by Sarah Flint
‘That’ll teach you to disobey me, you fuckin’ bitch.’
He turned towards Anna, staring at the handset in her palm and with no further hesitation ripped the phone from its socket and smashed it on the floor. For a few moments Anna cowered before him, her arms thrown up in self-defence, frozen with fear as he raised his hand to strike, reliving the same debilitating terror she’d known throughout her childhood.
‘And that’ll teach you to keep your fuckin’ nose out of my business.’ He dropped his arm. ‘Not so fuckin’ brave now, are you?’
He turned away and pushed Caz out of the office, kicking her forcefully at the base of her spine so that she stumbled and fell down the stairs. Anna could hear Caz’s screams of agony but was powerless to assist. Running to the window, she watched helplessly as Caz was bundled into a car and the door slammed shut behind her. She could just make out the number plate in the faint light of a nearby street lamp and jotted it down.
Shakily, she retrieved her mobile from the bottom of her handbag and dialled 999 again. As the operator came on the line, she saw Caz’s terrified face pressed flat against the passenger window, before the vehicle screeched away and swiftly disappeared from view, knowing that she too had failed Caz. With growing horror, she realised it might be the last recollection she would have of her young client alive.
*
Caz touched her hand to her swollen face. The blow had caught her off guard and her right eye had borne the brunt; it was now swelling painfully and partially closed. Every part of her body hurt: her spine and limbs bruised from the kicking to the foot of the stairs, her knees grazed from being dragged forcefully along the pavement and her head aching from the impact of the strike against the wall. Her eyes had connected with Anna’s before the car had whisked her away, taking her forever from the safety of the psychologist’s office, and the only person with whom she’d ever shared her story.
Razor was still spitting out his vitriol within the confines of the stolen car, but she couldn’t understand what he was saying. All she knew was that her destiny was now beyond her control. Her life was in the hands of this rabid man, she had until so recently loved.
The doors were locked. She was trapped and there could be no escape.
The car hurried onwards through the night. She watched the familiar streets rushing past her, blurring together into an ugly maze of dark alleyways and threatening crevices. Razor continued to shout, but his voice seemed far away, drifting in and out of her head, like waves breaking on a shore. Every now and then, she felt him tugging at her head, his fingers clamping into her cheeks as he bawled in rage, then the noise would recede into the background, ready for the next swell of abuse. The car stopped briefly while Razor bought some drugs from DK. He pointed towards her and laughed, shoving the small package of crack down the front of his trousers. Vaguely, she wondered whether she could escape while they talked, but the impossibility of outrunning either man in her condition forced a thin smile of resignation on to her lips. Then they were on the move again.
‘Can I have a rock?’ she asked dully. ‘I need a fix now.’
Her voice sounded alien to her, as if a stranger was operating her mouth. She closed her eyes and tried to focus. Razor was laughing again, his malice filling every square inch of the car’s interior.
‘You’ll have to fuckin’ earn it.’ She said nothing as he pulled her head roughly to face him. ‘Do you understand?’
Mand was standing on her usual corner in the Hatridge Estate. Razor slowed down as he neared her and hooted, braking to a halt and reversing back when she beckoned him over. He wound the window down.
‘Hey, Mand. How’s business?’
‘Good enough! Why? You interested?’ She threw her head back and cackled with laughter.
Razor licked his lips slowly. ‘You know I’m always interested.’
Caz watched her betrayer’s flirting and a surge of pure hatred shuddered through her aching limbs. She pushed herself back in her seat, trying to maximise the distance between them.
‘Hey, Caz. I didn’t see you there. How’re you doin’?’ Mand looked past Razor. ‘You don’t look too good.’
‘She’s fine,’ Razor snapped. ‘Looking forward to doin’ lots of work for me, aren’t you babe?’ He slapped her leg, pinching the skin hard between his fingers, and turned back to Mand. ‘Anyway, what do you want me for? Can’t stay chattin’ all night. I’m out an’ about tryin’ to get my shit sorted, if you know what I mean.’
