Broken Dolls

by Sarah Flint

  She watched the male closely, his expression changing from one of defeat, to surprise as her words registered.

  ‘I’d like to take a statement detailing your account of the incident though, before you leave. I witnessed the other man assaulting you and arrested him, but to get him charged I will still need a victim statement from you.’

  Now the surprise was replaced with a frown.

  ‘I’d rather not,’ the man said after a long pause. ‘I feel deeply ashamed at being caught with a prostitute. If my wife found out, I would bring embarrassment to my whole family.’

  ‘But you have serious injuries which may leave scars. Don’t you want your attacker charged?’ she persisted.

  ‘No, I want nothing further done and I don’t want to have to go to court and have it all dragged up there.’

  ‘But we have the man responsible and police witnesses. Are you sure you won’t change your mind?’ Charlie felt exasperated. After seeing his brutality first hand, Razor was about to go unpunished.

  ‘Yes, I’m quite sure. I am regarded with respect in my community and I don’t wish that to change. I just want to go home to my family and try to forget it happened.’

  ‘I’ll need to take a statement from you withdrawing the GBH allegation then and I’ll make arrangements for your car to be returned as soon as possible.’

  She sighed and took out a blank form, scribbling out the words of a withdrawal statement. As she passed it towards the punter to sign, she realised the man was still handcuffed.

  ‘Let me take those off,’ she pulled out a key, staring mesmerised as Rashid Kanthan held out his hands. A row of heavy gold rings adorned his right hand, moving hypnotically as she removed the restraints and he signed the statement.

  ‘Can I go now?’ he reached up, scratching at the edge of the dressing. The padding folded down, exposing the large ‘R’ gouged across his cheek.

  ‘At least your name begins with ‘R’,’ she commented, still transfixed.

  ‘Yes, handy, isn’t it?’ The man stretched languidly, sticking the dressing back over the stitches. ‘Now can I go?’

  She paused, as another wave of disquiet rolled down her spine. Slowly she stepped back, allowing Rashid Kanthan to climb down from the van. She indicated the way out and watched as the man walked slowly towards the exit. As he reached the street, he turned round, smiled and gave a slight nod.

  Charlie felt the same wave of doubt surge, stronger now, every instinct telling her to go after the man, every signal pointing to his guilt… for something. But what? She had the right man locked away in the cells, hadn’t she? Caz had said so and both Hunter and the senior CPS lawyer had agreed the course of action, but she still couldn’t escape the feeling of unease that had settled upon her.

  *

  ‘Sarge, on the advice of the CPS, I’ve just de-arrested the hospital detainee, Mr Rashid Kanthan, and released him.’ Charlie had set her doubts to one side and returned to the custody office. ‘We have a victim statement from Miss Charlene Philips stating that her pimp, Clinton Roberts or Razor as we know him, and not Mr Kanthan, was responsible for her assault.’ She paused and took a deep breath. ‘And Mr Kanthan does not wish to pursue his own allegation of GBH against Roberts. He’s just made a withdrawal statement to that effect.’ She pushed a copy of his statement across the desk. ‘I’ll need to update Roberts fully on what’s happening.’

  Quickly she ran through the decisions made by the CPS lawyer during the course of their conversation.

  The sergeant nodded his approval. ‘I think it would be best if you speak to him through the wicket. I don’t think he’s going to like what you have to say.’

  Razor was lying flat out on the blue plastic mattress looking up at the ceiling in the cell when Charlie opened the wicket. He sprang up and came straight over to the Perspex window, his expression turning to his familiar sneer.

  ‘Have you come to admit you’re wrong again and let me out?’ he hissed.

  Charlie stared directly into Razor’s eyes, feeling her previous unease lifting as he tried to front her out. The man was an animal, an emotionless predator who preyed on weak defenceless young women. One who thought nothing of using violence to prove a point, a bully who had taken a young girl’s life in response to her so-called insubordination and had come close to taking the life of another. He would now get everything he deserved.

