THE RAZOR GANG MURDER
By Simon McCleave
A DC Ruth Hunter Murder File
Book 2
Table of Contents
Title Page
The Razor Gang Murder (DC Ruth Hunter Murder File, #2)
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
AMAZON REVIEW
Acknowledgements
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a purely fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual
events is purely coincidental.
First published by Stamford Publishing Ltd in 2021
Copyright © Simon McCleave, 2021
All rights reserved
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(1960-2021)
PROLOGUE
Balham High Street, South London
Tuesday 13th November 1956
Alfie Wise pulled up the black velvet collar on his long neo-Edwardian coat against the icy wind that swirled around the bottom of Balham Hill, South London. His older brother Charlie’d had the coat made to measure for Alfie at Henry London Tailors on Battersea Rise the year before. That was Charlie. Flashy but generous. Alfie, who had just turned seventeen, ran his fingers through his greasy black quiff. He thought his hairstyle made him look just like Tony Curtis, especially when Curtis had played a boxer in the film The Square Jungle. Alfie’s dad said he looked like a tart and spent more time on his bloody hair than his sister Evelyn. Alfie didn’t care what his dad said. He was old, grumpy and boring.
Trevor Walsh, or just ‘Walshy’ to his mates, sat next to him at the bus stop carefully rolling up a ciggie. He tried to shield it from the wind which picked up tiny flakes of tobacco and whisked them away.
It had been close to ten o’clock by the time they left Balham Odeon. They had watched the new rock’n’roll film, The Blackboard Jungle. Everyone was talking about it. When Bill Haley and His Comets appeared up on the screen singing Rock Around The Clock, some local Teddy Boys jived with their birds in the aisles until the ushers told them to sit down. Alfie thought there might have been a scrap but they settled down. Watching a trailer for the film Love Me Tender with the new American singer Elvis Presley, Alfie found himself totally mesmerised. He had never told anyone, not even Walshy, but he had a bit of a crush on Elvis the Pelvis.
Normally, Alfie and Walshy would have travelled by bus, or got a lift from Charlie, to the Coronet at Elephant and Castle if they were going to the pictures. Last month they’d seen a boring Western called Giant starring James Dean. However, two weeks ago, a gang of Teds called the Elephant Boys had ripped the cinema to pieces during the film, then had a dust up with the local coppers and now the film was banned from the Coronet. Some newspapers said the film was going to be banned everywhere. His brother had read to him from the paper that it was ‘... a symbol of Britain’s delinquent teenagers and declining standards.’ Alfie didn’t know what either of those things meant. And he didn’t care.
Alfie and Walshy hoped it was going to kick off in the Balham Odeon too, but it never did. Instead, Walshy threw popcorn at some other teenagers hoping to get a rise out of them. They ignored him, which was just as well as Walshy was a bit of a nutter and handy with his fists. Now he and Walshy were shivering at the bus stop, waiting to travel the five miles back to Peckham where they lived.
Alfie looked at Walshy’s freckled, handsome face, blue eyes, and his gingery quiff that was curled and so long that it rested on his forehead. He reached out slowly to touch Walshy’s hand. For a moment, Walshy responded as they looked at each other. His fingers were icy. Then Walshy withdrew his hand and looked embarrassed as his eyes darted around furtively. ‘Not ’ere, eh?’
Alfie nodded uncomfortably. They didn’t want to get nicked. Alfie had heard that coppers enjoyed beating up queers. He rubbed his hands together to keep warm as the wind picked up a bit and said through chattering teeth, ‘It’s brass monkeys.’
Walshy gestured up the street to three teenage Teddy Boys sauntering in their direction. ‘Who the fuck are this lot? Plough Boys?’
Alfie wasn’t in the mood for yet another fight. Walshy loved getting into scraps but it was too cold. Alfie wanted to go home, have a cup of tea and a jam sandwich, and chat with his brother Charlie. ‘I bloody hope not.’
The Plough Boys were a notorious Teddy Boy gang who hung around near the Plough Pub up by Clapham Common. They had stabbed and murdered some kid a few years ago after a knife fight on Clapham High Street. It had made the front page of all the national papers. They caught the boy that had done the stabbing but they didn’t hang him. Not like that kid, Derek Bentley. He hadn’t even shot the copper down in Croydon, but they hanged him anyway. Alfie’s dad thought they should hang the bloody lot of them. He said he didn’t fight Rommel in the desert for a load of fucking hooligans to roam the streets of London and scare everyone.
Walshy sneered as he glared at the approaching gang. ‘Just fucking cosh boys, that’s all.’
That was Walshy. He wasn’t scared of anyone.
‘Cosh boys’ referred to Teddy Boy gangs’ weapon of choice. A ‘cosh’ was made from a small leather handle and a lead weight covered in leather at the end. A quick blow of a cosh to the head would knock most blokes to the ground.
