Clean Cut

Chapter Eleven

Vernon Kramer was brought into the interview room in handcuffs. Langton said they could be removed. The officer asked if they needed him to stay in the room. Langton said that it would not be necessary; he was surprised that Kramer was even wearing handcuffs.

‘You been acting up, have you, Vernon?’ he asked.

‘You got no right to keep comin’ in to see me. I done nothing and you know it.’

Langton waited until the officer left the room; he would be outside in the corridor if required.

‘You can have a solicitor present if you want,’ Langton said.

‘What for?’

‘You might need one.’

‘Listen, I’m not rocking my fucking boat. I got done in ’cos of breakin’ my friggin’ parole. I done nothin’ but help you, an’ being taken off the wing all the time gets me into trouble. I’m no fucking grass.’

‘Was your pal Murphy one?’

Vernon swallowed and the sweat started forming beads on his forehead. ‘I dunno what went on with him; I just want to serve my time and get out.’

‘Well, Vernon, you might be in for a lot longer than your sentence.’

Vernon’s jaw dropped. ‘What the fuck for?’

‘You heard about one of the prisoners that cut Murphy’s throat?’

Vernon shook his head.

‘You don’t know?’

‘All I know is, Arthur got sliced.’

‘How did you find that out?’

‘In the nick, there’s a lot of guys who know what goes on. Just because they’re banged up, don’t mean that they don’t make contact with the outside world. If you gimme two hundred quid, I can get me own mobile.’

‘So tell me what you know about the murder of your friend Arthur.’

‘Look, I was just told he got done in, that’s all. To be honest, I don’t wanna know any more. Maybe it’s connected to the fact you come in here asking me questions and the next minute, he’s had his throat cut.’

‘Is that why you kicked up when you were told I was back?’ Langton leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the Formica-topped table. ‘You see, Vernon, I don’t think that you’ve been straight with me.’

‘Shit, do me a favour. I told you all I know.’

‘No, Vernon. No, you haven’t.’ Langton got up and walked over to lean against the wall, his hands stuffed into his pockets. ‘You seem well informed about how your pal died … what else do you know about it?’

Vernon swivelled his head round to look at Langton. ‘That’s enough, isn’t it?’

‘Not really. You know anything about the two guys that did it? One held him down and the other cut his throat.’

‘No, I dunno nothin’ about them.’

‘Kid called Eamon Krasiniqe?’

‘Never heard of him.’

Langton walked on around the room and came to stand directly behind Vernon. ‘He’s not in a good state.’

Vernon swivelled his head round again. ‘Nothing to do with me. I never heard of him.’

‘But you do know Rashid Burry?’

Vernon sighed. ‘Yeah, I told you — he was in the same hostel as me, when Arthur was kippin’ down on my floor, and I tell you, I wish to God I’d told him to piss off.’

‘Tell me more about Rashid.’

‘Jesus Christ, I told you: he just came and went in the place and I dunno where he is now.’

‘I think you know a lot more about him.’

‘I don’t!’

Langton now moved to sit back at the table. ‘How well did Arthur Murphy know him?’

‘I dunno. Like I said, he was just lying low in my room. They don’t do food, you know, so I used to go out and get fish and chips and takeaway stuff for him to eat.’

‘I see. So when your room was checked out, where did he go?’

‘Hid in the toilets.’

‘So no one from the hostel knew he was there?’

‘Obvious, yeah.’

‘But Rashid Burry knew, didn’t he?’

‘I guess so. Yeah, he might.’

‘So Murphy could also have had access to Rashid, maybe talked to him?’

‘Yeah, it’s possible, but that guy is not to be messed around with. He’s a bit crazy.’

‘So you didn’t get along with him?’

‘I never said that.’

‘Did Murphy get along with him?’

‘I don’t fucking know!’

‘Okay. What about Clinton Camorra?’

Vernon was visibly shaken.

‘You do know him, don’t you?’

‘No.’

‘Sometimes he called himself Rashid Camorra?’

Vernon swallowed. ‘Never heard of him.’

Langton rocked back in his chair and then let it bang forwards. ‘Don’t fucking lie to me, Vernon, because I’ve had it right up to here!’ He hit his forehead. ‘I am sick and tired of your bullshit. I have given you every opportunity to come clean with me, isn’t that right?’

He looked to Anna. ‘I think maybe it is time we got in a solicitor for Mr Kramer, if he is withholding evidence about the murder of that little boy.’

