‘How you doing?’ she asked softly.
Idris gulped, trying to control his weeping.
‘We could have lied to you, but we felt it was imperative to be totally honest with you. Surely now you can see that someone has been slowly killing your brother? He has been suffering and must be in terrible pain, mentally and physically. So, if you have any idea who may have done this to him, tell us! Surely you’d want us to punish him?’
Idris wiped his eyes and whispered, ‘I’m scared.’
Anna reached out to hold his hand. ‘Talk to me, Idris — trust me.’
Anna hurried along the corridor and into the anteroom to find Dr Salaam passing Langton some tablets.
‘We’re going to do the ECT, permission or not,’ Langton said, swallowing the pills. He then turned with a smile to Esme. ‘You sure these aren’t the deadly nightshade?’
She smiled back and shook her head. ‘I am also going to make up a list of tablets and powders that’ll help you.’
Anna was impatient. ‘Listen, I think Idris is going to talk, but first he wants to be examined by Doctor Salaam. He’s terrified that someone could be feeding him the same poison. He has been segregated for weeks, he’s never gone on the recreational ward and he’s been paying for one of the kitchen staff to make his meals — those he eats in his cell — but he’s scared.’
Langton raised his eyes to the ceiling.
‘He called it Jimson weed,’ she said.
Dr Salaam said this nickname for Datura stramonium came from when it was used against the British soldiers in Jamestown, USA. It was sprinkled on their salads and a tincture of it was put into their drinks.
‘Well, thanks for the history lesson, Doc. Now please, go and have a look at him, and make it as fast as possible.’ Langton opened the door for the doctor; then checked his watch and followed him out.
Making sure they were out of earshot of the room, he lowered his voice. ‘Hold it one second: I want you to “find” some small trace of this Jimson weed in his system that you say can be cured. Feed him pills, if you have to; do anything you can to make it authentic, okay? We need something to scare the pants off him.’
Dr Salaam nodded and walked away, as Lewis arrived with coffee and some curling sandwiches.
Langton updated him as they both walked back into the room. ‘This is getting to be a farce. Every minute we lose, that kid could snuff it; now all his brother is worried about is that he’s got it as well.’
Lewis had obtained the list of visitors. The first to visit Eamon Krasiniqe after his arrest was Rashid Burry, now dead himself. The others they had not yet begun to question; Frank Brandon was checking out the addresses left with the prison’s visitor officers to see if any were authentic. They were also questioning Eamon’s legal team from his trial.
Langton fretted inwardly. This meant yet another run-around for the team; it was making their case spread, and look even more out of control.
Lewis smiled. ‘Got some positive news from forensic though, Gov. Hairs and a partial fingerprint have been matched to Carly Ann North. There were also some fibres that could be from wherever her body was kept before it was taken to the dismemberment site.’
The interior of the Range Rover had been given a thorough clean but, beneath the glove compartment, they had also found two clear prints belonging to Rashid Burry; a third print was being tested but was, as yet, unidentified.
Langton seemed to relax, perhaps because they were moving forwards, or perhaps because the herbal pills were working, if not on his leg, then his mood. He munched on one of the stale sandwiches and helped himself to tepid coffee from a pot.
Esme was quietly unpacking her box of equipment: the rubber guard for Eamon’s mouth, the electrode plungers and suction caps. She laid them all out very neatly on a piece of white cotton and used a disinfectant cloth to wipe them all down.
She looked up at the clock on the wall and gestured with her forefinger, moving it round in a circle. ‘Time is ticking. We should check on Eamon Krasiniqe.’
Anna recalled seeing the same gesture made by the dying boy in the prison cell. ‘You know, that was the only gesture that Eamon made.’
Esme gave a small shrug. ‘You mentioned it before; it’s just a habit, you know, to indicate time. Some of the patients we have are illiterate and cannot tell the time, so I often use this as a sort of indication.’ She pointed again to demonstrate. ‘When the large hand is back to twelve, you come in to see me.’ She gave a soft smile. ‘When we put the clocks forwards or backwards, that causes confusion: they believe they have lost an hour as punishment!’
‘Did Camorra see you do this?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Did you ever see the Krasiniqe brothers?’
‘I would have to check my books, but you know many use assumed names and give false addresses.’
‘Come and have a look at him,’ Anna said, then hesitated, looking at Langton. He gave a small nod of his head.
He watched them both leave the anteroom. ‘Should have thought of that myself,’ he said, reaching for another sandwich.
Whilst Dr Salaam examined Idris Krasiniqe, Anna led Esme into his brother Eamon’s room.
He lay completely still, eyes open and staring at the ceiling, his body rigid, his breathing very shallow.
Anna stood by the door as Esme moved to the sick boy’s bedside. She leaned over him and, with one hand, she gently soothed his head with soft strokes. He showed no reaction; she rested the back of her hand against his cheek.
‘Poor boy; my poor boy.’ She held onto his hand, all the time making soft hushing sounds, as if to a baby.
‘Do you recognize him?’
‘No, I don’t — but you know, we have so many patients, and over so many years. He might have been to see us, but I don’t honestly know. I’m sorry.’
They left the room and went back to where they had left Langton.
Esme seemed upset; she asked Anna why, with all the equipment here, they didn’t use any of it. Anna was surprised; with all her herbal remedies, she wouldn’t have thought that Esme would approve of intravenously feeding him or attaching him to a heart monitor.
‘When he was first taken to the prison hospital, they tried to help him, but he refused to have any treatment. He even signed the documents.’
Esme shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t have known what he was doing.’
‘But we have to take it as that being what he wants. When they had IRA prisoners who went on hunger strike, the prison officers were not allowed to feed them or give any form of resuscitation if they collapsed.’
Esme rested her hand on Anna’s arm. ‘Those people were using their bodies as weapons against authority; that poor boy probably didn’t even know what he was signing.’
Anna felt irritated; Esme seemed to be accusing her. ‘Well, if that is the case, you won’t have any reason not to give him ECT.’
Esme pursed her lips. ‘That will not be my decision.’
No, Anna thought to herself, it will not be. The person who would be making the decision was Langton and he, as they saw when they re-entered the room, was fast asleep, lying on a trolley.
Chapter Eighteen
Idris Krasiniqe was zipping up his prison jeans. He had lowered them to his knees so that Dr Salaam could check his for possible puncture-marks. There were none. He asked Idris whether he often felt that his mouth was dry; he replied always — the officers in the prison got pissed off with him forever asking for water.
When asked if he also felt that his face was red, Idris had managed to smile, shaking his head. ‘I’m partly black — so I dunno if my face goes red or not! It feels hot sometimes, but I dunno about it being red.’