Mand nodded and flashed him a toothy grin. ‘Well, you’re in luck then. He’s back, the Asian bastard. I was just about to give you a ring when you passed. He’s got a flashy new silver sports car, but it was definitely him. I would recognise his fuckin’ evil face a mile away.’
‘Well, well, well. How’s that for perfect timing?’ Razor grew suddenly animated. ‘Thanks Mand.’ He wound the window up and pulled away sharply, heading in the direction of Streatham. ‘Best we set the trap.’
A few minutes later, Razor nosed the car into the entrance to Redz’ alleyway.
Caz stared out into the desolation as a feeling of dread burrowed deep into her psyche. ‘Can’t I go back to my normal patch?’ she pleaded. ‘Please Razor. Why here?’
‘Because a murderer always returns to the scene of his crime. Why do you think I’ve been gettin’ you used to workin’ here?’ Razor unlocked the door and leant across, pushing her out on to the frosty pavement. ‘Now stand there, you lazy bitch, and let’s see if this bastard wants a piece of you.’
She shivered violently as he slammed the door shut and unwound the window.
‘And don’t you dare fuck this up. I’ll be watching your every move.’ He made a V-shape with his fingers, pointing to both of his eyes before turning them to thrust directly through the open window towards her. ‘And I’ve a feeling you won’t have to wait too long.’
Chapter 50
‘So much for the Christmas spirit,’ Charlie shook her head glumly. ‘Two glasses of non-alcoholic mulled wine and a Diet Coke.’
‘Think yourself lucky,’ Paul shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘At least your wine was warm. You try drinking three pints of cold apple juice and then coming out into this.’ He blew a lungful of breath out into the freezing air, watching as it swirled around his head and dissipated. ‘I think I’m frozen from the inside out.’ He shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘And, I need a piss.’
Charlie laughed. After the disappointments of the day, it had been good to head out for a few drinks with the team, even if having their cars parked up in the yard had meant none of them could properly imbibe.
‘Make sure you get a train in tomorrow all of you,’ Hunter pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. ‘It’s the last Friday before Christmas and you deserve a glass of champagne after all your hard work on the Dimitri case.’ He turned to Naz, Sabira and Bet. ‘You’ve done a great job getting the girls’ further statements today.’
‘While I’ve been releasing Redz’ murderer.’ Charlie chewed on her lip. ‘I’m dreading phoning Gerald Flaherty tomorrow to let him know.’ She’d been putting it off since watching Razor walk away into the late-afternoon gloom. It wouldn’t be the result any of the Flaherty family would be wishing for this Christmas. It wasn’t the result she’d wanted either.
‘Something will come up,’ Paul squeezed her arm. ‘It always does.’
She shook her head. Something had worried her about the investigation right from the start. Everything had seemed so simple, too simple. Razor ticked all the boxes, and they all knew, statistically, women were more likely to be killed by their partners, especially when the partner happened to be a violent pimp. Hunter and the team had always believed Redz’ killer to be Razor, and she’d gone along with their fervour, her usual sixth sense not sending her in any other real direction this time. Razor had got away with his violent crimes in the past, he might even have got away with murder, but had he murdered Redz? She honestly didn’t know, and it bothered h
er that she didn’t.
A police car shot past her, its siren blasting a path through the queues of traffic around Waterloo. Groups of revellers turned their heads to watch as the blue lights mingled with the greens, reds and yellows of the street decorations. The officers on board would be dealing with the crimes, speaking to witnesses and collecting the clues. The evidence would be out there for them, just as the evidence against Redz’ murderer was out there for her. She just had to find it.
‘So are you offering to buy the champagne then, boss?’ she pushed her doubts to one side and grinned towards Hunter as Lambeth HQ came into view. Paul was right. Something would come up. She offered her hand out towards her boss and he gripped it firmly, shaking his head at the same time as shaking her hand.
