by Sarah Flint
‘Give me the details.’ Hunter pulled out a pad as Charlie drove. Bet’s voice was clear over the mobile.
‘The van you’re looking for is a white Ford Transit 125ps LWB Luton Tail lift.’ She read out the registration number. ‘I was going through CCTV for Streatham High Road looking for vans like the neighbours had described entering or exiting any of the side roads that lead to the brothel. At 00.51 a large white Luton van comes out of one and turns left, heading towards Brixton. It gets to the lights by Streatham Hill railway station and turns left towards Tooting Bec Common and Balham before going out of sight.
‘It then returns about forty minutes later at 01.29,’ Bet continued. ‘I got Paul to check the CCTV for Balham High Road for around that time, but there’s no trace, so it must have turned off somewhere between Streatham and Balham. Interestingly, there were a lot of police cars around the area at that time. There were blue lights everywhere on the CCTV.’
‘That was the same time as the incident with Redz, and only half a mile away.’ Charlie tilted her head towards Hunter. ‘If it’s the van from the brothel, I wonder if that’s what could have spooked them into leaving.’
‘It could have been,’ Bet agreed. ‘After that, it left again about half an hour later, at pretty much spot on 02.00, before returning just over an hour later at 03.11. The last time I saw the van, it was at 03.35 when it left the area of the brothel and didn’t return. On both of these last two occasions it headed north towards Central London.’
‘That’s interesting.’ Hunter pulled an A to Z from behind the seat and flipped it to the front page showing the whole area of Greater London. ‘Let’s suppose the driver was spooked on his initial journey and decided to move out. Traffic would have been light at that time of night but they would still have had to take, let’s say, a minimum of ten to fifteen minutes to unpack wherever they’d relocated, in order for him to return for the last few bits. So…’ he drew an imaginary semicircle with his finger north from Streatham.
Charlie glanced across at the map. ‘Not too far then? Maybe the Camberwell, Battersea or Lewisham areas? And he wouldn’t have wanted to drive fast and draw attention to the van, loaded up with all his girls and their belongings, so the new brothel must be within half an hour’s drive of the Streatham one.’
The van rental company was now within view. With any luck it would be Dimitri, their Russian suspect, who had hired the van and they would have documentary and photographic evidence. If they were really lucky, the Russian would still be driving it, or have swapped it for a new vehicle, the details of which they would be able to circulate. Vehicles were much easier to track than people, particularly with the use of CCTV and automated number plate readers. Charlie navigated the one-way system at Tulse Hill and coasted to a halt outside the yard. They needed some answers and they needed them quickly.
*
‘You’ve just missed him, officer,’ the words struck Charlie as forcefully as a fist to the stomach. ‘The van was brought back half an hour ago and the man who returned it unusually hasn’t rented another.’
Charlie turned away, gutted. Yet again it seemed what progress they were making had been halted. Running the two cases together meant that they were permanently playing catch-up, but she was too personally invested with each to give either up. They all were. The death of the baby needed resolution and friends and relatives of Redz needed justice.
Hunter had already disappeared to the yard. The van would need to be recovered intact for a full forensic examination. It was at least fortunate they had arrived prior to it being made ready for its next hiring. They might have been too late to catch the driver, but there would be a lot to assist in the investigation.
Swallowing her frustration, she turned back to the assistant. There was still a job to be done.
‘You intimated the hirer would usually rent out a new vehicle when he returns one?’
The assistant nodded. ‘Dimitri has been coming here for six months and up until today has always re-rented another vehicle; sometimes a van, sometimes a car, occasionally both. He is a good customer.’
‘And you have his driving licence and bank account details?’
The assistant went to a filing cabinet and pulled out a file. ‘Yes, we have a photocopy of his driving licence but no bank details. He always pays cash. Even the deposits are paid with cash.’
Charlie eyed the grainy photograph on the photocopy. The address of the old brothel was printed underneath, along with the name Dimitri Ivanov and a driver number showing his date of birth. The driving licence looked legitimate, but without the original it was hard to tell.
