Harry’s phone went.

  ‘It’s me again,’ Anna said.

  ‘How you feeling?’

  ‘Lot better. I had a look over my old notes on the investigation into Arthur Murphy, when we were searching for him.’

  ‘Yeah–and?’

  ‘We know Gail used the name Sickert, but before he came onto the scene, she was actually married to a man called Summers. They took out the lease on the bungalow together–the piggery as you now call it. We never even questioned him, because by the time we went to interview Gail, Sickert was living with her. I think you should get on to her mother, Beryl Dunn, and find out about the husband and his whereabouts. How old would you say the skeleton was?’

  ‘We can’t be sure; around thirty or forty, judging by his teeth. He had sort of sandy hair.’

  ‘Well, maybe get a description from Mrs Dunn. It’s just a thought, but if we have Sickert as prime suspect for her murder, he might have also killed her husband. I’ve got his name down as Donald Summers.’

  ‘Okay, thanks–we’ll look into it.’

  Anna went to the taxi rank and asked to be taken to Wakefield prison. The driver looked her up and down, and then nodded. ‘Visiting, are you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your old man, is it?’

  ‘No–I am a police officer,’ she snapped.

  Langton listened as Harry repeated Anna’s telephone message. He didn’t want any further interaction with Beryl, as he had disliked her intensely when he had met her. If these were the remains of this man Summers, it was even more of a headache. With the body count mounting, the pressure was on; Langton was getting very urgent calls from Scotland Yard for an update on the case.

  It took Harry Blunt over half an hour to call all the various phone numbers they had for Beryl Dunn. Her phone had been cut off and her mobile was dead. He had ended up phoning her local police station in Newcastle, and they agreed to call on her and get her to speak to him on the phone.

  Anna waited in the Governor’s office to interview Idris Krasiniqe. She had said it was in connection with the death of a prisoner in Parkhurst: Idris had the same surname and they were attempting to discover if the two men were related. She was told that she would probably not get much out of him, as he remained sullen and uncooperative. When he had first arrived at the prison, they had put him on suicide watch, as he was very disorientated and kept banging his head on the wall. He had rarely spoken to anyone and had made no so-called friends inside. He refused to partake in any prison activities and had no visitors. He had subsequently been segregated from the main wing for throwing food at officers and wrecking his cell. As soon as it was lockdown for the afternoon, they would bring him out.

  Beryl Dunn had refused to get into the patrol car, screaming that she had done nothing. It took some time before she understood that the police were not there for any of her criminal offences, but as part of the investigation into the murder of her daughter. Eventually, she quietened down and agreed to accompany them to the station, where they would call the New Forest incident room.

  The moment Harry Blunt was called to the phone, Beryl started badmouthing their incompetence; it was a while before she answered coherently anything Harry asked her.

  ‘Mrs Dunn, could you give me any information about your daughter’s husband?’

  ‘Which one? She was always saying she was married to some down and out, but it was all in her head. She just hitched herself to one loser after another. I never met this black guy. I said all this before. I never met him and I wouldn’t know what the bugger looked like!’

  ‘We are asking about the man your daughter was involved with before Joseph Sickert.’

  ‘Christ, I dunno. As I told that WPC, my daughter had three kids by three different blokes.’ Beryl then burst out: ‘You know, I blame it all on my son! Arthur wouldn’t leave her alone when she was a kid, and he tormented her all her life. Now he’s dead, she’s dead–and my grandkids…’

  Beryl started crying down the phone. Harry rolled his eyes while he waited. She made loud sniffing noises before she spoke again.

  ‘There was a bloke drove her up here once, to get her money.’

  ‘Could you describe him?’

  ‘He was a window cleaner, from two streets down; she took off with him, I think. Well, he’s not been cleaning windows round here for months.’

  ‘Do you know his name?’

  ‘Ken? I think it was Ken something or other.’

  ‘Could you describe him?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Was he tall? Short? Dark-haired? Red-haired?’

