The Razor Gang Murder

by Simon McCleave

  Ruth and Lucy nodded.

  ‘Fair enough. Saves me making a complete tit of myself when you realise that I can’t make a decent cuppa.’ Charlie gave them a winning smile as he sat with his elbows on the table and his fingers interlocked. ‘So, detectives, how can I help?’

  Christ, he’s incredibly calm and confident for someone who has just had two CID detectives knocking on the door.

  Ruth looked over at him. ‘DVLA records show that you purchased a Chrysler Imperial back in 1954. Is that right?’

  Charlie smiled and nodded. ‘Yeah. Christ, the Chrysler Imperial. It was a lovely ice blue. That takes me back. Yeah, beautiful car. I was a bit of a flash git when I was younger.’

  ‘Do you still have it?’ Lucy asked.

  Charlie frowned and snorted. ‘God, no ... Sold it in the early 60s. Can’t remember who to though.’

  Lucy took a photograph of the key from the case folder and pushed it over the table towards him. ‘Does this look like the key for that car?’

  He took a pair of reading glasses from the pocket of his shirt, put them on, and peered at the photograph. ‘Yeah. Looks about right. Long time ago though.’

  Lucy took the photograph back and said, ‘Did you have two keys for the car when you bought it?’

  Charlie thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, but I lost one somewhere along the line. I was pretty sure that my younger brother had it, but that’s a very long story. When I sold the car, I told the bloke I only had one.’ He then smiled. ‘You haven’t come all this way to tell me you found my old spare car key, have you?’

  Ruth shook her head. ‘No ... we found the key along with some human remains at Dixon’s Timber Yard. We were wondering if you could shed any light on why it might have been there?’

  The colour drained visibly from Charlie’s face. He smoothed his hand over his chin as he stared into space. The news had clearly distressed him. He cleared his throat, then said in a virtual whisper, ‘Oh god ... I think you’ve found him then.’

  Ruth looked over at Lucy for a second. ‘Found who, Charlie?’

  He took a deep breath and blinked as tears came into his eyes. ‘My brother, Alfie.’

  ‘Could you tell us why you think it might be your brother?’ Lucy asked gently.

  Charlie closed his eyes for a few seconds. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed his tears and then looked over at them. ‘Sorry. I never thought he’d ...’ He wept and then took a deep breath. ‘Sorry ... I ...’

  Ruth’s heart went out to him as he pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. ‘You don’t need to apologise, Charlie.’

  He wiped another tear with the back of his hand. ‘You find anything else?’

  Lucy took the photograph of the signet ring from the folder and showed it to him.

  More tears came as Charlie nodded imperceptibly and pursed his lips. ‘Yeah ... That’s Alfie’s ring. It’s him. Bloody hell. I never thought we’d find him. Poor sod.’

  Ruth gave him a compassionate look. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’

  He sniffed as he gazed at the photograph. ‘I bought him that ring for his sixteenth birthday.’

  ‘Could you tell us what happened to your brother?’ Lucy asked.

  Charlie sat back in his chair. ‘The 27th of November 1956. That was the day Alfie went missing. It was a Tuesday. He’d borrowed the motor to do a few things for me. Then he dropped it back and went out. That was the last time I saw him. He just vanished off the face of the earth. No one knew what had happened to him ... I assumed he must have kept the key in his pocket and forgotten all about it.’

  ‘Did you report it to the police at the time?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Yeah, course. They searched all the parks. They even went up to New Cross and the banks of the Thames at Deptford. A few posters. But we couldn’t find him,’ Charlie said and then wiped his face again. ‘Sorry ...’

  ‘Please don’t apologise. This must be very difficult for you,’ Lucy said.

  Charlie looked up at them. ‘Yeah ... Do you know what happened to him yet?’

  Ruth said quietly, ‘I’m really sorry but we suspect your brother was murdered.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Charlie’s face looked pained. ‘Really? ... Bloody hell, I thought this day might come ... but I wondered if we’d lost him forever. It’s a bit of a shock.’