She scanned the small office, noting the presence of a CCTV camera in the corner, trained down at the door. The assistant read her gaze and beckoned for her to join him at the other side of the desk. He pressed a few buttons on a computer hard drive and rewound a black and white recording, checking his watch and stopping it, just thirty-five minutes earlier. Charlie watched as he pressed play and the figure of a well-built man appeared on a monitor, walking into the office. His hood was up and his face was partially obscured as he moved about the desk area for a full eight minutes, returning keys, signing paperwork and counting the returned cash deposit. He appeared nervous in the way he moved, keeping his eyes averted and continually glancing at his watch, but as she watched, Charlie had no doubt that, should they check the footage from his previous visits, they would find a good facial image of the man who earned a living from the misery of others.
It was unlikely he had been so discreet on earlier business transactions at the rental office, but whether his name was actually Dimitri Ivanov would be another thing.
Chapter 29
Caz heard a scrabbling sound as she entered the flat and saw Dutch dart into her bedroom. Nothing had been cleared since she’d left that morning to visit Anna and the whole place looked shambolic. She called out to Dutch, waiting for her friend to re-emerge.
‘Thank God it’s you. I thought it was Razor. Where is he?’ Dutch peeped around the door, her relief evident.
‘He dropped me off after we was shopping. He was goin’ to the barbers and then he had to go to the nick for an ID parade. Why are you so worried?’
‘’Cause he told me to get the place tidied up, but I got scared and went an’ got some brown from that new dealer, Turbo. If Razor finds out he’ll kill me… an’ him.’
She showed Caz five small silver wraps of heroin and retreated back into the bedroom, with Caz close behind.
‘Shit, Dutch. What the hell do you think you’re playin’ at?’ Caz stared at the mess. The room was filthy. Until now her friend had kept it reasonably clean for the purpose of entertaining, but with nothing tidied since the police search, it was now virtually uninhabitable.
In addition to the disarray, the room stank of stale urine. Dutch was clearly unable to locate the bathroom, although seemingly capable of finding her new dealer. Christ knew how she was paying Turbo. Razor would be incensed if there was a debt owing.
Dutch collapsed down on to her bed and her expression crumpled. Caz watched as her friend’s body was wracked with long shuddering sobs and a fresh stream of tears picked its way through crusty rivers of dried spittle on her cheeks.
‘I don’t know what to do, Caz. I can’t cope. I can’t do it anymore. I’m too fuckin’ scared to go back out. Shit. It might be me or you next.’ Dutch looked up at Caz, her eyes pleading. ‘Caz, you gotta help me. That’s why I’m takin’ so much gear.’
She pulled her sleeves up and held out her arms towards Caz. Huge angry boils festered on the lower part of each arm and infection had set into the crook of one elbow, her favourite for injecting. The track marks glowed a poisonous white. Pulling off her boots, Caz could see the veins around her ankles were the same.
‘Dutch, you can’t carry on mixin’ both. The brown’ll kill you. You know it will. You’ve gotta clean up an’ get back out to work. Razor’s gettin’ pissed off. He wants you bringin’ in some cash.
’
‘I know he does, but I just can’t. I just start shakin’ an’ cryin’ so I take some more gear until I forget. I can’t go on like this, Caz, I’m so tired.’
Caz sat down next to her flatmate on the bed. Never before had she seen Dutch like this. Dutch was always the strong confident one. Something had to be done. For every day that Dutch was comatose, she and Razor would have to cover for her and they couldn’t go on robbing punters. It wasn’t popular with the other street girls. It gave the area a bad reputation.
‘You’ve gotta pull yourself together, Dutch, and for fuck’s sake don’t let ’im see that brown. I’ll try an’ help you when he gets back.’
As if on cue, Caz heard the sound of Razor slamming through the door. Dutch pushed the heroin wraps up her sleeve, shrinking back against the wall.