  ‘Oh, sandy-haired, yeah. Big bloke, about six feet–come to think of it, he had no front teeth, the two in the front were missing. He used to clean the windows in these baggy shorts and checked shirt; had a van with a ladder.’

  Harry continued pressing Beryl for more and more details until at last she came up with his surname.

  ‘Summers–that’s it! I just remembered what his name was–Donald Summers!’

  ‘Not Ken?’ Harry interjected.

  ‘No, I was wrong about that. It was Donald Summers and I tell you why I remember, ’cos his mother plays bingo and she’s a right tart.’

  Beryl continued to make derogatory remarks about Mrs Summers as Harry jotted down the details for the team to check out. As soon as he was able to get her off the phone, he asked the local police to help them out again and see if they could contact Donald Summers’s family and, if possible, obtain the name of his dentist.

  Anna waited in the small interview room for over half an hour. She spent the time looking back over the reports of Idris Krasiniqe’s arrest and trial. Carly Ann North had been missing for four days before her body was discovered. She had a string of previous prostitution charges and arrests. No matter what a wretched life she had, to have been raped and butchered was sickening. Idris had admitted to the crimes, he also admitted to trying to dismember her. He pleaded guilty to all charges, but denied that he had ever given the names of the two other men at the scene; he swore that they were just passing and that he didn’t know them. However, the police had two samples of semen from the victim. One was matched to Idris; DNA from the other remained on file. When questioned about her rape, he said that Carly Ann was a tart and had probably been with a number of men before him. According to a friend of hers, however, she had been trying to clean up her act: she was off drugs and had started going to a rehab centre of her own free will. There had been a sighting of a white Range Rover close to where Idris was arrested, which had driven off when the uniformed officer approached. It had never been traced. Anna underlined this: she could not recall if this had ever been brought up.

  Anna looked up as she heard footsteps, then keys turning in the door. She shut her briefcase and put it down beside her chair.

  The uniformed officer looked in and smiled. ‘We’ve got him for you, but we’ve had to cuff him. Shall we bring him in?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Do you want someone in here with you?’

  ‘Just outside the door, please.’

  ‘Have to keep his cuffs on then.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He held the door open and a second officer gestured for Idris to be brought into the room.

  Anna was taken aback at how young he was. He was astonishingly handsome. His skin was a golden olive shade and he had piercing blue eyes. He was about five feet ten and very slender. He was wearing a prison jumpsuit zipped up to his chest.

  ‘Sit down, Idris,’ she said politely.

  He remained standing rigidly. The officer took him by his shoulders and rammed him into the seat. It took a few moments before he bent his knees and sat. He held his hands in the cuffs in front of him.

  ‘Can we have some coffee?’ she asked, and then looked at Idris. ‘Or do you want tea?’

  He shook his head and looked at the floor.

  Anna said in that case, she wouldn’t either; the officers hovered until she gave them the nod to leave. Idris swivelled round to look at the door closing behind them. He then turned back to stare at Anna.

  ‘My name is Anna Travis,’ she said.

  He bowed his head.

  ‘I wanted to see you, as I am taking care of a prisoner held in Parkhurst prison. His name is Eamon Krasiniqe.’

  No reaction.

  ‘We are very concerned about him.’

  No reaction.

  ‘He is very sick.’

  No reaction.

  ‘He also committed a crime inside the prison. Do you know, or have you ever met, an Arthur Murphy?’

  No reaction.

  Harry Blunt hung up and went over to Langton’s office. He knocked and entered.

  Langton was sleeping at his desk, his head resting on his folded arms. He jerked awake when Harry tapped on the desk.

  ‘It’s looking like Travis could be right,’ Harry said. ‘We just had the dental records sent over to the lab. This Donald Summers had three teeth missing from his top layer. He left Newcastle, presumably with Gail Dunn and, according to his mother, moved into some place out in the New Forest. She hasn’t seen him for the last eight to ten months. She said she’d had one phone call to say that he was working on a farm. He’s got sandy hair and is six feet one, aged forty-two.’

