and rested back, closing his eyes.

They were now armed with more information with which to press Murphy to assist them. Driven in a squad car, they had a long journey over to the Isle of Wight to Parkhurst prison, Langton remaining moody and silent throughout.

Anna felt humiliated that she hadn’t realized how Vernon had discovered her connection to Langton. She had been so busy accusing everyone else, when it had been something as simple as a newspaper left on the seat of the patrol car.

‘I just didn’t realize,’ she said out loud. ‘About the newspaper, I mean.’

Langton murmured for her not to worry, but she did; she was so angry with herself. She leaned forwards from the back seat and tapped his shoulder.

‘I am really sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I kept on putting it off. At least now we know.’

‘Know what?’

‘That Sickert had a reason for frightening me. He is connected to your attack, or knows who did it.’

‘Yeah, but I think it’s got more to do with this Rashid Burry. We might want Sickert for the murders, but I want Rashid brought in under suspicion as well.’ He turned towards her. ‘Don’t bring up my attack. It’s too early to make any connection, and the last thing I need right now is to get the top brass worried that I might have an ulterior motive for wanting to be involved with the investigation. Anna? You hear what I’m saying?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’

Lewis called again when they were on the ferry, to say they had come up empty-handed on Rashid Burry, but were working with the probation departments, so might have more news later. Detective Constable Grace Ballagio, who was checking hospitals in the local area, also made contact: she had had no luck so far tracking down any local patient with sickle cell anaemia, so she was now going further afield, to hospitals within a twenty-mile radius of the piggery. Langton said she should also keep running with the name Rashid Burry and see if it paid off.

It was after four when they arrived at Parkhurst. The prison Governor had asked that they come directly to his office. He was a mild-mannered man, balding, with spectacles. He offered coffee or tea but they both refused.

‘I am afraid I have some rather bad news,’ he told them. ‘You asked to interview Arthur Murphy; at the time, he was available to you.’

‘But he isn’t now?’

‘No, he’s not.’

Langton frowned irritably. ‘He has refused?’

‘No, he was knifed during his exercise period. He died last night.’

‘Jesus Christ! Wasn’t he on Rule 43?’

‘Yes. The two men who were involved are child-molesters from the same wing.’

Langton put his hands over his face. ‘The attack: was it made by white prisoners?’

‘No, black. One shared a cell with Murphy. Right now, we are very overcrowded. I am not making excuses for what has happened to Arthur Murphy, and there will obviously be a full enquiry, but right now there are over ten thousand foreigners behind bars in Britain; they send to us, over here, some of the worst offenders. One of the men was waiting for a deportation order to come through. Nationals account for a mere one in eight inmates. It’s costing the taxpayer a staggering amount, almost four million pounds per year, and we are in dire need of funds to extend the secure units.’

Langton listened, but hardly paid any attention to the figures. The man obviously did need to make excuses for what had happened.

‘I would like to interview the two men involved in the murder of Arthur Murphy.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’

‘Why not?’

‘For legal reasons.’

‘But I need information. These two men may be connected to the brutal murder of a young woman and her two-year-old child. If you can’t let me talk to them now, then when can I gain access to them?’

‘When we have completed our investigation. They are held here in isolation, and until we have all the facts, we cannot allow anyone to interview them. We cannot afford any bad press—’

Langton interrupted, his voice harsh. ‘I am not the bloody press, but let me tell you, if you do not give me access to both these men then I will make a public statement.’ Anna could see the muscles in his neck twitching as he tried to control his rage. ‘Arthur Murphy’s sister has been brutally murdered and her child’s body fed to the pigs. Now, if you are refusing to allow me to question these two men, you are—’

‘I am sorry, Detective Chief Inspector Langton, but—’

‘No buts!’

‘I am aware of your investigation. I have your report in front of me as to why you wished to speak with Arthur Murphy, but I have to tell you that one of the men involved in his attack has been in prison for over three years and the other almost six months, so I cannot see how they could give you any details about your case. The local police have obviously been informed and these men will be held in police custody eventually.’

In all the time she had known Langton, Anna had never seen him so angry. He had his fists clenched and looked as if he might swing a punch at the Governor. He jabbed the air with his finger very close to the man’s face.

‘You have just sat there giving me a load of facts and figures. Well, my facts are this: Arthur Murphy was scum, a rapist and a killer. I don’t give a fuck about him; what I need to know is why these two men attacked him. If they are sex offenders, like Murphy, you know as well as I do that they protect each other; discuss their filthy antics with each other. Why knife him? They’re sex offenders, child sex offenders! Right now, I have a suspect on the loose and two small children at risk, a suspect who has…’

Langton suddenly went chalk-white and had to sit back in his chair. His face glistened with sweat. He took out some pills and asked for a glass of water.

Anna leaned close to him. ‘Are you all right?’

Langton nodded, taking pill after pill, gulping at the water. The prison Governor remained silent, then got up and excused himself, leaving them alone.

‘Do you want to lie down?’ Anna asked. He shook his head, then leaned forwards, bending his head down low. She watched him gasp for breath. It was some time before he slowly leaned back, his eyes closed.

