‘The two older kids and Sickert have now been missing for nearly three weeks! Somebody, somewhere must have knowledge of their whereabouts, so we go with another round of press releases.’

  ‘The doctor warned Sickert that he was heading for a crisis, as he was vomiting and, as I said before, had a very high temperature. In this state, he is very susceptible to infections. I would say, wherever he is, he will need further medical treatment.’

  Mike Lewis was next up. ‘We have been checking out hostels in the Harlesden, Hackney, Brixton and Tottenham areas. Some people who live there have been ordered to move in by the courts, as a condition of bail, or are on parole. Others become resident when they have been required to do community service, as the courts believe that they need supervision. We were repeatedly told that offenders living in hostel accommodation are not free to come and go as they please, but have a strict set of rules, including a curfew, usually from 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. Most hostels were manned around the clock, and staff were very keen to make it clear they were in contact with their local police and local community. If residents don’t abide by the instructions of those staff, then they stand a chance of being returned to prison or having their parole withdrawn. They are not allowed to bring in intoxicating drinks, drugs that are not prescribed by a doctor or nurse, or any solvents and so on. Rooms are, I was told, checked out on a regular basis.’

  Lewis looked up. Langton sat, head bowed–bored.

  Nevertheless, Lewis continued. ‘Okay, that’s what is supposed to be what goes down in these hostels and halfway houses. In reality, those places are a shambolic mess, but to get anyone to admit it was like pulling teeth. They are all understaffed and under pressure. We have here a list of offenders who have simply cut off their electronic tags and walked out–and this, you won’t believe: some of these bastards free early on release are being allowed to take foreign holidays while still on licence! Apparently, the bloody Government dropped a long-standing ban on overseas leisure travel for those under supervision. One probation officer was at his wits’ end.’

  Langton yawned. Lewis turned over a few pages in his notebook.

  ‘He said thousands of offenders, including rapists and armed robbers, are out there, fucking enjoying themselves abroad, while technically serving out their sentence on probation–even though there is no indication that foreign authorities are even being informed! One of the staff said it was getting harder to keep a check on the occupants, as many did not speak English. Did you know that in the press recently, there was a bloody illegal immigrant working as a security guard at the Old Bailey, despite having been jailed for crimes and deported twice! He’d got fake birth certificates, and he was often on duty guarding the main entrance to the Central Criminal Court, which has countless terrorism trials—’

  ‘For Chrissakes, get on with your bloody report!’ snapped Langton.

  ‘Sorry, Gov. Okay, we know that Vernon Kramer had Arthur Murphy hiding out in his room at his hostel. We checked at the same hostel for Rashid Burry; they said he was a friend of one of the residents. We also have a Rashid Burry listed by a Hounslow hostel: one of Burry’s friends there, another resident, is a real dangerous psychopath. Four weeks ago, he cut off his tag and has not been traced. To date, we have no previous prison record on Rashid Burry, so we can only presume he was visiting; he seems to have come and gone as he felt like it. It’s possible he was dealing drugs.’

  Mike Lewis sat down. Langton said nothing; he just watched as an officer marked up the board with even more names.

  Harry Blunt was next up. ‘I was with Mike at the Hounslow place, but got bogged down with the time it took to get anything out of these hostel officials, so I talked to a young kid on community service. I think this may be a very valuable link.’

  Langton sat with his hand resting across his face. Anna watched him wince with pain and yet again rub his knee.

  Harry pointed to the board. ‘The kid told me about a resident who came for a short time to do community service. He said this bloke was a real freak and, whilst he was there, bragged about how he had access to hundreds of fake documents, from passports, to work permits, to visas. His name is Clinton Camorra and I reckon he is that psychopath–the same bloke that Mike Lewis was informed about.’

  Langton looked up, listening intently now.

  Harry continued. ‘Clinton Camorra was detained in 2000, suspected of smuggling hundreds of illegal immigrants into the UK, many of them children, but because of the deportation fiasco he is still at large. He was jailed for four years for people-trafficking and was also quizzed over a ritual killing of a six-to-seven-year-old boy whose body was found in a bin-liner in Regent’s Canal. On his early release, the authorities put him in the same hostel with Vernon Kramer where, as we know, Rashid Burry was also a visitor. The lad said that Camorra was living in or around the Peckham area. When I checked his record, he first came to the UK in 1997, using the name Rashid Camorra.’

  Langton shook his head. ‘This is bloody mind-blowing. How many Rashids do we have, for Chrissakes?’

  ‘It was probably a fake name. When Camorra was on trial, the judge sent him down for four years, and ordered his deportation to Nigeria!’

  Harry picked up the black felt-tipped pen and wrote in capital letters the name Clinton Camorra (in brackets, also known as Rashid Camorra), then he underlined the name.

  ‘As Rashid Camorra, he claimed he had fled war-ravaged Sierra Leone. He was granted asylum. Now they have checked out that he was actually from Benin City, Nigeria.’ He looked to Langton and apologized for being so long-winded, but felt that the details were important.

