Lee Weeks: Frozen Grave

‘About six. I was saying goodbye to my friend here at the door when she came by us.’

‘What did she say to you?’

‘She complained about her tap dripping in her kitchen. She asked me to fix it.’

‘Did she say she would be gone long?’

‘She said she was going out for at least an hour. I said I would mend it for her while she was out.’

‘Was she a friendly sort of person? You didn’t mind helping her on a Sunday evening?’

He shrugged. ‘I didn’t mind. She didn’t ask for much. She was quiet. She worked hard.’

‘Any boyfriend on the scene?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘And can you tell me what she was wearing when you saw her last?’

‘She was wearing a blue coat.’

‘How did she look to you?’

‘She looked like she was going on a date. She had perfume on. Make-up: red lipstick, nails. She’d made a big effort for someone.’

They took the stairs up to the second floor and changed into forensic suits before going in. As they opened the door they heard the sound of a radio playing.

Carter walked on into the lounge straight in front of them. The curtains were closed; he switched on the light. Everywhere had magnolia walls, cream carpet. There were insipid abstract paintings of orange and purple swirls on the walls. He turned off the radio.

‘Can’t see any couples photos,’ Carter said as he walked around. ‘It looks like a rented apartment – no clutter, no mess.’ Willis lingered in the hallway, writing up what she saw and drawing a diagram of the flat. ‘This place is corporate, chic,’ continued Carter. ‘It looks like the type of place anyone could move into tomorrow – especially me. Reminds me of my flat before Cabrina arrived and then finished off her offensive with a smelly baby.’

Willis glanced at him. ‘Making of you, guv.’

‘Ha!’ He grinned. ‘You could be right – jury’s out on that one.’ He walked through the lounge, looking at Olivia’s choice of gadgets. ‘Great Bose sound system. Blu-ray, 3D television. She definitely had money.’

The hallway carried round to the right and Carter opened the door to a neat and tidy kitchen with spotless surfaces and shiny taps that had the smell of having recently been cleaned.

Willis scanned the cupboards. ‘Cereals in here mostly.’

He opened the fridge door. ‘Looks like Olivia drank in but ate out a lot. There are several bottles of wine but little else.’

They moved back out into the wide hallway and into the first of the two rooms.

‘It’s like a hotel bedroom.’

Carter ran his hand across the silk bedspread as he walked round to the far side of the bed and opened the wardrobe; he pulled out an inner drawer.

‘Impressive.’ He stood back to show Willis the neat racks of hanging clothes and the lingerie in the drawer that went from dark to light, left to right. ‘Colour-coded, even her underwear.’ He looked back to the bed and closed the drawer. ‘Which side do you think she sleeps?’ he asked.

‘Left side.’

‘I see the way you’re thinking but not everyone would want to attack an intruder. Most people would want to be furthest away from the threat and have more chance of running.’ Willis didn’t answer. ‘But you’re right – so would I. Anything on your side?’ Carter asked as he pulled open a drawer beside the bed that had tea lights inside, a pink vibrator and a packet of variously sized condoms. ‘She sleeps this side,’ he said. ‘She was a runner then, not a fighter.’

Willis ducked down and pulled out a small case from beneath the bed. She opened the lid and took out a hooded ball gag.

Carter came round and knelt down beside her.

‘Welcome to Olivia’s toy box,’ he said. ‘Welcome to her secret world.’ He stood with a harness in his hands. ‘Tell you one thing we need to know – we need to know how Dr Harding knew her. Because, like I said’ – Carter was distracted reading instructions and turning the harness around to try to work out how it was fastened – ‘Harding doesn’t have female friends.’ He gave up and put it back in the box. ‘We’ll leave these for Sandford. This will be right up his street. If Harding met her outside work then they had something in common. The only hobby I know that Harding has outside work is having sex with people she shouldn’t. If this woman doesn’t have a husband to interest Harding – she must have something else.’

After he left Hannover Estate, Mason’s feet didn’t stop running until he reached the arches beneath the railway bridge in Shadwell where he had made a home tucked in beside the road and the fencing that bordered the car park. In the day, cars parked there but from six it was empty. Mason crawled into his makeshift cardboard tent and pulled his sleeping bag up over his legs. His heart was pounding; his lungs burning.

Sandy stayed on sentry duty until she sensed that there was no more danger, then she looked around for water and found a puddle.

Mason’s breathing slowed as Sandy came to lie beside him and the warmth from the dog soothed him, her heartbeat calmed him; the sound of her breathing made him feel safe. He closed his eyes and sank back onto the blue cashmere coat that still smelt of the woman.

It was late morning when Carter and Willis arrived back at the office, both loaded down with boxes of Olivia Grantham’s paperwork taken from her flat. They parked in the car park alongside SOCO vans and squad cars and took the lift up to the third floor. They were part of MIT 17 – the murder squad – which was one of three Major Investigation Teams in Fletcher House. Fletcher House was a concrete three-storey building adjoining Archway Police Station, separated by just a door on level one. All the officers serving in Archway Police Station referred to the MIT teams as ‘the Dark Side’.

They carried the boxes down to the crime analyst Robbo’s office. It was the crime analyst’s job to work out the sequence of events, analyse statements, pull everything together and highlight any gaps in intelligence. It was his job to work out how it all fitted or didn’t. He worked in there with Pam, his ‘work wife’, and there was usually at least one other researcher working alongside them – at the moment it was Hector, a young detective constable who was recovering from a knee operation and on desk duty.

Hector looked up as Carter and Willis entered the room. The door to Robbo’s office was always propped open. Robbo had a desk from where he could look through the glass partition and right down the corridor but it was tucked back against the wall. Behind his chair was a large whiteboard, where he made notes on the case he was working on and pinned up photos and diagrams, location maps. Olivia Grantham’s name was written at the top of the board with photos of Parade Street and stills from the crime scene.

Pam looked up and smiled at Carter.

Carter winked at her. ‘All right, Pam? Have a nice holiday? Is that an all-over tan?’

Pam blushed. ‘It was. It’s fading already.’

‘Has the family been notified?’ Willis asked Robbo as she placed her boxes from Olivia Grantham’s flat on Hector’s desk.

‘Yes, we found a relative,’ he answered. ‘She has family in Yorkshire. Her dad is coming down late tonight and he’ll identify the body tomorrow morning.’

‘We need to get the post-mortem done before then,’ Carter said as he watched whilst Hector shifted the boxes on his desk. ‘Is Dr Kahn doing it?’

‘Yes,’ replied Robbo. ‘Dr Harding is handling the arrangements. She said it’s scheduled for this afternoon at two. Do you want to attend?’

‘Yeah, we have to; personally speaking, want has nothing to do with it. The top box is her bank statements,’ added Carter, as he placed his boxes beside the others.