‘Caz, Dutch. Where are you?’ Razor shouted, striding down the hallway towards them. His head was freshly shaved and the previous thick coating of stubble on his chin was styled into a fine track, mirrored by thin lines shaved into his eyebrows. A new shirt, leather belt and shoes completed his powerful aura, a quality that wasn’t lost on Caz. To her, he positively oozed masculinity. His mood had slumped since the high spirits of their early-morning shopping trip, and the set of his brow made his disposition difficult to gauge.
Caz leant towards him as he neared and the smell of cologne hit her nostrils. ‘You’re lookin’ and smellin’ good, babe. How did you get on?’
Razor pulled his shoulders back, his shirt tightening across his muscular chest. ‘Sweet! I weren’t picked out by none of ’em. It’s just a pisser the cops ’ave kept me on bail and I ’ave to go back. I got other things more pressin’ to do.’ He pulled a snap bag from his pocket and started to roll a joint. ‘I’ve just bin speaking to Mand.’
‘She tell you what she saw with Redz?’
‘Yep, and a few other things.’ He frowned, pulling out ten rocks of crack from the front of his trousers and throwing them on to the bed. ‘There you go. I got some more gear from DK for you.’
Caz reached towards them and stuffed them into her bra, watching as his expression darkened on seeing Dutch cowering against the wall behind her.
‘It’s nice to see you awake for once,’ he snarled. ‘I’ve been hearing all about what you’re gettin’ up to. Isn’t it about time you started earnin’, you lazy bitch, instead of makin’ me look like a prize prick in front of everyone?’
Dutch made no reply. She didn’t need to. Her eyes said everything Razor needed to know, widening in fear as she burrowed deeper against the wall.
‘Did you hear what I just said?’ He moved towards her and grabbed her roughly under the chin, pulling her off the bed and lifting her head so she was on tiptoes. ‘I asked you a question, bitch.’
‘Please, Razor, don’t make me. I can’t do it. I’m too fuckin’ scared.’
Razor took a step back and released his grip, his expression as dark as Caz had ever seen it. She held her breath, watching the scene play out in slow motion.
‘You’re too fuckin’ scared?’ He lunged towards her, picking her up by the shoulders and shaking her. Dutch tried to break away, but he was too strong. ‘Are you tryin’ to say I don’t protect you? ’Cause if you are, you’d better watch your tongue. No one says I don’t do my job right an’ gets away with it.’
‘Please, Razor, please let me go. I didn’t mean nothin’. It’s not you. It’s me. I just don’t feel right.’
Dutch was crying, her voice little more than a high-pitched whimper, which seemed to antagonise Razor further.
Lifting her up, so that her face was square with his, he spoke slowly and calmly, the coldness and clarity of his words sending a shiver down Caz’s spine.
‘If you’re not out later tonight then I will personally drag you out, and if you still don’t want to play, you’ll feel my bleedin’ fist in your face, or worse. Do you understand?’
Dutch nodded. Razor kept his face close.
‘And when you’ve finished servicin’ the punters, you can service me. It’s about time you an’ I played our little games.’
He kissed her, biting hard on her bottom lip, before throwing her roughly against the bed. Her head bounced against the mattress and she flung her arms out to regain her balance, but as she did so Caz watched with horror as the wraps of heroin shot out from inside her sleeve and landed on the floor at Razor’s feet. Time seemed to stand still as he slowly bent down to pick them up. Caz was frozen with fear and Dutch dragged herself as far from him as possible, her body held flat against the wall with her legs pulled up defensively in front.
‘Please, Razor. Please don’t,’ Dutch begged.
He unfolded one carefully and as traces of brown powder became visible, he threw the wraps down and brought his arm up to strike Dutch’s tear-stained face.
There was only one thing to be done. Launching herself towards him, Caz grabbed his outstretched arm and clung to it, hanging on grimly, knowing that it would be turned against her for daring to intervene if she let go.
‘Razor, stop, stop,’ she cried. ‘Don’t do this now. Let me try an’ sort Dutch out. You go and find the guy who done Redz in.’
He remained static, his muscles tensed for what seemed ages, before relaxing all of a sudden and dropping his arm. Staring directly at Dutch, he pulled his head back and spat at her. The spittle hit her in the face and across the top of her knees, but she sat motionless, allowing it to run down her chin on to her hands.