  ‘Razor, the allegation against you of GBH on the punter is being dropped. Luckily for you, he doesn’t want to press charges.’

  Razor snorted loudly, stepping away from the wicket. ‘Well he would drop it, wouldn’t he? He started it. Are you letting me go again now?’

  ‘No, we’re not letting you go,’ Charlie was looking forward to this bit. ‘In fact, Clinton Roberts, I’m further arresting you for the attempted murder of Charlene Philips, or Caz as you know her. You don’t have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court…’

  Razor was at the cell door, his face contorted in fury. ‘What do you mean?! I’m being fuckin’ nicked for that. It weren’t me! It was that Asian bastard, like I said.’

  She ignored the slight prickle of unease at his words, concentrating instead on Razor’s snarling face as he flung himself at the door, kicking, punching and swearing in such uncontrolled rage that for a few seconds Charlie could almost imagine the terror endured by both Redz and Caz.

  The sound of a particularly vociferous threat drew her away from her imaginings at the realisation she, unlike his two young victims, was fully protected from his rage. Stepping forwards towards the heavy metal cell door, she pressed her face directly against the Perspex window.

  ‘Listen to me, Mr Roberts,’ she spoke formally and without fear, waiting for their suspect to quieten. ‘As a result of new evidence that’s come to light, I’m also further arresting you for the murder of Grace Flaherty, better known to you as Redz. You’ll be charged later with both offences.’

  Chapter 57

  Charlie rubbed her eyes as she pushed the door open to the office. Although it was now gone midday and her body was functioning on autopilot, her mind was still racing. Alongside her was the SOCO that had been in attendance at Razor’s flat on their last search. He carried with him a holdall containing the definitive evidence on which the whole case was now based.

  The team had been told of the find. Now they were to be shown it.

  Hunter came out from his office and joined them, the team all crowding around as the bag was laid out on the desk. Charlie opened the holdall and took out three property bags containing the contents of the carrier bag found in the wall unit at Razor’s flat during the search. These were the clinchers; the crucial items that had convinced the CPS that Razor should now be further arrested and charged. They were the exhibits that Charlie hoped would lead to his conviction for the murder of Redz.

  In the first one, contained in a long plastic tube, lay a hammer. Its wooden handle was stained red and dried blood and strands of hair covered its metal head.

  In the second bag, also inside a plastic tube, lay a pair of scissors, the blades of which were also bloodstained and matted with hair.

  In the third property bag was a mass of hair. Blood was congealed around it, but the crimson of the dried blood could not mask the redness of the hair itself.

  Charlie had known instinctively that this belonged to Redz. The missing hair, cut from her head at the time of her murder, which had been so elusive from the start. They’d been unable to find it until now, only having possession of the hair pulled out at the roots, and much had been made of this fact. The CPS had come back to this discrepancy time and time again when airing their view that a jury would believe Razor’s explanation of the fight the previous night.

  This mass of hair had been deliberately cut from her head and no doubt shoved straight into the plastic bag. To prove her theory right, Charlie had asked the Scene of Crime Officer now standing next to her to do a
preliminary examination of a strand of hair from the bag. He’d been able to conclude almost immediately that this new sample was cut and not plucked. This was obviously Redz’ missing hair and the scissors used to remove it.

  ‘I’ve just come from the lab,’ the SOCO said, as if to confirm Charlie’s thoughts. ‘Both the hair and blood samples have been verified as belonging to Grace Flaherty. A control sample of hair has also been examined under the microscope and none still have roots attached. The ends have all been cut, most likely with these scissors, but further tests should confirm this.’

  ‘And the hammer?’

  ‘Also has Grace Flaherty’s blood, and some brain tissue on it and was almost certainly used in her murder.’ The SOCO pre-empted Hunter’s question.

  Charlie had always thought that the cause of death cited on the post-mortem report was a touch ambiguous. The bloody dashboard in Razor’s car could certainly have caused many of the major impact wounds, but both she and Hunter had had reservations that it alone could have caused all of Redz’ injuries. She now felt sure that the hammer would be proved to have caused the fatal wound.