  Lucy gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘Of course it is.’

  ‘Do you know why anyone would have wanted to harm your brother, Charlie?’ Ruth asked.

  He nodded. ‘Yeah. I’ve got a fair idea.’

  Ruth and Lucy exchanged a look – that wasn’t the answer they were expecting.

  ‘Really? Why do you say that?’ Lucy asked.

  Charlie got up from the table and wandered over to a cupboard where he grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey. ‘Alfie was involved in some kind of gang fight in Balham two weeks before he went missing. Teddy Boys from Clapham Common. Alfie and this bloke Frank Weller ended up fighting down on the underground. Frank Weller got stabbed, fell under a train and died.’

  Ruth watched as Charlie found a heavy glass tumbler, took ice from the enormous American fridge, and poured himself three fingers of whiskey. ‘I would offer you ladies a drink, but I know you’re on duty. Not like the old days.’

  ‘What happened to Alfie?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘He came home and told me what had happened. I cleaned him up. He was in a right old state. He laid low with me for a few days. I wasn’t about to hand him over to the Old Bill. It was all over the papers but it looked like your lot didn’t have a suspect for it. After a couple of weeks, I assumed somehow he’d got away with it. So, like I said, he went out in my car to run a few errands. Came back. Went out again, and that was the last I saw of him.’ Charlie took a gulp of the whiskey, puffed out his cheeks and shook his head. ‘I still can’t believe you’ve found him after all this time. Dixon’s Timber Yard, did you say?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘It’s been there donkey’s years. Arnold Dixon used to own it.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Is he still alive?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘We’re not sure,’ Ruth replied.

  ‘How did you find Alfie then?’

  ‘Workmen were digging foundations for a new building,’ Lucy explained.

  ‘I see,’ Charlie said as he swigged his drink and stared into space.

  Ruth gestured to her notepad. ‘Going back again, Charlie. So, you told the police all about Alfie being responsible for this stabbing at Balham Station when you reported him missing?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘I had to. Wouldn’t have made any sense not to,’ Charlie explained. ‘They charged me with conspiracy and I got a two year suspended sentence.’

  Ruth looked at Charlie. ‘What did you think had happened to Alfie?’

  Charlie’s manner had gone from what looked like shock and grief, to some kind of anger. He moved the glass of whiskey around on the coaster for a second. ‘Word was that Frank Weller’s family and his mates knew it was Alfie that had killed him. They weren’t going to tell the Old Bill so they could hunt him down themselves and get their revenge. Two of the boys that were in the fight that night belonged to a local gang. They’d stabbed and killed a boy on Clapham High Street in ’53. They called themselves The Plough Boys.’ He took another swig, drained the glass and then looked at them. ‘I assumed they found Alfie that day and killed him.’

  CHAPTER 6

  Having checked that Ella had fallen asleep, Ruth wandered back to the large room at the back of the flat that was a kitchen and living area. The patio doors were open and the warm summer air was filled with the smell of someone barbequing. A few doors down, children were playing and shouting. She went over to the stereo, took out the Portishead album Dummy and put it on. She had read somewhere that music like Portishead’s was rather cleverly labelled ‘trip hop’. She could see why. The redolent smells of a balmy summer evening combined with the music mad
e her hanker after a spliff. She dug around in the drawers and small wooden boxes to see if Dan had left any weed behind. Opening a patterned wooden box that he’d bought on one of his many trips to India, she spotted a small plastic bag with enough grass to have a smoke.

  Bingo! Just what I need tonight, she thought as she took cigarette papers and tobacco from the box. She sat down on the sofa and constructed a neat spliff. Bloody hell. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, she thought as she lit it and took a deep drag. She felt her head instantly become fuzzy and her body more relaxed.

  Standing up, Ruth wandered over to the table where she had spread out some photocopies. She’d dug them out of the Peckham police station archives that were stored in the basement of the building, comically referred to as ‘the salt mines’.