‘Mark my words, you lazy bitch. You’d better be ready to do what I say when I get back. Or else!’
With the threat still hanging in the air, Razor turned and strode out of the flat, slamming the door behind him.
Caz stayed still, listening as his footsteps died away. Only when she was sure he was gone did she dare move across and pick the five heroin wraps up, shoving them deep into her pocket.
‘I’d better take these and get them back to Turbo. At least Razor might relax a bit if he knows he don’t owe nothing!’
Dutch nodded miserably. ‘Thanks Caz. You saved me from a real beatin’. In fact, you probably saved my life.’ She rubbed her mouth, her fingers tracing the indentations left by Razor’s teeth.
The two girls moved into the front room, bringing with them the rocks of crack left by Razor and prepared their own hits, Dutch taking two for the one that Caz prepared. The remaining rocks were put under the flowerpot in the corner.
‘What’re you goin’ to do then, Dutch? You’ll have to go back out. There ain’t no other way.’
‘I don’t know.’ Dutch tightened a tourniquet around her leg, waiting for the vein to bulge before sinking the needle into her ankle. ‘I just don’t think I can. I can’t go on like this for much longer. Look at me; I look twice my age and I feel like shit all the time.’
Caz watched as Dutch lay back against the settee and closed her eyes, drifting seamlessly into a different world. Her hairpiece was back in position and she seemed more peaceful now, but it would only be short-lived. Razor would do exactly as he’d warned.
Caz thought of their morning shopping trip, just her and Razor, doing the ordinary, everyday things that couples did, and a pang of jealousy caught her off guard at the image of Razor and Dutch fucking.
She got up and wandered through to the kitchen aimlessly, remembering Ayeisha’s promise to come round later. The crack she’d just prepared would have to wait until after they’d spoken. There were other important things to be done first. The fridge was empty. She switched the light on and went to the windowsill, helping herself to a few quid from the pot where Razor kept his stash. They needed booze and food.
Returning to the lounge, she knelt down next to Dutch and shook her gently. ‘I’m goin’ out in a minute, Dutch,’ she whispered. ‘But I’ll get everythin’ sorted for you. You don’t need to worry about nothin’.’ Dutch lay silent and unresponsive. Every now and again, her lips and brows twitched, her eyelids fluttering faster as a small sob broke
the silence. She would be like this for some time.
Caz stayed for a while, stroking her friend’s hand as an unexpected wave of optimism peaked. She would help Dutch overcome her problems and, when that was done, everything would be all right. She would show Razor that she was all he needed. Then, in a few days’ time, when his case was dropped, they would be together, forever.
Chapter 30
Soft music throbbed throughout the confines of the new house. The lighting was dimmed and tinged pink for a more subtle effect and the rooms were perfumed with sensual fragrances. Dimitri moved from room to room, checking that all was in order, but his girls had done him proud. After initial differences of opinion when they had first arrived in the country they quickly learnt what he expected, even though it wasn’t as they had expected.
Over time, they had grown used to the routine. He looked after them well, didn’t he? Keeping them warm, fed and watered, allowing them to send a small percentage of their takings to family back home. While some might say their lives remained restricted, he liked to think they had enough; probably more than in their homelands… they just needed to work hard and show him gratitude. A particularly grateful twenty-year-old Lithuanian woman, rescued from a life toiling in the fields, sidled across as he entered her room. A see-through negligee hung loosely from her shoulders, only partially covering a bright red basque, fishnet stockings and high stiletto heels. She smiled as he moved his hand over her stockings, his fingers lingering at the bare flesh at her thigh.
‘You should come to work for Dimitri also,’ she nodded towards a young girl, standing silently watching from behind. ‘He will treat you well and pay you good.’
‘She’s thinking about it, aren’t you, my beautiful sexy girl?’ he transferred his hand from the Lithuanian to stroke the young girl’s silky black hair instead. ‘But first I must get you home.’
He took a step backwards and the girl grasped his arm. ‘Can’t I stay tonight?’