As the Teddy Boys got closer, Walshy stretched out his legs across the pavement, gave an audible sigh and grinned at Alfie.
Alfie rolled his eyes. Oh, here we go. It was a deliberately provocative move.
‘Walshy?’ he groaned.
Walshy shrugged. ‘What?’
The gang slowed as they were forced to walk around Walshy’s outstretched legs. Alfie could feel his heart racing. They were outnumbered. He could smell the Teddy Boys’ aftershave and cigarette smoke.
‘Evening lads,’ Walshy said with a smirk.
The Teddy Boys stopped about ten yards away, looked back at them and talked in hushed voices.
Alfie’s stomach was now knotted.
I
don’t fancy our odds here. We’re gonna get our heads kicked in.
Glancing around, Alfie looked for the best escape route if they were set upon. Maybe jump on a train from Balham tube station?
The tallest member of the gang looked about eighteen or nineteen. He had olive skin and let a cigarette droop from his mouth like he was bloody James Dean. His drape jacket had a thin black collar and long sleeves, and his tapered trousers exposed his light-coloured socks and thick-soled brogues. He burst into laughter at something one boy had said – a comment clearly referring to Alfie and Walshy.
Walshy glared at the older boy. ‘Something funny, you flash cunt?’
Alfie took a deep breath. He knew they weren’t getting out of this without a fight, in which case he might have to get stuck in.
The older boy laughed, cupped his ear and smirked at Walshy. ‘You say something?’
Another boy, whose quiff came down to the bridge of his nose, frowned sarcastically. ‘Frank, I think he called you a cunt!’
Frank snorted with ironic laughter. ‘Did he?’
‘Walshy? Come on, let’s leave it tonight,’ Alfie said quietly, but he knew it was no use.
Standing up, Walshy turned to face them and yelled, ‘You deaf? I called you a cunt!’
Frank flicked his cigarette so that it hit Walshy in the chest and showered his waistcoat in red embers. ‘Oops, careful.’ The other boys laughed.
Suddenly, Walshy was up and he pounced on Frank, punching him to the pavement before another Teddy Boy jumped on his back.
Alfie stood up and was preparing to get stuck in when he saw that the third member of the gang - a short, overweight boy with acne - was heading for him with his fists clenched.
‘Come on then, let’s have it!’ the boy growled.
Alfie reached into his trouser pocket and felt the cold brass knuckle duster that Charlie had given him. He slipped it over the back of his hand. He knew how to handle himself and used to practise boxing with his older brother.
The short boy bounced around in front of him with his fists up. ‘Come on, you nonce. What you waiting for?’
I’m going to knock you out, you little prick.
Alfie pretended he wasn’t going to put up a fight. But then, in one swift move, he withdrew his hand with the knuckle duster from his pocket and threw an almighty punch across the boy’s jaw. It knocked him flying.
‘Have that, you fucker!’ he yelled as the boy crumpled and fell in a heap on the pavement.
Alfie felt the rush of adrenaline surge through his body.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frank was coming his way.
I’m taking out this big fucker now, Alfie thought. His blood was up.
In Frank’s hand he saw a large flick knife with a black handle.
Shit! I’m gonna get stabbed.
‘I’ve done your mate. Now it’s your turn, you little wanker,’ Frank snarled.
I’m not bloody fighting someone with a knife.
Turning on his heels, Alfie sprinted off down the pavement, out onto the icy road and headed down Balham High Street towards the underground station. He could hear the clatter of feet behind him and some shouting.
As he headed into the station lobby, Alfie’s winklepicker shoes skidded on the black and white tiled floor. He barged past the ticket collector and turned right down the stone steps that led to the trains. He was running so fast he thought he was going to lose his balance and tumble down the stairs.
As he looked ahead at the deserted platform, he saw the last carriages of a Northern Line train pulling out. He turned back and saw Frank at the top of the stairs.
Shit! Now what? And what happened to Walshy? I hope he’s all right.
Scanning up and down the empty platform, Alfie realised he was trapped. The only way out was up the staircase or over the tracks.
Frank had stopped at the top of the steps and glared down at him. ‘Stay there, you tosser.’
Alfie had two choices. Jump down onto the electric tracks and cross over to the other platform while avoiding the trains, or stand his ground and fight. He thought of his brother, Charlie. What would he do? Charlie was a hard man and never backed down.
I’ll do him, even if he’s got a fucking knife.
Taking a deep breath, Alfie gripped the knuckle duster and readied himself.
Let’s do this! Let’s have this fucker.
Frank walked slowly down the steps with a smirk. ‘Oh dear. What’s your old lady gonna say when she sees your dead body with shit in your pants?’
Alfie smiled and then gestured to the knife. ‘Very brave using that. Why don’t you put it down and we’ll have a proper scrap, eh?’
Frank held up the flick knife, which Alfie could see had blood on it. ‘This? I can’t do that. I need this to cut your little bollocks off.’
‘Well, you’d better come and do it, big man.’
