Eamon Krasiniqe lay on a narrow bed. The room was otherwise empty, apart from a small steel chair. There was, above the bed, a large domed light that could be drawn down. Langton, Travis and Esme were led into a small viewing room. They gathered by the window and looked in, as Dr Salaam switched on the overhead light and aimed it at the sick man. He lay completely still. Only his breathing showed that he was still alive. His body seemed stiff; the hands at his sides were straight, his fingers outstretched.
The doctor took a wooden spatula and brought the lamp down over the sick man’s head. He was painstakingly slow, examining every inch of the thick black tight curly hair. He then checked each ear, behind and inside, and then around his eyes and nose. It was eerie: as Krasiniqe’s eyes were opened, he just seemed to stare into the light. The doctor placed the spatula inside his mouth and focused the light to get a clearer view.
Langton glanced at Anna. Salaam was certainly taking his time. He went over the sick man’s body literally inch by inch: chest, arms, fingers, belly. Then he drew the light very close; opening the legs a fraction, he bent down and searched over the genitals. He then took out a small silver pen-light and bent even closer.
Langton whispered to Anna, ‘Well, he’s very thorough…’
After a while, he straightened to examine the legs. As he turned the man over, Mike Lewis joined them and quietly said that the other prisoner involved in the murder, the one who had held Murphy down, had not been physically examined, but he had been drug tested. They had found traces of marijuana, but nothing else; no heroin or cocaine.
Langton gestured for him to be quiet: Salaam was turning off the overhead light.
They all reconvened in the anteroom. Salaam sipped a glass of water.
‘There is a drug that can create a zombie-like effect. It’s actually nicknamed Zombie’s cucumber or Jimson weed; the Latin name for it is Datura stramonium. This is a poisonous plant, similar to deadly nightshade, and is often used in voodoo practices by quack witch doctors. In those who have been injected over a period of time, it produces an inability to talk or move. They get delirious and often have hallucinations. The effects can last for days or weeks, depending on the dosage. It can also cause seizures and comas, and will eventually kill you. There is no antidote.’
Langton looked at the doctor and waited, but he remained silent. ‘Is that what he’s got?’
Dr Salaam gestured for him to stay quiet. ‘You have to understand, if someone believes in voodoo and is threatened that a hex will be placed on him, it is the strength of the belief that is of most importance. If that person has been, shall we say, unwilling to do whatever is wanted, and that person then ingests even a little Datura stramonium, he would feel frightening symptoms. All parts of the plant are toxic. The poison causes a dry mouth, dilated pupils and a high temperature. The early psychological effects are confusion, euphoria and delirium. According to Eamon’s medical report, he showed signs of all of these; even, I believe, during his trial. At times, he was incoherent, babbling and confused, is that correct?’
Langton was getting impatient. ‘Is that what he’s got? Is that why he is the way he is?’
Salaam took out a large white notepad with the outline of a male body. Using a pen, he indicated with tiny dots. ‘Eamon Krasiniqe has several small puncture marks: on the top of his head, right earlobe, and four more around his genitalia; he also has another near his anus. These puncture marks are still visible, but they can be very easily overlooked. I will obviously require blood and urine to test, but I would say from all his symptoms that he has been fed a considerable amount of this poison over a considerable length of time.’
‘Can you cure him?’
‘No. Medical intervention should have been sought earlier. We may have some time, but he will eventually have a cardiac arrest. He is dying, both from the poison and from his own conviction that he is under a voodoo hex, making him one of the walking dead.’
Anna coughed. Everyone turned towards her. ‘Would ECT help? Maybe give him more time?’
‘Possibly. His mind is controlling him. He has been punished for something; we do not know what. He does not understand that he has been poisoned, not controlled by voodoo witchcraft.’
Langton looked at his watch. He asked if they could get some refreshments brought in for the doctor and his wife. He would need time to discuss the doctor’s prognosis with his team.
Langton slumped down in a leather chair; Mike Lewis rested on the arm of another.
Anna sat down opposite them. ‘We need to get permission from his brother to give him ECT. If he knows everything we’ve just been told, he might agree; unless he does, I doubt if we will be able to give the go ahead.’
Langton said brusquely, ‘Listen, if it could help, fuck getting any permission — we do it. The kid is dying.’
Anna sighed. ‘I know, but we need Idris Krasiniqe to help us. He will only do so if his brother is seen to recover. If he’s not — and, judging by what we’ve been told, he won’t recover — then this is all a waste of time and money.’
‘You think I don’t know that?’ Langton snapped.
‘I am sure you do; all I am asking is, can I have time with Idris? If necessary, we bring in the doctor to talk to him. Maybe we hedge round the fact that it’s unlikely that Eamon can be saved, but if we give him hope… What did that boy do, to deserve to be poisoned like this? It had to be something big; maybe something connected to Camorra.’
Langton turned to Mike Lewis. ‘I want the names of everyone who visited Eamon Krasiniqe in the cells, at the police station, at his trial; anyone who could have got to him there, and in the prison.’
‘He had no visitors at the prison,’ Anna said.
‘Maybe he didn’t, but what about the bloke who held down Arthur Murphy? See who visited him. There has to be a link somewhere. If some bastard was controlling his mind through this poison, it had to have been fed to him. You heard what the doctor said: he’s got Christ knows many fucking needle pricks all over his body, so somebody was still doing it to him, right?’
Anna nodded. Langton was working himself up into such a temper. She tried to calm him down. ‘In the meantime, can I talk to Idris? Bring in the doctor if need be, yes?’
Langton nodded.
‘How long will we have him for?’ she wanted to know.
‘The doctor?’ Langton asked.
‘Yes.’
‘As long as we bloody need him. We can take him back to the safe house and bring him back here again if necessary.’
Anna nodded and then gave a small smile. ‘I’ll go and talk to him.’
‘Fine by me. I just want a few words with Mike; you go ahead.’
Anna left the room.
There was a long pause. Finally, Langton sighed. ‘This is gonna cost me and I’m not just talking about the budget that’s gone through the roof.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Sometimes I feel as if I’ve lost my way. I think I have let this get out of hand.’
‘Not if we do get something.’
‘Come on, you saw the kid; he’s on his way out, and we’re pinning our hopes on the bastard who murdered that little hooker Carly Ann North. It doesn’t make any sense. I’d like to go in and beat the shit out of him — maybe that would get him to talk.’
‘Maybe it wouldn’t. He’s got fifteen years for murder; that’s not much incentive to give us any help.’
‘She seems to think he knows something.’
‘Anna?’
‘Yeah, Anna. A lot of this is down to her interview with him.’
‘I wondered about that. She just took off, did she?’
‘You could say that.’