  Langton yawned. ‘The lab come back with anything on how he died?’

  ‘Well, there’s a crack in his skull the size of a meat cleaver, but nothing’s firmed up yet. The manure on top of him did a good job at fermenting his remains.’

  ‘Okay, start asking around all the locals again, and get that bloody landlord back in; see if he ever met him.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Langton sat back in his chair. ‘Still nothing on Camorra?’

  ‘Nope. Could be he moved out of Peckham. He could be Christ knows where.’

  ‘The leg wasn’t his,’ Langton said.

  ‘Yeah, they got an ID on a drug dealer it belongs to. Bloody terrifying, isn’t it? I mean, that case you were on, Carly Ann North–the bastards were hacking her body up.’ Harry gave a gesture of despair. ‘Bloody animals out there on the loose. I got two kids and I keep on thinking about those two little souls. I mean, I don’t know what else we can do. They’ve had their pictures in every paper for weeks now, and not so much as a whisper. Gov?’

  Langton’s head was back down on his folded arms. Harry hovered for a few moments and then walked out. He went into the incident room to find Mike Lewis.

  ‘Is he okay?’ Harry asked, jerking a thumb at Langton’s office.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Well, he was sleeping when I went in, and just sort of went back to sleep whilst I was talking to him.’

  ‘Maybe he’s tired of your voice.’

  ‘Very funny. It’s not as if we’re dormant in here, is it? Bloody body count’s mounting every five minutes.’

  They were interrupted by Grace, who had just received confirmation that the skeleton was that of Donald Summers.

  ‘Oh, that’s terrific!’ Harry grunted and threw up his hands. ‘Just got to find the bastard that put the meat cleaver through his skull!’

  Anna had kept talking. She explained how she had arrested Murphy, she discussed the death of Gail and she mentioned Sickert–and she had not had one single response from Idris. He either stared at the floor or directly at her with his ice-blue eyes. She was beginning to think she had had a wasted journey.

  ‘Idris, I have been trying to explain to you the reason I am here. If you are not related to Eamon Krasiniqe, then you can’t help me, but it’s so sad: he’s such a young man.’

  She had saved this until the end.

  ‘I have been given a lot of help from Doctor Black; I don’t know if you are aware of who he is, but he has a clinic in the East End.’

  Anna was really playing off the cuff: she had read about this Dr Black, but had never met him.

  ‘But he needs to have some background detail, or he can’t help Eamon. So I was just hoping you might have information, otherwise he will die from whatever voodoo hex was put on him.’

  At last there was a reaction: the blue eyes widened and the perfect full lips were sucked in.

  ‘I am aware of how terrifying voodoo threats can be, how much they can harm an individual, but Doctor Black—’

  ‘Voodoo,’ Idris whispered.

  Anna shrugged her shoulders but her heartbeat quickened; she’d got to him and she knew it. ‘Maybe you don’t believe in it, but Eamon does. Unless we can understand more about why he should be so affected…Poor boy is like a zombie, have you ever heard that expression? I think it’s called the walking dead.’

  Idris was now attentive. He sat bolt upright, his cuffed hands clasped together. She waited a moment but he said nothing. She was trying to think what to do next; then she remembered.

  Lifting her right hand, Anna pointed her index finger just above Idris’s head and made the slow circular movement, just as Eamon had done. His blue eyes flickered from side to side; he turned to stare at the wall, then looked back to her.

  ‘Time.’ He whispered so softly, she could only just catch it.

  Anna leaned forwards and lowered her voice. ‘Idris, he doesn’t have it–he’s dying. Please tell me anything you can that might help him.’

  Idris lowered his head to look over to the door. Anna followed his gaze. Through the glass window, they could both see the outline of the waiting officers and, in the pause, could even hear their whispered conversation. As if suddenly aware that they could not hear Anna’s voice from the room, one of the officers peered in through the glass, shading his eyes to see clearer.

