The Razor Gang Murder

by Simon McCleave

  Ruth pointed to the dashboard. ‘Blues and twos then?’

  ‘Definitely. I’m not sitting in this bloody traffic.’

  Ruth hit the button and the siren and blue lights burst into life, making everyone on the pavement turn to see what was going on.

  Pulling the car out of the traffic, Ruth hit the accelerator and sped down the waiting line of cars towards the timber yard. She could feel a rush of adrenaline as she sped through the traffic lights and turned right.

  BY THE TIME RUTH AND Lucy arrived at Dixon’s Timber Yard, the SOCO team, which stood for Scene of Crime Officer, had arrived. Uniformed police had taped off an area to the rear of the yard. The air smelled of hot wood and chemical treatments such as creosote.

  A constable stood by the blue and white tape that read POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS. As Ruth and Lucy approached, they flashed their warrant cards and he lifted the tape for them to pass under.

  Ruth lifted her sunglasses and looked at him. She was trying to establish how gruesome the discovery had been by the look on his face. ‘What have we got over there, Constable?’

  He gestured to some workmen sitting on stacks of wood to their right. ‘Workmen were breaking up the ground to lay foundations. They found bones and a skull and called us.’

  ‘Have we got all their details?’ Ruth asked.

  He hesitated for a second and then tapped his shirt pocket where he kept his notebook. ‘All in here, boss.’ Ruth wondered if the question had annoyed him, as if she had somehow questioned his ability to do his job. She had met plenty of uniformed officers who were defensive around CID. She couldn’t blame them as many CID officers were incredibly arrogant and treated those in uniform with disdain.

  Lucy put away her warrant card. ‘Anyone set up a scene log, Constable?’

  He pointed to a small huddle of SOCOs in white forensic suits, and two more uniformed officers. ‘Not yet. My sarge is over there with the Chief SOCO.’

  Lucy gestured to the yard. ‘Can we set one up before someone treads their gigantic size bloody tens all over what might be a crime scene?’

  The constable bristled but said, ‘Yes. Right away.’

  They turned and made their way towards the small group near where the ground had been excavated.

  Lucy looked back at the constable and then at Ruth. ‘He was a bit frosty.’

  ‘I used to be like that when CID used to swan into a crime scene like they owned the bloody place.’

  They took out their IDs and identified themselves.

  An area of ground about twenty feet by ten feet had been dug down by about four feet to reveal dry brown earth and rocks. Two SOCOs crouched down inside the excavated area. As Ruth peered inside, she saw several long bones and a skull.

  As the SOCO nearest to them turned and looked up, Ruth recognised him as Chief Forensic Officer Martin Hill, whom she and Lucy had worked with before. He was late 50s, blonde and thin, with a faint Cornish accent. He didn’t suffer fools, but Ruth trusted his work implicitly.

  ‘Afternoon ladies.’ Hill squinted at the sun and smiled. ‘My heart always sinks when we get called to look at human remains. But at least these are old enough that they don’t smell, eh?’

  Lucy raised her eyebrow sardonically at Ruth. ‘Erm, I guess that’s one way of looking at it.’

  That’s SOCOs for you, Ruth thought. Clinical and detached, with a strangely dark sense of humour.

  ‘What can you tell us?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘It’s a he. Looking at the slightly underdeveloped femur, I would guess that he was young, maybe adolescent.’

  Lucy peered down. ‘Any obvious cause of death?’

  Hill shook his head. ‘No, not yet. I’ll know a lot more when I get him back to the lab.’

  ‘What about timescale?’ Ruth asked.

  Hill pulled a face. ‘Sorry. It’s really difficult to say.’

  Ruth was surprised that he couldn’t give them anything to go on. ‘Okay, but are we talking medieval peasant or a Peckham drug dealer from five years ago?’

  Hill pulled his mask down a little and wiped his brow. ‘You could probably rule out five years ago but I’m sorry, ladies. The soil around here is chalky, which makes it very alkaline. It creates a perfect environment for bones to survive. These could be the bones of a Roman teenager from two thousand years ago.’

  Ruth looked at Lucy – that wasn’t what they were expecting when they first arrived.

