by Sarah Flint
He shook his head. It wouldn’t do to let her have her way just yet, even though she was as good as his. ‘Unfortunately, there are lots of things to be done and I will not be able to pay you the attention you deserve.’ His expression was soft, at odds with the stirring in his groin. In the next few days, he would have her adolescent body, over and over, but tonight she would have to wait.
The sound of an argument stirred him from his reverie. The voice was Hanna’s, loud and insistent.
‘Go back to the car and wait for me,’ he instructed the young girl. ‘I will be with you in a minute.’
She did as ordered, even though he could tell she did not want to go. She was clearly ready to take up his last spot, primed, willing and obedient. He waited until she was out of sight before closing the door on the Lithuanian woman and ascending the stairs to Hanna’s room. Hanna stood wrapped in a dressing gown, her arms folded tight across her body, arguing with Albertas. She quietened as he entered, but her expression remained mutinous. Dimitri said nothing as he took the two steps towards her and ripped the dressing gown from her shoulders. He waited while Albertas closed the door behind them, allowing his eyes to roam over Hanna’s naked body.
‘I have had enough of you and your loud mouth.’ From his jacket pocket, he pulled a knife, pressing the catch and watching as the blade flicked out into position. He aimed it towards Hanna, smirking with glee as she shrank away from the razor-sharp metal, her hands clutched across her breasts and crotch in an attempt to cover herself. ‘If you do not want to end up as Tatjana did, you will shut your mouth and do as I say.’ He took a step closer and pushed the point of the knife against her stomach, tracing the line from her belly button downwards. ‘Do you understand?’
Hanna opened her mouth and then closed it again without speaking, but her eyes remained defiant.
He put an arm around her shoulder and lifted the knife so that the blade pressed against her neck, swivelling it slightly so that her skin strained against the tip. ‘I said, do you understand?’ He gave the knife a jolt, so that the tip pierced her flesh, bringing a drop of blood rushing to the surface of her skin.
Hanna closed her eyes tightly, nodding silently as a tear pooled at the corner of her eye.
‘Good.’ He snapped the knife shut triumphantly. ‘The first man to enter this house tonight will have you… and I will tell him that he can do anything he wants. Now, get yourself ready. I do not want to hear your stupid voice again.’
*
Dimitri Ivanov was known to police, but the photograph on the police custody imaging computer records did not match the portrait on either the photocopied driving licence or CCTV. Nor did the portrait on the photocopied licence match up with the photograph on the DVLA records. In other words, the driving licence ID card was a forgery. The man in the image, whoever he was, had stolen the identity of Dimitri Ivanov, with or without his knowledge. To any officer stopping him on the street, the licence card would have seemed genuine enough. It was a full licence, with a photo of the person they had stopped correctly shown, and with no access to custody imaging or the DVLA records on the streets, it would almost certainly have seemed credible. No wonder the hire company had been fooled.
Even close scrutiny of the genuine and fake Ivanov would have thrown up more questions than answers; both men were very similar in appearance. Whoever had made up the forgery, had selected well.
Charlie stared at the man’s face on the photocopy, taking in every feature. Even though they were still awaiting the forensic results, she knew without doubt, he was responsible for the baby girl’s death. He had dead eyes. He was soulless, without conscience, and he was mocking her. But who the hell was he?
‘Go home, team. It’s been a long day,’ Hunter shouted through from his office. Charlie wanted to add the word ‘fruitless’, but it seemed too harsh. They’d all been working non-stop, but it felt like for every step they took forward, they were knocked back twice as far. She shut down the computer and picked up her phone, waving as the others filtered out – Paul up town to a bar, Sabira to her new partner Preet, Bet and Naz home to their families.
She dialled Ben’s number, listening as the line clicked in. Perhaps a good long run with him and Casper would lift her spirits. There was nothing like sprinting through the dark streets of London, with the freezing night air filling her lungs and limbs, followed by a hot, milky chocolate drink with extra sprinkles of cocoa and warm marshmallows, and all while curled up on the sofa with your best mate. Maybe more partner than mate soon, she was sure Ben was planning something special for Christmas. Or at least she hoped he was.
