Clean Cut

Chapter Seventeen

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

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

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

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

Grace shook her head.

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

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

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

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

‘Yeah, sorry, Gov.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Very well.’

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

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

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

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

‘Specifically for puncture marks.’

‘Like injections?’

‘Yes.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Can you cure him?’

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

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

‘Possibly. His mind is controlling him. He has been punished for something; we do not know what. He does not understand that he has been poisoned, not controlled by voodoo witchcraft.’

Langton looked at his watch. He asked if they could get some refreshments brought in for the doctor and his wife. He would need time to discuss the doctor’s prognosis with his team.

Langton slumped down in a leather chair; Mike Lewis rested on the arm of another.

Anna sat down opposite them. ‘We need to get permission from his brother to give him ECT. If he knows everything we’ve just been told, he might agree; unless he does, I doubt if we will be able to give the go ahead.’

Langton said brusquely, ‘Listen, if it could help, fuck getting any permission — we do it. The kid is dying.’

Anna sighed. ‘I know, but we need Idris Krasiniqe to help us. He will only do so if his brother is seen to recover. If he’s not — and, judging by what we’ve been told, he won’t recover — then this is all a waste of time and money.’

‘You think I don’t know that?’ Langton snapped.

‘I am sure you do; all I am asking is, can I have time with Idris? If necessary, we bring in the doctor to talk to him. Maybe we hedge round the fact that it’s unlikely that Eamon can be saved, but if we give him hope… What did that boy do, to deserve to be poisoned like this? It had to be something big; maybe something connected to Camorra.’

Langton turned to Mike Lewis. ‘I want the names of everyone who visited Eamon Krasiniqe in the cells, at the police station, at his trial; anyone who could have got to him there, and in the prison.’

‘He had no visitors at the prison,’ Anna said.

‘Maybe he didn’t, but what about the bloke who held down Arthur Murphy? See who visited him. There has to be a link somewhere. If some bastard was controlling his mind through this poison, it had to have been fed to him. You heard what the doctor said: he’s got Christ knows many fucking needle pricks all over his body, so somebody was still doing it to him, right?’

Anna nodded. Langton was working himself up into such a temper. She tried to calm him down. ‘In the meantime, can I talk to Idris? Bring in the doctor if need be, yes?’

Langton nodded.

‘How long will we have him for?’ she wanted to know.

‘The doctor?’ Langton asked.

‘Yes.’

‘As long as we bloody need him. We can take him back to the safe house and bring him back here again if necessary.’

Anna nodded and then gave a small smile. ‘I’ll go and talk to him.’

‘Fine by me. I just want a few words with Mike; you go ahead.’

Anna left the room.

There was a long pause. Finally, Langton sighed. ‘This is gonna cost me and I’m not just talking about the budget that’s gone through the roof.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Sometimes I feel as if I’ve lost my way. I think I have let this get out of hand.’

‘Not if we do get something.’

‘Come on, you saw the kid; he’s on his way out, and we’re pinning our hopes on the bastard who murdered that little hooker Carly Ann North. It doesn’t make any sense. I’d like to go in and beat the shit out of him — maybe that would get him to talk.’

‘Maybe it wouldn’t. He’s got fifteen years for murder; that’s not much incentive to give us any help.’

‘She seems to think he knows something.’

‘Anna?’

‘Yeah, Anna. A lot of this is down to her interview with him.’

‘I wondered about that. She just took off, did she?’

‘You could say that.’

‘So you never told her to talk to Idris Krasiniqe?’

‘Don’t go there, Mike.’

Lewis paused for a moment. ‘You mind me asking what happened between you two?’

Langton closed his eyes.

Mike hesitated, but continued. ‘One time, you seemed pretty close; you were living at her place, and she was certainly taking good care of you. I used to see her either coming or going to the hospital, long schlep out there every day and night.’

Langton nodded.

‘So what happened?’

Langton shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m not easy to live with.’

‘I would guess that. I’m sorry — she’s a good girl.’

