Langton remained in the small interview room as Silas was led away to the cells and Margery Patterson left. "One down, one to go," he said quietly to Phil, who had not said one word during the entire interrogation. "Strange, isn't it? You first think we have this kingpin serial killer, wiping out everything and everyone in his way, and then it turns out to be two punks on a dirty crumbling estate, high on the stuff they're dealing to more part-crazed kids. Then they get gun happy and kill. Poor old Frank Brandon was a good guy; we still don't have the reason why he was at that shithole with Fitzpatrick—if that's who he was with."
"Maybe they were looking for Petrozzo?"
"Maybe." Langton nodded. "Question is, who killed Petrozzo?"
Sam Power popped his head around the door. "I got some fresh coffee for you. We're bringing up Delroy Planter from the cells. Might be a few minutes; his solicitor's not turned up yet."
"Thanks."
"You get a result?"
"Yep—and coffee sounds good." Langton had to grit his teeth to stand; he held on to the back of the chair for a few moments.
"You want it in here or in the incident room upstairs?"
"Need to stretch my legs and take a leak, but back in here's fine."
Phil watched Langton walk out. He was impressed, and somewhat self-conscious at how he had conducted his earlier interviews with Silas and Delroy. Langton was giving him a master class.
Langton returned to the interview room to wait for Delroy Planter. He stood, leaning against the wall, using his BlackBerry. "Mrs. Julia Brandon has just turned up to be requestioned," he announced. "Should be interesting."Phil looked up as the handcuffed Delroy Planter was pushed into the room. Langton gestured to the seat and then proceeded to read him his rights, as his solicitor sat, opening his briefcase. The tape was switched on and Langton pointed to the video recorder. He then poured a beaker of water for Delroy and filled his own, placing the water bottle down beside him. Phil passed him the files; then they all waited as Langton slowly read Delroy's previous statement. Then he put it to one side and stared hard at Delroy. He didn't look away; his eyes were dark and angry."We have a statement from your friend Silas Roach.""Yeah, an' you got one from me an' all." Delroy leaned back and grinned; a gold tooth glinted on the front row of his teeth.Langton sipped his water, placing the plastic beaker down carefully. Still, it left a small wet ring. "You are being charged with—"He was interrupted. "Yeah, man, I know what I bein' charged with, and I put me hand up. I said it all when we was first brung in.""You are now to be charged with the murder of Frank Brandon, and also with the murder of Stanley Leymore."Delroy sprang to his feet, shouting that it was bullshit. His solicitor asked him to sit down, but he jumped up and down on the spot, accusing Langton of framing him. "Listen, man, I never done nothing!"A uniformed officer waiting outside came in, and pushed Delroy back into his seat."Where you think I'm fucking going with these on?" He held up his handcuffed wrists."You'll be going down for eighteen, that's where you'll be going."Delroy shook his head as Langton read sections from Silas Roach's statement. "He's a fucking dead man.""So let me hear your side of it, Delroy. We know you lied about Donny Petrozzo being at the squat on the night of the shooting."Eventually, Delroy began to talk. They gained more information about Petrozzo trying to make a deal, having been a regular buyer,scoring from Delroy for a number of years. As Silas had said, Delroy claimed it was mostly small amounts of cocaine and hash, sometimes some tabs, but he was a good customer and always paid up front.Petrozzo had approached Delroy, asking if he could do some really big business with him; he knew someone who had a big stash of gear that he wanted to off-load and, between them, they could make a lot of money. "But I said to him, what gear was he talking about? You know I run a tight business; I keep on the move, right? There are gangs of bastards trying to squeeze in and I got to be careful. Just keeping my team together is fucking hard, so I wasn't sure about getting too big. I mean, I don't have the facilities to stash big loads of hash or grass, know what I mean? Anyways, he says this stuff fits into a real small box, no bigger than this."Delroy mimed with his hands the size: about eighteen inches by ten. "I says to him, what the fuck is in that? He says it's a drug called Formalyn. I never heard of it, but he says it's worth millions. I says, how the fuck did he think I could lay my hands on that cash? Said he was off his rocker. He then says if we do a deal, me to use my runners, we can split the profits; says he's got the gear. I didn't believe him—he was a bullshitter—but then he says he's gonna bring us some stuff to test it out." He started to laugh.Petrozzo brought him two vials of the stuff and said they could either inject it or take it liquid. "I mean, I honestly didn't know what this fucking stuff was, so I ask around a few contacts, an' I start to get some interest, so next time he appears, I says to him, we can maybe do some business. He wants ten grand; I says I need to think about it—I mean, ten grand is big money—so I give him five in cash.""Do you mean Fentanyl? Is that the drug on offer?""Yeah, yeah—that's the word.""Did you do the deal?""Nah, 'cause he never showed up—and we got a problem, because one of the kids that took some of this stuff snuffed it. Next thing, we get a rap on the door, and there's this cop ..."Delroy implied that it was an accident; that nobody intended to shoot, but it was all panic. He denied that he was the shooter, and placed the blame on Silas. He said that they ran from the squat. Their first port of call was to Stanley Leymore, as they knew he was friends with Petrozzo, and they got their vehicles from him. Delroy explained that Leymore denied knowing anything; he swore he hadn't seen Petrozzo for months, and told them to leave.While Stanley went to the toilet, they searched around and found some cash hidden under some tires. "That money was mine. That old bastard lied to me. That motherfucker was always trying to rip us off. He was screeching that it was his money and nothing to do with Donny fucking Petrozzo; he said he'd got it from sellin' a jeep and he could prove it. He started to get up, really screaming his head off, his pants round his ankles ...""You killed him?""No, not me—Silas, he done it. He was crazy; he'd been coked up all night since we had that cop round at the squat. He'd been smokin' crack all morning; his nose was streamin' like a tap."Langton poured more water for himself and asked Delroy to make a new statement. He was not that interested in who had pulled the trigger; that would be down to further interrogations and the eventual trial. What he was interested in was trying to assimilate the actual series of events. Langton took out the photograph of Alexander Fitzpatrick as Delroy leaned his head on his hands, his elbows on the table. "Do you recognize this man?"Delroy glanced at the photograph, then shook his head."He could have been with the man you believed was a police officer—this man." Langton showed the picture of Frank Brandon's body."He was a fuckin' Drug Squad shit. I recognized