Hunter appeared, doing up the buttons of his old donkey jacket and pulling his tweed cap down over his ears. He pulled the door to his office shut and she heard him sigh heavily. With the post mortem completed, Redz was to be repatriated back to Ireland, and tomorrow they would be flying to her home town in readiness for the funeral. Until then though Hunter would apparently be spending the rest of his Saturday evening watching the finale of Strictly, with Mrs H, whether he wanted to or not. Mrs H had recorded it ready.
His ever-present radio sparked into life, just as Ben answered her call and voiced an enthusiastic greeting.
‘Hi Ben,’ she said, stopping abruptly as she heard a familiar address given out over the airwaves. Hunter recognised it too and they both stood stock-still as the rest of the details followed. Any plans for the next few hours were forgotten in an instant.
Another body had been found.
*
Charlie and Hunter raced to 59 Milton House, Poets Estate, SW2, with more information flooding in over the radio every minute. The body was that of a young female. It was believed to be an overdose. The informant who had found the body was also a young female, and she was now in with the neighbours at 58.
All Charlie’s fears were coming back to haunt her. Could the body be that of Caz? Had they sent her to her death when they’d bailed out Razor and allowed her to return to his flat. Perhaps she should have broken her code of silence with the source unit and spoken to Angie of her worries, but then what could Angie have done? Any covert enquiries to try to assist would blow their informant’s cover sky-high. Assistance had to be offered overtly, through the normal channels, and Caz had turned it down. There was nothing more they could have done. Still, until she saw the body with her own eyes she couldn’t help worrying.
A paramedic and a uniformed police officer stood chatting at the front door when they arrived. On seeing their warrant cards, the paramedic spoke bluntly. ‘She’s in the front room and appears to have been dead some time. Looks like an overdose. We won’t be taking her.’
‘Do we have an ID yet?’ Charlie asked straight away.
The police officer shook his head. ‘Not yet, but my colleague is in with the informant next door.’
Charlie nodded and headed straight through, closely followed by Hunter. Nothing else mattered for that moment other than establishing whether the body was that of Caz.
To her relief it wasn’t, but almost instantaneously the guilt kicked in as she recognised Dutch. The girl was lying along the sofa on her side, with her head resting on a pillow and her left arm tucked underneath her body. One leg stuck out in front of her, stiffly held in place by the other, and a hairpiece, slightly askew, was combed out on to the cushion behind her. Flung out across the back of the settee, her right hand still gripped a syringe, the needle of which stuck up into the air. She looked to be sleeping, her eyes and mouth closed, her expression serene, almost angelic, the contrast with her life as a prostitute stark.
Charlie leant forward, her fingers brushing the girl’s bare arm, recoiling instantly at the cool, waxy, model-like texture. She could never get used to the feel of death.
Hunter pointed towards the table littered with drug paraphernalia. ‘Looks like a straightforward drugs overdose to me, like the paramedic said, but she’ll still need to be checked thoroughly for injuries.’ He turned towards the uniformed officer who
had joined them. ‘Have a good look for any suicide notes and bag up any items of value you might find in the rest of the flat, but leave this area intact. I’ll arrange for a photographer and SOCO to attend ASAP to get some pictures of the syringe in her hand and to get it removed and packaged safely. Likewise, with any wraps or remnants of drugs; leave them to SOCO and hopefully we might get some DNA or fingerprints off them to identify her dealer, though I’ve a pretty good idea who it’s likely to be.’ He turned to Charlie angrily. ‘Another young woman dead, no doubt from the amount of shit, dealers like Razor, mix in with their gear these days.’
They picked their way out and headed for the neighbours. The door to number 58 was slightly ajar and the buzz of people chatting could be heard from within. Charlie rapped succinctly on the wood and an elderly man appeared.
‘Come in, come in. The poor young girl who found her is in here. She hasn’t stopped crying since we sat her down.’