Alfie’s heart was thumping hard against his chest. He was trying to get his breath.
Moving quickly, Frank lunged at him with the knife but Alfie knocked his arm away.
They circled around each other for a few seconds.
Alfie feigned to swing a punch.
Frank ducked back and lashed out wildly with the knife.
Throwing out jabs, Alfie kept mobile on his feet like Charlie had shown him.
Frank came again, slashing the knife towards his face. ‘Come here, you fucker! I’m gonna cut you up.’
Spotting that Frank was off balance each time he swung, Alfie waited for him to make another move.
Frank sprang forward, jabbing the knife towards Alfie’s neck.
Instantly, Alfie swung his fist. The knuckle duster connected with Frank’s temple with a loud crack, splitting open the skin and knocking him to the floor.
The flick knife dropped from his hand and skidded away on the concrete platform.
Alfie scurried forward, picked up the knife, and turned around to face Frank who was trying to get to his feet.
Blinking the blood from his eye, Frank shook his head and steadied himself. He pulled a leather cosh from the inside of his jacket.
‘It’s a fair fight now!’ he growled.
Moving forward, Alfie could see that Frank was still reeling from the punch, and the blood from the gash in his head was making it difficult for him to see.
With the odds now in his favour, Alfie went in to finish the job. Distracting Frank with a swift kick to the shins, he plunged the knife into his chest before he saw it coming.
Wincing with pain, Frank clutched at the knife that was now sticking out of his bloodied waistcoat.
He staggered sideways.
Alfie moved backwards and watched in shock as Frank’s feet shuffled under him and he lost his balance. He fell off the platform edge and disappeared out of sight.
Oh shit. This is not good.
Taking a breath, Alfie looked down at his shaking hands that were now splattered in blood. He couldn’t believe what had just happened.
Before he had time to go over to the platform edge, there was a powerful gust of wind against his face. Then a rumble of noise which grew louder as a tube train came thundering into the platform.
If Frank hadn’t died from the knife wound, he was going to die now.
There was a terrible metallic squeal of brakes as the tube driver spotted the body on the tracks but it was too late.
Alfie turned and ran up the stone steps and out of the station.
CHAPTER 1
Peckham, South London, August 1997
Detective Constable Ruth Hunter and Detective Constable Lucy Henry were stuck in the stationary traffic on Peckham High Street on their way back to Peckham CID. It was a scorching hot day and a heat haze rose and shimmered above the road ahead. Teenagers in basketball vests and shorts sat on the pavement outside the Chicken Shack and squinted in the sunlight.
Bloody hell, it’s too hot to be sitting here like this, Ruth thought.
She put the car into neutral,
pushed her sunglasses up onto her head and changed the radio station. When she heard Closer Than Close by Rosie Gaines, she turned the volume up and said in a silly voice, ‘Tuuuuuune!’
Lucy rolled her eyes. ‘Aren’t you too old to like this music?’
‘All right, grandma. I’m driving so I’m the DJ,’ Ruth responded.
Lucy puffed out her cheeks and looked to see if the car’s AC would go any higher. ‘Jesus, I’m sweltering here.’
A gang of older teens outside the Chicken Shack looked over at them. They were smoking a spliff and had already clocked they were coppers. They weren’t remotely concerned. Peckham was that kind of place.
Ruth ignored them, pulled her sunglasses back down, took a ciggie from the packet on the dashboard and lit it. She wasn’t about to jump out of the car in the middle of traffic to book the lads for possession. It wasn’t worth the time spent on paperwork.
There was a sudden waft of marijuana smoke inside the car. Ruth shook her head as she looked over at the gang. ‘Very subtle.’
Lucy raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you used to like a bit of the old wacky backy?’
Ruth snorted. ‘Wacky backy? Bloody hell, Lucy. My nan is more streetwise than you.’
Lucy laughed and then wagged a finger at Ruth’s cigarette. ‘And I thought you were going to quit?’
Ruth shrugged defensively. ‘Was I? When did I say that?’
‘I thought Lady Shiori had quit and suggested that you join her?’
Lucy was referring to Ruth’s Japanese girlfriend, whom Ruth had been seeing for about three months.
Ruth sighed, ‘Yeah, she suggests a lot of things.’
‘Honeymoon period over is it?’
‘Definitely. I think what she actually wants is a maid and a nanny, not a girlfriend,’ Ruth muttered.
The Tetra radio in their car crackled. ‘Alpha three zero from Dispatch, do you read, over?’
Lucy picked up the radio, ‘Alpha three zero receiving. Go ahead, over.’
‘Report from a uniformed patrol at Dixon’s Timber Yard on Thread Street. Possible discovery of human remains, over.’
‘Alpha three zero to Dispatch, show us attending, over.’ Lucy looked over at Ruth and pulled a face. ‘Human remains? I’m glad I’ve already had my lunch.’
The Razor Gang Murder Page 1
