by Sarah Flint
‘Caz, I need you to say you was with me last night after I left to find DK.’ He turned towards her and gripped her around the arm. ‘I went to Viv’s place after I saw all the cops swarming round the alleyway so that bit is OK. I just need you to cover for me up ’til then, right? The cops are bound to pick me up sooner or later.’
Caz winced as his fingers dug into her flesh. ‘Don’t worry ’bout that, babe. As far as I’m concerned, I was with you. I’ll tell them we was both in the flat together shootin’ up and that you dropped me off outside Viv’s later when you went in.’
Razor released his hold on Caz, relieved that at least his alibi was sorted. Heaving himself up, he slammed the door shut, making no move to lock it and stomped off towards his flat. No one round here would dare mess with his car.
Dutch was lying as he’d left her, still sleeping off the effects of the night before, a fact that didn’t fail to wind him up, but as he stood in the doorway, he was suddenly aware of Caz’s hot breath on the back of his neck. There was one last thing he needed to do. Beckoning for her to follow, he strode into her room, stood by the bed and started to unzip his fly, removing the package of crack from where it was tucked and placing it on the bedside table. She tailed him obediently, not saying a word as he pushed her on to the bed and pulled her T-shirt up to expose her teenage breasts. He lowered himself down, his huge frame pinning her thin body underneath him, forcing her breath up in short pants as she gasped for air.
He could feel himself harden as Caz squirmed against him. Bringing his knee up into her groin, he forced her legs apart and entered her. She was unprepared, but he didn’t care. Thrusting slowly at first, he revelled in the feeling of resistance, knowing she could do nothing to stop him. As his pleasure grew, he pushed harder and harder into her young body, his breathing becoming laboured, his body taut and rigid, until finally exploding within her.
The tension from the last few hours evaporated immediately, the tightness in his chest released as the last few shudders of his climax were expelled. He slumped against Caz’s body, unusually feeling her arms holding his body close as she clung to him, either in gratitude or desperation, he didn’t know which.
After a few minutes, he prised her arms apart, now irritated at this unwanted show of affection, watching as Caz curled up next to him, a peculiar expression across her face. He rolled himself a joint, passing it to Caz when he’d had enough.
‘Got any spare gear?’ she asked, putting the joint to her lips and looking towards the table where he’d discarded the package of crack earlier. ‘It’s been a hell of a night.’
Razor passed her a small creamy rock, viewing with satisfaction the trembling of her fingers as she prepared the hit. He was pleased at how things were progressing. Redz might be dead but Caz and Dutch were under his control. There was only one thing left to be done.
He closed his eyes, visualising with relish the path of his razor blade as it sliced through the skin of The Punter’s face.
Chapter 17
Charlie watched as the Scenes of Crime Officer arrived, with a small team of forensic staff. There were plenty of possible samples to be gleaned from the other rooms, but it was the top room that was of the most interest to them. With the surfaces wiped clean and the presence of bleach and disinfectant to obliterate fingerprints and DNA it was clear that somebody wanted the identity of its occupant to remain anonymous, but with the traces of blood on the mattress and the departure from the premises being conducted in such a rush, the chances that some evidence had been left was high. Charlie was banking on a speedy identification, if for no other reason than to confirm or negate her hunch.
So far, all the enquiries at local hospitals, walk-in clinics and surgeries had been negative. If luck was on their side and they could establish that the blood stains on the mattress were from the same woman as the blood on the baby’s head, they would at least know they were on the right track, even if they had no match providing identification on the DNA database. The brothel would almost certainly re-emerge in a different location. How hard could it be to track down the whereabouts of up to five young women forced into prostitution by two Eastern European men, one of whom was called Dimitri? She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialled Angie’s number. They’d do their own research of course, but hopefully her source might be able to help again.
‘I’ll get straight back on to it,’ Angie was direct, after hearing Charlie’s news. ‘And I’ll also try to find out why they moved out in such a rush. Something must have spooked them.’
‘Thanks, Angie.’
