by Sarah Flint
She put her arm around Caz and held her tightly, gently stroking the young woman’s hair as Caz clutched Goldilocks to her cheek. Neither spoke. Gently, Anna eased her down so she could sleep further. Caz lay silently for a while, before turning and smiling up at Anna, her face alight with an intensity she’d not seen before.
‘You know what though? My mum got better after Tommy died. It was like he’d never been there. She cut down on ’er boozin’ and refused to let Tommy’s mates into the house. She started givin’ me more attention and we even went out a few times, like we’d done in the past. I think she felt guilty ’bout how she’d treated me. She kept tellin’ me she loved me and that she was glad it was just me an’ her again. An’ I loved it. An’ I loved her again. An’ it was like Tommy had never come between us.
‘For a few months it was the best time of my life. Just me and me mum. I wanted it to stay like that forever.’
As quickly as Caz’s face had lit up, so the look was lost, replaced instead by one of intense pain. The spell was broken and Anna knew Caz would say nothing further.
She pulled a blanket from the cupboard and drew it around Caz’s bare shoulders, wondering whether there could be yet more traumas buried deep. It was hard to believe any could be worse than the outpouring she had just heard.
As Anna waited for Caz to succumb to sleep, she knew that the day was quickly approaching when Caz would face the final choice; reach out and take the help on offer, or stay with Razor and risk becoming the next fatality. As yet though, it was anybody’s guess which path Caz would choose.
Chapter 32
‘I’ve got a description of a punter who picked up Redz before she was killed.’
Charlie rubbed her eyes and groaned. If it hadn’t been Angie’s name flashing on the phone screen she wouldn’t have picked up. Her clock was showing 11.24, still less than five hours since she’d finished dealing with the overdose. She rolled over and pulled out a pen and paper from her bedside cabinet, jotting down the description as Angie gave it.
‘That’s all we need when we’ve got Razor on bail for murdering her.’
‘I know, but I have to pass it on. It is only word on the street though. Nothing specific.’
‘Suppose so.’ Charlie was relieved for that crumb of comfort. All intelligence was graded according to the reliability of the informant and whether it was actually witnessed by them or heard from other sources. ‘Word on the street’ was a low grading that could be written off against actual evidence, but it could still muddy the waters, and they would have to do extra work to prove or disprove its validity. Added to Caz’s alibi statement, they would now be facing an uphill struggle to convince the CPS to bring charges. She sighed wearily. ‘Anything else, Angie? I really need something to make me get out of bed.’
‘Well,’ Angie sounded upbeat, ‘as far as the brothel is concerned, Dimitri is working with a guy called Albertas. I still don’t know why they relocated so suddenly, but they have now set up in the Lewisham area. Dimitri is sending out texts offering their services, so lots of people will know this. I’m pretty sure I’ll have the actual address and his mobile number in the next day or so.’
Charlie swung her legs out of bed and sat up. ‘That would be brilliant. Thanks, Angie. Bet identified a white van that we think was being used to move the girls from the brothel and it was rented by a male giving the name Dimitri, although that appears to be a false name. So, your source was spot on with that one and will hopefully be just as good with the rest. We’ll start researching Albertas and putting out feelers in the Lewisham area.’ She grinned to herself. ‘If you could get his mobile number though…’
‘I know,’ Angie chuckled. ‘You can trace it. And you might need to, if you want to catch him in the act.’ She paused. ‘Charlie, I’ve got more info that might help you do just that, but there are only a handful of people who know what I’m about to tell you, so you’ll need to act extremely carefully.’
‘You know I always do.’ Charlie understood exactly what Angie meant. The fewer people who knew any information, the more danger a CHIS could be in. Careless talk could literally cost lives.
‘Yes, I know, Charlie, but people involved in human trafficking don’t mess about. This Dimitri, or whoever he turns out to be, must never suspect somebody told us what I’m about to tell you.’ She paused again and Charlie felt her pulse quicken. ‘Right, Dimitri has an accomplice in Eastern Europe who is arranging for another girl to be brought across. Dimitri will be travelling to Europe in two days’ time to collect her and bring her back. If you want to get him bang to rights, then you’ll have to stop him in transit on their way back, with the girl and with all their fake passport and ID documents still on them, before he has a chance to dump them.’
