The Trophy Taker

by Sarah Flint

  ‘Shit!’ They were still on their way to the flat. ‘Who’s the Fixer?’

  ‘You don’t know the Fixer?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Caz, if I knew the Fixer I wouldn’t ask.’ She couldn’t stop her frustration coming out, but in the silence that followed, thought better of it. ‘Sorry Caz. I really need to get Slasher. Who is the Fixer? I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘Apology accepted.’ Charlie had to smile at the tone of her words. ‘I dunno ‘is real name; he’s a Polish geezer, big bloke, moves around a lot, I only know ‘im as the Fixer. He sorts out all the nicked gear. Will buy anything but especially likes bank cards and ID stuff. The Fixer can make anything up. I dunno how ‘e’s got away with it for so long but you lot never seem to nick him. Maybe e’s got a hot line to you too, like I ‘ave.’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘I dunno the number of the house but ‘e lives in the basement. It’s got a red door. It’s about ‘alf way down Roman Road, on the left if you’re walking from the one-way system. You’d better be quick though. The Fixer won’t let Slasher stay in ‘is place for long.’

  ‘Thanks Caz. I owe you.’

  ‘Yeah you do.’

  *

  Roman Road was quiet when they turned into it. It was a residential street, made up of large old Victorian-style semi-detached houses, most of which had been split into flats. A Chinese restaurant, fronting a cannabis café had stood on its corner with the main road for several years until police had got a sniff and closed it down. With that gone, officers didn’t really bother to patrol the area because, apart from an alleyway from Caz’s estate, it pretty much just led round in a horseshoe. Which was probably why the Fixer was there and why they didn’t know about him.

  Naz had already phoned Bet to update her and get her doing some checks on the occupants of the street to see if they could identify who the Fixer was and which number he lived at. Bill Morley had called up to say he had just left the station with a car full of eager helpers. All they could do was sit and wait, hoping they hadn’t missed him. Charlie parked up and switched the engine off, scanning both pavements for any sign of movement. She had a good view down both sides. It was 07.20 and the sun was just beginning to rise but the street was still bathed in the previous night’s shadows. In another hour it would all have changed, with parents wending their way to school, clutching small groups of children intent on escape. They needed Miller to show his face sooner rather than later, while the streets were still quiet.

  ‘Come on. Come out now, you bastard.’

  As she uttered the words, she saw him. There was no mistaking his gait. He emerged from the frontage of a house, as Caz had said, about half way along and right underneath a street light, checked in both directions and started walking casually away. A couple of hundred metres and he would get to the alleyway leading towards several large estates. They needed to stop him before he got there or else he’d be straight into the walkways and lost. Again.

  ‘That’s him. I’m sure of it. Damn it. We could have done with him coming out in a few more minutes when Bill and our backup arrive. We’re going to have to go for it before he gets to the alleyway. OK?’

  Naz and Sabira pulled their equipment to the fore and nodded. Although small in height Naz could fight like an alley cat and Sabira wasn’t afraid to wade into the fray either... but it wasn’t going to be easy. Miller had nothing to lose and would no doubt, be delighted to take on three police officers Even more so when he recognised Charlie. If they could stall him until the others arrived that might be the best they could do.

  ‘Urgent assistance required, following suspect, Roman Road. It’s Cornell Miller, wanted for several GBHs.’ She radioed in before speaking direct to Naz and Sabira. ‘I’ll stop next to him. Let’s get him straight down. Be ready.’

  The adrenalin was pumping. She accelerated until she was a few feet in front of him and stopped the car abruptly, just having a split second to acknowledge Miller’s look of surprise. Naz and Sabira were out in a flash, leaping at him. There was no point in asking him to stop politely. They needed to get him to the ground to gain any sort of control. Charlie ran round the front of the car, just as Miller reared up, bellowing and shaking from side to side, throwing them about as if they were weightless. They clung on like lionesses on a kill. Charlie leapt at Miller too, knocking him several steps backwards against a wall but the structure aided his bid to stay upright. He was bucking and rearing like a wounded animal but because the drugs and adrenalin were giving him extra power, he still wouldn’t go down.