Langton took a deep breath. ‘Look, we’d better get on to the station and see if they’ve come up with anything for us; might as well do something constructive. I also need some coffee — can you see if you can find the right corridor that’ll take you back to reception? They must have a canteen or something somewhere.’

‘Okay. You going to stay in here, or go back to the voodoo doc?’

‘I’ll stay here; make some calls.’

Mike nodded and walked out, leaving Langton sitting, dejected, in the chair.

Mike felt very concerned about his boss; in all the years he had worked with him, he had never seen him so lacklustre, and to hear him say he had lost his way really hit home. Langton had always driven each case they had worked on with total control. Sometimes, he had appeared to be too controlling, but now…

Mike looked up and down the empty corridor. He had no idea which way to go; he’d just been walking and not paying attention. He turned this way and that, then swore, deciding to retrace his steps. As he turned into yet another corridor, he saw Anna heading towards him.

‘I’m totally lost,’ he said, waving his arms.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To get some coffee for the boss; he’s sort of deflated.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Same room you left us in.’

‘I’ve asked the doctor to see Idris.’

‘Did you talk to him?’

‘Idris? I had a few words. I said I wanted him to know exactly what we knew and then I would talk to him later.’

Mike nodded and walked off, leaving Anna standing in the corridor. She looked around until she had her bearings, then headed back towards the anteroom. As she approached, she could hear Langton talking on his mobile. She quietly opened the door.

‘I’m not holding out much hope re this voodoo quack, but we do need to get every single visitor to both brothers checked out, plus the guy sharing Eamon’s cell, just to cover our tracks. It could have been in a hypodermic needle or powder, so check any food parcels, anything handed to our zombie whatsoever. Also, check out who had access to him during his trial, because somebody pumped this stuff into him; his body is like a pin cushion.’

Langton turned and gestured towards her, before continuing his call. ‘If Grace gets anything, call me; ditto forensics.’ He carried on firing off instructions, asking if Harry Blunt had come up with anything from the bus tickets, or whether Brandon had anything. By his long sigh, she could tell that there was obviously no new information. He cut off the call and turned towards her.

‘I talked to Idris and now the doctor’s with him,’ she said. ‘I told him to go through everything he spoke to us about.’

‘Well, that’ll take for ever, if the doc takes as long as he did to tell us. In the meantime, the kid is fading fast.’

‘There’s a one-way glass, if you want to sit in and listen.’

He nodded and then sat down, rubbing his knee. ‘I need some coffee.’

‘Mike’s sorting it,’ she said.

After a few minutes, he gripped the arms of the chair and stood up with a grimace, then had to sit down again, swearing.

‘Do you want me to ask if Esme has anything that might help the pain?’

‘Terrific, yeah. Gimme some of the poison, finish me off.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Just give me a fucking few minutes,’ he shouted. Then he looked at her. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry — for a lot of things, Anna. It’s just I get so frustrated with this bloody knee. It freezes up and hurts like hell.’

‘I know. I wouldn’t dare suggest we ask for a walking frame — they may have one here.’

He glared at her.

‘I was joking! I know you’d never use one.’

‘I guess you do. Sorry again.’ He paused. ‘I know I have behaved like a real shit at times with you, and I want you to know, I don’t … I don’t ever mean half of it. I suppose I reckon that, knowing me so well, you can take it.’

‘Well, I try, but sometimes it hasn’t been easy.’

‘Come here.’

He lifted his hand towards her. She walked over and he held her tightly.

‘You are very special. I appreciate all you have done for me.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Okay, now give me a haul up, and let’s get cracking.’

She saw the pain etched across his face as she helped him stand. She was doubtful he would make it down all the corridors but as soon as they walked outside the room he moved ahead of her. He was limping but, as always, looked like he was in the lead.

Dr Salaam was indicating where the puncture marks had been discovered on his brother. Idris sat, expressionless, but listening intently. Anna switched on a speaker, so that they could hear what was being said.

‘They were also around his anal and genital area,’ the doctor said.

Idris shook his head. ‘So, is he going to live?’ His voice was very low and hardly audible.

Dr Salaam hesitated.

Idris leaned towards him. ‘I need to know: is he going to live?’