  The photocopies were from a mix of local and national newspapers dated November 1956. She wanted as much background information as she could get on the knife fight and murder that Alfie Wise had been involved in. It was a little chilling to think that it had happened only a mile down the road from where she was standing now.

  The Daily Mail headline read – South London Gang War – Youth Stabbed To Death. The Daily Express carried an equally dramatic front page – Teddy Boy murdered in Balham. The Daily Mirror had an inside article about the growing dangers of teenage gangs and delinquency – Flick Knives, Dance Music and Edwardian Suits.

  Scanning another paper, Ruth saw the headline:

  WAR ON THE TEDDY BOYS

  Menace On The Streets Of Britain’s Cities Is Being Tackled At Last!

  The menace of the Teddy Boys is being challenged by the concerted action of police, and dance hall and cinema managers, who are taking a firm stand against the delinquent gangs. In some places, groups of ‘vigilantes’ have been formed to combat the thugs in Edwardian dress who are often armed with razors, bicycle chains and knuckle dusters and have been terrorising the peace-loving people of Britain for several years now.

  Ruth’s train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door. Now panicking a little, she stubbed out the spliff and tried to waft away the smell. Straightening her hair and composing herself, she went to the door and opened it. It was Dan, looking a little awkward and sheepish.

  Ruth frowned. ‘You’re not meant to pick up Ella until Saturday and she’s in bed.’

  ‘Actually, it’s you I wanted to talk to. Can I come in?’ he asked, avoiding any eye contact.

  ‘Do you have to?’

  ‘It’s important.’

  Ruth looked at him for a second. Just slam the door in his face and tell him to fuck off!

  She gave a deliberate audible sigh and ushered him inside. ‘Why not? Come in ...’

  As she followed him to the back of the flat, she was aware that it smelled of weed. She didn’t care.

  ‘Have you been smoking gear?’ he asked with a frown.

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘You used to tell me off for smoking gear when Ella was in the flat.’

  Are you joking?

  She glared at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? You’re going to bloody lecture me about what I do in this flat?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ he said. ‘Can I sit down?’

  Ruth shook her head. ‘No ... Why? How long are you planning on bloody staying?’

  He looked at her and she gestured to the sofa. ‘Go on then.’

  She wondered why he had come to see her. It wasn’t going to be anything good. It never was.

  Avoiding eye contact, Dan talked quietly. ‘I need to talk to you about me and Angela.’

  ‘Oh good.’ Ruth pulled a face. ‘If I’m honest, I’d rather not know anything about you and Angela.’

  He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘We’ve been talking. She’s struggling to settle in London and ...’

  The penny dropped. Ruth knew exactly what was coming next. It had crossed her mind before.

  She interrupted him. ‘Bloody hell, Dan! Really?’

  ‘What?’ he said with an innocent shrug. ‘I haven’t said anything yet.’

  ‘You and Angela are moving to Australia where you’re going to play happy families,’ she snapped loudly.

  Dan couldn’t hide his awkwardness as he waited a few seconds before responding. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry. She’s just not happy here anymore.’

  ‘It’s not her happiness that I care about, Dan.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Ruth yelled, ‘Don’t apologise to me! What about Ella? You’re her father!’

  There were a few seconds of silence. Dan said nothing.

  Ruth took a deep breath. She was furious. ‘What, and that’s it? Sorry darling, I’m off to Australia. Have a nice life. I’ll try to pop back for your eighteenth if I can.’

  ‘It’s not like that. What am I meant to do?’ he asked.

  Ruth shook her head. She really wished him physical harm. ‘Dan, you’re a spineless wanker. You always have been. And I want you to go.’

  He got up slowly from the sofa and glanced at her. ‘I’ll come back when you’ve calmed down.’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  Oh my God! I want to kill you!

  Grabbing a glass, she went to throw it at him and then managed to stop herself.

  He walked towards the door and left.