Charlie put the phone away and sighed heavily. It would take a while for the SOCO to retrieve any possible forensic evidence from this new scene, and Hunter was keen to pay a visit to Razor while they waited for any news from Angie’s DSU. Minutes were turning into hours and hours were becoming days. As she walked away from the disinfected bedroom, Charlie knew that with every minute that passed, time could be running out for the woman whose blood had been spilt across the mattress... if it hadn’t run out already.
*
Bet clicked on to a custody photo of Razor, Grace Flaherty’s pimp, along with his actual name. ROBERTS: Clinton, James / 18:03:1960 / Male / Non-white /Born: Jamaica.
Charlie recognised the heavy angular set of his jaw immediately as she walked back into the office. It was one that was not easily forgotten. She watched as Bet turned to the front page of his record, illuminated in red flashing words: WEAPONS / VIOLENT / DRUGS / ASSAULTS POLICE.
Nineteen pages followed, detailing forty-eight previous convictions all neatly set out in rows containing the exact date, the court, the offence and the sentence.
Charlie let her eyes run through the catalogue of crimes. It bore the same depressing similarity that she’d seen on so many other records of adults in the borough. Once entrenched, each young life-victim seemed destined to carry on the cycle; rarely could any agency intervene to change behaviours.
From his first juvenile convictions detailing street robbery, stealing cars, criminal damage, burglary and minor drugs offences, Razor had surely and steadily worked his way up the ladder. Possession of drugs with intent to supply, assault on police and carrying offensive weapons followed, culminating in armed robbery, GBH with intent and wounding. Terms of imprisonment were meted out for some of the more violent crimes, but these just served to have made him more selective in his choice of victim. Assaulting prostitutes seemed to be his preference now; he could beat them up with impunity, knowing they would never give evidence against him for fear of reprisals and the British justice system wouldn’t care.
Charlie was well aware that the majority of murders in England were domestically related. If the victim was also a sex worker, and the suspect their pimp, then the risk was further heightened. Even the lure of money could not guarantee the violence was controlled.
She glanced at a printout of Redz, letting her gaze fall on a photo of Grace Flaherty as she had appeared before her face had been rendered unrecognisable. As if reading Charlie’s mind, Bet nodded at the photo.
‘She went downhill rapidly. Have a look at her intel’, especially from when she met Razor.’
Charlie scanned through the record sadly. From the moment their first sightings were reported, his influence was clear… and it wasn’t positive.
‘Tragic isn’t it?’ Bet shook her head as Charlie finished the last page and threw the record on to the desk in front of her. She paused and pushed the paperwork to one side. ‘This might help us though.’ Bet slotted a DVD into the hard drive. ‘I’ve been searching CCTV.’ She navigated through several screens to a clip labelled ‘STREATHAM HILL CCTV – 00.30 to 02.00’.
Hunter joined them and they both leant in as the screen filled with a grainy shot of Streatham Hill. Charlie knew the area well and could easily make out the three lanes of traffic running from south to north along the carriageway. The shot was of the west carriageway from which the side roads leading to Redz’ alleyway were situat
ed and, even though the image was dark and flickered intermittently, the registration numbers of vehicles travelling into view could be seen.
Bet fast-forwarded until she reached the frame showing 00.42 in the bottom right corner of the recording and pointed to a black Vauxhall Astra coming from the direction of Brixton and turning right, across the carriageway into Telford Avenue. She zoomed in on the registration number.
‘That car belongs to Razor,’ Bet said. ‘It enters the road at 00.42 with apparently only the driver in it, and then look.’ She fast-forwarded until the clock showed 01.05. Charlie squinted as the same black Vauxhall Astra was driven at speed from one of the side roads, barely slowing down for any oncoming traffic. As if to confirm what she was seeing, Bet freeze-framed the vehicle on the screen. ‘It’s Razor’s car again and it’s leaving the area within five minutes of Maria Simpson’s call for an ambulance.’
‘And at speed,’ Charlie commented.
Hunter shot up straight. ‘Good work, Bet.’ He looked round towards them all. ‘Right, troops. That’s all the suspicion I need. Razor’s record speaks for itself and now we have him at the scene, we have more than enough to bring him in. Be ready to move out in fifteen minutes.’
