by Sarah Flint
Carefully he examined Redz’ face, looking for dirt, debris or fragments from any hard surfaces or other implements with which her face might have impacted. Layer by layer, he delved deeper into the massive injury to her skull, clearing the blood and tissue to allow for better access.
‘The trauma to her skull and brain is extensive,’ he said, carefully removing a piece of shattered bone with tweezers and turning towards Charlie and Hunter. ‘She wouldn’t have survived with these injuries, though I don’t know as yet whether the head injury is the main cause of death.’ He continued to examine her skull, speaking out loud as he did so. ‘The frontal bone has been fractured in several places, as have both eye orbits, causing fragments of bone to be pushed into the frontal lobe of the brain. Likewise, with the nasal bone, nasal septum and maxilla, which have also been shattered by whatever has impacted with her face. Her four upper incisors have been either broken or knocked out completely and her mandible has also been fractured.’ He stopped and stood up straight, stretching out his back. ‘I’ll check her lungs and stomach contents shortly as she would have swallowed or inhaled a large quantity of blood during the attack. My assessment at present is that she probably died from the combined effect of the head injury and asphyxiation from inhaling blood. I will confirm that when I open her up and will send the full report on to you.’
‘Would she have died quickly?’ Charlie wanted to know.
‘Well, she would have died at the time of the attack, but how quickly I’m not sure. There is no possibility of surviving these injuries. I suppose it depends on how hard the first few impacts were as to how long she would have been conscious.’
Charlie nodded, recalling the fact that the witness Maria Simpson had heard screams. Redz had obviously fought for her life, at least for a short time.
‘Are you able to say if a weapon was used? And if so, what type?’ Hunter asked.
Dr Crane pursed his lips and looked down at the body, shaking his head. ‘Sorry, but I can’t be certain, I’m afraid. The injuries are consistent with blunt trauma, but because of their severity, I doubt I will be able to establish whether this is from a blunt instrument or from her head being forced against a solid surface, or both.’ He sighed heavily and turned to face them. ‘What I can say though is that the attack on this girl was brutal and sustained. I would suggest whoever did this totally lost control.’
*
Dr Crane’s last words were still ringing in her head as Charlie climbed the stairs to the office at Lambeth HQ. Hunter had just received word that the forensic examinations on the brothel, as well as all three crime scenes connected with Redz’ murder, had been concluded. The alleyway had been reopened and Razor was to be allowed back into his flat. Only the car was likely to remain with them, its recovery being unlikely due to it being untaxed, uninsured and without an MOT.
For now though they would have to wait for tests to be conducted on all the samples collected at each of the crime scenes and, with the weekend ahead, progress would slow.
What worried Charlie more was the fact she would shortly be informing Razor that with the crime scenes closed he could return to his flat, and that meant that Caz and Dutch would no doubt join him. Could they inadvertently be putting the two vulnerable women back into danger, especially if Razor was under further pressure from the arrest? Might he lose control again? But what could they do to prevent it? Razor had bail conditions to live at an approved address, and to report to a police station daily, but Caz and Dutch were adults, free to do whatever they wished. There was no way to restrict their movements. If the two women wished to return to his flat they could.
She pulled her phone out and keyed in Caz’s number, Razor’s phone having been seized as part of the investigation. It rang for what seemed an age before Caz came on the line, her voice slurred and hesitant.
‘Caz, is that you? It’s Charlie Stafford here. Are you with Razor? I need to pass him a message.’
‘Yeah, it’s me.’ The phone line became muffled, as if Caz had placed her hand over the mouthpiece and was moving about. ‘I can’t see ’im, Charlie. What’s the message?’
‘Can you tell him we’ve finished at his registered flat and he’s allowed back. That’ll be his bail address, so he must sleep there every night.’
‘Ah, thank fuck for that. He’ll be well chuffed with that news.’
Charlie hesitated, thinking of what she wanted to say. ‘Caz, you know you don’t have to go back there though. Or Dutch. In fact, it would be much safer for you not to return.’