Vernon started to panic. ‘What? What are you talking about?’

Langton smiled. ‘Reason I’m here, Vernon, is we believe that you had something to do with the murder of a small boy found in a bin bag in the canal at Islington.’

‘No, no! This isn’t right!’

‘I’d hoped you would come straight with me, but as it’s obvious you are still withholding evidence, I’ve lost my patience.’

‘No, no — wait! You can’t bring me into that. I don’t know anything about it, I swear before God I don’t!’

Anna looked as if she was starting to pack up her briefcase, placing her files into it.

‘Listen to me, I—’

‘You listen to me, Vernon! We are investigating a series of murders — Gail Sickert, her two-year-old daughter — and we think there is a connection between you, Murphy and—’

‘No! No, there isn’t!’

‘What are you so afraid of, Vernon?’

‘I’m not!’

‘You think you’ll get the same treatment as Murphy? Is that what scares you? Or what about the kid that knifed him — you heard about him?’

Vernon’s eyes were like saucers.

‘Walking dead — you scared that’ll happen to you?’

Vernon covered his face with his hands. ‘This isn’t fair, it’s not bloody fair.’

‘What isn’t?’

Vernon licked his lips and rubbed at his eyes. ‘You don’t understand,’ he said, almost inaudibly.

‘Didn’t hear you? What did you say?’

Vernon sat back and sniffed, close to tears. ‘I wish to God I had never let Arthur stay with me.’

‘Well, we know one reason: you got banged up for harbouring him and two years from your old sentence tagged on, but there’s other reasons, right?’

Vernon nodded.

It took two beakers of water and a lot of patience for Vernon at last to come clean, with a whole new story.

A while back, Arthur Murphy had paid a visit to his sister, Gail, to arrange for Joseph Sickert to stay with her as a favour to Rashid Burry. While Arthur was on the run for the murder of Irene Phelps, he discovered that Sickert and Gail had become lovers. Arthur had got very angry about it; he and Vernon had got drunk, paid them a visit and got into a big row. Frightened, Gail threw Murphy out and called the local police.

Vernon had, at first, refused to allow Murphy to hide out at his hostel, but was coerced by Murphy and Rashid Burry into letting him stay; they reckoned no one would look for him there, right under the noses of the authorities. Murphy knew Rashid Burry from a previous hostel; he also knew that Burry had a contact who would help him get out of the country. This contact was Clinton Camorra.

According to Vernon, Camorra had a big network of people who could supply passports, visas and work permits. Rashid Burry knew Camorra well because he himself had got into the country using Camorra’s forged documents. Murphy had to get some money to pay for the documents and he gave Camorra his word that he would find two thousand pounds.

Rashid had the documents from Camorra ready for Murphy at the hostel, but he wanted the money to pass on to Camorra. This was the time that Anna and the team had gone to the hostel to arrest Murphy. Rashid got very nervous and, even though Vernon told him that it had nothing to do with him, he contacted Camorra. Camorra was furious. If Murphy informed on Camorra, his network would be exposed.Camorra took his anger out on Rashid, threatening him unless he got it straightened out — and fast.

Vernon licked his lips. ‘This guy Camorra is rich; he’s got heavies working for him, and by now, he was really pissed off.’

Langton held up his hand. ‘Did Camorra arrange for Sickert to come to the UK?’

‘Yeah, along with another few hundred; he’s bringin’ illegal immigrants in by the shedload every few months. Newspapers say that there’s one immigrant coming into Britain every minute. A lot are coming in via Camorra, that’s why he’s got so much dough.’ Again, Vernon licked his lips.

Langton glanced at Anna and back to Vernon. He sighed. ‘That’s a lot of people, Vernon. I know some are just kids, but tell me: how does this Camorra manage to keep afloat without someone grassing him up?’

‘They’re too scared to ever finger him — well, they would be. One, they’re on forged papers, right? And then…’ He shrugged.

‘Then what?’

‘Depends if you believe it or not, but the darkies do, so I guess he’s got them both ways, know what I mean?’

‘No, I don’t.’

Vernon bowed his head. There was a long pause. He then looked up and faced the wall, not looking at either Anna or Langton.

‘Voodoo.’

‘Voodoo,’ repeated Langton flatly.