The trough of disappointment from earlier lifted and they were launched on to a wave of optimism. If they couldn’t solve the first crime immediately, they could at least have a fighting chance with the second.
Chapter 18
Caz pressed her body up against Razor and let her arm drape loosely across his chest, her fingers stroking the thick black hair. He was deeply asleep, his face relaxed, his mouth open slightly and a wave of emotion swept over her. For once she was happy; happy to have Razor in her arms, happy to provide his alibi, happy that he wanted her.
The drugs had taken effect, the weed relaxing her, the crack heightening the sense of elation seeping through her body. It was not an emotion Caz experienced often, but for now she was luxuriating in the feeling.
Razor needed her. Razor needed her. Razor needed her.
She repeated the sentence in her head, savouring every word. She felt like singing, dancing, flying. Gone was the ever-present fear, the niggling apprehension that saying or doing the wrong thing would unleash a torrent of abuse or punches. She didn’t care that he treated her roughly or that she was not the only woman he slept with. All she cared about at that moment was the desire in both of them for each other. Not since she had lain in her mother’s arms, so many years ago, had she felt so contented, so secure.
Closing her eyes, Caz drifted into a troubled sleep. Visions of her mother faded in and out of her consciousness, mingling with dreams of Razor smiling at her, holding her, his arm encircling her protectively. The crack made her dreams vivid and realistic, taking her to an imaginary place where her life was perfect and she was surrounded by everything she had always longed for.
Through her picture-postcard world, she heard a muffled thud, followed by another and another. She felt Razor leap up and thrust what remained of the cling film of crack into her hand. As the door crashed open, she stashed the precious wrap in her mouth, pushing it to the side of her cheek with her tongue. Through heavy eyes she saw a number of boiler-suited figures, their heads encased in dark helmets, the visors down, thick gloves covering their hands. All around her was noise. The figures were shouting, bellowing out their instructions.
‘Police, Police. Stay where you are. Don’t move.’
Doors crashed open as the other rooms in the flat were also forcibly entered.
The figures were swarming all over Razor. They had him on the floor, his hands behind his back, all the time shouting, shouting at him to stay still. It all seemed so surreal that Caz fought back the urge to laugh. He’d said this was going to happen and now it was. The figures were blurry, out of focus. She tried to concentrate. One was bending over her now. She stared up at it, willing herself to see its features. No matter how hard she tried though, it still remained suspended in a fog.
Razor was struggling to get to her, his hands secured tightly behind him. He was also shouting.
‘Caz, Caz. Tell them where I was when Redz was done, babe.’
‘He was with me, right,’ she slurred, recognising the moment for which they’d planned. ‘He was here in this room, right here, while I was shootin’ up, weren’t you?’
‘Right, that’s right, we was. Just tell them that, right.’
She watched as Razor was jerked backwards away from her. She could hear Dutch calling out to him, swearing and shouting from a distant place. Her voice grew louder and she appeared, framed in the doorway, a figure on both sides holding her still.
‘What the fuck’s goin’ on, Razor?’ Dutch tried to pull away, but as she did so, the gloved hands that held her tightened and clamped round each elbow, moving her arms out in front and locking metal restraints in place. Through clouded eyes, Caz saw her propelled forward towards the bed on which she was lying.
‘Sit down and be quiet,’ the faceless figure was instructing.
Razor was taken from the room, leaving Caz and Dutch together, surrounded by the boiler suits.
Caz still couldn’t concentrate properly on her surroundings, but the euphoria was starting to fade and her vision was at last beginning to focus on the strange figures. She recognised them to be police. She felt no fear or anxiety, just a strange feeling of déjà vu and inevitability.
Dutch whispered urgently to her. ‘Caz, what’s happened? What’s Razor done this time?’
‘Nothin’,’ she replied indignantly. ‘Redz got herself bleedin’ murdered last night. Razor never done it, I swear. The cops are takin’ him in though. He said they would, but he’s got nothin’ to worry ’bout.’ She put a finger to her mouth, winked towards Dutch and whispered. ‘I’m coverin’ for him.’