‘You know me. I’ll always put my hand in my pocket when I think you’ve earned it.’
‘But I’m not sure that we have today.’ Charlie tilted her head to one side thoughtfully. She looked at each of her colleagues in turn. ‘I was going to suggest that when, and only when, we have our suspect for Redz’ murder charged and banged up in the cells, you buy us champagne.’ She shook his hand firmly, grinning outright at the expression on Naz’s face as she remembered her recently championing of a nice glass of Moet et Chandon. ‘But until then it’s Prosecco all round.’
*
The Punter drove slowly round the streets.
The brandy was taking away his wariness, warming him, making him strong. The cops had nothing on him. They would have come for him already if they had. Now he was back and the knowledge of what was to come was making his skin tingle.
He passed a group of whores standing on a corner, their filthy bodies exposed, their voices screaming in a drunken show of debauchery. Their excesses disgusted him, but he knew that by the end of the night all the wrongs heaped on him by Kavya and his wife and every other female would be righted. Another dirty hooker would be humbled, made to obey his every command. One of them would pay.
He continued onwards, scanning each corner, searching each street for a solitary whore, finding himself indomitably drawn to the area in which his last prostitute had worked. The lure was addictive, irresistible, and as he turned into the road with the alleyway, the sight of a female, alone and vulnerable on the corner, validated his decision. Her pose was provocative, and at the sight of her miniskirt and open jacket, he was immediately aroused.
He pulled up next to the lone figure, lowered the window and waited for her to lean in, his eyes lingering on the soft skin of her breasts so invitingly close. This one showed signs of a beating already, her face battered and swollen. She clearly had not learnt the error of her ways.
‘How much for a blow job, darling?’ He would enjoy reinforcing the lesson.
‘Thirty quid to you.’
He thought he saw a spark of recognition cross her face, but she said nothing to corroborate his notion. Instead, he nodded, watching as she slipped in next to him, the adrenalin beginning to surge through his body. The hunt was almost concluded, but the games were about to begin.
‘Turn into the alleyway.’ She indicated the entrance he recognised so well. ‘It’s nice and quiet here and we won’t be disturbed.’
He couldn’t believe his luck. Memories came flooding back as he aimed the car into the potholed driveway. His whole body was alive, drinking in the smell and sight of his willing hostage. He pulled in behind a garage and switched the engine off, plunging the car into darkness.
A lone street lamp shone a short distance away, casting a faint light across the surrounding area, revealing the ghostly shapes of several bouquets of dead flowers hanging from a nearby fence. The significance was not lost on him, the sight serving only to increase his anticipation.
‘Can I have my money?’ the whore was saying.
‘Not before you give me what I want.’
‘The money first or you get nothing,’ she insisted.
Her ultimatum stirred the first delicious prickle of anger. How dare she make demands? He turned and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her face towards him. ‘You’ll get nothing until you do what I tell you.’
She tensed against his strong forearms and he wanted to laugh. She was a fighter and he was going to enjoy bringing her to heel.
He pulled her jacket open, exposing a low-cut T-shirt. The sight of more flesh sent his senses spinning. He unzipped his trousers and lunged towards her, his mouth clamping down on her unwilling lips, waiting for the anticipated struggle.
Was it his imagination or was she not fighting as much as he had anticipated? He’d expected the whore to fight him with every bit of her strength, just as had the last. He wanted to subdue her, to humiliate her, but instead she was barely resisting. The thought of his passive wife in her cotton nightgown came to mind and his anger spiked.
His hands were around her throat now, tightening with every breath. He drew back and watched as she struggled to take in enough air, but she still wasn’t fighting hard enough. He released his grip slightly and she took a deep breath, letting out an ear-piercing scream, and started to thrash out. This was more like it. His pleasure was mounting with every strike attempted, every struggle to break free, bringing the moment of climax closer. He pressed down on her windpipe harder, each tiny increase in pressure bringing with it such exquisite gratification. Should he allow her to live or die? The power was all his and the dilemma spurred him on to a peak of pleasure.