Caz let out a squeal of laughter. ‘You ’ave no idea, do you? He’d kill us if we stayed put where we are an’ didn’t go back wiv ’im. Believe me, Charlie, we’d be much safer to return.’ She continued to laugh before quietening suddenly. ‘Besides, ’e’s my man. I ain’t got no one else.’
Charlie closed her eyes. It was as she feared. ‘Please, Caz,’ she said one last time. ‘Don’t go back. You know you have people that can help you.’
‘I know that,’ Caz spoke with deliberation. ‘But I’ve got things sorted. I’ll let ’im know, and don’t worry, I’ll be all right. I promise yer.’
The line went dead. Caz had rung off.
Charlie checked her watch. Friday was nearly over and she would be spending the evening with Ben and her family in the safety of her family home. As she walked out into the chill December air, and gazed out at the Christmas lights twinkling brightly in houses across the city, she thought of Caz and Dutch and the unknown mother of the dead baby… and tried to imagine what it must be like to be constantly living in fear.
Chapter 24
Caz pushed her phone into her pocket and sat down heavily on the bed next to where Dutch lay comatose. News of Redz’ murder seemed to have heightened her friend’s already obsessive safety fears. A carving knife had been carefully stowed under the pillow and some scissors under the mattress. With Dutch preferring the safety of a flat and Razor wanting her out working the streets, they were heading for a showdown… and there was no doubt in Caz’s mind who would win.
The greenish glow from the digital clock display showed 5.18 p.m. It would be good to get away from DK’s flat and back home. She reached down and tugged Dutch up to a sitting position. Her friend was sleepy but responded, hanging on to her tightly as they stood and lurched towards the door.
‘Where’s Ayeisha?’ Dutch strained her head from side to side as she stumbled forward.
Caz slammed DK’s door shut behind them, shuddering as the freezing wind bit at her bare legs and ankles. ‘She went earlier.’
‘She’s a good girl,’ Dutch slipped as she spoke, grabbing at some railings. ‘She shouldn’t be wiv us.’
Caz knew she should agree; Ayeisha was young and deserved better, but she was also a carbon copy of how she herself had once been – reticent to experiment with drugs or sex – and in a macabre kind of way Caz wanted to see whether her friend would succumb to temptation as she had. Besides, Ayeisha knew about things that Caz did not… things that Caz needed for her secret job.
‘Leave ’er be,’ she said instead. ‘We don’t make ’er come. She comes ’cause she wants to and she enjoys being wiv us.’
Razor’s flat was in sight when she heard the sound of a car horn, followed by a shout. Caz looked over the railings and saw a car entering the nearby parking area. It flashed at her and hooted again several more times. She didn’t recognise the car, but as the window was wound down she saw Razor grinning up at them.
‘Caz, get in,’ he shouted, leaning out and shouting up at her. ‘Let’s go for a ride.’
She waved down and indicated for him to wait, pulling Dutch towards the flat and opening the door. The place was a shithole; no effort had been made by the police to return it to even its previous poor state, but as she lowered Dutch down on to her filthy bed, she knew it would have to do for now. Razor was calling and he couldn’t be kept waiting.
Her pimp was in high spirits when she joined him.
‘W
hat we doin’ now then?’ she asked, looking around at the child seat and guessing immediately the car was stolen.
Razor chuckled. ‘Thought we’d go an’ turn over a few punters. We need some cash.’
Caz glanced across at Razor. He looked slightly manic, his whole persona crackling with danger, but the sight was intoxicating, and he wanted her with him.
Razor drove to a small car park adjacent to Tooting Bec Common and gave her instructions. She was to entice the punters to the car park either on foot or in their motors and he would do the rest. They would be relieved of their property at knifepoint and were unlikely ever to report the crime to police for fear of their indiscretions becoming public. It was risky but potentially very rewarding.
She nodded mutely, light-headed with fear and desire. At that moment, she’d do anything for Razor.
