Frozen Grave (3 page)

‘Do you know if Miss Grantham had a car, sir?’ Carter asked. The caretaker was a retired Met officer now living rent-free in exchange for handyman duties.

‘Yes. She had a white Fiat 500.’

‘Where is it parked?’

‘She had a car-parking space around the back of the building – but the car’s not there now. She left in it yesterday evening and didn’t return.’

‘Did you see her leave?’

‘Yes. I talked to her.’

‘What time was that?’ Willis wrote in her notebook as Carter asked the questions.

‘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.

‘She’s not the paperless type then,’ Hector said as he removed the top from the box and looked at the reams of statements.

Robbo came round to look at the boxes and their contents. ‘Solicitor, remember. Make a spreadsheet of her spending in the last six months, work backwards, Hector,’ said Robbo as he
held out his hands for Hector to hand a box over to him. ‘Give one to me – I’ll make sure it’s in order for you.’

‘What have you found out about her, Pam?’ asked Carter.

Pam changed her reading glasses and skimmed down the research she’d done as she read out the bullet points from the page in front of her:

‘Age forty. Originally from Yorkshire. Only child. Solicitor in family law. Never married. I talked to work colleagues this morning. There doesn’t seem to be much of a social scene
at her workplace. They didn’t know of any friends outside work. She was on Linkedin, so I’m tracing her contacts there. I’m still building up a picture of her but so far she seems
a private person.’

‘Any boyfriend on the scene?’

‘Her work colleagues didn’t think so. She never brought anyone along to any company events.’

‘Okay, well, we need to keep digging.’

Robbo turned to Willis. ‘What were your thoughts when you saw the body?’

Willis was standing in the centre of the room. She hadn’t moved since she put the boxes down on Hector’s desk. She looked as if she were in a world of her own.

‘She was never meant to be in there,’ she replied.

‘What are we saying? Drugged, drunk, you think?’ asked Robbo looking at Carter.

Carter shook his head. ‘Our only suspects and witnesses are the people who sleep in there. They are not going to be the most reliable. We have to look to Olivia’s lifestyle for
answers.’

‘I hear you had a run-in with one of the men?’ Robbo said, looking at Carter.

‘Willis did.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘He looked freaked out,’ she answered. ‘He was scared, hurt.’

‘Did he look like he slept rough every day?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well he won’t be able to get into most of the hostels with a dog so he’ll be on the streets somewhere. The Dogs’ Trust care for the dogs on the street. They might know
this man,’ Robbo said. ‘Did he say anything?’

‘Nothing. He ran for it when I tried to approach him to bring him in. I pushed too fast. I was trying to catch him off-guard. I messed up.’

‘No, you misjudged – you didn’t mess up,’ corrected Carter.

Robbo was making notes as they talked.

‘We don’t know if he speaks English then. We need to find him and to know exactly who uses that building,’ he said. ‘There must be a mainstay of sleepers in
there.’

‘The foreigners tend to stick together. The drinkers do too,’ said Hector.

Robbo made notes. ‘Right. People stay in their social groups,’ he said. ‘I’ll get hold of Social Services for the area and see if they have had any information about
Parade Street.’

‘Hannover Estate is a rough one,’ said Carter. ‘Looks like the gangs are rife in there. There was graffiti everywhere.’

‘We know them,’ Robbo agreed. ‘The Hannover Boys are a well-established gang. There are sparodic outbursts of trouble in there. There has been a lot of activity there recently.
Robbery around the neighbouring streets and the usual muggings, phone theft.’

‘What about the serious stuff?’ asked Carter.

‘They are thought to be responsible for three murders in the last two years – gangland turf wars – a beef about territory. Twelve rape charges down to them but didn’t
make it to court. Gang rapes are their speciality. Five of them are in prison for the rape of two girls held hostage in a flat in the tower block. They were kept for thirty-six hours. Both families
had to be given witness protection and moved out of the area. The girls were thirteen. Mahmet Balik is the man behind most of these attacks.’

‘Jesus – well within their capabilities then: murder, rape. Balik seems to be unchecked,’ said Carter.

‘Mahmet Balik and his deputies,’ said Hector. ‘I was part of the Met’s drive to sort out the gangs on that estate when the Trident Operation changed brief to include the
gangs. I had to help a family there. The fourteen-year-old daughter had been caught carrying weapons for male gang members. She’d been passed around as a piece of meat within the gang,
sexualized from the age of twelve. She was in a mess. Already on crack. We had to relocate the whole family because they lived in fear of reprisals. Mahmet Balik was the main one they were scared
of. He’s escaped a murder charge a few times now. There’s been insufficient evidence to get him but he’s getting cockier all the time.’

‘Okay. We need house-to-house in there then. Let’s see what people are saying on the estate,’ said Carter. ‘We also need to find Olivia on CCTV on her way there, if we
can.’

‘We have her car reg now,’ Robbo said as he went across to pour coffee into five mugs. ‘We have patrol cars looking out for it.’ He handed the mugs out.

Carter took his coffee and sipped appreciatively. Robbo was a coffee connoisseur. He had been given a machine that made it from pods for Christmas but it was still unopened in its box. He
preferred to grind his mix of coffee beans and brew it in a cafetière. That and Haribo gummy bears were his biggest weakness, and added to his thick waistline. It didn’t help that he
never wanted to move from his office. His agoraphobia was never completely under control. It took managing – it didn’t like surprises.

‘So . . .’ said Robbo. ‘Not only did she come to a derelict building in a condemned street, she came in a suspender belt and stockings.’ He turned to Willis. ‘She
went in there by mistake? Was she meeting someone? Did someone take her in there?’

‘We looked in the drawers in her bedroom,’ said Carter. ‘Bondage gear and ball gags and some sort of complicated-looking harness.’

‘That’s why she went in there then, was it? The thrill of a lifetime?’ asked Robbo.