‘Otherwise he’ll just claim he was one of the clients, if his DNA or fingerprints are found at the brothel.’ Charlie was thinking out loud. ‘This way, we can prove he was the main person recruiting the girls, sorting out the fake IDs and organising the whole set-up.’
‘Exactly,’ Angie agreed. ‘I’ll make sure I get his mobile number and any updates I can ASAP, Charlie. He needs to be put away for life if he’s got anything to do with that dead baby girl.’
‘Or her poor mother.’ Charlie stood up and started towards the bathroom, her mind in overdrive. ‘What worries me now though Angie, is… why does he need a replacement? Unless he has a space to fill.’
*
‘It’s a positive match!’ Bet jumped up as Charlie entered the office and rushed towards her, grinning broadly. Paul, Naz and Sabira turned to watch, smiling at Bet’s enthusiasm. It was rare to see Bet move that quickly, what with her bad back and aching limbs.
‘What is?’ Charlie frowned uncertainly but returned the grin, caught up in her colleague’s fervour.
‘The blood sample from the bed in the brothel matches the sample of the mother’s blood found on the baby’s head. That baby was definitely miscarried there. You were right. Dimitri, or whoever he is, has got to be involved.’
Charlie let out a whoop of delight and put an arm around Bet’s shoulder, squeezing it fondly. The two of them were determined to resolve this particular case together and this confirmation was essential. Even though she’d been certain in her own mind that the two were linked, it was still a relief to know that there was solid evidence to back up her hunch.
‘Hunter spoke to the DCI when he got in and the DCI made a phone call to the lab insisting we had this result.’ Naz looked at her curiously. It wasn’t often they were able to get results from the skeleton staff that worked at the lab at the weekend.
‘Any more joy with an identity for the mother then?’ Charlie swung round to face Bet, who gave a small shake of her head.
‘Unfortunately not. The blood on the bed is identical to the blood on the baby’s head and there were fingerprints and other samples with the same DNA from that top bedroom, but the DNA is not known on our system. Our mother has never come to notice in the UK.’
‘Damn it. So we still don’t know who she is.’
‘Or what condition she’s in.’ Naz pulled a face.
‘But at least we know we’re definitely on the right track now with Dimitri and the brothel.’ Charlie looked up as the door to Hunter’s office swung open and he emerged.
‘Which is just as well,’ Hunter strode through. ‘Because there was no way the DCI would sanction us running around the South of England on a full-scale man hunt, if we didn’t at least have confirmation that our suspect was actually the right one.’
‘Sounds intriguing,’ Sabira came across to join them.
‘Angie phoned me earlier.’ Charlie looked towards Hunter for approval to explain. ‘She has a CHIS who is very close to Dimitri, so close that they would be in serious danger if he found out we knew this bit of information.’
‘So, what we’re about to tell you does not leave this room until either I or the DCI give the word.’ Hunter took over, dropping his voice so that they all
gathered round. ‘Dimitri will be heading to France to pick up a new young victim in two days’ time, and we will be waiting to stop him on totally fictitious grounds when he returns. Charlie and I have to travel to Ireland for Redz’ funeral this evening and the DCI will be in charge, so, while we’re gone, work out a reason to stop Dimitri and make sure it’s bombproof. He cannot find out how we got this information and we cannot afford to fail.’
Chapter 33
The store detective wasn’t watching as Caz moved around the shop, placing scented candles, food and drinks conspicuously into a wire basket and slipping other items straight into the top of a carrier bag, held loosely over her arm. She moved fast, trying to avoid making the surreptitious moves that would bring attention. At the checkouts, she paid for the items in the wire basket and left the store speedily, jumping on to a waiting bus and relaxing properly only as the doors closed and the bus moved away. Not all shopping need be paid for; cleaning equipment should always be free.
