The mess that Camorra had created was threatening to come too close to Orso’s business empire. When Orso was informed about Arthur Murphy’s threats, he gave the orders for Camorra to get rid of Murphy; he didn’t care how he did it.

  All Orso needed was for Johnson to deliver something to Krasiniqe, who would deal with Murphy; that would end all the problems.

  Johnson said he wasn’t feeling good about it, but Orso insisted he should go along with it. ‘I swear before God, on my children’s lives, that was all I did. Orso told me to pick up this package and go to visit a bloke called Courtney Ransford. I was to hand it over. That was all I did.’

  Langton pressed on, asking about Gail and her children.

  Johnson closed his eyes. ‘No sooner did Camorra sort out the Carly Ann thing, than another problem surfaced. Sickert was getting uptight: the police had been round looking for Murphy and he got his wires crossed–he thought they was coming for him. He was sick and he was screwing Murphy’s sister. I dunno what went on there; all I know is Mr Orso was furious and went round to Camorra in Peckham. I drove him there. I dunno what happened, as I was parked outside; he was there no more than fifteen minutes. Next thing, it all spirals out of control: the press is full of pictures of Sickert and these two kids, and the bodies found at Murphy’s sister’s place. Mr Orso said to me he was shutting down the Peckham house, as Camorra was too much of a liability; but his main worry was that Camorra knew his entire business. He said he would bring Camorra to his place and keep him holed up there until he could get him out of the country. He said he had to clear up the Sickert problem first.’

  Johnson continued, explaining that Orso and his wife and daughter went abroad for a holiday, while his men went to the bungalow. Camorra and Rashid Burry brought Sickert, and Murphy’s sister’s two kids, back to Peckham.

  Langton leaned over the table. ‘So, are you saying that Camorra and Burry went to pick up Sickert?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess so.’

  ‘Gail Sickert was found murdered; so was her small daughter.’

  ‘I swear before God I dunno what they did. I was just looking after the house in Redhill.’

  Johnson said that when Orso and his family returned from their holiday, he expected it all to have been finished with. However, Camorra was at the house when Sickert turned up with the two kids. He saw his wife, Ella, and started screaming about where his own boys were. Orso tried to calm him down.

  Johnson was tired out. His head drooped, and he sucked in his breath. ‘Sickert did a runner out the back door with the kids. I couldn’t find him. I dunno where he went.’

  ‘Did you have a fight with him?’

  ‘I tried to get him to calm down, but he was real crazy; we had this fist-fight. One of the kids–the little boy–was trying to pull me off him.’

  ‘And Camorra was also at Mr Orso’s residence?’

  ‘Yeah, I’d picked him up while they was on holiday. By this time, he’d shut up shop in Peckham and Mr Orso was making arrangements for him to leave the country.’

  It took another hour for them to read back David Johnson’s lengthy statement to him, and for him to sign it. When the trials were mounted, he would become a vital prosecution witness. The statement would have to be checked out; until Langton was satisfied, Johnson would be held at the station.

  Armed with the information from Johnson, Langton waded into the interrogation of Emmerick Orso. On the advice of his solicitor, Orso refused to answer any questions and said only, ‘No comment.’ His arrogant, handsome face showed not a flicker of remorse when the charges were read out; he just stared straight ahead. Langton decided not to waste any more time on him and had him taken back to his cell.

  The team were gathered in the incident room, taking a break, when Langton was asked by one of the uniformed officers if it was still permissible for Camorra to have food brought in. Langton joked that he wanted to personally check it out: with what Camorra had got away with so far, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had the key to his cell in the steak tartare! As they ate sandwiches and coffee, Camorra ate a three-course meal. Harry Blunt went on a tirade about allowing the bastard to eat special meals: his lawyer had requested the permission, as his client had an eating disorder! Langton seemed in no hurry to begin the main interrogation. Time was on their side.

  Camorra was brought to the interview room with his solicitor. He was cocky, and said that he should be allowed to have a change of clothes; he indicated his scruffy tracksuit. The laces had been removed from his trainers and he wore no socks. He was asked to state his name and address, and whether he understood the charges he was to be questioned about. Anna wondered if, like Orso, he would play out the ‘No comment’ strategy, but he leaned back in his chair, smiling. He gave his name as Eugene Camorra and his address as Orso’s property.

