‘Pull over, up by that row of shops on the right,’ Anna ordered. The driver slowed down and then indicated to park on the street. Anna told him to go into the small newsagent’s and get some water while she got out of the back seat and opened Langton’s car door. He was hunched forwards in his seat; the coughing had stopped, but he was gasping and still hardly able to breathe.
Anna told him to try to straighten up, but he remained crouched forwards, panting. The driver hurried over with a bottle of water, undid the cap and passed it to Anna.
‘James, here: take some water. Sit back if you can.’
Langton slowly uncurled his body and sat back against the headrest. She passed him the bottle and he gulped at the water, drinking almost half the bottle before he gave it back to her.
‘Do you think you should get out and walk for a minute?’ she asked concerned.
‘No.’ It was hardly audible. He patted his pockets for his pills, and she leaned over him to take them out.
‘Not those,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Try the briefcase.’
Anna reached for his briefcase and opened it: there were four bottles of pills stuffed into the flap. She took one out and showed it to him, but he shook his head. She showed him a second bottle.
‘Yes, two.’
Anna took out two pills and passed them to him with the water. He took them and his chest slowly stopped heaving.
‘What are these for?’
‘Chest pains; be okay in a minute.’
Anna screwed on the cap and put the bottle back into his briefcase. She then felt his forehead. ‘You’ve got a temperature.’
‘No, it’s just the sweats. I’ll straighten out in a minute. Shut the door; go and sit back in the car.’
The driver was outside, leaning on the roof, unsure what he should do. Anna closed Langton’s door, and nodded for him to return to the driving seat. They sat for a few more moments, then Langton said he was fine and they should keep going. They drove on, Langton leaning back on the headrest, eyes closed. Anna remained silent, watching him, deeply concerned; then she saw that he was sleeping and she started to relax. She caught the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror looking at her.
‘He’s overworked,’ she said quietly.
He nodded and continued to drive. Anna, like Langton, closed her eyes, but she didn’t sleep. Instead, she tried to piece together the jigsaw and how the links all led to Camorra, as Langton had suggested. Had this nightmare man got hold of Gail’s two young innocent children? If Vernon was the father of Gail Sickert’s little girl, even though he had denied it, he didn’t even react when he was told that both mother and baby were dead. These people, Anna thought: these sick, perverted men.
She also thought about the unidentified little boy whose body was found in the canal. The investigation into his death had concluded that the child could well have been used in some kind of voodoo ritual. He had quite possibly been brought into the country illegally; she wondered if he had any link to Camorra and decided that, on her return to the incident room, she would contact the officers involved in that enquiry.
When they arrived at the station, Langton was still sleeping. In a low voice, Anna told the driver to go and get himself something to eat, and not to close the car door.
She crept into the driving seat and sat beside him. His breathing was now calm, and she was loath to wake him. She checked her watch. It was after four, and she wondered if the team had any results; she could see by the line-up of unmarked patrol cars that they were back in the station, probably waiting for Langton. She eased open the car door, not wanting to wake him, but he stirred.
He sat up and looked out of the window. He said sleepily, ‘We back?’
‘Yes.’
He turned in surprise to see her sitting in the driving seat beside him. ‘What you doing?’
‘I sent the driver to get something to eat. It’s after four. I was just going to wake you.’
‘Oh.’ He took a deep breath and opened his door. He then hesitated, and turned to her. ‘Might need a bit of help getting out; my knee’s frozen up.’
She walked round and he held out his hand to clasp her arm as he slowly and painfully winched himself out, almost making her topple over as he stood up.
‘Sorry about this,’ he said softly.
‘It’s okay.’
He could not let her go, he was that unsteady.
‘Why don’t you take off to that B and B you’re staying at and get some rest?’ she suggested.
‘I’ll be okay in a second; my knees just got cramped from sitting in the car for so long.’
Being so close to him, literally holding him up, she felt such overwhelming emotion. If she had released her hold, he would have fallen.
‘Like old times,’ he whispered.
She looked up at him. His five o’clock shadow made his face even more gaunt, and his eyes had deep dark circles beneath them.
‘I’m worried about you,’ she said.
‘Don’t be — and give that driver a quiet word: tell him not to put this about. You know what gossips these stations are. See? I’m okay now.’ He let go of her and bent into the car for his briefcase; he grinned, swinging it. ‘Better get to work,’ he said, as he slammed the car door shut.
She dangled the car keys. ‘I’ll give these to reception and see you up there.’
‘Okay,’ he said, and moved past her; the strength of will it took for him to walk unaided and with no sign of pain touched her. She turned away to get her own briefcase out and lock the car, so she didn’t see him lean against the wall, gasping, as he pressed in the entry code to gain access to the station; nor did she see him haul himself up the stairs, one at a time.
She also missed his entry, as he banged into the incident room and said cheerfully, ‘We all gathered? Gimme a few minutes and we’ll have a briefing.’
He sauntered into his office, everyone oblivious to how ill he felt and how much pain he was in, he slammed the door closed and shut the blinds, then opened his briefcase and took out a bottle of pills. He downed them using a cup of cold coffee left on his desk.
Anna went into the canteen and got a sandwich and coffee to take into the incident room. She had that quiet word with their driver, who was halfway through his eggs and chips, and had just reached her desk, when Langton’s office door opened and he strode into the incident room. He was energized and showed no sign of fatigue or pain. He clapped his hands.
‘Okay, everyone, let’s get cracking. I had a very interesting conversation with Vernon Kramer.’
As Anna ate her sandwich, Langton made large notes on the board, drawing more arrows linking the named suspects and pinpointing Camorra as the prime target. At the end, he tossed the pen aside and, hands on hips, looked to Harry Blunt and Mike Lewis.
‘Right — let’s hear about your day!’
Blunt and Lewis detailed their search for Camorra’s residence. They had trawled the streets and the electoral roll, to no avail. They had questioned estate agents in the Peckham area, and done street searches of any property possibly owned by Camorra, but at the end of the day, had come up with zilch. They had no result from the press articles asking for information and no result from the television news coverage, apart from crank calls.
Langton was edgy and impatient; everyone was coming up blank. Even the update on Murphy’s murder was negative. Both men involved were still held at Parkhurst, and there had been no change in the zombie state of Krasiniqe, apart from him now being incapable of feeding himself.
By now, it was almost six o’clock; everyone was tired and ready to quit for the night. It was Grace who stirred up their energy. She had read in the Evening Standard that a refuse company had called in the police after the discovery of a limb, found in a skip.