‘Two days ago, during his recreational period, Krasiniqe asked to make a phone call. He had only a few pence left on his phone card, so wanted to make a reverse charge call. This was denied. The following day, he had acquired enough money to make a call. He was waiting some time, as the phone on his wing was in use. Krasiniqe became very abusive about waiting, as he said it was a very important call. The officer on the wing gave instructions for the prisoners ahead of him to get a move on, or the recreational period would be up. This is the reason we are aware of the call. He finally got to make it; according to the duty officer, it was after the call that he started to act oddly.’
‘Oddly?’
‘Yes. He became very subdued, and when told to return to his cell, he appeared to be very disorientated. He was led to his cell, and lock-up went ahead. During the night, the officers reported that he was not in his bed, but standing up. He was told three times to go to his bed, but made no answer. The following morning, he was still subdued and didn’t eat. During recreation—’
‘The phone calclass="underline" you record all outgoing calls, right?’
‘Well yes, but you know we have hundreds per day. We did find on a cigarette packet a phone number; it could have been the one dialled by Krasiniqe. It’s a mobile phone number; no name.’ He passed over the report of the contents of both prisoners’ cells, and Langton copied down the number that was listed.
Langton was then shown photographs of the body of Arthur Murphy. The knife had cut his throat in one slice.
The Governor gathered up the reports and photographs. ‘Krasiniqe has not really spoken since the attack. He is vacant and submissive, and does not seem to recall anything of the incident.’ Langton sipped a glass of water as the Governor continued. ‘The other accused, Courtney Ransford, has made a statement that he was coerced into holding Murphy down whilst Krasiniqe cut his throat.’
He licked his lips, stacking the reports on his desk, packing them neatly into the files. ‘He claims that Krasiniqe was “zombied” and if he didn’t help him, he would suffer the same fate. Do you know what zombied means?’
Langton looked to Anna and then back to the Governor.
‘It’s a voodoo term,’ the man explained, ‘the ability to make someone appear like a zombie. It sounds incredible, I know, but if somehow Krasiniqe was got at, and if his belief is strong enough, then God only knows what the mind will do. Surely now you can understand: if this was made public inside here, it would create havoc.’
Anna and Langton were shown into a small interview room. A uniformed officer waited outside. There were just two chairs and a table, so Anna would have to stand during the interview.
Courtney Ransford was led into the room handcuffed, wearing prison issue denims. He was a big, raw-boned man with stiff spiked hair, and his hands were like big flat shovels.
Langton spoke very quietly, forcing Courtney to lean forwards to hear clearly. He had never heard of Joseph Sickert, he said, he had never heard of Gail Sickert and he did not know Rashid Burry. His bulging, red-rimmed eyes were vacant; when asked to explain what had happened in the exercise yard, he hesitated, then, in a voice that was like a growling animal, said he couldn’t remember anything.
‘You held a man down whilst his throat was cut, and you claim not to remember anything about it?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
‘This action will put ten years on your sentence. How does that make you feel?’
‘Bad.’
‘So why don’t you help me? Because I can help you.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yes.’
‘What can you do for me?’
‘Get you maybe a lighter sentence; depends on how much you are willing to—’
Courtney leaned even closer across the table. ‘Man, you can’t help me, and no way do I want it known that I even said two words to you, so fuck off and leave me alone.’
‘That scared, are you?’
‘Yeah, you could say that.’
‘Scared so bad you are willing to get another life sentence?’
Courtney leaned back, looked up to the ceiling and started sucking his teeth.
‘I could also get you moved to another prison.’
Courtney shook his head. ‘Listen, man, there is nowhere, no place they can’t find me. That creep deserved what he got, so why bother me?’
‘Who’s they?’
Courtney glared.
‘If you give me names, I’ll see what I can—’
‘You can do nothin’, man, hear me straight? You can do nothin’, not for me, just like I ain’t doin’ nothin’ that can make me like that poor fucker. He’s walkin’ dead.’
‘And you’re not?’
‘No. No! Officer! Officer, get me out of here!’ Courtney screamed for the officer waiting outside; he showed for the first time a real fear.
Langton tried to calm him. ‘What are you so scared of?’
It had no effect. Courtney wanted out, and eventually Langton had no option but to let him leave.
They waited for almost fifteen minutes before they heard footsteps outside the room. Eamon Krasiniqe was twenty-two years old, yet he shuffled into the room like a frail old man. He was glassy-eyed and his hands hung limply at his side. He had to be helped to sit; he seemed so vacant, as if he had no idea where he was.
Langton tried to question him, but Krasiniqe made no reply. His lips were wet and he dribbled saliva down his chin. His huge expressionless eyes were like dark holes and he didn’t look at either Langton or Anna but at some fixed point ahead of him.
‘Why did you kill Arthur Murphy?’ Langton asked.
Krasiniqe slowly lifted his right hand and pointed with his index finger to the space between Langton and Anna. He then twirled his index finger in a slow circle. They both turned to look behind them; there was a clock on the wall. They had no idea what it meant, unless he was indicating their ten minutes were up! Having got nothing, not even one word out of him, they watched as he was led back to his isolation cell.
When they left the room, a prison officer was waiting to take them back to the main gates. He was a friendly, broad-shouldered man in his thirties. Langton walked ahead of Anna, asking the officer what he reckoned had gone down. He said the attack had caught everyone off-guard, as there had been no lead-up to it. Murphy appeared to get along with Courtney, and they were often seen playing table tennis together. Courtney also knew Krasiniqe well; as the latter was so young, Courtney had taken him under his wing. They had never seen the three men arguing. It had happened very quickly. Murphy was left lying on the ground, as Krasiniqe stood there with the shiv still in his hand; he made no attempt to palm it. Courtney had tried to extricate himself from the murder, but he had blood sprays over his denim shirt.
Langton mentioned that the only response Krasiniqe had made was to imitate the movement of the clock’s hands in the interview room.
‘Yeah, he does that all the time. Sort of points ahead of himself and twists his index finger. No idea what it means, but then we have no idea what’s the matter with him. Doctors have checked him over and it’s not drugs; there’s whispers going round about voodoo. We’ve all been given instructions to sit on them — you know, not let it get into a rumour that starts a bush fire.’
As they were boarding the ferry to head back to London, Langton got the first good news of the day. DC Grace Ballagio had run the name Rashid Burry by numerous hospitals and learned that he had been attended to in the emergency section of a hospital twenty miles out of the New Forest area, suffering from a kidney infection, and had given his address as the hostel in Brixton. The date of his admission and treatment coincided with the days after Anna had been to see Gail, and matched the date that Vernon had admitted to being at the piggery. It also fitted with the time Gail went missing. However, the description of the patient did not fit Rashid Burry — but it did Joseph Sickert.