Just as Anna put the phone down, it rang again. It was Alison from the Child Protection Unit.
‘I just wanted to tell you that we have made a lot of progress with Keith,’ she said. ‘We have also found a foster carer who is prepared to take both children. She’s been spending time with them here, getting to know them, and will be taking the children at the end of the week.’
‘Could I come in and talk to Keith?’
‘Yes, that is why I am calling. However, I don’t have to remind you how precarious his recovery is. I can’t allow him to be questioned too long and, if it is too emotional for him to deal with, then you will have to wait.’
Anna felt the hairs on the back of her arms standing up as she replaced the receiver. She then returned to Langton’s office and gave him the update.
He sighed. ‘Okay, do you want anyone with you?’
‘I think I should go it alone; he has met me before.’
‘Good luck then.’ And he went back to his reports.
Langton was going over the statements of Eamon Krasiniqe’s cellmate, Courtney Ransford. They still did not have the identity of the person who had visited Ransford. He had steadfastly refused to give any information, bar the fact he did not know the man who came to visit, and the death of Eamon had made no difference. Langton called in Harry; he told him to take Brandon and have another try.
‘He has maintained that he did not know the bloke and was surprised that he had a visitor. He has also denied that he was passed any of this poison. Can we put some more pressure on him? He’s awaiting trial as a category A prisoner for helping Krasiniqe kill Murphy: let’s call that a twelve-to twenty-year sentence. Add to that a few more years when we charge him with fucking poisoning him, he could be a very long time behind bars.’
Harry shook his head. ‘I dunno, these bastards — he doesn’t seem to give a shit. But why should he? He’s got three meals a day, gym, TV, bloody computer train—’
‘Just go, Harry,’ Langton snapped.
Alison met Anna in the reception, and said that Keith was in the play area. This was a larger room than the one she had first seen him in. A big open space, it had lots of toys and, in one corner, a games console. She couldn’t believe the change. Keith was standing by the machine, playing with another small boy; they were shrieking and shouting.
‘Keith, do you want to come and sit and talk to Anna?’
Keith continued to play, then jumped up and down, clapping his hands; he had obviously won! He turned to look at Anna, his eyes bright and his cheeks pink with all the excitement.
‘This lady is a police officer,’ Alison said. ‘She’s brought you something very special.’
‘What?’ he asked, like any normal inquisitive child.
Anna sat a small low table. Alison drew up a chair for Keith to sit on, but he hovered.
‘What have you got?’ he repeated.
Anna took out a very authentic-looking black plastic wallet. ‘It’s a detective’s badge, Keith, like a real policeman’s. A plain clothes one though, not a policeman in uniform. I have a proper notebook and a pencil as well, for you to write down notes.’
Keith sat down. He fingered the badge and then opened the notebook.
‘That’s for when you question a suspect. You have to always make notes, so you don’t forget anything.’
‘Have you got handcuffs?’
‘Well, I can get you some, but we have to sort of test you, you know, to be a detective. I need to know if you could make an arrest.’
He nodded.
‘Do you know what that means — to arrest someone?’
‘Yes, put bad men away.’
‘Correct — that is exactly what I meant. You question them, and it’s called evidence, and you write it down in your book. Then you arrest them if they are bad.’
‘Put handcuffs on them?’
‘Yes, that’s right! Do you think you would make a good detective?’
‘Yes, I got a badge!’
‘Yes, that is yours.’
‘Can I go in a police car?’
‘Oh, that depends. I will have to ask you some questions and then, if you can answer them, you’ll get your handcuffs and a ride in the car.’
‘Can I have a gun?’
‘No, detectives don’t have guns, they’re only for the special squad.’ Anna was on tenterhooks; it was going so well. She told him to open his notebook, ready to write down information. ‘Do you know any bad men?’ she asked.
He gave her a strange look, and she wondered if she had gone in too quickly.
‘Or, can you tell me about the last house you were in? Or a house you think may have bad people inside?’
He became a little agitated, then twisted the pencil. ‘How do you spell “detective”?’
‘Oh, don’t worry about spellings. It’ll be your secret code. We often write words in a funny way.’
He began to write, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrated, taking great pains over each word.
Harry and Frank Brandon waited in the visitors’ section, in a room used for solicitors to interview their clients. It was a small room with three chairs and a table. The door was part glass, so the prison officers could monitor the interactions, but they could not hear conversations. A speaker was high up in one corner; the small window was also high up, and barred.
‘How do we work it?’ Brandon said quietly.
‘Just like we discussed: give it to him straight. You got a problem with it now?’
‘No, just checking we’re playing the right roles.’
‘Don’t fucking start,’ Harry said, as they heard footsteps.
Courtney Ransford was huge, with square shoulders and a body builder’s torso. He sat down and his handcuffs were removed by the uniformed officers who had brought him in.
‘Thank you for agreeing to talk to us,’ Brandon said politely.
Ransford shrugged as the officers left. ‘Anything for a bit of relief from the boredom. What’s this about?’
Then, as Brandon opened a notebook: ‘If it’s anything to do with Arthur fucking Murphy, I’m not answering. I’ve been questioned and shit so many times, I’m losing count. Why don’t you just say that it was a job well done? The bastard was into rape; he was a sicko.’
‘Couldn’t agree with you more,’ Harry said, and he meant it.
‘I gotta stand trial for it. Arseholes.’ Courtney flexed his muscles.
‘You know Eamon Krasiniqe is dead?’
‘Yeah. He was a crazy anyway.’
Brandon coughed and leaned forwards. ‘You got a possible twelve to twenty for helping hold down Arthur Murphy. I am here to question you on another charge that could get you a lot longer.’
‘What?’
‘Murdering Eamon Krasiniqe.’
‘Wait! When did this fucking go down?’
‘I’m just here to discuss—’ Brandon began.
‘Discuss what, for fuck’s sake?’
‘—that you fed poison to Eamon Krasiniqe.’
Harry tapped the table. ‘I was with him when he died. He said you’d given him something called Jimson weed. It’s a poison — very potent.’
‘Like he did! He couldn’t do nothin’ but stare at the fucking wall, so what is this?’
‘We have his statement and his post-mortem report. He was fed this poison in prison and we have you as his cellmate; we also have you being visited by someone who we believe passed you the—’
‘I am not fucking believing this, man.’
Harry wagged his finger. ‘Well, you’d better, because you got a lot coming your way for Arthur Murphy — you could be looking at another ten on top of that! Now, I am just here to help you. All I need is the truth. Who was this visitor and what did he pass you?’