Langton pursed his lips, swearing under his breath; the last thing they wanted was for the doctor to say that there was no hope.

Anna reached over and touched his arm. ‘He knows not to say anything.’

Dr Salaam drew up a chair to be closer to Idris. ‘His heart is very weak.’

‘Can’t you operate?’ Idris interrupted; he was now speaking clearly.

‘It’s too late for that, but we are hopeful that if we give him ECT, it may jolt him back into consciousness.’

‘Shit, that’s those electrode things. I know about them: you plug them into fucking electricity.’

‘I would need your permission to do any kind of resuscitation.’

‘Listen, I’ll agree; but tell me what can happen if that don’t work?’

‘Idris, your brother is in a critical condition,’ the doctor said gravely. ‘He has refused all medical treatment that might have helped him. You have to understand that he is very sick. There is no antidote for this poison.’

‘So why do you want to put those electrode things on him?’

‘It might jolt him out of the terror inside his brain and give him some peace. He is a believer, isn’t he?’

‘You mean Christian?’

‘No, voodoo.’

Idris turned away.

‘Has he ever been involved with voodoo, or someone whom he believes has voodoo powers?’

Idris nodded slowly.

‘Do you need some time alone to think about what I have told you?’

Idris nodded again. Langton swore: the last thing he wanted was to give Idris any more time. The doctor tapped on the door and it was unlocked. Langton immediately walked out, leaving Anna alone in the viewing room.

Outside in the corridor, Langton conferred with Dr Salaam. He was not taking any crap from Idris. If there was any hope that Eamon could be jolted out of his coma, then the doctor had to do it; they were wasting time. The doctor insisted he confer with his wife, so they both headed back to the anteroom.

Anna watched Idris. He remained seated, staring ahead at the white wall, then he bowed his head and began to weep. Anna switched off the intercom and left the room. She went up to the officer guarding Idris and asked to be allowed inside. When she walked in, he looked up, wiping his eyes with his cuff.

‘How you doing?’ she asked softly.

Idris gulped, trying to control his weeping.

‘We could have lied to you, but we felt it was imperative to be totally honest with you. Surely now you can see that someone has been slowly killing your brother? He has been suffering and must be in terrible pain, mentally and physically. So, if you have any idea who may have done this to him, tell us! Surely you’d want us to punish him?’

Idris wiped his eyes and whispered, ‘I’m scared.’

Anna reached out to hold his hand. ‘Talk to me, Idris — trust me.’

Anna hurried along the corridor and into the anteroom to find Dr Salaam passing Langton some tablets.

‘We’re going to do the ECT, permission or not,’ Langton said, swallowing the pills. He then turned with a smile to Esme. ‘You sure these aren’t the deadly nightshade?’

She smiled back and shook her head. ‘I am also going to make up a list of tablets and powders that’ll help you.’

Anna was impatient. ‘Listen, I think Idris is going to talk, but first he wants to be examined by Doctor Salaam. He’s terrified that someone could be feeding him the same poison. He has been segregated for weeks, he’s never gone on the recreational ward and he’s been paying for one of the kitchen staff to make his meals — those he eats in his cell — but he’s scared.’

Langton raised his eyes to the ceiling.

‘He called it Jimson weed,’ she said.

Dr Salaam said this nickname for Datura stramonium came from when it was used against the British soldiers in Jamestown, USA. It was sprinkled on their salads and a tincture of it was put into their drinks.

‘Well, thanks for the history lesson, Doc. Now please, go and have a look at him, and make it as fast as possible.’ Langton opened the door for the doctor; then checked his watch and followed him out.

Making sure they were out of earshot of the room, he lowered his voice. ‘Hold it one second: I want you to “find” some small trace of this Jimson weed in his system that you say can be cured. Feed him pills, if you have to; do anything you can to make it authentic, okay? We need something to scare the pants off him.’

Dr Salaam nodded and walked away, as Lewis arrived with coffee and some curling sandwiches.

Langton updated him as they both walked back into the room. ‘This is getting to be a farce. Every minute we lose, that kid could snuff it; now all his brother is worried about is that he’s got it as well.’