He loosened his stranglehold again and waited for the next desperate scream, but this time she remained quiet. He pressed down against her windpipe and released his grip once more, but still she did not cry out. He felt his pleasure diminish. Why was she not screaming?
Taking hold of her with both hands, he squeezed hard against her neck, watching closely as her eyes started to bulge. He felt her trying to swallow, but still he kept the pressure exerted. She was staring straight past him now, a look of defeat on her face.
‘Fight, you bitch, fight,’ he screamed.
But she fought no more. Instead, her body became limp, her head floppy and her pupils rolled upwards into her skull.
A sudden noise distracted him as the door was flung open and a hand grabbed him by his shoulder. Cold, sharp metal sliced into his throat and he felt the flow of blood down his neck.
With a jerk, he was pulled backwards against the driver’s seat. He tried to rear up against the force but stopped as the blade pierced the skin of his neck again. The reflection of a large, shaven-headed man loomed large in the centre mirror and he felt a vague sense of shock at what was happening. In that instant he realised the tables had turned and it was now he who was at the mercy of this stranger.
The man had one arm around his neck, with the knife in his other, held firmly to his throat. He felt himself dragged backwards out of his car and tried to cover himself, where his trousers lay undone.
‘You’re the bastard that murdered my girl, aren’t you?’ The knifeman laughed at his efforts. ‘Now it looks like you’re tryin’ to kill another.’ A punch knocked his head back against the concrete and he felt the blade of the knife pushing down on to his throat again. His assailant was on top of him, pinning him down, and he dared not move. ‘Seems like I’m goin’ to have to give you a taste of your own fuckin’ medicine.’
‘Please don’t hurt me,’ he sobbed out loud. For the first time in his life, he knew fear; real incapacitating terror. It held him immobile, gripped tightly in its icy claws. It threatened to strip away his respectability, and everything he had worked for so long to obtain. The shame he would bring to his family and community was immeasurable. He would be lucky to come away from the situation with any dignity intact.
More than that, though, as he looked up into his assailant’s cold, merciless eyes he knew he would be lucky to escape with his life.
Chapter 51
Razor looked down into the face of his blubbering adversary and felt no pity; in fact he couldn’t believe his luck. It had all been far too easy.
; Ayeisha was now his. So what if Caz didn’t like it; she would just have to get used to the idea… and she certainly wouldn’t be going back to see her meddling shrink again, ever. God knows, it had been a mistake to allow her visits to continue in the first place.
The rest had been perfect. His hunch had been right. The Punter had literally driven into his trap, returning to his old stomping ground, even unwittingly helping him to teach Caz a further lesson. It had been sweet seeing the expression on her face as he’d allowed the beating to continue far longer than was necessary. Protection would only be forthcoming, if her obedience was guaranteed.
Redz’ murder now required proper avenging. The razor blades had been prepared earlier in the evening, placed carefully for ease of access in his jacket pocket. Keeping the knife held to his captive’s throat, Razor reached in and took one out, holding it directly over his victim’s face.
‘What are you going to do with that?’ the man stammered, hypnotised as the blade moved slowly across his eyeline.
‘I’m going to make fucking sure you never forget who I am.’
He pushed The Punter’s head against the ground, exposing his left cheek, keeping the blade of the knife pressed hard against his chin. The bastard was shaking. It was fun to toy with him.
Placing the razor against the top of his cheek, he sliced vertically down to the corner of his mouth. The man tensed, whimpering softly as the blood sprang up from the wound, running darkly across his cheek towards his ear.
‘That’s for Redz,’ Razor said, positioning the blade back on the uppermost point of his first incision.
The Punter was sobbing out loud now, either from pain or humiliation, he didn’t care. Carefully he traced a semicircle to the centre of the vertical line, the blade slicing easily through the soft tissue.