  ‘Boss?’ said a voice with some sense of urgency. It was the female SOCO at the other end of where they had been digging.

  Hill moved forward to see what she was gesturing to. ‘What is it?’

  The female SOCO turned the skull to reveal the back. About four inches from the top was a neat, circular hole about the size of a ten pence piece. Hill crouched down to have a look at it for a moment.

  ‘What is it?’ Lucy asked.

  Hill hesitated as he inspected it and then glanced back at them. ‘It’s a bullet hole.’

  Ruth’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘I guess that rules out our Roman teenagers and medieval peasants then?’

  CHAPTER 2

  Standing in the small garden of her ground floor Balham flat, Ruth took the dry clothes from the clothes horse as her daughter Ella played noisily nearby with her best friend Koyuki. She couldn’t believe that Ella would be three years old by the end of the year. How did that happen? The girls were happily throwing coloured balls at skittles as she went inside to pour herself a well-earned glass of wine.

  Opening an envelope, she saw that it was a cheque for £45 from her ex-husband Dan, Ella’s father.

  Are you bloody joking? she thought angrily. It was only the third time that Dan had sent any money to help with Ella’s keep since he’d walked out in April. It was after Dan had left that Ruth discovered he had been having an affair with an Australian woman called Angela. Even though Dan had promised to stay in Ella’s life, he had failed to pick her up to take her out on many occasions. Ruth was furious with him because he just didn’t seem bothered whether or not he saw Ella.

  Ruth poured herself a glass of white wine and took out a cigarette. They went together so perfectly. When Ella had been born, she promised herself that she would stop smoking. When she realised she couldn’t do that, she told herself she would never smoke in front of her. Now that she was a single parent, that was no longer an option, but she felt guilty every time she did.

  The sound of a key in the front door broke her train of thought. It was Shiori, Ruth’s girlfriend. She was a Japanese-American journalist, recently divorced, who lived nearby in Clapham. Ruth had met her because Ella and her daughter Koyuki had become best friends at nursery. Even though they’d both had previous encounters with women, it was the first time either of them had been in a proper gay relationship. However, Ruth was finding Shiori increasingly irritating. Her demands upon Ruth’s time, and the expectation that she would take care of Koyuki, were starting to grate.

  Shiori swept into the kitchen and plonked her bag down onto the sofa. ‘Christ, what a day! If I meet another privileged, middle-aged man with an attitude problem today I’m going to stab them.’ She frowned and looked at Ruth. ‘Have you been smoking?’

  Ruth just wasn’t in the mood. ‘Yes.’

  And how was your day, Ruth? I found the remains of a man’s body who had been shot in the head. Thanks for asking, Ruth thought sardonically to herself.

  Shiori looked at Ruth. ‘I thought you weren’t going ... Never mind. I need a drink. Is there wine in the fridge?’

  Ruth bristled. ‘Yes. I bought some on the way home.’

  Shiori grabbed a glass, marched over to the fridge, pulled out the bottle and poured herself a glass. She waved the bottle. ‘Want some?’

  Ruth shook her head. ‘I’m fine thanks.’

  Shiori took two mouthfuls of wine and gave an audible sigh. ‘Better. I need a massive favour tonight, honey.’

  Ruth could feel herself tense. Here we go.

  Shiori lean
t against the kitchen counter. ‘I need to meet another journalist for drinks in town. It won’t be a late one, but could Koyuki stay here?’

  Ruth wouldn’t have minded, but it was becoming a regular request at least once or twice a week. And Shiori had very quickly gone from being incredibly grateful and buying Ruth flowers or wine, to fully expecting her to say yes with little word of thanks.

  I’m seriously not in the mood for this tonight, Ruth thought.

  ‘Sorry but I can’t,’ Ruth said firmly.

  Shiori frowned. ‘What?’

  Ruth shrugged. ‘I’m tired and I want an early night. I don’t want to feed and bath Koyuki again and then wait up for you to get back and tell me all about your night.’

  Shiori glared at her. ‘What am I meant to do then?’

  ‘Go home and arrange a babysitter.’

  ‘I probably won’t get one now.’