  ‘I hope to Christ you get to the point soon,’ Langton said.

  Harry ignored him. ‘If we lose the name Rashid,’ he went on, ‘and go back to what I think may be his real name, Clinton–well, it’s widely known that Clinton Camorra is a voodoo enthusiast. It’s a bit more than just playing around: he apparently terrified the prisoners, and at the hostel, he threatened anyone who got in his way.’

  Now Langton was 100 per cent attentive. Harry passed over the mug shots taken of Camorra after his arrest, to be pinned up on the board. Camorra was quite light-skinned and rather handsome, his lips parted in a faint smile, and with dark, hooded, wide-apart eyes.

  ‘When he was in jail, the team investigating the murder of the boy found in the bin-liner questioned him. They came away certain that he was involved somehow; they suspected that the kid had got into the country illegally and was used in some kind of voodoo ceremony. They got nothing from Camorra, but his reputation in the prison was pumped up. He lived like a prince, and if he didn’t get what he wanted from any of the prisoners, he would threaten them.’

  Langton looked at the board, and turned back to Harry. He was very tense. ‘Good work. Do we have any idea where this Camorra bastard is now?’

  ‘All I know from the boy at the hostel is that he was somewhere in Peckham, and with a lot of money.’

  The murmuring team started to discuss the new developments as Langton, Harry, Lewis and Anna grouped together by the board. Langton stared at Camorra’s face. Something in that smirk made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

  He spoke softly, tapping the photograph. ‘If we say that this Camorra guy smuggled Sickert into the country, he would have a hold over him. If he was also in the same hostel as Vernon Kramer, where Murphy was hiding out, we have the links. Maybe Murphy found out something and that’s the reason he got his throat slit?’

  Anna agreed, and interjected that it also meant the two missing children were now in an even worse situation–if that was possible.

  Langton underlined the importance of trying to trace the call made from Parkhurst prison if it was, as he now suspected, to Camorra. Langton also gave out the orders to track down Camorra and Rashid Burry, and to pump out the press on Sickert. He reckoned that, with Sickert being so ill, he would be the easiest to trace. Although if the wanted men had someone with access to fake documentation, they could be anywhere and using God knows how many different names.

  But at least, and at last, the murder team were moving forwards again.

  The duty manager was assigning details of the work to be done to each officer as Anna sat at her desk, waiting for her assignment for the day. Langton had returned to his office. He looked dreadful: in need of a shave and with sunken eyes. She wondered if Mike Lewis had been right about him popping painkillers to keep going. She could see how much discomfort he was in, and his limp was very pronounced.

  She was not given a schedule so, confused, went and knocked on Langton’s office door. She was in two minds whether or not to disturb him, so waited a while before she knocked again.

  ‘Come in,’ Langton said irritably.

  ‘Sorry, but I’ve not had my schedule, and—’

  ‘We go back to Vernon Kramer after the press interviews.’

  ‘Okay. We doing them at Wandsworth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay. When you’re ready.’

  ‘Gimme fifteen minutes and I’ll be out.’

  She nodded and quietly closed the door. She was very concerned. He was taking something, it was obvious; his pupils were like pinholes and he was shaking–she could tell by the cigarette between his fingers.

  As Anna returned to her desk, Harry was passing, and she said, ‘Good work, Harry.’

  ‘Thanks. I thought I’d just go and have a jar with the Gov.’

  ‘I wouldn’t. I think he’s busy with the press reports.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’ He hesitated, and looked around. ‘Mind if I ask you something?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Is it my imagination, but isn’t he kind of playing down the fact that this guy Camorra and this Rashid Burry might have been involved in his attack?’

  Anna bit her lip and then shrugged. ‘I think if they were, the Gov wouldn’t play it down, Harry–on the contrary.’

  ‘Yeah, right; it was just a thought. See you later–I’m off to Peckham! See if we can trace this bastard Camorra.’

  Anna watched him head out, and sighed uneasily. She was certain Langton was playing down the importance of the Camorra connection, and she knew why, but it was nevertheless worrying.

  Langton waited for the shakes to stop, smoking one cigarette after the other. His head was throbbing, his knee agony and he had pains across his chest. It had taken so much willpower to stand for so long in the incident room, but it had taken even more when the mug shot of Camorra was pinned up on the board. Langton had hardly been able to control his emotions. Camorra was, he was becoming sure, the man who had attacked him, the man who had almost sliced him in two–and the physical shock of that recognition had hit him like a terrible panic attack. It took him half an hour to calm down. He picked up his electric razor and shaved, then drank a bottle of water before he felt capable of leaving his office.

  ‘Right Travis, let’s go!’

  Anna hurried after him; as always, he never ceased to amaze her. She had been taken aback at how ill he had looked earlier, but now he seemed refreshed and energized. If he was popping pills, then he must obviously need them: the question was, how many and how often? She had no idea how much he was relying on them, and what he was suppressing with their help. It had taken all his willpower to allow Harry and Mike Lewis to begin to trace Camorra rather than do it himself, but when they did, Langton would have him.

  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?’