Clean Cut

Chapter Twenty

The forensic lab had been hard at work for over a week. They had more than six different DNA samples from the bloodied altar; there could have been many more, but the stone had been scrubbed with disinfectant. They had also succeeded in matching the roll of black bin-bags, not only to those wrapped around Rashid Burry’s body, but also the dead child in the canal: yet another murder linked to Camorra. They tested stains on the sheets taken from the bedrooms for DNA. Two matched the samples taken from Carly Ann after her rape and murder: one belonged to Idris Krasiniqe, the other was not on any records, nor was the third fingerprint taken from the Range Rover.

The team had all this incriminating evidence against Camorra, but still no clue as to his whereabouts. The charred documents revealed hundreds of figures, but there were no bank accounts in Camorra’s name and the local bank in Peckham had no customers who answered to his description. The drug squad had been given his details: every day, mules and possible illegal immigrants were being arrested at the airports, so they were to work with the murder team on anyone who could be connected to the case. The fact that airports were so hot on security could also mean that Camorra might have gone to ground somewhere in the UK.

Staring down into the room from the packed incident board were the photos of the dead, red lines linking one to the other. It felt as if the jigsaw would never be completed.

Langton was in a permanent cold anger. His frustration often boiled over and he was edgy and aggressive with the team. Sickert’s post-mortem results arrived, confirming that he died of organ failure and chronic heart disease. The sickle cell disease had destroyed him. Anna looked up at Sickert’s picture on the board. Her eyes were drawn to the photo of the child found in the canal. As a thought, she fetched the Sickert file. The small square photograph of the woman and two children, cracked through being folded and refolded, was kept in a plastic cover.

She picked it up and went in to see Langton. ‘I don’t know if this will do anything for us, but the children in the photograph — one is a boy, the same age as the child found in the canal.’

Langton looked up.

‘Now we have the DNA of Sickert,’ Anna went on, ‘I just wondered if, you know, we were looking for a reason for Sickert to protect the two children.’

‘He didn’t, did he though?’

‘He did take them to that nursery. What if Camorra had brought Sickert’s children over too? It would be a motive for him to—’

‘Go ahead, test it, but it won’t give us much; just another sickening fucking link!’

Anna walked out to set the wheels in motion for the tests even though, as Langton had said, if the child proved to be related to Joseph Sickert, it brought them no closer to finding Camorra.

Just as Anna put the phone down, it rang again. It was Alison from the Child Protection Unit.

‘I just wanted to tell you that we have made a lot of progress with Keith,’ she said. ‘We have also found a foster carer who is prepared to take both children. She’s been spending time with them here, getting to know them, and will be taking the children at the end of the week.’

‘Could I come in and talk to Keith?’

‘Yes, that is why I am calling. However, I don’t have to remind you how precarious his recovery is. I can’t allow him to be questioned too long and, if it is too emotional for him to deal with, then you will have to wait.’

Anna felt the hairs on the back of her arms standing up as she replaced the receiver. She then returned to Langton’s office and gave him the update.

He sighed. ‘Okay, do you want anyone with you?’

‘I think I should go it alone; he has met me before.’

‘Good luck then.’ And he went back to his reports.

Langton was going over the statements of Eamon Krasiniqe’s cellmate, Courtney Ransford. They still did not have the identity of the person who had visited Ransford. He had steadfastly refused to give any information, bar the fact he did not know the man who came to visit, and the death of Eamon had made no difference. Langton called in Harry; he told him to take Brandon and have another try.

‘He has maintained that he did not know the bloke and was surprised that he had a visitor. He has also denied that he was passed any of this poison. Can we put some more pressure on him? He’s awaiting trial as a category A prisoner for helping Krasiniqe kill Murphy: let’s call that a twelve-to twenty-year sentence. Add to that a few more years when we charge him with fucking poisoning him, he could be a very long time behind bars.’

Harry shook his head. ‘I dunno, these bastards — he doesn’t seem to give a shit. But why should he? He’s got three meals a day, gym, TV, bloody computer train—’

‘Just go, Harry,’ Langton snapped.

Alison met Anna in the reception, and said that Keith was in the play area. This was a larger room than the one she had first seen him in. A big open space, it had lots of toys and, in one corner, a games console. She couldn’t believe the change. Keith was standing by the machine, playing with another small boy; they were shrieking and shouting.

