by Sarah Flint
With that Razor replaced the sheet of paper on the table in front of him and folded his arms decisively. It was clear he was saying nothing more.
Chapter 45
The Crown Prosecution Service representative wore the expression of a disgruntled parent at the end of the school holidays. He was a short, skinny man with beady eyes, a button nose and a set of pearly white dentures that barely fitted into his mouth. He greeted them with a thin smile, his lips stretched so tightly over his teeth that they became almost invisible. He ushered them across to two seats set together in the centre of the room. Pulling the door shut firmly, he circled round them and slipped silent and wolf-like behind his desk, eyeing them now with a mixture of pity and cruelty.
Charlie passed the updated report across the desk to him and waited while he devoured the details of the last interview and Razor’s statement, the full case file for R v Clinton ROBERTS, aka Razor, having been sent across a few days earlier. As she waited, Charlie understood exactly the meaning of the phrase ‘like a lamb to the slaughter’.
An hour later and it was all over; seven days of sixteen-hour shifts and a raft of promises all now broken and worthless, their work rubbished in five words spoken by the Senior Representative of the Crown.
‘There’s just not enough evidence.’ He shook his head firmly to every argument levelled by them both.
Charlie scanned through his report, picking out the salient points. It was as she had feared. The motive was believable but not particularly strong. The CCTV was effective but it didn’t cover the actual alleyway in which the murder had occurred and other cars had also been seen entering and exiting the nearby roads. With a negative ID parade, there was no definitive identification evidence. Most of the forensics could be explained away by the relationship between Clinton Roberts and Grace Flaherty and there was a fair chance a jury would accept Roberts’s explanation for the presence of the victim’s blood and hair in his vehicle and on his clothing. More importantly, none of the cut hair had been found. The extent of the victim’s injuries was clear, but the amount of damage on Roberts’s dashboard was such that it could not be proved, without doubt, that this was the weapon or surface that had caused all the injuries. The alibi statement given by Vivienne Bancroft contained opinions and did nothing to assist the prosecution and the disproved alibi statement from Charlene Philips, aka Caz, was helpful but the alibi would never have been assessed as reliable in any case. Roberts’s previous history was comprehensive and did much to show ‘bad character’, however, many of the domestic allegations were inadmissible due to them being uncorroborated. Only Charlene Philips was still alive to assist the prosecution with this – and she was giving evidence instead for his defence.
Added to that, were the rumours of the large Asian punter, which, although unproven and with no substantive witnesses, might still provide an element of doubt.
All in all, Charlie had been right to be apprehensive. The evidence was good, but there were too many inconsistencies. A strong defence would crucify them.
They were back to square one. If Razor was not their man, then who was? If they did indeed have the correct suspect, then it was imperative they found the additional evidence to meet the criteria required for a charge. Charlie picked up her file and turned towards the door, the lawyer’s last words, hanging like a weight around her neck: ‘The recommendation is that no charges are brought in this case. Unless further evidence comes to light, Roberts should be released immediately.’
*
Razor heard the key turn in the heavy grey cell door and it swung open.
‘Your solicitor’s waiting in custody for you,’ a young gaoler said.
He was up on his feet within seconds, pushing past him and striding towards the custody area. ‘About fuckin’ time too. Why am I still here and why haven’t you got me out yet?’
The solicitor was standing by the desk as he advanced. ‘I have got you out,’ he answered simply, smiling.
*
It was the confrontation Charlie had been dreading, but she was not facing it alone. Hunter, as always stood beside her. With only ten minutes to go before Razor’s twenty-four-hour custody deadline expired, she had to get the paperwork for his release completed swiftly, but she would have given anything to keep him in for another twenty-four… and then another, and another. Every glimpse of the violent pimp made her feel sick to her stomach.
‘This’ll teach you, you lying bitch, for trying to fit me up,’ he snarled, signing for his property in readiness to go. ‘I’ll be speaking to my solicitor about suing you for wrongful arrest and detention. You won’t get away with this.’
Charlie said nothing. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Hunter led him to the door, leaning in as Razor neared.
‘We’ll be seeing you again soon,’ he whispered as their suspect brushed past. ‘And next time you’ll be banged up for good.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Razor laughed out loud, sauntering nonchalantly out into the grey streets of Brixton.
With the streetlight glinting off his heavy gold signet ring, Charlie and Hunter were forced to watch as he raised the middle finger of his right hand and strode off into the rush-hour gloom.
Chapter 46
The Punter was working late. Since being overlooked for promotion, he preferred to stay out of the office, visiting clients for as long as possible each day, only returning to catch up with the admin when many of his colleagues had left. Just the sight of Kavya reinforced his public humiliation. He wasn’t immune to the whispered taunts and quiet sniggers. His workmates were thoroughly enjoying his discomfiture and he was fast becoming the butt of their jokes. For the first time in his life he hated coming to work.
Home was no better. The news that he wasn’t, after all, to be offered a pay rise had been met with anguish – but not anguish for his disappointment. His wife was worried only for how they would pay the monthly instalments on his new car. Too late had she offered her sympathy. She had never agreed with his choice of motor, but to throw this back in his face now had been totally inappropriate and he resented her for it.