  ‘Did you know Carly Ann North?’

  ‘Yes, very well: she was my girlfriend.’

  ‘Could you tell us where you were on the fifteenth of November, last year?’

  ‘Yes, I was at my house for most of the day; in the evening, I was playing cards with four friends. If you want to know why I remember the exact date, it’s because that was the night she was found murdered. It was a terrible thing, to be told that one of the men working for me, Idris Krasiniqe, had killed her.’

  Langton and Anna listened as he went into a lengthy explanation of how shocked and distressed he had been, as he had loved her. He was stunned when they told him that Carly Ann had planned to run away with Krasiniqe’s brother, Eamon.

  ‘I gave that girl everything. When I first met her, she was out whoring on the streets; she was on drugs and I took her in and cared for her. I wanted to marry her–nothing was too much for me to do for her.’

  ‘We will require a DNA sample from you.’

  The man leaned forwards. ‘I had sex with the bitch before she left me, so whatever you need my DNA for won’t be any use. That’s how she tricked me–she made love to me and then, as soon as my back was turned, she ran off.’

  ‘Did you own a white Range Rover?’

  ‘No, it belonged to Mr Orso’s company. I never drove it. I’ve got a problem driving automatics–can only drive ones with gears–so I never used the car. One of my guys drove it: Rashid Burry.’

  ‘Are you saying that you were never inside the Range Rover? You were never a passenger?’

  ‘Could be. You see, I am trying to answer everything you ask me, because some of the charges you are trying to pin on me is just out of space, man. You got to understand, I work for Mr Orso; I am just employed by him.’

  ‘But you admit that Idris and Eamon Krasiniqe worked for you?’

  ‘In a roundabout way, yes; it’s like they work for me but also work for Mr Orso, know what I mean? He sends me the brothers and they stayed at the house in Peckham.’

  ‘Could you please list the names of the people you employed who lived at those premises?’

  ‘Christ, I dunno; they came and they went.’

  ‘Just start with recently: the men and women living at the house with you?’

  It was like pulling teeth: each question, Camorra took lengthy explanations over, claiming he had a bad memory for names. He constantly threw in Rashid Burry’s name and, each time, made him seem more important in the running of the house. The more he talked, the more he attempted to distance himself from anything to do with the house in Peckham. He claimed not to be aware that some of the people over whose heads he ‘just gave a roof until they settled’ were illegal immigrants. He could not recall meeting Arthur Murphy, but said that perhaps he had not been at the house when Murphy had called round. He denied knowing Vernon Kramer and constantly implicated Emmerick Orso, saying that he was just his employee.

  ‘You gotta understand, I was more or less running a kind of bed and breakfast; there was a lot of traffic every week. I got someone cooking and doing laundry, but basically that’s all I was doing–running the place.’

  Camorra did not recall very much about Joseph Sickert: just that, at one time, Sickert had stayed at the Peckham house. He did not know anything about any arrangements Sickert had made with Mr Orso for his wife and family.

  The more they questioned him, and appeared to accept his answers, the more confident Camorra became. He made wide expansive gestures, at times appearing amused and at others times appearing to be concerned, as he gave some thought to their queries. He had laughed when asked if he was practising voodoo.

  ‘Oh, man! As if! That’s a load of shit those idiots believe in. Me? No way, man, no way–it’s not my scene.’

  Anna asked if he could give her an example of what his day-to-day routine was.

  ‘Well, you know, I’d have to check the kitchen, see what we needed: bread, sugar, cleaning equipment…You’d be amazed at how much garbage we’d have–I used to get these big rolls of industrial black bin-liners. Some of these people that stayed had no English and shat on the floor. I’m not kidding–they was like animals.’

  ‘Did you look after children at the house?’

  ‘Sometimes they’d be sent over, yeah, but I’d get one of the women to see to them.’

  ‘Can you give us a list of the children who were brought to the house?’