  Sitting on the sofa, Ruth closed her eyes and then tears ran down her face. They were tears of both frustration and of terrible sadness. She thought of Ella sleeping innocently in her bed, unaware of what was going on. Ruth knew that her beautiful daughter would grow up knowing that her daddy didn’t love her enough to stick around and had instead moved to the other side of the world.

  LUCY AND HER MOTHER, Pauline, were sitting out on the patio as the sun set behind the trees. It was a balmy evening, but it was that time of year when Lucy noticed the days shortening with the promise of autumn and then winter. With the chirps and calls of the robin, blackbird and song thrush, it was hard to imagine that they were only four miles south of Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, and Central London.

  Lucy sat forward in the garden chair and gestured to her mother’s empty glass. ‘Do you want anything else, Mum?’

  ‘No, darling. I’m driving.’ Pauline looked at her. ‘I need to ask you a favour.’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘Go on. Unless it’s a speeding ticket again which, as I explained, I can’t make disappear.’

  Pauline laughed. ‘I just asked. It was the first time I ever got stopped in forty years of driving.’

  Typical Mum. We’re going round the houses, Lucy thought.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘What, darling?’

  ‘You need to ask me a favour.’

  Pauline giggled. ‘Oh yes. Bloody hell, I’m losing my marbles. It would have been me and your dad’s thirtieth wedding anniversary on Sunday.’

  Lucy nodded. Her father had died in traumatic circumstances a few years ago and she and her mum had both found it difficult to deal with. ‘You want me to come with you to his grave?’

  ‘Would you mind? I mean if you and Harry are busy ...’

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Of course we’ll come!’

  Pauline laughed. ‘Oh, okay then.’

  ‘In fact, Harry can drive us and then we’ll take you out for a pub lunch. How does that sound?’

  Pauline’s face broke into a beaming smile. ‘You know what, that would be lovely, darling. As long as he doesn’t mind?’

  Lucy grinned. ‘He’ll do as he’s bloody told.’

  ‘Oh, right. Well, don’t scare him off, dear.’ Pauline looked at her watch. ‘Where is he anyway?’

  ‘Strategic policy meeting.’

  ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘No idea. And frankly, I don’t care.’

  A metallic noise came from inside. Lucy recognised it as the clatter of the letterbox. Definitely not the postman.

  Getting up from the table, Lucy gestured to the kitchen. ‘Sure
you don’t want another drink, Mum? You’ve had one gin in three hours so I think you’ll be all right.’

  ‘Yeah, go on then. One for the road, eh? If I get stopped again, you can get me off.’

  Lucy rolled her eyes, took their glasses and headed inside. Spotting a brown padded envelope on the floor by the door, she went over and picked it up. Her name and address were on a typed label and there was a red Confidential stamp at the top of the envelope. She assumed it was work related. There had been rare occasions when documents had been sent to her home by mistake.

  She headed back into the kitchen with the envelope, poured two gin and tonics, and made her way back to the patio.

  ‘Here you go, Mum,’ she said, as she put the glasses down on the table.

  Pauline gestured to the padded envelope. ‘Is that work stuff?’

  Lucy sat down and tore it open. ‘Must be.’

  Pauline shook her head. ‘They work you too hard, don’t they?’

  Now that the envelope was open, Lucy could feel that there was something stuck inside. She gave it a shake, and three small objects fell out and landed in her lap.

  It was dog excrement.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ she yelled as she flicked the excrement off her lap.

  Pauline gasped. ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ Lucy said getting up from the table.

  Pauline got out of her chair. ‘Come on, love. I’ll help you clean up. Who the hell would send you that?’

  Lucy didn’t say anything, but she had a good idea.

  CHAPTER 7

  Ruth’s day in CID began just after seven as she set about creating a scene board for the investigation into the remains found at Dixon’s Timber Yard. There were dates and times of the events of November 1956, along with photographs.

  She was now on her second coffee. Even though she had smoked the rest of her spliff and finished a bottle of wine after Dan had left, she hadn’t slept well. She wasn’t sure how and when to break the news to Ella. Was it better once he had gone, or should she prepare her so she could say goodbye knowing that he was moving away?