By the time she got to the flat, Caz was in high spirits. Nothing could dampen her enthusiasm. A future she craved was within her grasp. Just as hope had returned after Tommy’s death, so could life now return after the deaths of Redz and Dutch… and that life was with Razor.
She switched on the light, moving quickly into the lounge area. It was too quiet and the memory of Dutch’s dead body filled her with unease. She switched on the TV and turned the volume up, letting the sports commentators drown out the voices in her head. A can of lager lay unopened on the table. She pulled the ring tab and swallowed some of it down gratefully, assessing what was required. Razor’s flat was to be turned into their home.
For several hours, Caz frenziedly worked her way round the flat, fuelled by her anticipation of their future together, now there was just the two of them. It was only the second time in her young life that she had felt hope, and it was a feeling that she was savouring with every minute she cleaned. Bin bags were filled, covers smoothed and cushions plumped up. Furniture was rearranged and their shared bedroom made ready. Razor was her man and would soon be made welcome to a flat he would be proud of, a dwelling they would make their own. She would make herself available to him in every way and in time he would love her properly as she had always dreamed.
When she’d finished, she turned the taps on in the bathroom and surveyed her work with satisfaction. Nothing was perfect, but at least it was tidy. Water cascaded into the bath, sweet-smelling and fresh from moisturising salts she’d found in Dutch’s room, where the bulging rubbish sacks were now stashed, alongside her dead flatmate’s belongings.
Finally, luxuriating in the warmth of the fragrant water, Caz ran her hands over her emaciated body. The bones of her skeleton pressed through her skin in places; hip bones, ribs and shoulder blades all sticking out prominently. Her arms and legs felt stick-thin, tender spots and bruises emphasising the existence of past injuries. She slid down under the water, letting the soapsuds encase her, her skin imbuing the richness of the aromas. Her hair spread out across the surface of the water and, as she lathered it up, she thought about her earlier meeting with Anna.
Not many people would have accepted the cost of repairing the broken glass in the door out of their own pocket, but Anna had. She was different from the rest and the bond between them was growing with each visit. She was the best counsellor she’d ever had, the one woman who listened to her every word and made no judgements.
Anna had provided food, drink and compassion… she’d also provided her personal mobile phone number, in case of an emergency, writing the number on a piece of paper and tucking it into a side pocket of her handbag, next to Goldilocks.
‘Do you think Razor will be there for you, when you need him?’ she’d asked finally, staring deeply into her eyes, as if completely recognising her predicament.
Caz hoped he would – she really hoped he would – but life had a way of kicking her feet out from underneath her, just as it had with her mother. For the time being though that memory would remain buried; she preferred to remember the good times, the few months after Tommy died when her expectation for a happy ever after was achievable, just like it was now, with Razor.
A small stream of cold water filtered out from the tap, on to her foot, breaking her solace. The suds had died down and a thin film of grease lay across the surface of the water. She moved her hands, swilling the dirty residue back beneath the soapy membrane, splashing deep within the water so that the bubbles reappeared. Things looked good on the surface, but things were never as they seemed.
She rose from the soapsuds, feeling clean, refreshed and reborn, the chance for a new life stretching out brightly before her. All she needed now was Razor. When last he’d been heard, his rage had been all-pervading, his voice sounding loud and furious over the police officer’s radio. Dutch was dead and he was barred from his own flat… again. His reaction was totally understandable. Now though he should be chilled. The cause of his most recent worries had overdosed and with only the two of them left, they would have more than enough cash from his drug dealing and her secret work on which to live. No longer would she have to work the streets.
She dressed scantily, the way Razor liked, moving excitedly around the flat, lighting the candles.
Perfectly on cue, she heard the door opening.
‘Caz,’ Razor shouted, striding into the hallway. ‘What the fuck happened with Dutch? You was supposed to be sortin’ her out, not lettin’ the lazy bitch top herself.’