  ‘Christ, I dunno. Like I said, they came and went.’

  ‘Did you ever perform any kind of ceremonies at the house?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you at any time perform ritualistic ceremonies at the house?’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘There is a cellar at the house, isn’t there?’

  ‘Yeah, but that was used mostly for keeping the dogs. You know, I am very worried about my dogs ’cos Mr Orso’s not at home; who’s taking care of my dogs?’

  Anna said they were in the police kennels and being well looked after. At this point, Camorra licked his lips and said he was thirsty. Langton shrugged. The old station did not have any water fountains, so they had brought water in with them in a large plastic water bottle. This was now empty.

  ‘Do you know a Doctor Elmore Salaam?’ Langton asked.

  ‘No. I’m really thirsty,’ Camorra repeated.

  Langton bent down and picked up a smaller water bottle from beside his chair; he unscrewed the cap and poured out some water for Camorra, then half-filled his own plastic cup.

  ‘You have never been to him as a patient?’

  ‘No–well, maybe. Name rings a bell, but I don’t remember seeing him.’

  ‘Have you ever practised voodoo?’

  ‘Me? No way, man! Like I said before, I don’t go with all that shit.’

  Langton glanced at Anna, then turned back over pages of his notes, tapping his pencil. ‘You have admitted that you had numerous people staying with you at the house in Peckham, amongst them children; we will need their names and forwarding addresses.’

  ‘I dunno where they are; you know, they was just transient. Few days, sometimes a few weeks, then they was found work and moved on.’

  ‘So you never kept any record of these people you say stayed?’

  ‘Look, all I am is an employee of Mr Orso. He would arrange their work permits. They went all over the country.’

  ‘Did you ever have Joseph Sickert’s two sons staying?’

  ‘I didn’t even know he had kids.’

  ‘But you knew his wife, Ella Sickert?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She was working for Mr Orso.’

  ‘Then I might have met her; like I said, Mr Orso would arrange his own domestics.’

  ‘In the house at Peckham we found a printing press and—’

  ‘I know it was there,’ Camorra interrupted. ‘Mr Orso had people come in to work, you know; you’ll have to ask him about that.’

  ‘Do you know what it was used for?’

  ‘Well, we had to do a lot of copying–for references and so on.’

  ‘You were aware that the people sent to stay at the house in Peckham were illegal immigrants?’

  Camorra held up his hands. ‘Okay, look–I admit I maybe suspected they was not in the UK legit, right, but I had nothing to do with bringing them in. Like I keep on saying, all I did was work for Mr Orso. I got paid well so, like, I didn’t ask questions.’ He gulped down the water and licked his lips. ‘I need to go to the toilet,’ he said.

  Langton checked his watch and broke off the interview for a toilet break. Camorra was taken out by an officer; his solicitor remained in the room. Langton picked up his water and walked out into the corridor. There he lit a cigarette and used the beaker as an ashtray.

  Anna leaned against the wall. ‘Well, we’ve got no comment from Orso; Camorra’s laying everything at his feet.’ She hesitated. ‘When do you start to put the pressure on him?’

  Langton shrugged, walked over to a bin and tossed the plastic cup inside. ‘When he gets back, we go from the top again. I’ve just let him run. A lot of the other cases are linked to him; he was obviously doing more than just following orders, but you know what the reality is: the most incriminating evidence we have against him is the murder of Carly Ann, plus harbouring illegal immigrants and running a brothel.

  Anna went to the cloakroom and splashed cold water over her face, then combed her hair. By the time she returned to the interview room, Camorra had been brought back. He was sitting next to his solicitor, but crouching in his seat, complaining of feeling hot.

  Langton was already checking through the massive file in front of him and talking Camorra through his rights again. The tape was switched back on. Langton gave the time and date. ‘Now, Eugene, you’ve been very helpful, but we will need to go back to questioning you about the murder of Carly Ann North.’

  ‘I’ve told you all I know about her. I had nothing to do with her murder. That was down to Idris Krasiniqe, and you got him banged up for it. He admitted it; his brother was screwing her.’

