Langton pinched the bridge of his nose.
‘If that would be possible,’ she added lamely.
‘He is still alive — just,’ Langton said. ‘They are trying to feed him intravenously, but he won’t let them. He even tried to bite off his own tongue.’
She looked at him. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘About you?’ he said softly, without moving.
‘No — Idris. I am certain he has information, and if this is a way to get it then we should move fast.’
Langton gripped the side of the sofa and rose, gritting his teeth; he was very obviously in pain. ‘I’ll organize something.’
‘Great! Do you want something to eat?’
‘No. I need sleep. I’m going back to my place.’
Anna walked with him to the front door. ‘What about me?’ she asked.
He turned, resting his hand on her shoulder. ‘Ah, Travis, you will have to wait and see. I’ve not decided, but it’s going to have to be put on report — you know that, don’t you?’
She stepped back. ‘Do I also put on a report that you are still suffering—’
He gripped her shoulder tightly. ‘Don’t try making a fucking deal with me. You are so out of line, and lucky I haven’t already kicked you off the case. I haven’t, let’s say because of past relationships, but from now on, you tread the line or I’ll bloody get you demoted — do you understand?’
She felt his fingers digging into her, and it hurt. ‘Yes, sir.’
He released his hold on her and she opened the front door. ‘First thing, I want you to go over to Clerkenwell station; a pal of yours is part of the enquiry into the body of the boy found in the canal — DI Frank Brandon. Have a talk to him and see what they have come up with. Then get back to the incident room for a briefing at two.’
He walked out, not looking back at her as he headed for the lift. He never used to take it, but she knew that he was unable to walk down the stairs without pain these days.
‘Goodnight,’ she said quietly.
He turned to look at her; he had such a strange look on his face. ‘You are a clever girl, Anna. I care about you. Don’t blow your career. You have just come very close to it.’
The lift opened and he stepped in before she could say anything. She shut her front door and went into the kitchen. From the window, she watched him limping across the road. There was an unmarked patrol car waiting; she hadn’t seen him drive since his attack. She saw how much difficulty he had getting into the front seat; eventually the driver came round to help him.
Anna returned to the lounge and stacked all her notes and reports into her briefcase ready for the morning. She felt as if she was on automatic pilot. Even getting ready for bed, cleaning her teeth, putting on her nightshirt, she couldn’t kick her brain into action. Unable to sleep, she got up and brought her briefcase to bed. She sat, propped up by pillows, and forced herself to read up on the case of the unidentified boy whose dismembered body had been found in the canal.
It was now many weeks after the wretched discovery. To date, they had no report of any missing child of his age and race. He was estimated to be six or seven years old; his head was missing, as were both hands. He had marks to his small torso that were possibly linked to some sadistic ritual. It had been estimated that hundreds of children had been brought into the UK illegally and then disappeared without trace. Gail Sickert’s children — about the same age — were still missing. She doubted that they could have been taken out of the country, but this was a possibility; another was that somewhere in the UK, they were being used for sexual perversions or sadistic rituals, possibly voodoo ceremonies.
She shut the file. If Camorra was involved in their case, either directly or indirectly, she was certain they would eventually trace him. However, if Camorra had instigated illegal entry for Sickert, Rashid Burry and God knows how many others, he could have a virtual army to make sure he was protected. He must also have a lot of money; these desperate people were paying thousands for fake documents to get into the UK. It would also mean Camorra had a hold over them for the rest of their lives.
Anna glanced at the clock: it was coming up to 2 a.m. She put all her files back into the briefcase and turned off her bedside light, then lay staring at the ceiling in the darkness. Langton was right — she was more and more sure of it. As he often said, there were never any coincidences, just facts.
Back in his own flat, Langton had taken a double dose of sleeping tablets to try and obliterate the pain in his leg. It had got no better; in fact, it seemed to feel worse. He topped the pills off with half a bottle of whisky before he crashed into a deep, troubled sleep. The mounting case file and lack of results tore at him. He knew he had to watch his back from now on: the one person he had cared for deeply was also the one ready to stab him in the back, and the revelation had shocked and pained him.
Old Jack Travis had spawned a detective as wayward and as obsessive as he had been. As a young, wet-behind-the-ears detective, Langton had wanted to prove himself better than anyone else on Jack’s team. The old man had taken him out to a pub and ordered a pint for each of them.
‘You are the best that’s come out of training school in a long while, Jimmy, and you’ve got a big future ahead of you. But unless you become a team player, and play on my team, I am kicking you off my investigation.’
Langton had almost swallowed his beer backwards; he had thought Jack was taking him out to congratulate him on his work.
‘Every man and woman working on this enquiry answers to me, and I protect them. You will need for the future to build friends, not make enemies inside your own camp.’ The big man had put his arm round the chastised young Langton’s shoulders. ‘You earn loyalty, Jimmy; you earn it.’
After the case had been filed, Langton was promoted as a result of a report made by Jack Travis. In part, that was the reason why Langton had brought Anna onto his team for her first murder case. It was also the reason he had saved her career in the Red Dahlia investigation: he was loyal to Jack Travis. He would now have to give Jack’s daughter the same lecture Jack had given to him. It was not going to be easy.
Chapter Thirteen
Anna and Frank Brandon sat opposite each other in his station’s canteen. He was back to using that same cologne that made her eyes water, but he was still very friendly and greeted her warmly.
He stirred his milky coffee, shaking his head. ‘My God. From what I hear, you are up to your eyes in a nightmare case.’
‘You can say that again. It’s the reason I’m here.’
‘Yes, I know. Your boss had words with my SO. I can take you down to the incident room, if you can call it that; we’re about to close the file. We’ve come up with zilch — no identification. We’ve tried every avenue. I guess we’ll get what’s left of him buried.’
‘So you’ve still got his corpse?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’d like to see it.’
‘Sure, I can run you over there, but you won’t get much, bar a bad night’s sleep; poor little sod.’
‘Doesn’t he have markings on his body, as if he’s been subjected to some kind of ritual?’
Brandon nodded. ‘Yeah, but we’re not sure what kind. We’ve even been to see a voodoo expert at London University. He seemed pretty clued up — spent a lot of time in Louisiana and New Orleans. We also went to see some quacks in the East End.’
‘Can I have all these contact numbers?’
‘Of course. He also suggested that they could be tribal markings, but we’ve not got any confirmation. All we know for sure is he was around six or seven years of age, and died from asphyxiation, but even the autopsy was hedgy. His last meal was rice and fish, but he was quite undernourished.’ He sighed. ‘He was somebody’s son and yet no one has come forward, which underlines the fact that he could have been brought into the country illegally.’