  Ruth could feel her pulse quicken. ‘Not my problem. I didn’t get into this relationship so that you could have free childcare on tap. And I’m fed up with people taking the piss. So, I’m sorry if you don’t like it but I’m not in the mood.’

  Shiori shook her head. ‘I don’t know why you’re being such a bitch about it.’

  I’ll let that go before I really explode, Ruth thought.

  Shiori went over to the patio doors. ‘Koyuki, we’re going now darling.’

  Ruth could feel the tension, but she wasn’t going to back down now.

  Taking Koyuki by the hand, they headed towards the hallway. Shiori turned, scowled, and then waved the keys to Ruth’s front door. ‘Do you want these back then?’

  ‘It’s up to you, Shiori,’ Ruth said with a shrug.

  Shiori went over to the table, slammed the keys down, grabbed Koyuki’s hand and left.

  As the front door closed with a bang, Ruth breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she just needed some time on her own.

  IT WAS EARLY EVENING as Lucy walked out of her patio doors and felt the warm wind against her face. It smelled of the lavender plants that she had recently bought and placed in two huge azure blue pots at the far end of the garden by the fence.

  A figure appeared behind her with a smile. The man was carrying a bottle of beer and a glass of white wine which he handed to her. It was Brooks. He leant in and gave her a kiss which turned into a snog.

  Lucy laughed. ‘Easy tiger.’

  Brooks smiled. ‘I can’t help myself.’

  ‘Anyway, I thought we were having a night off the booze?’

  Brooks gestured to the setting sun that was turning the sky tangerine and flamingo pink. ‘It’s too hot not to drink.’

  ‘Cheers to that. It was a crap idea in the first place.’ Lucy clinked his glass.

  Brooks gestured to his bottle. ‘Probably best if I get a bottle opener. I would use my teeth but they cost me a fortune.’

  Lucy laughed and watched him walk away. Even though he was fifteen years older than her, he was fit, handsome and the kind of man she knew would take care of her. It had only been three months since Harry had left his wife and moved in. And it would have been perfect except for one minor detail.

  Brooks was Harry by night. However, during the day he was Detective Chief Inspector Harry Brooks, Head of Peckham CID and her guv’nor. Only Ruth knew about their relationship and she wasn’t going to say anything. But if anyone discovered it, the Met’s top brass would probably force Lucy to transfer to another station.

  Glancing down the side passage of the house, Lucy spotted the rubbish bin and remembered that tomorrow was collection day. She put her glass of wine down on the circular patio table, walked down the passageway and grabbed the bin. Opening the side gate, she wheeled it to the front of the house where it would be collected at about 6 am the following morning.

  The sound of a car engine drew her attention. As she glanced left, her stomach tensed. It was the third time she had seen the same blue Renault Clio outside her house in the last two weeks. The Clio pulled away from the curb and sped off – far too quickly not to be suspicious.

  What the bloody hell is that all about?

  Lucy hadn’t told Brooks as she thought he might think she was being paranoid. This time she was convinced there was something to be concerned about. Squinting, she caught the beginning of the number plate - H274.

  Locking up the side gate, she returned to the patio where Brooks stood drinking his beer.

  He smiled at her. ‘I was going to do that.’

  ‘Remember H274,’ Lucy said as she headed inside to grab a pen.

  Brooks followed her inside. ‘Everything okay, Luce?’

  Lucy found a pen and a scrap of paper and said, ‘H274. It’s the beginning of a number plate.’

  ‘And you’re writing it down because ...?

  Lucy glanced up at him. ‘I’ve seen a car sitting outside here twice in the last two weeks. I’ve just seen it again, and they drove off when I came out with the bin.’

  ‘H274?’ Brooks asked with a frown.

  ‘Yeah.’

  He pursed his lips. ‘A dark blue Renault Clio?’

  Lucy looked at him in surprise. ‘Yeah? How do you know that?’

  ‘It’s Karen’s car,’ he said despondently.

  Karen was Harry’s ex-wife.

  CHAPTER 3

  As Ruth entered Peckham CID, she could see that it was full as detectives prepared themselves for DCI Brooks’ morning briefing. She was late as she had been trying to track down the history of Dixon’s Timber Yard. Scanning around the room, she noticed that the only available chair was next to Detective Sergeant Tim Gaughran.