An hour later, they were counting their spoils in some underground garages nearby. He had been brutal in the execution of the robberies, his menace magnified tenfold.
‘Two hundred and eighty fuckin’ quid, credit cards, a gold watch and chain and a virtually new laptop. Not bad for a night’s work,’ Razor whooped, pocketing the cash and throwing the empty wallet and briefcase into a wheelie bin. ‘I’ll sell the rest of the stuff in the morning, but for now, let’s get some fresh gear and go an’ fuckin’ party.’
Caz gazed across at Razor, his brooding presence lighting the touchpaper to her emotions. Razor was everything she wanted, and at the moment she seemed to be enough for him. Redz’ death had undoubtedly brought them closer. She reached across, her hand straying from his chest towards the belt buckle on his jeans, and her thoughts straying across the common to a small office, with wood-panelled walls and a light that shone out even now.
Perhaps it was time to let Anna into the secrets of her childhood? It couldn’t do any harm and she had already started the ball rolling. Anna was her friend. She had promised to listen. More importantly, she would be there in case the situation changed.
*
Anna put down Caz’s file, chewing on the lunchtime sandwich that had not, until that moment, been touched.
With Caz in mind, she’d worked late into Friday evening. There was one last thing she had wanted to set in motion. Scribbled on a piece of paper was the address of a compact but tidy bedsit, which her friend, Maggie Owen, in the housing department of the local council had offered. It had been the culmination of a promise to assist with any urgent safeguarding issues, in exchange for Anna’s help with a suicidal friend of her daughter’s.
It didn’t matter whether their agreement was fair or ethical; the important thing was that neither had any illusions as to the significance of their actions. Anna had literally talked Maggie’s young acquaintance out of taking her own life. Now Maggie would be helping to potentially save Caz. Removing the restrictions of government red tape could salvage two young vulnerable lives.
The bedsit was situated in a small block of council flats on the Streatham/Norbury border, as far south in Lambeth as was possible. In Anna’s opinion it was still too close for comfort to Razor’s flat in SW2, but it was the best they could do and hopefully would be far enough away to at least put some distance between Caz and her pimp.
The room itself sounded ideal. Neat and manageable, with an open-plan kitchen/diner expanding into a reasonably-sized living area equipped with a pull-down bed and several cupboards for storage. The flat had lain empty for some time, but an audit of council properties had brought it back to the attention of housing officers and its redecoration had just been completed. The room was ready now and the key was to be left for collection.
Anna felt energised as she stared at the address on the email from Maggie. The room could be the lifeline her young client needed. Once she’d collected the key the next day, she could get the room furnished and ready. Caz would have the chance to start afresh and build a new life for herself. This was the first step.
She read the address out loud. It had a certain ring to it and Anna entered the information on a memo and attached it to the front page of the file before slotting it into the cabinet and locking it shut.
It was time to go home.
With any luck, Caz would return soon, to continue the journey into her childhood. A boundary had been crossed on her last visit and Anna was in no doubt there would be further revelations to come, but she had to be careful. She needed to pick the right moment… and until that time came, news of the room would have to wait.
Chapter 25
The Punter stretched out across his bed, his hands held firmly over his ears. The children were screaming downstairs and his wife was cooking dinner. It was monotonous shit and he wanted none of it.
Friday evening was his favourite night to go out, but tonight he would have to remain indoors. He had no car and, in any case, it was better to lay low. News of the murder might still be relatively fresh in people’s minds, and though it seemed there had been no witnesses, there was no point in taking the risk.
There had been no further contact from the police, apart from a recorded message providing a crime reference. His car had clearly not come to light, and as each hour passed, so his confidence grew. Even the local papers had reported little. The death of a prostitute did not justify much publicity, and even less concern from the residents who had to put up with the filth and immorality left daily by the dirty whores.
The murder, in any case, was not newsworthy. It had merely been a misunderstanding, which should now be forgotten. The prostitute had brought it on herself and he had been fully justified in treating her the way he had.