The words coming from her mouth still seemed indistinct and unfamiliar, but as she spoke, the reality of what she said was starting to dawn on her properly. Razor was leaving her, going to a place where she couldn’t follow. She was on her own again, the bubble of euphoria deflating, as quickly as it had come. His arrest was purely routine, but this knowledge still did nothing to raise the gloom settling on her shoulders.
Dutch was sitting in silence, looking shell-shocked, her face frozen in a mask of horror. The fact that she’d lain in a drug-induced sleep while her best friend, Redz, was fighting for her life was clearly hard to bear.
The boiler-suited figures were becoming more human. Their helmets were now removed and two pairs of tightly fitted rubber gloves replaced the thick leather ones. She recognised a woman in normal clothes walking towards her.
‘Hello again, Caz,’ the woman said, indicating for the boiler-suited person next to her to move away. ‘Are you all right now? It’s me.’
Everything still felt bizarre. ‘Well, if it’s not DC Charlie Stafford,’ she grinned. ‘We can’t keep meeting like this.’
‘And you’ve warmed up and are feeling better? I wondered whether you would be here.’
‘Where else would I be?’ Caz kept the wrap pressed firmly against the side of her cheek, hoping that the slight difference in her speech would not be noticed.
‘You’re going to have to be somewhere else in a few minutes,’ Charlie’s boss came across to join them. ‘DI Hunter,’ he introduced himself. ‘Is there somewhere you can both stay while this flat is searched?’ He wasn’t officious; in fact, on the few occasions they’d met, he had always been fair. That was all she ever asked for; to be cut a bit of slack every now and again. She nodded. She was used to this sort of shit and he wasn’t saying anything that she didn’t already know. She and Dutch could crash out at DK’s place until the cops had finished.
‘We can stay wiv a mate nearby. He won’t mind. As long as we pay our way.’
‘Is it far?’ Charlie was asking. ‘We could help you move your stuff if need be.’
Caz shook her head. Charlie Stafford was all right too. It was Charlie that had got her working with Ang
ie and Von, passing on what she saw and heard on the streets, as well as what her mates Ayeisha and Mand told her. Money talked and the small amount of cash coming in from putting away another dealer or identifying a robber helped her to buy a few extra bits to wear and a little rest from her day job. Not that she could ever admit it. She couldn’t even tell Charlie, although she had given her a few clues. Keep yer gob shut was what Angie had said. Don’t tell no one that you are working with us. Angie was right though. Dead right. So right in fact that her life might actually depend on it.
‘No, it ain’t far.’ She indicated towards Dutch, still sitting silently next to her. ‘We’ll be all right. I don’t think my mate would appreciate you lot turnin’ up on his doorstep wiv or wivout me.’ She fixed a smile on her face. ‘Suppose you lot will want to search us both first though.’
Charlie nodded. ‘You can probably guess why Razor has been nicked, and it’s not for drugs this time, but we’ll still have to check you haven’t got anything on you connected with what he’s been arrested for.’
Caz snorted and turned to Dutch. ‘He’s bin nicked for murdering Redz, like ’e said ’e would.’ She turned to DI Hunter. ‘But I can vouch that it weren’t ’im, like I’ve already told your lot.’ She was happy to go to court for Razor’s alibi, but she’d keep news of The Punter for Angie or Von; that way, she might earn out of it. She lifted up her arms and spread her legs. ‘OK, let’s get this search over wiv, then we can go.’
Hunter moved away. ‘I’ll send Naz and Sab in to help. Search them both quickly. I’m not interested in drugs paraphernalia. We need to get going with Razor. The clock’s already ticking.’
He left the room and was quickly replaced by two female officers. Caz stripped off indifferently, being used to total strangers seeing her body. Dutch too, both volunteering to be searched in the same room. Neither of them cared. The police officers were more embarrassed than they were, and anyway, she had nothing that they would find. Cops weren’t allowed to search ‘intimate’ places, and mouths were off limits, though at one point she thought she saw Charlie staring towards her cheek, but the officer said nothing, and after a few minutes they were on their way, with only a small holdall each containing their worldly belongings.