Lewis had obtained the list of visitors. The first to visit Eamon Krasiniqe after his arrest was Rashid Burry, now dead himself. The others they had not yet begun to question; Frank Brandon was checking out the addresses left with the prison’s visitor officers to see if any were authentic. They were also questioning Eamon’s legal team from his trial.

Langton fretted inwardly. This meant yet another run-around for the team; it was making their case spread, and look even more out of control.

Lewis smiled. ‘Got some positive news from forensic though, Gov. Hairs and a partial fingerprint have been matched to Carly Ann North. There were also some fibres that could be from wherever her body was kept before it was taken to the dismemberment site.’

The interior of the Range Rover had been given a thorough clean but, beneath the glove compartment, they had also found two clear prints belonging to Rashid Burry; a third print was being tested but was, as yet, unidentified.

Langton seemed to relax, perhaps because they were moving forwards, or perhaps because the herbal pills were working, if not on his leg, then his mood. He munched on one of the stale sandwiches and helped himself to tepid coffee from a pot.

Esme was quietly unpacking her box of equipment: the rubber guard for Eamon’s mouth, the electrode plungers and suction caps. She laid them all out very neatly on a piece of white cotton and used a disinfectant cloth to wipe them all down.

She looked up at the clock on the wall and gestured with her forefinger, moving it round in a circle. ‘Time is ticking. We should check on Eamon Krasiniqe.’

Anna recalled seeing the same gesture made by the dying boy in the prison cell. ‘You know, that was the only gesture that Eamon made.’

Esme gave a small shrug. ‘You mentioned it before; it’s just a habit, you know, to indicate time. Some of the patients we have are illiterate and cannot tell the time, so I often use this as a sort of indication.’ She pointed again to demonstrate. ‘When the large hand is back to twelve, you come in to see me.’ She gave a soft smile. ‘When we put the clocks forwards or backwards, that causes confusion: they believe they have lost an hour as punishment!’

‘Did Camorra see you do this?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Did you ever see the Krasiniqe brothers?’

‘I would have to check my books, but you know many use assumed names and give false addresses.’

‘Come and have a look at him,’ Anna said, then hesitated, looking at Langton. He gave a small nod of his head.

He watched them both leave the anteroom. ‘Should have thought of that myself,’ he said, reaching for another sandwich.

Whilst Dr Salaam examined Idris Krasiniqe, Anna led Esme into his brother Eamon’s room.

He lay completely still, eyes open and staring at the ceiling, his body rigid, his breathing very shallow.

Anna stood by the door as Esme moved to the sick boy’s bedside. She leaned over him and, with one hand, she gently soothed his head with soft strokes. He showed no reaction; she rested the back of her hand against his cheek.

‘Poor boy; my poor boy.’ She held onto his hand, all the time making soft hushing sounds, as if to a baby.

‘Do you recognize him?’

‘No, I don’t — but you know, we have so many patients, and over so many years. He might have been to see us, but I don’t honestly know. I’m sorry.’

They left the room and went back to where they had left Langton.

Esme seemed upset; she asked Anna why, with all the equipment here, they didn’t use any of it. Anna was surprised; with all her herbal remedies, she wouldn’t have thought that Esme would approve of intravenously feeding him or attaching him to a heart monitor.

‘When he was first taken to the prison hospital, they tried to help him, but he refused to have any treatment. He even signed the documents.’

Esme shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t have known what he was doing.’

‘But we have to take it as that being what he wants. When they had IRA prisoners who went on hunger strike, the prison officers were not allowed to feed them or give any form of resuscitation if they collapsed.’

Esme rested her hand on Anna’s arm. ‘Those people were using their bodies as weapons against authority; that poor boy probably didn’t even know what he was signing.’

Anna felt irritated; Esme seemed to be accusing her. ‘Well, if that is the case, you won’t have any reason not to give him ECT.’

Esme pursed her lips. ‘That will not be my decision.’

No, Anna thought to herself, it will not be. The person who would be making the decision was Langton and he, as they saw when they re-entered the room, was fast asleep, lying on a trolley.