When the Governor returned, he was sweating almost as much as Langton. ‘I’m sorry. I am acting on orders from the Home Office. However, considering the seriousness of your enquiry, I will allow you access to each prisoner, for ten minutes.’

‘Thank you,’ Langton said quietly.

The Governor moved to sit back behind his desk. ‘Prisoner 3457, D Wing, is called Courtney Ransford. He is here after escaping from Ford Open prison in 2001; he was picked up for murder two years later. This is his record sheet.’

Langton reached over for the papers. Anna stood up to read over his shoulder.

‘The second man involved is an illegal immigrant waiting for a deportation order, Eamon Krasiniqe.’

Langton looked up in shock. ‘What?’ The man he had arrested for the murder of Carly Ann North was also called Krasiniqe. As Eamon Krasiniqe’s file was passed over, he skimmed the pages. He turned to Anna, pointing to the name. There was no mention of siblings or family.

‘Can you check if this man is related to Idris Krasiniqe, sent down for murder? There’s no mention of family living here.’ The connection was shattering to Langton; he simply could not believe it.

‘We have no documentation on his background. He came into Britain on a forged passport, so even his name could be a fake; it’s quite possible that others are using the same name and same papers. We were in the process of trying to discover exactly how he entered the UK and from where. He was charged with drug dealing and abduction of a fourteen-year-old girl.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Langton muttered.

‘We obviously stripped both their cells, and found nothing that gave us any indication of why it had happened. There is also something that I think I should tell you. One of the reasons we have been in discussions with the Home Office about this situation, and why we cannot allow it to be made public… I mentioned to you how many foreign inmates we have, and how many are of ethnic origin.’

‘Yes, yes.’ Langton was hoping he would not have to listen to another lengthy ‘facts and figures’ monologue.

‘Two days ago, during his recreational period, Krasiniqe asked to make a phone call. He had only a few pence left on his phone card, so wanted to make a reverse charge call. This was denied. The following day, he had acquired enough money to make a call. He was waiting some time, as the phone on his wing was in use. Krasiniqe became very abusive about waiting, as he said it was a very important call. The officer on the wing gave instructions for the prisoners ahead of him to get a move on, or the recreational period would be up. This is the reason we are aware of the call. He finally got to make it; according to the duty officer, it was after the call that he started to act oddly.’

‘Oddly?’

‘Yes. He became very subdued, and when told to return to his cell, he appeared to be very disorientated. He was led to his cell, and lock-up went ahead. During the night, the officers reported that he was not in his bed, but standing up. He was told three times to go to his bed, but made no answer. The following morning, he was still subdued and didn’t eat. During recreation—’

‘The phone call: you record all outgoing calls, right?’

‘Well yes, but you know we have hundreds per day. We did find on a cigarette packet a phone number; it could have been the one dialled by Krasiniqe. It’s a mobile phone number; no name.’ He passed over the report of the contents of both prisoners’ cells, and Langton copied down the number that was listed.

Langton was then shown photographs of the body of Arthur Murphy. The knife had cut his throat in one slice.

The Governor gathered up the reports and photographs. ‘Krasiniqe has not really spoken since the attack. He is vacant and submissive, and does not seem to recall anything of the incident.’ Langton sipped a glass of water as the Governor continued. ‘The other accused, Courtney Ransford, has made a statement that he was coerced into holding Murphy down whilst Krasiniqe cut his throat.’

He licked his lips, stacking the reports on his desk, packing them neatly into the files. ‘He claims that Krasiniqe was “zombied” and if he didn’t help him, he would suffer the same fate. Do you know what zombied means?’

Langton looked to Anna and then back to the Governor.

‘It’s a voodoo term,’ the man explained, ‘the ability to make someone appear like a zombie. It sounds incredible, I know, but if somehow Krasiniqe was got at, and if his belief is strong enough, then God only knows what the mind will do. Surely now you can understand: if this was made public inside here, it would create havoc.’

Anna and Langton were shown into a small interview room. A uniformed officer waited outside. There were just two chairs and a table, so Anna would have to stand during the interview.

Courtney Ransford was led into the room handcuffed, wearing prison issue denims. He was a big, raw-boned man with stiff spiked hair, and his hands were like big flat shovels.

Langton spoke very quietly, forcing Courtney to lean forwards to hear clearly. He had never heard of Joseph Sickert, he said, he had never heard of Gail Sickert and he did not know Rashid Burry. His bulging, red-rimmed eyes were vacant; when asked to explain what had happened in the exercise yard, he hesitated, then, in a voice that was like a growling animal, said he couldn’t remember anything.

‘You held a man down whilst his throat was cut, and you claim not to remember anything about it?’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘This action will put ten years on your sentence. How does that make you feel?’

‘Bad.’

‘So why don’t you help me? Because I can help you.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yes.’

‘What can you do for me?’

‘Get you maybe a lighter sentence; depends on how much you are willing to—’

Courtney leaned even closer across the table. ‘Man, you can’t help me, and no way do I want it known that I even said two words to you, so fuck off and leave me alone.’