The flat was neat and tidy, with a dark, patterned carpet and embossed wallpaper. An umbrella stand stood near to the front door.
As she entered the lounge, Charlie saw a teenage girl sitting on the sofa, clutching a porcelain cup in her hands, her cheeks shiny with tears. Next to her sat an elderly woman, her hand lying on the young girl’s knee, patting it gently. Both looked up as she and Hunter walked through, and at the sight of the police officers, the girl placed the cup down and started to sob.
‘Don’t worry lovie,’ the old lady said kindly. ‘They’re here to help.’ Turning towards them, she explained, ‘Her name’s Ayeisha. She found the girl, just now. We called the ambulance. She’s been telling me all about her other friend too. It must be awful for her, poor thing.’
Charlie sat down in the armchair opposite and looked at the sobbing girl.
‘Ayeisha. Can you tell me what happened?’
‘It was like the lady said. I was coming up to see my friend Caz. When I got here, there was no answer so I went in.’ She put her hands out as if in demonstration. ‘I normally just go in if there’s no reply. I was going to watch telly until Caz came back. Her flatmate, Dutch, was lying on the settee. At first, I thought she was just asleep but she looked different. When I tried to wake her, she didn’t move and she was all cold. I got frightened and ran straight here.’ The girl stared down at the floor. ‘She’s dead, ain’t she?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry, she is,’ Charlie spoke softly. ‘The paramedics think she probably died some time ago.’
‘I knew it.’ Ayeisha scrunched up the tissue and sniffed, as a fresh bout of tears threatened. ‘What’s going to happen now?’
‘Well, we’ll arrange for Dutch’s body to be taken away, but in the meantime, if you’re OK to talk to me now we need to find out what happened.’
Ayeisha nodded and the old lady patted her on the knee again. Charlie nodded her appreciation to the elderly couple. It was good that Ayeisha, as a juvenile was accompanied, even though they had only just become acquainted.
She turned back to the young girl. ‘How well did you know Dutch?’
‘I didn’t know her that well, but she was nice, funny. She lived here with Caz and Razor. I know Caz had been worried about her since Redz got killed. She said Dutch had been taking heroin, as well as her usual crack.’
‘Do you think she might have done this on purpose?’ Charlie had planned to speak to Dutch about her flatmate’s murder and Razor’s movements. Perhaps she had known more than she should? Had she been living in fear of violent retribution and it had all got too much? With both cases ongoing, Charlie had simply run out of time, but now she was kicking herself that the opportunity had been lost.
‘I don’t know. I never heard her say she wanted to kill herself but maybe she did…’
Her words were drowned out by a piercing scream from the entrance lobby. Rushing out, Charlie saw the uniformed officer struggling to restrain a hysterical Caz.
‘She says that she lives here. She pushed past me and got into the flat,’ he shouted. ‘She saw the body in the front room before I could get her out.’
As he spoke, Ayeisha burst out from behind them, flinging herself at the older girl. ‘She’s dead, Caz. Dutch is dead,’ she sobbed.
Charlie watched as Caz calmed slightly, trying to console the teenager through her own grief. The young prostitute was clearly no stranger to tragedy, her experience in dealing with death evident. She stared at the two girls locked tightly together, watching as Caz shifted slightly. What would happen to her now? Her situation was even grimmer, the dangers made far worse by Razor’s earning ability having been slashed still further. Two of her closest friends were dead, one possibly at the hands of their shared pimp and the other perhaps fearful of becoming a second victim.
As she stood wishing there was more she could do, Hunter emerged from the flat, his hand clasped over the speaker of his radio, muting the sound of a disturbance in the background.
‘Get the two girls back to the station to make witness statements as soon as you can,’ he whispered to Charlie. ‘Razor’s just turned up downstairs and he’s not happy.’
*
Razor was in a rage as he stepped out across the road into the path of a passing minicab. The driver hooted long and hard, slewing the car to a standstill, before winding down the window and gesticulating wildly.