Another shout sounded from below. The twins were arguing again. They were always fighting. Why couldn’t his wife keep control? He rose from where he lay, irritated, and stood in front of the mirror, surveying his body from every angle.
Tomorrow he would purchase a leather jacket, matt black and smelling of money. It would demonstrate his ability to take charge of his own destiny, kowtowing to no one.
Tomorrow he would also buy a new motor. A few phone calls to his insurance company had secured him a preliminary verbal settlement and Health and Safety requirements had ensured that his burnt-out car had been efficiently removed from the public common and taken to the dump to be crushed. There was nothing left to show for his night of debauchery.
Come the morning he would choose a convertible that was cool, clean and sexy, epitomising his ongoing accomplishments at work. Promotion to managerial status was on the cards, promised but not quite delivered. He would soon be in charge of the South East Regional team of financial advisors.
He sucked in his stomach, turning again to admire his physique in the mirror. Appearance was everything. People’s perceptions were what mattered. It was essential that, at least for now, he continued his mundane lifestyle; the perfect family man, doing everything required to earn his promised promotion. But as soon as it was safe, he would return to the streets, seeking out another dirty filthy whore, deserving of his wrath.
And as he shut his ears to the shouts of his children below, he knew without doubt that it wouldn’t be long.
Chapter 26
Charlie picked the statement up and started to read. Even though it was the weekend, the whole team were in, happy to work the extra hours. The squad would be contacting every station, police service and agency that dealt with human trafficking in a bid to track down the new location of the brothel, before that trail went cold.
And they still had plenty to do on Redz’ case. There was Razor’s ID parade, which she would shortly be attending, and a raft of other enquiries to complete.
Hunter sauntered over and peered at the handwritten pages over her shoulder.
‘You’d have loved Viv, boss.’ Sabira chortled towards Hunter. ‘She was a salt of the earth sort.’
‘Yep, proper old-school barmaid, not unlike Bet Lynch from the Rover’s Return,’ Naz chipped in, grinning. ‘And not afraid to keep you boys in order too.’
‘There’s not to
o many of us old dinosaurs around these days,’ Hunter acknowledged. ‘Or at least that’s what Mrs H calls me, when she’s bemoaning my lack of help with the housework.’
‘You need to be a metrosexual these days,’ Paul swivelled round on his chair and winked at Hunter, who opened his mouth as if to speak but then clamped it back shut. ‘Don’t ask,’ Paul laughed instead.
‘I don’t think I dare.’ Hunter grinned in return, looking totally perplexed. He changed the subject quickly. ‘So, what did our Viv have to say?’
‘Well,’ Sabira took up the thread. ‘She remembered the night well. She recalled speaking to Razor and that he complained that Redz had been causing him trouble and needed sorting out.’
‘Nice,’ Paul shook his head.
‘She said that she specifically remembered telling Razor to go easy on Redz because she was only young.’
‘Probably too late by then,’ Bet joined in. ‘But a good motive, albeit that he might only have meant to teach her a lesson, rather than actually kill her.’
‘It would still be murder even if he only intended to cause her GBH, and he clearly meant to give her a good beating, judging by those words, and the massive injuries she sustained.’ Hunter tutted loudly. ‘And he’d be only too aware of the necessity to cultivate an alibi, when he realised what he’d done.’
Charlie had to agree with Hunter’s analysis. Razor had been very quick to provide the two names; in fact, they had been the only thing to come from the interview. She turned towards Sabira. ‘What about the timings?’
Sabira smiled. ‘She remembers looking at her watch at around 1.15 a.m. when she first spoke to Razor and he said he’d had a shit day. She can’t say whether he had been in the bar before then.’
‘So Viv only really assists with what happened after Maria Simpson’s call.’ Charlie’s interest spiked. ‘Unless Caz says otherwise, it’s quite possible that Razor was on his own at the actual time of Redz’ death.’