No sooner had the buzz died down, when a second call came in. This time, it was Brandon who took it.
‘Scotland Yard: they’ve opened the Range Rover. There’s something in the back of it.’
The naked body was wrapped in black bin-liners. It was that of a black male, around six feet four, with cropped hair, minus a front tooth but with two gold teeth. The body had been virtually folded in half to make it fit inside the boot.
The patrol car with Langton and Anna sped up to London, followed by Harry Blunt and Brandon. The crusher’s yard was already awash with spotlights when they arrived and a team of experts was preparing to strip the car down. The boot remained open; the body had not as yet been removed.
Langton took Anna’s elbow and led her to the back of the Range Rover. The black plastic had been slit to enable them to see the dead man’s face. A scientist wearing gloves and a mask gently eased the head round for Anna to get a better view. She moved closer and, from behind her mask, asked if they could use a spatula to lift his lips, so she could clearly see his teeth.
‘Yes, it’s Rashid Burry,’ she said.
Langton nodded for them to continue working; the police would be able to confirm the man’s identity from fingerprints on record. There was little else for them to do until the scientists and pathologist were ready for them. The mortuary van pulled in, ready to transfer Rashid to the mortuary, as Langton spoke briefly to the head forensic officer. He confided quietly that they were desperate: they needed anything they could get from the car that would help their investigation. He was reassured that forensics would remove the seats and the wheels to check the vehicle inch by inch, inside and out.
Mike and Brandon remained at the yard, but Langton wanted to get back to the incident room. Returning to the car, he seemed very subdued.
Anna gave him a small smile. ‘We just got lucky. I’m sure this is a major step forwards.’
Langton wasn’t that confident. He sat in the front seat, eyes closed, as Anna contacted the station to tell everyone that Langton wanted a press blanket on the new development.
By now it was after nine. Anna was tired, but needed to collect her own car from the Hampshire station. She couldn’t think of anything more to say to him, as he remained with his eyes closed, so she gently reached out and touched his shoulder.
‘You okay?’
‘Yes.’ He rubbed his eyes.
‘You want some water? I have a bottle with me.’
‘No.’
She looked out of the window, and watched as the night traffic passed. She wanted to ask Langton about his sessions with the voodoo doctors, or cranks as he called them, but he seemed not to want any interruption. The driver drove in silence, never glancing back to her in the rear seat. She closed her eyes, then opened them quickly when she heard a soft low moan; she leaned forwards to look at Langton, but he appeared to be asleep.
Langton could feel the blade cutting into his flesh, the flash of agony erupting through his entire body. He fell forwards as the blood spurted; the slash to his thigh cut it wide open, slicing through his clothes as if they were made of butter. Then he fell backwards down the stairs. His heart pumped so ferociously he truly felt it had been hacked apart. His brain was splitting in two with the searing pain.
He wasn’t sleeping: he was wide awake.
The man grinning, as Langton’s blood sprayed over him, was the man whose face he had just seen through the slit in the black bin-liner — a face he had been unable to recall in any detail until now. But Rashid was not the man who had slashed him; he was the man standing behind his attacker. Rashid Burry had been there. Rashid Burry had witnessed the attack — and he had laughed.
Langton kept his eyes closed; he would keep this to himself. It was imperative that no one knew. If it was made public, he would be replaced — and the case was what was keeping him going through the persistent pain he had to deal with every day and night. Langton knew he was getting closer to tracking down the man who had wielded the machete. He didn’t want to find Camorra dead; he wanted him very much alive.
Chapter Fifteen
Rashid Burry’s photograph, pinned on the board, now had a red cross over his face. He had been garrotted, the thin cord still left around his neck, and had been dead for around forty-eight hours. They would have to wait for further information until the post mortem and the forensic examination of the Range Rover were complete but, as everyone gathered for an update, there was a much more positive feel.
Langton appeared, refreshed and energized, as he gave the details of the discovery. He then discussed his interaction with the voodoo doctors; he made them laugh, with some funny stories about the cranks and timewasters he’d had to interview. He then moved on to the one meeting he felt might have been beneficial.
‘Okay, we have a doctor calling himself Elmore Salaam — whether that’s his real name or not, who knows? He has a pretty substantial practice in the East End, with certificates plastered all over the waiting room. He has worked in Haiti and Jamaica, and is originally from New Orleans. He’s married to a woman called Esme, who acts as his receptionist and nurse; she is the one who shepherds his patients in to see him. He works on what appears to be a mostly cash basis, but it looked legit; he assured me that he pays his taxes, and I believe him. He looks the business: long white robe, heavy crucifix and a lot of gold rings, but I noticed he had pretty expensive loafers on underneath! He was very eloquent and gave me a long diatribe about his work as a healer. His patients are often suffering from anxiety and simple afflictions, for which he prescribes herbal remedies.’
Langton paused to sip his coffee before he continued. ‘To get him on to voodoo took some time, as he was at pains to explain that it was not his practice; that said, he is an authority on its rituals and has written a number of paperbacks.’
Langton held up a few thin volumes that looked as if they had been printed off his own computer.
‘He was very serious, explaining that some of his patients have been scared rigid. Many of the people who come to him are illiterate, and it takes many sessions using his knowledge of psychology — in which he has a degree — to calm them into understanding that whatever curses or hexes have been put on them can be eradicated.’
Harry Blunt stifled a yawn. Anna knew that he didn’t believe in any of that crap and would be impatient to know where it was all leading, but just then, Grace Ballagio joined Langton.
‘Okay, whilst the Gov was getting the info from the doctor, I spent some time with Esme. She was not very forthcoming to start with, but opened up when I did a bit of Pinocchio, saying my aunt lived in New Orleans and that, unlike my boss,’ she grinned at Langton, ‘I was a believer.’
Grace continued, explaining that they were interrupted every so often by patients with their so-called prescriptions, so Esme was kept busy, measuring out powders and counting out pills by hand in a small anteroom, which gave Grace the opportunity to have a quiet look around. There was a desk with a diary and a chart, with a list of names. When Esme returned, Grace asked her about this, as she would be very interested in learning about her husband’s work. Esme told her that she would have to talk to the doctor himself, as this was a private practice.
‘I tried to get her to open up and explain what the private practice was. She was very edgy and said that she didn’t approve, but running the practice cost money, and some of the patients didn’t have any, so they did what they had to do.’