  ‘We’ll be conducting full forensic tests on the hammer, scissors and the bag they were in, but a couple of swabs have already been taken and matched with DNA belonging to Clinton Roberts.’

  ‘Well, in that case, Razor’s well and truly fucked,’ Naz exclaimed.

  Charlie had to laugh at her bluntness. Still, there was no doubting they had the right man. All their initial evidence had been convincing and the withdrawn alibi had assisted further. Redz’ insubordination had provided the motive and now they had the means. The hammer, scissors and hair found in the bag in his flat were the icing on the cake.

  ‘And that’s without the second charge of attempted murder on Caz.’

  Charlie recalled the paramedics carrying her broken body from the scene on a stretcher and the appalling injuries on almost every inch of skin. The young prostitute was indeed lucky to have survived. She deserved to see her attacker convicted and incarcerated.

  The team started to pull on their coats, preparing to pit their tired bodies against the cold outside. It had been a hell of a week. Tonight they would sleep. Tomorrow they would return to tie up loose ends.

  A fine haze was lying across the city, partially obscuring the view of some of Charlie’s favourite buildings, but rising up above the vapour cloud, the top of the Shard stood magnificent in the afternoon sun. She stared at it, her eyes taking in its jagged form, her mind grasping its beauty and promise, just as she’d grabbed the shards of evidence that had unexpectedly surfaced from the mire of the investigation.

  Suddenly she felt weary. Casting her gaze away from central London, she followed the building line outwards in a westerly direction, until the rooftops became sparser and the wavy, green hills filled the horizon. Out farther and farther, her mind roamed, across the Irish Sea until she reached Dublin and the small, peaceful graveyard on the Banks of the Liffey.

  Slipping out unnoticed, she made her way along the corridor until she found an empty office. She sat down and dialled Gerald Flaherty’s number, memories of his anguished cries echoing in her head.

  ‘Hello Gerald,’ she said as the line clicked in. ‘I thought you’d like to know. We’ve got Grace’s killer.’

  Chapter 58

  Caz watched the medical waste sack thrown into the trolley. The cleaner wheeled it off, humming nonchalantly on his way to the next ward. As it disappeared, she relaxed, knowing that the contents of her discarded holdall might have given rise to some uncomfortable questions. It was gone now and she was starting afresh. She had everything she needed. There was no point keeping more reminders of her previous life.

  She heaved herself up and made her way to the bathroom, stripping off the hospital gown and looking down at her emaciated body, covered from head to foot with livid bruises and life scars. Her neck and throat were still tender, but the swelling around her windpipe had reduced and each breath came easier.

  The water in the shower warmed quickly, running hot and steamy by the time she stepped in and allowed the jet to flow through her lank hair. Looking around, she found some soap and lathered it up in her hands, massaging her fingers into her scalp and letting strands of hair cover her face. Her mind strayed back to memories of sitting on her beloved mother’s lap, hiding behind her glossy curtain of dark hair. She had always loved hair. Loved the feel, the texture, the colours. It was why she loved Goldilocks so much. Her long silky hair had reminded her of her mother, until Tommy had arrived.

  She had never felt guilty for pushing him that night; never regretted watching as he toppled and fell, helplessly grasping for the stair rail, his pathetic face panicked as he stared upwards into her eyes for the last time. Goldilocks had fallen from his hands, just as surely as had the scissors. He shouldn’t have cut her hair off. He shouldn’t have. In one loud snip her beautiful doll, her treasured memento of the good times with her mother, had been defaced, violated by the same beast as had violated her.

  She hadn’t planned it, hadn’t meant it to happen, but she’d been both surprised and delighted at the result. Her mother had returned to her, never guessing Tommy’s death was anything but a tragic accident, an inevitable result of his heavy drinking. The years of abandonment melted away and for a few precious months she and her mother were reunited, thrown back together into the close intimate relationship of which she had always yearned.