  Sod it, Ruth thought.

  She had Gaughran’s number as soon as she’d joined Peckham CID. Young, arrogant and misogynistic. He came from a family of coppers, which meant that he thought he knew everything and everyone.

  With a forced smile, Ruth gestured to the empty chair. Gaughran had sprawled himself out, and she needed him to sit up and move. ‘Okay if I sit here?’

  Gaughran gave her his trademark smirk. ‘Here? Yeah. Be my guest.’

  Ruth saw Lucy giving her a look of amused condolence as she sat down. ‘Thanks.’

  Gaughran looked at her. ‘I thought you didn’t like me, Ruth?’

  Ruth met his gaze head on. ‘I don’t. It’s the only chair left.’

  ‘Fair enough. I will grow on you, eventually.’

  Ruth smiled. ‘What - like bacteria?’

  ‘That’s funny.’

  ‘Come back to me when you’ve had a personality bypass.’

  ‘Bit harsh,’ Gaughran laughed as he sat back and crossed his chubby thighs.

  The murmur of conversation dwindled as Brooks made his way to the middle of the CID office. ‘Morning everyone. First things first. I know it’s bloody hot in here at the moment, so I’ve put in an order for some fans to see if that makes it at all bearable.’

  ‘Except they won’t get here until Christmas, guv,’ Gaughran quipped. There were a few laughs.

  ‘Thanks for your optimism, Tim. If it gets too much, you can always ‘borrow’ a fan from uniform downstairs. They’re out most of the day.’ There were a few more laughs at Brooks’ suggestion to steal fans from uniform. There was little love lost between CID and uniform, so it was an amusing idea. ‘Okay, Tim and Syed, how are we doing with the robberies on the high street?’

  Ruth looked over at Detective Constable Syed Hassan, Gaughran’s awkward partner in CID.

  The next ten minutes were taken up with Hassan and Gaughran’s investigation into a poorly-run protection racket on various shops and businesses in the Peckham High Street area. Gaughran was convinced it was just a bunch of kids from the local estates trying their luck.

  When they had finished, Brooks looked over at Lucy. For a split second, there was a furtive glance between them that no one except Ruth would spot. She wondered how long Brooks and Lucy could keep their relationship a secret.

  ‘Lucy, what’s happening with the remains that were found over at D
ixon’s Timber Yard?’ Brooks asked.

  ‘Waiting for forensics to see if they can date them. There’s a bullet hole in the skull, which we assume narrows it down a bit. Maybe post-war. Ruth and I are looking at the history of the site.’

  ‘Remember, there is no statute of limitations on murder,’ Brooks said with an air of gravity. ‘And if this is a murder case, there might still be relatives that were affected by what happened to whoever has been found. I know I don’t need to tell you, but we have to give it our best work.’

  Lucy nodded. ‘Yes, guv.’

  As the briefing ended, a uniformed officer from reception approached Ruth. ‘DC Hunter?’

  Ruth smiled at him. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘Message from forensics. They’ve found something they want you and DC Henry to go and look at. It sounded urgent.’

  EVEN THOUGH IT WAS less than four miles from Peckham nick, it was going to take twenty minutes to get to the Metropolitan Police Forensic Science Laboratory. Built in the late 60s, the building was a commanding concrete building with enormous glass windows, external concrete stairways and a fifty-foot concrete ventilator shaft.

  As Ruth got out of the car and headed for reception, she gestured to the building. ‘I wonder how long before we start going to some private lab?’

  There were rumblings that the Met was going to use private forensic laboratories to drive down costs.

  Lucy shrugged. ‘If they’re cheaper, then what’s the problem?’

  Ruth shook her head as they flashed their warrant cards and signed in. ‘We don’t need them to be cheaper. They need to be precise, accurate and reliable.’

  As they walked to the allocated forensic lab, Lucy pulled a face. ‘From what I hear, there’s a lot of money being wasted in places like this.’

  Ruth sighed out loud. ‘Bloody hell, Lucy. You really are a Tory girl. And at the first sign of a private lab buggering up results and some expensive miscarriage of justice, the Met will take them all back in-house.’