  She could hear sirens now, getting louder but still some distance off. Miller must’ve heard them too, seeming to summon a final show of strength to throw Naz and Sabira off. Naz struck the wall, crumpling to the ground, while Sabira too was left floundering on her back. Charlie clung on with Miller dragging her down the pavement. She could feel the skin being rubbed from her knees as she struggled to get to her feet. He was gaining speed and she couldn’t hang on for much longer. Then she saw the blade being pulled from his pocket and heard his laugh. Ben had described the moment Miller had rounded on him with his knife and Charlie suddenly felt an unwelcome sense of déjà vu. Miller would have no hesitation in using it. She let go and dropped to the floor, backing away as he waved it towards her.

  The sirens were getting even louder. They couldn’t lose him now. He started to run towards the alleyway. She gave chase from a safe distance. One copper with CS Spray was no match for a drug-crazed knifeman, especially one with his history and motivation, but she’d at least try to keep him in sight for as long as she could. He was into the alleyway now, nearly at the other end and she was keeping pace. The sirens stopped suddenly. Where the hell was their backup? She’d expected to hear the sound of numerous boot steps thundering up behind any second. Miller stopped too and rounded on her, slashing the Stanley blade through the air towards her.

  ‘Aha DC Stafford. You’re on your own. It’s just you and me.’

  ‘No it’s not.’

  A shout came from the other end of the alleyway. Miller turned and Bill Morley unleashed a strong spray of CS towards his head. As he turned away, Charlie pulled hers out too and aimed it directly at his face. He shouted out, throwing his hands up to stop any more and dropped to the ground howling. She ran forward, joined by Naz and Sabira from behind, while Bill pulled Miller’s hands behind his back, locking the metal cuffs around his wrists.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ She couldn’t have been more grateful to see him.

  ‘Local knowledge. You can’t beat it. I guessed he might try and leg it through here, so I took a gamble. Thought I’d head him off at the pass. Thankfully I was right.’

  ‘You always turn up just in the nick of time, Bill. Thanks.’

  ‘My pleasure. Glad to have been of assistance.’ He grinned at them, dabbing at his eyes carefully, the CS spray having affected him too. ‘Ladies, he’s all yours.’

  Charlie looked down at Cornell Miller. His face was awash with tears and smeared with mucus and saliva from his nose and mouth; every orifice was streaming with the effects of the spray. He didn’t look such a big man now as he whimpered and coughed.

  ‘I wish Moses, Claudette and Ben were here to see you now,’ she said, pulling him up to a standing position.

  ‘And Annie, and Marcia and all the others whose lives you have ruined,’ Naz joined in.

  ‘Yeah, you’re lucky, you evil bastard.’ She couldn’t stop herself. ‘The effects of CS are only temporary. They’ll be all gone in half an hour. What you’ve done to your victims will last them a life time.’

  Chapter 36

  31 Roman Road had a red door to its basement. It was the house they’d seen Miller come from, so it was now the house that they were going to enter and search. If the Fixer, whoever he was, didn’t want to answer the door, then it would be put in. With Bill arresting and removing Cornell back to the station, Charlie, Naz and Sabira had a job to do. Miller fitted the descrip
tion of the suspect for the most recent robbery on an Asian man by the name of Riaz Asim and the MO was his. They had the power to search anywhere he’d just been seen coming from and they were going to use every law in the statute book in the hunt for stolen property and to obtain convictions. If it had been down to the three of them to sentence Cornell Miller, he’d be staying in prison for the rest of his life.

  The door was opened by what seemed like a giant with some of the largest muscles Charlie had ever seen. He was barefoot and wore only jeans and a tight white T-shirt cut at the biceps to make room for the muscle mass. His hair was untamed, falling in waves down his neck and his jaw line square, with a strong chin which jutted out, giving the only dimension to his otherwise flat features. He wore a heavy gold chain with a large crucifix and gold rings on all his fingers.