  Her skin was becoming softer as she caressed the dirt from her body, her movements smooth, the soap fragrant, remembering the good times. For a few minutes she luxuriated in the memories, massaged by the gentle jet. The water cascaded over her head, rinsing the soap from her hair, following the contours of her empty body. Her life was empty too, the lifeblood drained from her, just as surely as it had bled from her mother. Her mother had betrayed her, abandoned her to the loneliness of the children’s home. The knowledge was still raw. It always would be.

  She turned the shower off and found a towel. Wrapping it round her, she pulled it from one side to the other, harder and harder, dragging the coarse material savagely over her flesh, until the skin on her back became reddened and sore, reliving again every hurt from the care home; the solitude, the fights and the trips to the hospital, desperate for the love she craved.

  And then Razor had entered her life. As she thought of him, she let the towel drop to the ground and stood naked, her eyes closed, her senses heightened. His encouraging words and ready smile had ensnared her. He’d been prepared to look after her when she was at her most vulnerable, her emotions exposed. He’d taken her in, fed her and, in his own way, loved her; and she had loved him, with every inch of her body, exclusively, desperately, jealously. She’d watched as the other girls had taken advantage, disrespected him, disobeyed him, laughed behind his back. She couldn’t bear knowing he was losing his reputation.

  Looking round, she found the fresh gown supplied by the nurse and slipped it over her shoulders, yanking at the thin straps and wrapping it snugly round her naked body. She sat down in the corner of the bathroom and drew her legs up in front of her, hugging them close. Tighter and tighter she held them, as if never wanting to let them go; recalling in an instant the realisation that Razor was paying her less and less attention. Redz and Dutch had come between her and Razor, just as Tommy had caused the gaping chasm between her and her mother.

  Caz closed her eyes, letting her memory replay the scene when Razor dragged Redz from the dealer’s house the night before her death. Even as he had forced her into his car, she had resisted and fought against him. She remembered the mocking laughter of the dealer and his other girls, taunting and mimicking her man. She knew then she would be willing to do anything to protect Razor from their jeering. Anything.

  Killing Redz was easier than even she could have imagined. Nobody had seen her as she’d crouched down in the darkness of the alleyway, her head clear, knowing exactly what she had to do. She was doing this for Razor; for her and
Razor. In the end, The Punter had nearly done the job for her. She couldn’t believe her luck as she’d watched Redz forced forward time and time again, her head slamming against the dashboard, her blood flowing, until finally her semi-conscious body was pushed out of the car on to the ground almost at her feet.

  She’d thought Redz might be dead as she lay motionless on the concrete, but then her flatmate had moved, gradually dragging herself up into a sitting position. The ending was easy. Redz was still dazed and didn’t see Razor’s hammer coming until it smashed into her skull with a sickening thud. It was all over in one go. Redz let out a groan and slumped sideways, face down in the dirt. Caz knew straight away she was dead. She was glad she was dead. She deserved to die for belittling her man. Replacing the hammer in the plastic bag, she’d quickly taken out the scissors. She’d only meant to take a few locks of Redz’ wonderful auburn hair as a memento, but as the sharpened blades sliced through it easily and quickly she found herself cutting more and more away.

  In less than a minute, she’d shoved the hair, scissors and hammer into the plastic bag, hidden it within her jacket and melted into the background, disappearing through the concrete walkways, into the road behind. Taking the backstreets, she’d walked to Razor’s flat where she stashed the bag and its grisly contents into the amenities cupboard by the wheelie bins.

  She wasn’t surprised when Razor was arrested. She’d been expecting it. She knew that he was not guilty and would be let out and she wasn’t wrong. Planting the seed of doubt about The Punter through Angie, her handler, had been perfect. Angie understood her not wanting to talk about the man she loved, but at the same time she expected something. It didn’t matter that the information was non-specific and not entirely accurate. The Punter had been around the area; he had beaten Redz up; he just hadn’t been totally responsible for Redz’ death.