‘I didn’t know the prick was gonna turn up here.’
‘No, but he did.’
‘My steak’s okay,’ David interjected.
There was a pause as the crockery and cutlery clanked; then there was the sound of a cork being popped open, wine being poured and glasses clinking.
‘How long will it take for Milton to get the gear ready? I’ve been printing them off for fucking years with no problem; now he’s fucking us around. When is he coming?’ asked the crude voice.
‘When he’s ready. If you hadn’t fucked up at the house, none of this would have been a problem. In fact, you started going off the wall with that girl. Ever since then, you have been screwing up and we have been trying to clean up after you, so don’t push me. I don’t like it.’ Emmerick sounded tense.
‘Yeah, well, we all know why you put up with me: take a look around you! And it’s not just this place — you need me. You need to treat me right and with respect, man.’
‘I got some new videos for you,’ said David.
‘I fucking need something; I’m going stir crazy stuck up there.’
‘They’re on the hall table,’ said David.
There was the sound of a scraping chair, more wine being poured and then receding footsteps.
‘You got a real problem with him,’ said David.
‘I know,’ responded Emmerick.
‘How deep is that lake?’
There was a soft laugh; then footsteps as Mrs Orso walked back in.
‘You want coffee? I’ve also got some plum tart.’
A second officer put his hand up. Langton watched as he switched to a different wire transmitter, then listened. They were picking up the microphone hidden in the hall.
‘Hello, sweetheart, how was school today?’ It was the crude voice again.
There were giggles and childish laughter, then footsteps.
‘Rose, go into the lounge — now.’ Mrs Orso.
More footsteps; then Mrs Orso back in the kitchen.
‘I told you not to let him even eat with us, let alone move in here. I don’t want that animal anywhere near her.’
No one had said anything yet, but Langton was certain that the crude-voiced animal in question had to be Camorra.
Coming in now were the checks on the employees of Orso’s company. Brandon and Harry had taken details, not just of the men working there at the present time, but all employees from the past two years. The list of names and addresses on Orso’s payroll was endless, and they kept coming up as not registered.
Mike Lewis was nonplussed and contacted the Serious Fraud Squad: hundreds of thousands of pounds were being moved around in pay cheques.
They ascertained that the employees were illegal immigrants. The company opened bank accounts using their names. The cash was later transferred back into Orso’s company, as sales.
Still no movement outside the house; no phone calls in or out; no visitors. The surveillance teams switched over and the night officers took up position, hidden in the woods, the boating shed and at another property across the street.
They knew that Emmerick Orso planned to leave with his family, as did the crude-voiced man that Langton was sure was Camorra. The question was, when? They surmised that it had to be imminent.
They had taken fingerprints from the nervous maid Ella and Mrs Orso, from the documents that the men from the Gas Board asked them to sign. They ran them through the database, but found no match.
They checked the local refuse collections and got lucky: the following day was pick-up.
Early the next morning, the dustcart was buzzed in through the gates. Langton had earmarked for retrieval the pieces of a broken plate. The crude-voiced man had smashed it. It would have his prints.
Anna got a phone call from Alison, and a result from Keith. The little boy had said that he and his sister went in a boat, and the bad man had hit Joseph and made him bleed. He was also able to recall that, before he went to the big house with the bad man, Joseph had taken them to the zoo. Only when he had been asked about the house in Peckham did he pull back: this was obviously where the abuse had taken place.
Anna was now building a timeframe for when the children were taken from their mother at the piggery and on to the house in Peckham. At some point whilst there, Joseph Sickert had discovered something — perhaps that his own son had been murdered — that made him decide to take the children to Emmerick’s house. From there, he then escaped with them via the boat. She could not as yet piece together how long they had been on the run. All she knew was the date that Sickert had left them at the nursery. That was, until they got a call from Mr Powell.
Langton had been wary about using the Powells’ house for the undercover officers to take a leak or have a cup of tea, and was edgy when told Mr Powell had called to speak to him. He had therefore waved the call over to Anna.
Mr Powell was, in actual fact, enjoying the undercover operation and taking it very seriously. He had been thinking about the night of the possible break-in. The more he thought about it, the more determined he had become to pinpoint the exact date.
The date, he said — and he was certain that this was the exact date, because his grandchild had got chickenpox, so had not come to see them as planned — was a Friday, eight weeks ago.
Anna worked out when Sickert left the bungalow with the children, arrived in Peckham and then turned up at the big house. He and the children must have lived rough for a week. She took her calculations to Langton.
He looked down at them, then up at her. ‘Great. What does that give us?’
‘Whatever happened must have tipped off Camorra to close down; other than that, I don’t really know.’
Langton’s mobile phone rang: at long last, they had some unusual movement at the house. A BMW saloon had just drawn up. They had the registration number: the car was owned by a Milton Andrews, who had an address in Coventry, but no record on file.
Officers tapping the house were having trouble with the bug in the hallway: it seemed that someone had put a coat over it! There was no conversation in the kitchen, bar Mrs Orso screaming at the maid.
Meanwhile, forensic came through: the fingerprints taken from the broken dinner plate matched the hitherto unidentified prints taken from the white Range Rover.
The BMW remained parked at the house until eleven-thirty. It was tailed to the end of Redhill Lane and then blocked off by two patrol cars.
Milton Andrews was taken to the station in a white-hot rage. When they searched the car, they found twenty thousand pounds in cash in a briefcase. At the same time, the police in Coventry broke into his house. They found printing equipment, passport stamps and numerous passport covers with no documents inside.
Milton at first refused to speak, but Langton didn’t waste time: he planted in front of him the mortuary photos of Gail Sickert and her dead child, and said they had found his printing equipment. Milton folded, pleading innocence for any other crime than providing a passport and driving licence for a black male, Stanley Monkton. When shown the surveillance photograph of the driver, Milton said it was the man who had provided him with Stanley Monkton’s photograph.
Concerned that he could tip off their prime suspect, as well as the man who they believed would actually be using the passport, Milton was held at the station pending charges.
Things were moving, and fast. They had incriminating evidence on every member of the household, bar the maid and Mrs Orso. They even had confirmation from Parkhurst prison: Courtney Ransford, when shown the photograph of David, Orso’s driver, said it was the man who had passed him the rock cakes during the prison visit!
The wiretap brought another result: the man they believed to be Camorra walked into the kitchen.