A group of lads turned to stare at the commotion from a bench, adding their laughter to his humiliation.
With a roar, Razor launched himself towards the cabbie, in no mood to take further abuse. Not only had the cops refused him entry to his own flat, they had also informed him why, and that they might need to speak to him about it at some stage; but they could go to hell. There was no way he would be assisting them and he’d said that in as many words. Still, there was not a damn thing he could do except walk away into the estate, knowing that another slag had made a laughing stock out of him. Two of his girls were now dead, two means of income gone. What the fuck was happening?
The taxi driver had almost managed to shut the window of the car as he reached it, so his fists slammed painfully against the freezing glass. The driver was leaning away from him even within the safety of the interior, desperate to put space between them. Razor grabbed the door handle, wrenching at it with all his force, but the door was locked. He screamed his fury towards the driver again, punching the wing mirror clean off before aiming his boot at the door panel. The cabbie slammed the car into gear and, with tyres screeching, pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator. In this neighbourhood, it was safer to drop it than force the issue. There was no way he was going to stay and argue with this madman, however blameless he had been.
Razor shouted as the engine started to whine, aiming a last kick at the car as it moved out of his reach, skidding away up the road. He turned towards the group of boys and took a few steps towards them, his hand moving slowly towards his belt. He might not have a gun in his waistband, but they wouldn’t risk the possibility.
‘Was there something you wanted to say?’ he growled, watching in amusement as the group rose, as one, and backed away.
He stood watching them slink into the shadows, grateful for even this mild demonstration of respect, but at the resurgence of sirens, his rage returned. Caz would have to do the work of all three of his girls from now on.
And as for The Punter who had caused all this… he would be a dead man.
Chapter 31
Caz stumbled out into the cold night air anxious to get away from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the police station. The bars and takeaway restaurants had eventually closed and the town centre was subdued, only the last remaining nocturnal dealers and rough sleepers inhabiting the shop doorways. Up above, the angels mounted on the four corners of the red-brick and white stone tower of Lambeth Town Hall watched moodily as the clock at their feet chimed 04.45. All she wanted was to get home, though quite what she’d find when she got there was anyone’s guess. Dutch was dead. Perhaps the police were still on scene, or Razor? It had certainly
been a night that she wouldn’t easily be able to forget.
Her mind focussed briefly on Razor. There were several things that needed to be done and two of them concerned her man. She had to ensure his freedom and the timing had seemed perfect to get her alibi statement for Redz’ murder down on paper. After speaking first about Dutch, it had been Charlie Stafford herself who had brought up the subject, though seemingly unimpressed with her version of events. Yes, Razor had been with her all evening, only leaving her when he’d parked outside Viv’s and gone in. Yes, she had been with him in the flat earlier that evening and then in the car when he searched for Redz, but couldn’t find her, and if she couldn’t be seen on CCTV it must have been because she had been tired and was lying down on the back seat trying to sleep. So, it couldn’t be him, could it?
The detective hadn’t looked particularly happy and her continual warnings that the truth needed to be told had proved tiresome, but she had stuck to her story. Razor was her partner and she would stand by him whether the detective liked it or not. Anyway, Razor would be eternally grateful for her loyalty and it would be down to the cops to prove she wasn’t telling the whole truth.
The second thing required a quick call. Caz pulled her phone out and keyed in the number, waiting for the voice of her handler.
‘Angie,’ Caz asked carefully. ‘Sorry to bother you at this time of night, but I thought I’d let you know something I’ve ’eard.’
‘All right, mate, but it had better be good,’ Angie sounded bleary and slightly irritated at having been woken. ‘What you got?’
‘Well, it’s about Redz, you know, my flatmate who was murdered. I know who killed ’er.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, I don’t know his name, but ’e’s a punter who’s been around before.’ She gave a full description. ‘All the girls are talkin’ about ’im and what ’e’s done. I did hear it a couple of days ago but wanted to be sure before I passed it on to yer so I asked again earlier tonight. Everyone is sayin’ it must be ’im.’