She ran towards him, immediately recognising the veiled threat in his voice. ‘Razor, I’m sorry. I tried to talk to her.’ She pressed herself against him. ‘She must have scored some more gear when I was shoppin’. I thought I’d taken it all off her. I found out she’d been gettin’ it from that new dealer, Turbo.’
‘I ’eard that too. Been out lookin’ for ’im meself all day, but the bastard’s gone missing. Out country, buyin’ some more gear, but I heard he should be back tonight.’
She took his hand and led him through to the lounge, anxious to calm his temper further. The candles flickered moodily, casting shadows across the walls and lighting up her labours.
‘Let’s not worry about Dutch now. Look what I’ve done for you.’
Razor looked puzzled. ‘What’s this all in aid of then, babe?’
‘Just tryin’ to make things right. An’, on that note, I ’ad to go down the station with that copper Charlie Stafford, after they found Dutch, so while I was there I did your alibi statement, just like we agreed; said that I’d been with you until you went into Viv’s. She tried to say there was only you in the car, so I made out I was sleepin’ in the back. She weren’t very pleased.’
She laughed, before disappearing into the kitchen and re-emerging with a can of cold beer and a sandwich from the shop. Razor sat on the settee and ate while Caz slipped down next to him, sitting on the floor by his leg.
When he finished eating, he leant into the cushions and unbuttoned his shirt. ‘You’re a good girl, Caz.’
She looked up at him, giddy with joy, musing happily about their future together. Rarely had he ever spoken to her like this before.
This was it, the moment had come and this time it would be real. Turning round towards him, she knelt between his spread legs, rubbing her hands slowly up the inside of his thighs and unzipping his trousers. She felt him respond immediately, elation flooding through her. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him and as they moved rhythmically together on the same settee that Dutch had lain dead on just a few hours before, she felt closer to him than she’d ever felt before.
‘I love you, babe,’ she whispered. ‘I love you.’
She felt Razor pause momentarily, before he climaxed noisily. Experience had taught her not to keep going for her own gratification when he finished, so she stopped moving, clinging to him for several more minutes as his breathing returned to normal. Losing Dutch seemed to have unleashed a hidden passion in them both, and the same thing had happened after Redz’ mur
der. Death obviously brought them together, but for how long? Every time happiness was within her grasp, it was snatched away.
As if reading her mind, Razor rose, buttoning his shirt and zipping up his fly. Hazily she watched as he checked through his wallet and slipped a flick knife down between his buttocks.
‘Don’t go out, babe. Stay with me,’ she called over to him. ‘I love you.’
Razor swivelled round and stared at her icily for a few moments.
‘Please don’t leave me,’ Caz pleaded again, desperate to keep a hold of her dream.
‘Shut the fuck up,’ Razor growled. He let his eyes roam up and down her naked body, before striding towards the door. ‘I’ve got business to sort right now, but when I get back, be dressed and ready to do some work.’
*
Razor knew exactly what he had to do.
Turbo had to be taught a lesson that he wouldn’t forget… and he was looking forward to being the teacher. There was nothing like the feel of cold hard metal against the soft, tender skin of a throat to engender a bit of respect. Turbo would regret going behind his back. Caz, too, needed to be reminded of her place. She’d been in a strange mood and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. What the fuck were all the proclamations of love and begging him not to go? He frowned. He’d enjoyed his welcome home but who did she think she was, trying to tell him what he could or couldn’t do? For now though, she would have to wait, he had bigger fish to fry.
As he walked, his mind ran through the information on Turbo. The boy was muscling in on other dealers’ customers and not giving a shit. He was also allegedly in possession of a 9mm handgun, though nobody had actually seen it. Consequently, word on the street was that Turbo was all mouth. In their world, if you had a burner, you well and truly flaunted it. Still, the boy was obviously useful enough to have scared off a few of his adversaries. He worked from the Sackville Estate, a smaller one with little vehicular access, which suited his preference for slinking, unseen, between the walkways, away from the perimeter roads where the cops patrolled.