Today, even his clients were conspiring against him. Two appointments had been cancelled and a further two had turned him down flat, despite a full charm offensive. Any hope of commission was gone. The day had been a complete waste of his time.
The office was silent as he sat brooding, all the other staff having already left. A screen saver from a solitary computer rotated its geometric pattern around the walls. He wandered across to it and switched it off, watching angrily as the screen, like his career ambitions, flickered and died.
From afar he heard the sound of rowdy singing. It was getting louder with every minute he listened. The words became audible. ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow’ repeated, loud and slurred. A small gaggle of his drunken colleagues swung into the car park. In the centre of the group was Kavya, adorned in a festive flashing hat and swigging from a wine bottle.
‘And so say all of us.’
As they completed the last line, Kavya held the bottle high in the air and they all cheered and clapped, swaying together in intoxicated unison. They stopped as one, next to his car, peering into its smart interior.
He slid behind the edge of the window, listening to their muffled voices. One of the younger men looked up towards the window where he hid.
‘Well, I for one am glad you got the promotion, Kavya,’ he pronounced each word loudly and distinctly, as if knowing he was there. ‘There’s no way I would have taken orders from that arrogant prick.’
The words were greeted with a chorus of agreement.
The Punter heard the laughter, embarrassment burning through him. Not only had he been passed over for promotion, he had been snubbed by his own colleagues and not invited out for a Christmas drink… and now they were publicly abusing him. The reception was filling with noise. He couldn’t let them bask any further in his humiliation. He would have to return home and face his wife’s criticism. There was no other
option.
Grabbing his leather jacket, he ran through the fire exit and out into the night.
Chapter 47
Razor punched his fist against the steering wheel of the stolen car. His earlier victory was quickly turning sour. What was it with his girls? Caz was nowhere to be found. Turn your back on them for even a minute and they did their own thing. First Redz, now Caz, and it hadn’t helped with Dutch topping herself. As for that young upstart, Turbo, he had to be taught a proper lesson. No one treated him like a fucking beggar. The bastard would have bragged to everyone how he’d felled the mighty Razor. He slammed his fists down against the wheel again. Fuck!
Mand was standing exactly where she should, a fact not lost on him.
‘Hello, gorgeous,’ He wound the window down and stared blatantly at her cleavage. ‘Have you seen Caz?’
Mand bent low towards him. ‘Don’t look like your eyes are pointin’ in the right direction to be searchin’ for ’er at the moment. But yeah, I saw ’er earlier. She seemed pretty contented. Said you two was goin’ to settle down together.’
‘Like man and wife, eh?’ Razor snorted. ‘If she thinks she’s enough for me, she’d better think again.’ He reached forward and ran a finger over the flesh on display. ‘You sure you’re not free, Mand? I could look after yer.’
She slapped his hand away, good-humouredly, and stood up. ‘Get on wiv yer. I’ve already told yer I’m taken, an’ anyway…’ She stopped abruptly. In the silence that followed, Razor let his imagination finish the sentence. We all know that you’re a spent force around here. It was written right across her face. Word had clearly got out.
‘DK wouldn’t like it,’ she finished weakly.
‘Another time then,’ he forced a smile, gripping the steering wheel tightly. ‘An’ don’t forget to bell me if you see that Punter.’ Spinning the wheels, he accelerated off, trying to quell the rage that was running through him like white hot magma. Actions would speak louder than words. Caz and The Punter would pay.
He drove straight to his flat and barrelled through the front door. What the hell was going on? The aroma of scented candles hit him as he entered, the light from the bare flames flickering amongst the shadows. Caz lounged on the settee, her T-shirt low, exposing a tempting amount of milky white breast.
‘Razor, I wondered where you was. Come and join me. I’ve bought booze. We can celebrate you bustin’ your case.’ She smiled towards him. ‘You did get off, didn’t you?’ He nodded in return and she patted her leg. ‘I knew you would. I’ve bin waiting for this moment. Now come ’ere. I’ll make it worth your while.’
The offer was appealing, but there was a lesson to be taught and Caz was refusing to learn. She had to understand she couldn’t dictate his movements.
‘Get up, you lazy bitch. When you’ve done a few tricks I might consider what you want, but until then…’
‘Come on babe,’ Caz lifted her skirt a little higher. ‘Forget work. You can have me now.’
Razor stared at the bare pale flesh disappearing upwards to her crotch and was instantly aroused; the urge to fuck her almost overwhelming, but then the words of Turbo drifted back into his stalled thinking.
‘I told you to get out and work, you lazy bitch.’ He moved towards her. ‘Now it’s just you an’ me you’ve got to work twice as hard. Redz and Dutch gave me grief and look what ’appened to them. Now get yerself out there before I really fuckin’ lose it.’
He yanked her up from the settee and pushed her towards the front door, grinning nastily at the sight of her tears. Only when cold hard cash was in his hand would he take what was on offer, and only on his terms. He kicked a pair of shoes along the hallway and threw a thin jacket down, watching contentedly as she pulled the garment tightly around her skinny frame.