  ‘You have stated that at no time did you drive a white Range Rover.’

  ‘I can’t drive automatic, I told you this; I was never in that bloody car.’

  ‘On the night of Carly Ann’s murder, this vehicle was seen—’

  Langton was interrupted. ‘I don’t give a shit who saw whatever–I wasn’t in it.’

  ‘You are lying, Mr Camorra.’

  ‘I am not fucking lying: that Range Rover was used by Rashid Burry. I have never even been inside it.’

  ‘We have a fingerprint that matches yours. You do recall that when you were first brought into the station, your fingerprints were taken?’

  ‘Look, I might have been driven in it once or twice, but I told you: on the night Carly Ann was murdered, I got witnesses that I was with all night.’

  Suddenly, Camorra whipped round in his seat to stare at the wall behind him; he brushed his shoulders frantically and then turned back to Langton, who continued.

  ‘You have admitted that on the night of her murder you had sex with her: what time?’

  ‘I don’t fucking remember. She was my girlfriend, right? I had sex with her all the time.’

  ‘We have a statement from Idris Krasiniqe that you in fact raped Carly Ann.’

  ‘That is bullshit. She was my girlfriend! I never had to rape her.’ Again, he turned in his seat and brushed at his shoulders; then he became very agitated.

  ‘Mr Krasiniqe claims that you then forced him to have sex with her whilst his brother was injected with poison and made to watch.’

  ‘I am not gonna listen to this, because it’s all lies. Those two brothers cheated on me; that little bastard Eamon was screwing my girl. Maybe, if I—’

  There was a pause. Camorra licked his lips. He had started sweating: it was dripping down from his hair and patches appeared under his armpits.

  ‘If you maybe what?’ asked Langton.

  ‘If I maybe pushed that little bastard around, I admit to that–but she was my girl, right? I’m telling you, I could have had the pick of hundreds of them, but she—’ He gasped for breath and licked his lips.

  ‘Did you ever inject Eamon Krasiniqe with a poison called Jimson weed?’

  ‘No, no! I never done anything to him but knocked him about: he was screwing my girl, in my own house!’

  ‘So you now admit that the house in Peckham was your property?’

  ‘No! I never said that–I wish, man, I wish. That was some place; I done all the decorations, but I didn’t own it.’

  ‘So you prepared the cellar?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The cellar, Mr Camorra: do you need me to remind you of what it looks like?’

  He was shown a photograph. He glanced at it and then turned away. ‘I never went down there. I just told you, I didn’t own the place.’

  ‘Do you know the effect of Jimson weed?’ Langton asked quietly.

  There was a flicker in Camorra’s eyes, then he laughed. ‘No, I never heard of it.’

  ‘So you did not prepare rock cakes containing the substance Jimson weed?’

  ‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’

  ‘We have a statement saying that you passed rock cakes to a Mr David Johnson; he was instructed to take them to—’

  ‘That is a fucking lie! What do you think I am? A cook?’ Suddenly, Camorra stood up; this time, he made wafting movements with his hand, as if someone or something was behind him.

  ‘Please remain in your seat,’ Langton said.

  Camorra slowly sat, but kept on turning back to look at the wall behind him; he constantly brushed at his sleeves, as if something was crawling over his body. By now, the sweat was glistening on his face; droplets fell from his hair and he breathed like a panting dog. ‘I feel sick,’ he said.

  His solicitor asked if he needed a doctor. Camorra leaned forwards, clutching at his head. Langton waited; after a lengthy pause, he sat upright.

  ‘Are you well enough to continue this interview?’ he asked.

  Camorra said nothing; spittle was forming in white, frothy globules at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Mr Camorra?’ His solicitor leaned towards him.

  Camorra cowered back. ‘I don’t want this man in the room with me,’ he said angrily.

  Camorra then pushed back his chair and began to rant at Langton and Anna that he did not trust either of them. He wanted to leave the room; he didn’t feel well. It was quite obvious to them all that Camorra was becoming more and more anxious and his behaviour more erratic, then bizarre: he started to babble and curse, then lay on the floor. Officers were called in to take him back to his cell.