‘Yeah. I mean, I think it’s a load of tosh, but they don’t, so he’s got them, like I said, by the short and curlies. That’s how he survives; lives like a fucking prince.’

‘So you’ve met him?’

Vernon’s eyes flickered.

‘Come on, Vernon. You’ve been straight with us so far — give it up.’

‘I want to get out of here, into Ford, somewhere like that — an open prison. I mean, the inmates here have ears that can pick up anything, and they know I’ve been brought to be interviewed.’

‘Do you think that Murphy talked?’ Langton wanted to change the subject to calm Vernon down; he was twisting and turning in his chair.

‘Yeah, I think he opened his mouth about Camorra, and maybe he said it to the wrong guy, I dunno.’ Vernon leaned forwards. ‘I heard that the kid that knifed him is in a voodoo trance — so it’s obvious, isn’t it? Camorra even got strong arms in the nick over there, see what I mean? You got to protect me.’

Langton nodded. ‘Okay, listen to me, Vernon, this is the deal, and I give you my word. I am being dead straight with you. I’ll talk to the prison Governor and I’ll get you moved to Ford, but there is one condition.’

Vernon sighed. ‘There’s nothing else. I swear I have told you everything — I swear it on my mother’s life.’

‘Very well, it’s a deal — if you give us the whereabouts of Camorra.’

Vernon swore he did not know. Langton said, in that case, there was no deal. Vernon was shaking with nerves, but eventually told them that he did not know the address, he only knew Camorra lived somewhere in Peckham.

‘So, did you go to his house?’

Vernon admitted that he had met Camorra at his home. Rashid had taken him there in a car with blacked-out windows. He was blindfolded, and he had his hands tied with electric wire. Not until he was inside the house was the blindfold removed. He described the house as a big double-fronted one, but had no idea which street; he knew the house was big, because there was a double garage, and they had walked from there into the house down a long hallway. He had never seen Camorra’s face, as he wore a white hood with eyeholes cut out. Camorra had questioned him about the arrest of Arthur Murphy, trying to find out if there was any connection to himself. Vernon had explained that Murphy was charged with the murder of Irene Phelps and needed to get out of the country fast.

‘He made these threats to me: said if there was so much as a whisper about his connections, I would pay for it. He said that I should also get word to Arthur to keep his mouth shut, and warn Sickert to do the same thing.’

‘Did you warn Sickert?’

‘Yeah. I think Rashid also give him a warning.’

‘Do you think that Camorra was involved with the murder of Gail and her child?’

‘I don’t know.’

Vernon then began to cry, blubbering that now he’d told them everything, he was scared to go back on the wing. Langton opened the interview-room door and asked the officer to take him out. He then returned to the table and picked up his notes and briefcase. Anna stood up as the very frightened Vernon was led into the corridor by the officer.

‘You’ll keep the deal?’ Vernon said.

Langton didn’t answer, but checked his watch. They heard Vernon swearing and calling him a lying bastard as he was taken back to the wing.

‘You going to ask about moving him?’ Anna enquired.

Langton shrugged. ‘I’ll think about it.’ He then took a bottle of water from his briefcase, and a bottle of pills.

‘You monitoring how many you take a day?’ she asked.

Langton looked up, stared at her, then turned away. Sometimes he sent chills up her spine with that look: cold, dismissive, hurt.

She had hardly said two words during the long interrogation of Vernon; she had never really been given the incentive. Langton had controlled it from the moment Vernon walked in; he now said nothing as they were led back to the prison reception to sign out.

‘What about Vernon?’ she asked again, tentatively.

‘What about him?’

‘Well, he’s spilled the beans. He could get hurt.’

‘Break my heart. He’s a snivelling, lying piece of garbage; he’s preyed on little kids all his life. A few years, he’ll be free to keep up his sick fantasies. That’s more of a worry to me than what happens to him in there. I hope he gets his dick sliced off.’

Langton eased himself into the passenger seat of the patrol car, Anna taking up her usual position in the back. He suddenly turned and grinned at her.

‘Did good in there; opened that little prick up. This Camorra is looking like a prime target.’ He turned back to stare out of the window as he gave their driver instructions to head back to the incident room. ‘Let’s hope the boys have some luck tracing him. It shouldn’t be too difficult.’

Anna sat back in the car, her mind churning over the interview with Vernon Kramer. Their investigation centred on the murder of Gail Sickert and her child, yet Langton had hardly even referred to it as his main priority.

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.