  Anna lifted her voice slightly. ‘Obviously anything you say will not go any further.’ She then leaned closer, whispering, ‘They can’t hear us, Idris.’

  He slowly lifted his cuffed hands to point to her notepad.

  She picked it up. ‘You want this?’

  He nodded. She passed it over, together with her pencil. He spent a few moments staring at the empty page then, like a child, wrote very slowly; then sat back and turned the notebook towards her.

  He had written in childish looped writing. ‘He is my brother.’

  ‘Then you have to talk to me,’ she said urgently. Again, he took the notepad; this time, he wrote faster, but with the same intense look on his face.

  Again, he passed the notebook back. Save him, I talk, I tell you things.

  ‘But Idris, I need to know more. I can’t use this–it means nothing. If you are his brother, then for God’s sake, tell me what you know.’

  He shook his head, a stubborn expression on his face.

  ‘All right, listen to me. I am going to repeat the names of people I need information about. If you know anything, then nod your head; you don’t even have to say a word.’

  He chewed his lips.

  ‘You don’t even have to write it down.’

  He gave a short nod of his head. Anna started to list all the names of suspects they wanted to question: she started again with Sickert and, this time, Idris nodded. She said a few more and got nothing; then, at the mention of Rashid Burry, again he nodded his head. He stared blankly when she asked about Gail and her children. He gave no reaction to DCI Langton’s name. The only major reaction was to Camorra: when she said his name, his face twisted and he licked his lips, his blue eyes darting back and forth. She then asked if he had lied about the men who were with him on the night he had killed Carly Ann North and he gave a small shake of his head.

  Anna could feel him closing off. She reached over to take the pencil back, knowing never to leave a prisoner anything he could take back to his cell.

  ‘You have to help me a bit more,’ she said.

  He shook his head and gestured again at the officers. He then bent forwards, his hands clasped together in his lap, and spoke softly. ‘Help my brother. I talk then.’

  As soon as she got home, Anna sat down and wrote up all the new information she had acquired. It did not look much. The relationship between Idris and Eamon Krasiniqe might turn out to be important as a connection to Camorra; however, none of it looked like it was leading towards to the killer of Gail Sickert and her little daughter, nor did it connect to the death of Gail’s husband, Donald Summers–unless Camorra was the link between all the murders. If this was true, then Langton was not, as she had suspected, re-routing the murder enquiry for his own ends. Just as she accepted this, her doorbell rang.

  Langton leaned against the doorframe.

  ‘I was going to bring you some chicken soup, but then I found out you were fucking lying. You’d better have a very good explanation.’

  She led him into the lounge, her cheeks flushed. ‘Sit down,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you.’ He sat on the sofa and looked at the coffee-table loaded with her notes and files.

  She sat opposite him. ‘How did you know?’

  He looked up: he had planned to visit Krasiniqe himself, so had called the prison–only to be told that a DI Travis was already interviewing him. Langton stared at her.

  ‘What the fuck do you think you are doing?’

  Anna hesitated. ‘I just felt I wasn’t doing enough.’

  He shook his head. ‘Really.’

  ‘Yes, and I’m sorry–it was unethical of me.’

  ‘You can say that again.’ Langton rubbed his knee, and then leaned back, closing his eyes. ‘I could throw the book at you, Anna.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Any reason why you think I shouldn’t?’

  Anna paused. ‘I have been very concerned about you.’

  He opened his eyes.

  ‘You are taking on too much. It was obvious the other day and so, I just thought if I could do some legwork—’

  ‘If I had wanted you to do that, I would have asked! This was a bloody stupid and, as you said, unethical way of you so-called helping me. You simply took off, making enquiries without supervision, without permission and whilst lying about being ill; constantly calling into the incident room to see if there were any developments, while you were busy working on your own. You want to take over the investigation, is that it? You think I’m incapable or something? What is it with you, Anna? This has happened before. You got off lightly then, but I don’t know if I am going to accept the excuse that you were acting because of—’