‘Please, don’t make me do this, Razor,’ she whimpered, but he ignored her pleas, opening the door and shoving her out into the freezing air. She would do as he said or else he would break her…
A hundred quid later and he threw the passenger door open.
‘Get in,’ he ordered. ‘You can fuck me now.’
Caz climbed slowly into the seat, bending her frozen body with care, as if it would snap. She sat silently, her face a blank mask, her body shaking more violently with every minute it thawed. Razor lit a joint, blowing the smoke in her direction but offering her none. He drove towards his flat, grinning callously as she hugged her arms around her rigid torso, until the shuddering gradually subsided and eventually she sat motionless.
She stayed subdued when he helped himself to her body in the candlelit bedroom, but he didn’t care; in fact, he found it amusing. Rolling over, he traced a finger over her naked breast, up her neck and on to her lips, heaving himself up so that his face was directly in front of hers. ‘Same again tomorrow,’ he whispered.
*
The Punter turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. For hours he had put the moment off, waiting until after the twins’ bedtime, not wanting to face their seasonal excitement, but as he entered, he heard his daughter’s plaintive call.
‘I’ll come and tuck you up in bed, in a minute,’ he returned her plea sulkily. Being the perfect father was OK in front of onlookers, but tonight he wasn’t in the mood. His wife got up to greet him.
‘How was your day, darling? You’re late.’
He didn’t hear the question, just the accusation. Ignoring it, he poured himself a large brandy, gulping it down in one, before pouring another ready and heading upstairs. Better get his fatherly duties done. His daughter was half asleep when he slipped into her room. For a few seconds he sat on her bedside, peering down at her drowsy expression.
‘Where have you been, Daddy?’ she whispered lethargically, reaching out for his hand. ‘We’ve been waiting for you.’
He tensed, automatically irritated. Did all females have to be on his case? Bending forward he kissed her, his fingers gently closing her eyelids, her skin warm to the touch. The feel of her body stirred his frustration still further. ‘Working,’ he replied. ‘To keep you all happy.’
The unbidden impulse shocked him, prompting him to move swiftly from her room to where his son lay asleep. For a few minutes he stood, admiring his son’s boyish good looks. He would be a strong, handsome man. Everybody commented on how alike they were.
‘You need to learn to keep girls in their place, son,’ he said with conviction, stroking a lock of hair from the boy’s forehead. ‘They want everything from you and are not willing to give you anything in return.’
He heard a muffled call from below.
‘I’ve made you dinner,’ his wife tried again.
He returned downstairs to the brandy he’d poured earlier. ‘I’m not hungry,’ he said sulkily. He could feel his wife surveying him but chose to read her concern as interrogation.
‘I’m sorry if I was not understanding enough earlier this week, I was just worried. I didn’t know what we would do.’
He remained silent, swilling his brandy round in the glass.
‘You could have given me some support.’ He swallowed down the brandy and poured himself another.
‘I know and I’m sorry.’ She came across to where he stood and leant gently against him, resting her head on his shoulders and caressing his chest.
He sipped the brandy slowly, not willing to completely forgive her past misdemeanours, but at the same time acknowledging she was at least making an effort.
‘Why don’t we have an early night? We haven’t made love for a long time,’ she whispered, her lips grazing his ear.
The Punter groaned inwardly. The overture was not unexpected, but the idea held no appeal. These days he performed intermittently only because marital relations demanded it, but at least it might dispel some of his frustrations until he could get back out on the street.
‘Go and make yourself ready. I’ll just have one more drink and then I’ll be up.’ He closed his eyes and took another sip of brandy, savouring the warm drowsiness it
brought. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Chapter 48
Caz sat alone in the half-light, only the glow from the candles keeping the darkness from fully swallowing her up. Was this as good as it was going to get? Ever since she’d first met Razor, he’d been her saviour, her knight in shining armour, the man she’d looked up to and loved. She’d been prepared to give up everything for him.
Now though she was cold, hungry and desperate; her dreams of happiness and contentment slowly eroded by Razor’s desire for dominance; the camaraderie of their previous escapades replaced by cold hostility. Her optimism for a future with the man she loved had been more than matched by his disdain. Even the way in which she’d helped him to his freedom had failed to lift his spirits. Now he’d disappeared again, leaving her half-naked and bereft.
Her misery was temporarily put to one side at the sound of the door opening. Ayeisha entered with a bagful of beers and watery eyes.
‘You all alone?’ She smiled as Caz nodded and selected two cans, pulling the tab on one and sinking on to the seat next to Caz.
‘What’s up?’ Caz had already guessed.
‘Dimitri ain’t phoned since Tuesday,’ she sniffed hard. ‘He said he’d bell me in a couple of days, but I ain’t heard nothing.’
‘I’m sure ’e will. Give ’im time.’
‘No he won’t and it’s all my fault.’
‘Why?’ Caz was interested to hear her friend’s side of the story. Angie had already filled her in on the story of Dimitri’s arrest, but she felt slightly guilty at having to pretend that Dimitri would get back in touch, when she knew differently. Business was business though, and passing on Ayeisha’s information would pay well.