‘Keith, do you want to come and sit and talk to Anna?’

Keith continued to play, then jumped up and down, clapping his hands; he had obviously won! He turned to look at Anna, his eyes bright and his cheeks pink with all the excitement.

‘This lady is a police officer,’ Alison said. ‘She’s brought you something very special.’

‘What?’ he asked, like any normal inquisitive child.

Anna sat a small low table. Alison drew up a chair for Keith to sit on, but he hovered.

‘What have you got?’ he repeated.

Anna took out a very authentic-looking black plastic wallet. ‘It’s a detective’s badge, Keith, like a real policeman’s. A plain clothes one though, not a policeman in uniform. I have a proper notebook and a pencil as well, for you to write down notes.’

Keith sat down. He fingered the badge and then opened the notebook.

‘That’s for when you question a suspect. You have to always make notes, so you don’t forget anything.’

‘Have you got handcuffs?’

‘Well, I can get you some, but we have to sort of test you, you know, to be a detective. I need to know if you could make an arrest.’

He nodded.

‘Do you know what that means — to arrest someone?’

‘Yes, put bad men away.’

‘Correct — that is exactly what I meant. You question them, and it’s called evidence, and you write it down in your book. Then you arrest them if they are bad.’

‘Put handcuffs on them?’

‘Yes, that’s right! Do you think you would make a good detective?’

‘Yes, I got a badge!’

‘Yes, that is yours.’

‘Can I go in a police car?’

‘Oh, that depends. I will have to ask you some questions and then, if you can answer them, you’ll get your handcuffs and a ride in the car.’

‘Can I have a gun?’

‘No, detectives don’t have guns, they’re only for the special squad.’ Anna was on tenterhooks; it was going so well. She told him to open his notebook, ready to write down information. ‘Do you know any bad men?’ she asked.

He gave her a strange look, and she wondered if she had gone in too quickly.

‘Or, can you tell me about the last house you were in? Or a house you think may have bad people inside?’

He became a little agitated, then twisted the pencil. ‘How do you spell “detective”?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about spellings. It’ll be your secret code. We often write words in a funny way.’

He began to write, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrated, taking great pains over each word.

Harry and Frank Brandon waited in the visitors’ section, in a room used for solicitors to interview their clients. It was a small room with three chairs and a table. The door was part glass, so the prison officers could monitor the interactions, but they could not hear conversations. A speaker was high up in one corner; the small window was also high up, and barred.

‘How do we work it?’ Brandon said quietly.

‘Just like we discussed: give it to him straight. You got a problem with it now?’

‘No, just checking we’re playing the right roles.’

‘Don’t fucking start,’ Harry said, as they heard footsteps.

Courtney Ransford was huge, with square shoulders and a body builder’s torso. He sat down and his handcuffs were removed by the uniformed officers who had brought him in.

‘Thank you for agreeing to talk to us,’ Brandon said politely.

Ransford shrugged as the officers left. ‘Anything for a bit of relief from the boredom. What’s this about?’

Then, as Brandon opened a notebook: ‘If it’s anything to do with Arthur fucking Murphy, I’m not answering. I’ve been questioned and shit so many times, I’m losing count. Why don’t you just say that it was a job well done? The bastard was into rape; he was a sicko.’

‘Couldn’t agree with you more,’ Harry said, and he meant it.

‘I gotta stand trial for it. Arseholes.’ Courtney flexed his muscles.

‘You know Eamon Krasiniqe is dead?’

‘Yeah. He was a crazy anyway.’

Brandon coughed and leaned forwards. ‘You got a possible twelve to twenty for helping hold down Arthur Murphy. I am here to question you on another charge that could get you a lot longer.’

‘What?’

‘Murdering Eamon Krasiniqe.’

‘Wait! When did this fucking go down?’

‘I’m just here to discuss—’ Brandon began.

‘Discuss what, for fuck’s sake?’

‘—that you fed poison to Eamon Krasiniqe.’

Harry tapped the table. ‘I was with him when he died. He said you’d given him something called Jimson weed. It’s a poison — very potent.’