‘That scared, are you?’

‘Yeah, you could say that.’

‘Scared so bad you are willing to get another life sentence?’

Courtney leaned back, looked up to the ceiling and started sucking his teeth.

‘I could also get you moved to another prison.’

Courtney shook his head. ‘Listen, man, there is nowhere, no place they can’t find me. That creep deserved what he got, so why bother me?’

‘Who’s they?’

Courtney glared.

‘If you give me names, I’ll see what I can—’

‘You can do nothin’, man, hear me straight? You can do nothin’, not for me, just like I ain’t doin’ nothin’ that can make me like that poor fucker. He’s walkin’ dead.’

‘And you’re not?’

‘No. No! Officer! Officer, get me out of here!’ Courtney screamed for the officer waiting outside; he showed for the first time a real fear.

Langton tried to calm him. ‘What are you so scared of?’

It had no effect. Courtney wanted out, and eventually Langton had no option but to let him leave.

They waited for almost fifteen minutes before they heard footsteps outside the room. Eamon Krasiniqe was twenty-two years old, yet he shuffled into the room like a frail old man. He was glassy-eyed and his hands hung limply at his side. He had to be helped to sit; he seemed so vacant, as if he had no idea where he was.

Langton tried to question him, but Krasiniqe made no reply. His lips were wet and he dribbled saliva down his chin. His huge expressionless eyes were like dark holes and he didn’t look at either Langton or Anna but at some fixed point ahead of him.

‘Why did you kill Arthur Murphy?’ Langton asked.

Krasiniqe slowly lifted his right hand and pointed with his index finger to the space between Langton and Anna. He then twirled his index finger in a slow circle. They both turned to look behind them; there was a clock on the wall. They had no idea what it meant, unless he was indicating their ten minutes were up! Having got nothing, not even one word out of him, they watched as he was led back to his isolation cell.

When they left the room, a prison officer was waiting to take them back to the main gates. He was a friendly, broad-shouldered man in his thirties. Langton walked ahead of Anna, asking the officer what he reckoned had gone down. He said the attack had caught everyone off-guard, as there had been no lead-up to it. Murphy appeared to get along with Courtney, and they were often seen playing table tennis together. Courtney also knew Krasiniqe well; as the latter was so young, Courtney had taken him under his wing. They had never seen the three men arguing. It had happened very quickly. Murphy was left lying on the ground, as Krasiniqe stood there with the shiv still in his hand; he made no attempt to palm it. Courtney had tried to extricate himself from the murder, but he had blood sprays over his denim shirt.

Langton mentioned that the only response Krasiniqe had made was to imitate the movement of the clock’s hands in the interview room.

‘Yeah, he does that all the time. Sort of points ahead of himself and twists his index finger. No idea what it means, but then we have no idea what’s the matter with him. Doctors have checked him over and it’s not drugs; there’s whispers going round about voodoo. We’ve all been given instructions to sit on them — you know, not let it get into a rumour that starts a bush fire.’

As they were boarding the ferry to head back to London, Langton got the first good news of the day. DC Grace Ballagio had run the name Rashid Burry by numerous hospitals and learned that he had been attended to in the emergency section of a hospital twenty miles out of the New Forest area, suffering from a kidney infection, and had given his address as the hostel in Brixton. The date of his admission and treatment coincided with the days after Anna had been to see Gail, and matched the date that Vernon had admitted to being at the piggery. It also fitted with the time Gail went missing. However, the description of the patient did not fit Rashid Burry — but it did Joseph Sickert.

By the time they reached the Hampshire station, it was after eight o’clock. Langton was looking very tired, and said that he would give a briefing the following morning.

As the team packed up for the night, ready to return for an early start, Langton remained in his office. Anna walked out to the car park with Mike Lewis. He had had a frustrating day, moving from hostel to hostel between probation departments in an attempt to trace Rashid Burry and check out the other occupants; he could not believe their incompetence. The hostels in their target areas were inundated with prisoners on release, parolees and ex-prisoners waiting for deportation, and the number of the men who had simply disappeared was a disturbing factor for the services as well as for their enquiry.

Anna did not get home until after ten o’clock. With the station being so far out of London, she had a long drive back and forth. She was fast asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Langton, on the other hand, remained at the station until very late; he had booked into a Bed and Breakfast close by. He sifted through all the new information, and, although some of it was hard to believe, he knew intuitively they were getting close to discovering the identity of the man who attacked him. He was certain that, in some way, it was linked to the murder of Arthur Murphy. Whatever Murphy knew had got him killed, and whoever owned the mobile phone that Krasiniqe called must have given that instruction. Langton made a note for his team to try and trace that person. He then sat staring at the incident-room board, one leg outstretched in front of him. He was in a great deal of pain and his knee was badly swollen. Grace had also been working at her desk, and went up to the canteen for some dinner. When she returned, Langton was still sitting on the chair in front of the board, slowly rubbing his right leg, so immersed in his own thoughts that he never even acknowledged her quiet goodnight.