  ‘Yes?’

  Charlie showed her warrant card and held her breath. If he didn’t want to cooperate they’d be having even more of a fight on their hands than they’d already had. Hopefully the presence of half a dozen uniformed constables behind them would make him more docile. It did.

  ‘Come in officers,’ he held his hand out and she shook it, at once feeling the power in his grip. ‘Was that my friend you were with, just now? What had he done?’

  His speech was slightly stilted, with an Eastern European accent. He was clearly the Fixer.

  ‘He’s suspected of being involved in a recent robbery and was also wanted for several others. As we saw him leaving this flat, we have the power under section 32 of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act to search your premises.’

  ‘Be my guest.’ He stepped further back into the entrance hall, positioning himself in front of a closed door and watched as they entered. He was surprising her already with his politeness and eloquence. He was definitely not what she’d expected.

  ‘This is not my flat. It belongs to another friend. I share it with him but he is away abroad at the moment. He lets people leave their property here. Everything inside belongs to others. I just provide, how you say it, a storage area for their things.’

  So that was his game. He’d realised that they would soon be knocking on his door, after seeing them with ‘his friend’. Now he was seeking to provide an excuse before they’d even found anything. Well it wasn’t going to wash with them, though it was clever to get his defence in before anything incriminating was found.

  ‘So who was your “friend” that you saw us with just now?’ Charlie started the questions.

  ‘I don’t know his name. I just know him from the street.’

  ‘So did he leave some of his belongings with you?’

  ‘Yes, he left the package over there on the side. He gave me ten pounds to look after it for him until he came back.’ He pulled a crumpled ten pound note from his pocket and pointed towards a black plastic bag on the hallway table, folded round and round over its contents.

  It was a clever story, but it had too many flaws. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small black pouch containing some blue plastic gloves, slipping them on to her hands. ‘So, this ten pound note will also have your friend’s fingerprints and DNA on it?’ She took it from him and carefully placed it in an exhibit bag from the search kit Naz held. ‘And none of the items inside this package will have your DNA or fingerprints on, because it belongs to your friend and you don’t know what’s in it. You’re just looking after it for him?’

  The man nodded but she could see that he was immediately nervous. She wanted to get him restrained as soon as possible but she didn’t as yet have a reason. Naz had read the signs too and her hand was hovering over her handcuffs.

  Charlie took hold of the plastic bag and looked inside at its contents, making sure she didn’t touch any herself, to avoid any cross-contamination from the ten pound note. By jiggling the bag slightly she was delighted to see several bank cards, a cheque book and correspondence in the name of Marcia Gordon and Riaz Asim, the name of their latest victim, among others.

  ‘This bag contains stolen property, it’s in your possession and you cannot even tell me the name of the person who you say it belongs to.’ She nodded to Naz surreptitiously.

  Naz moved forward and took hold of one of his arms, slipping a handcuff on to his wrist and telling him she was arresting him for handling stolen goods. For a second he tensed; they all tensed, but then he relaxed and moved his other hand towards his first, allowing her to put the other cuff on.

  ‘Like I said; it is not mine and I know nothing about it.’

  ‘So what is your name?’

  ‘My name is Feliks Makary.’

  ‘I thought most of your friends called you The Fixer? Why do they call you that then? If, as you say you just look after their gear, surely they should call you the Holder, or the Keeper, or something like that? I’m told it’s because you can get rid of stolen gear, fix new IDs for people, solve their problems. You’ve got quite a reputation, so I hear.’

  He smiled, the muscles in his face relaxed again now. ‘You must be talking about someone else, officer. Maybe you mean my friend who owns this flat. He is the one with the good reputation.’

  *

  Feliks ‘Fixer’ Makary was on his way to custody still protesting his innocence when Charlie, Naz and Sabira realised they had stumbled across a treasure trove of stolen goods and false IDs. The flat was stacked from floor to ceiling. How police had not been aware of its presence was a mystery to her, but then it had happened before.