‘Like he did! He couldn’t do nothin’ but stare at the fucking wall, so what is this?’

‘We have his statement and his post-mortem report. He was fed this poison in prison and we have you as his cellmate; we also have you being visited by someone who we believe passed you the—’

‘I am not fucking believing this, man.’

Harry wagged his finger. ‘Well, you’d better, because you got a lot coming your way for Arthur Murphy — you could be looking at another ten on top of that! Now, I am just here to help you. All I need is the truth. Who was this visitor and what did he pass you?’

‘Jesus Christ, I didn’t even know the bloke! I get the nod from the officers I got a visitor. They don’t say who it is. I think, maybe he’s a solicitor and, like I done today, I reckon anything to get out from the wing, right?’

‘That is all very well, Courtney, but Eamon Krasiniqe died, and you are going to be charged with his murder.’

‘The fuck I am!’

‘I’m afraid you are fucked.’

Courtney sat shaking his head. He flexed his arm muscles so much, they looked like ebony; then he cracked his knuckles. They were obviously getting to him: the sweat was now standing out on his forehead.

‘I think you were offered money, or something else worth your while, to give the dose to Krasiniqe. Now, they are about to arrest a guy called Camorra — you ever heard of him?’

Courtney stared.

Harry continued, lying through his teeth: they had no idea where Camorra was, let alone were on the verge of arresting him. ‘He’s a drug trafficker, also brings in illegal immigrants. He’s got a lot of money and a lot of contacts. He wanted Murphy dead, because Murphy was going to inform on him.’

Courtney swallowed and shook his head. ‘I don’t know about this, man; I dunno about this.’

‘Do you know this man Camorra? Clinton Camorra.’

Courtney suddenly put his hands over his face. ‘Oh shit, shit!’

‘You got relatives back in Uganda?’

Courtney pinched the bridge of his nose; his eyes were brimming with tears. He nodded.

‘I hope to Christ they aren’t kids,’ Harry said, ‘because you know what Camorra does to kids. Did you read about that little boy’s body? Decapitated, found in a black bin-liner in Regent’s Canal? He supplies boys like that to sickos. So, I certainly hope, Courtney, you have not got kids being brought in by this piece of filth. Now, can you give us anything?’

Courtney slammed his hand flat onto the table.

‘Yes. Yes, I got something!’

Langton listened to Anna’s call, almost with disbelief.

‘Sweetheart, you can have a fleet of squad cars if that’s what the lad wants.’ He listened, and then rubbed his face. ‘Whatever you need. Take it slow; this is the first lucky break we’ve had.’

Langton returned to the incident room in a really up-tempo mood, just as Brandon and Harry walked in. Harry wafted a piece of paper in the air.

‘What you get?’ Langton asked eagerly.

Harry and Brandon, like two grinning kids, passed over the statement.

Courtney had been telling the truth when he said he did not know his prison visitor. What he had never divulged, however, was that the visitor had come with a deal. He said that he worked for someone with very high connections: someone who could bring his wife and two children to England — at a price.

Harry held up two fingers. ‘He had to give two coconut rock cakes to Eamon Krasiniqe.’

‘What? Fucking rock cakes?’

‘Coconut rock cakes,’ Brandon interjected.

‘He was told they would make Krasiniqe dopey. Courtney was to say they had come from his brother. He was then to help Krasiniqe with Arthur Murphy, make it look like a prison fight. As it turned out, the poor kid had already been fed so much of the Jimson whatever, he went crazy and cut Murphy’s throat in the exercise yard!’

Langton looked at the grinning pair and shrugged. ‘Terrific — but what does this give us, apart from the rock cakes? We knew the bastard must have had something to do with it; this just confirms it.’

Brandon held up his hand again. ‘We have more. You see, Courtney is still waiting to hear about his kids — like, when do they arrive. We gave him the lowdown on Camorra, and said he should pray that they don’t get brought into the UK.’

‘Laid it on with a trowel, we did,’ Harry said. ‘We were gonna make an arrest of Camorra, all that — then he gave this up. It’s a mobile phone number. He said he’d called twice and spoken to the contact who said the deal was going down — which is why he agreed to help Krasiniqe kill Murphy, and why he’s refused to talk before. For the sake of his wife and kids.’

‘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.