  Two brothers had operated in the same way in an exclusive flat in Waterloo. They’d been careful to always buy the stolen gear away from the flat and had always been polite, well-mannered and as helpful as possible if ever coming into contact with police. Much of the stolen gear from the pick-pockets on the South Bank and the bag thefts in the upmarket bars of the West End and Mayfair had gone straight to them. Nobody had ever suspected them, so they had been able to move around, operating for years. Their demeanour had masked their crimes perfectly. It was much the same with Makary.

  His fatal mistake had been to allow his customers to come to him. Once burglars, robbers and crack heads knew the address, it was only ever going to be a matter of time before they turned up on the door step, desperate for cash for their drugs, with the Old Bill in tow.

  Still, they weren’t moaning, in fact they were in their element. They’d been joined by members of Lambeth’s burglary and robbery squad and together they were sifting through the bounty.

  They’d started in the lounge area first, behind the door that Makary seemed to have been guarding. No wonder he hadn’t wanted them to enter. Maybe by admitting to Miller’s property he’d been hoping to sweet-talk them out of looking any further. Little did he know that anywhere that Miller had been was of profound interest to Charlie, Naz and Sabira. Miller was going down and anyone aiding his crimes was going down with him.

  The lounge was like Aladdin’s Cave. A huge television dominated one wall with a single armchair opposite. Dozens of smart phones in bundles of ten, carefully packaged in bubble wrap, no doubt to be sent abroad to the Asian and middle-Eastern markets, lay ready for dispatch. iPads, iPods and lap tops were arranged neatly in piles of new, nearly new and old, alongside a stack of sat navs, sound systems and stereos from many of the cars in the neighbourhood. Every cupboard or sideboard yielded more goods. It would take days to get every item bagged, labelled and exhibited; even longer to try and find owners, many of whom, frustratingly, would never be found. Most of this work would be handed over to the CID officers’ already on scene but Charlie still wanted a good nose around before they left.

  There was only one bedroom but it was in a league of its own. She had never seen anything quite like it before. It had a single bed tucked into the corner, and with no settee in the premises, Makary’s claim to be sharing the flat with a friend was patently false; although it would be interesting to imagine how he, never mind another, would fit into a bed that size. Apart from the bed and one wardrobe appearing to contain a few person
al belongings and clothes of a size large enough for Makary, the whole room was fitted out with printing equipment, machine presses and a host of identification paperwork. A stack of passports of all nationalities were laid out to one side of a desk and another heap of driving licences awaiting photos were piled haphazardly to the other side. There were also several batches containing National Insurance cards, insurance documents and vehicle registration documents.

  In contrast to the lounge, where the property was mostly stacked in organised piles, the bedroom was a mess. The desk was overflowing and a waste paper bin in the corner was spilling over, with screwed-up bits of paper lying on the floor where they had been thrown. Names, addresses, dates of birth and ID numbers lay across the floor for all to see. It was all a bit beyond Charlie’s experience. She knew that counterfeit documentation could be produced on a large scale, but with all the measures brought in to try to prevent fraud and identify fake papers, it was incomprehensible to see how one man could do it so easily from an obscure flat in South London. But it appeared it could be done.

  She picked a few documents up, staring at them in the light. They appeared almost perfect to the naked eye. Photos of people she’d never met, and was never likely to meet, stared out at her from counterfeit passports. Registration documents covered every kind of vehicle; driving licences included authority to drive cars, buses and heavy goods vehicles. It was horrific to think someone with no licence could be driving around in an articulated lorry or double-decker bus, if the fraudulent licence was not spotted.

  She kicked a few pieces of paper into the corner, wondering if every name or number on the floor had been converted into a fake document to be used by criminals in their day-to-day activities. She was about to leave when her attention was caught by a number, scrawled on a piece of paper. She picked it up, her hand shaking suddenly as she read what was on it.