Frozen Grave (Willis/Carter #3)(26)

‘Have they managed to find Balik yet, sir?’

‘No. We have increased patrols around the estate and neighbouring streets. It’s time we picked a few people up and brought them in for questioning. Smith must know where we can find Toffee’s friends.’

‘He says he hasn’t seen them in a few days.’

‘We need to get in there and talk to Sheila and Lyndsey, the volunteers. They know the people better than he does.’

‘I’m working on getting someone inside the hostel for us.’

‘Good. What about medical opinion on Toffee? What’s the chance of him pulling through?’ Carter asked.

‘The doctors have put him in an induced coma – apparently there was some swelling on his brain. It will be a slow process – but there’s hope.’

Carter came off the phone.

Willis was sitting on the chair opposite him. He studied her face. It looked like she hadn’t slept for days and she had a drawn look that he didn’t associate with her. She must have been the only person he knew who had lost weight over Christmas, not gained it. He wondered if she was pushing herself too hard and if the problems with her mother were getting to her.

‘He’s still unconscious,’ he said, to interrupt her thoughts. ‘They’ve put him in a coma. Damn . . .’ Carter stood and picked up his phone from the desktop. ‘Let’s see how far they’ve got with Olivia’s PC. Then we’ll grab a drink – talk things through over a beer.’

‘Can we leave it tonight, guv? I’d rather go and see Olivia Grantham’s body again. I want to get more of an idea of the attack on her and the kind of person we are looking for.’

Carter nodded. He was used to Willis’s ways. He enjoyed working with her. They made a good team. If they were a jigsaw puzzle – then he was all the middle bits, whilst she was the edge pieces.

‘No wonder you’re single.’ He smiled.

She shrugged and gave him a look that said: ‘What can I say?’

‘We’ll have to find you a nice pathologist to hook up with. You could talk bodies way into the night.’

‘Don’t seem to be many of those that are the right side of forty,’ she said as they walked along the corridor towards Robbo’s office. Willis walked with her hands in the pockets of her black work trousers.

‘Don’t forget Mark.’

‘Yeah . . . don’t think that will work. Mark doesn’t know it yet but he’s gay.’ Willis smiled.

‘Oh, Mark knows it; he’s just keeping his options open.’

As they reached Robbo’s office, Robbo was busy whizzing from one desk to the other on his expensive Italian blue-leather chair. Pam was sorting the papers on her desk – she was getting ready to leave for the night.

‘Let’s go through it again, Hector,’ Robbo was saying as they walked in. ‘Carter? Willis? Come in, have a seat. We’re going through Olivia Grantham’s last twenty-four hours.’ Robbo began drawing a timeline on the board behind him. ‘Olivia went out Saturday for the evening with one of her girlfriends – Marcia Adams. An old schoolfriend. We have her statement. She said she met Olivia for drinks at 8.30 in a wine bar in Covent Garden. They parted at eleven and, so far as she knew, Olivia went straight home. There was no mention of what Olivia intended to do the next day, beyond catch up on household chores at home. She didn’t think Olivia was seeing anyone. She was aware that Olivia was on dating sites, but she didn’t know which ones. She knew she met men from them sometimes.’

Robbo continued with his timeline: ‘We know that at eleven o’clock Sunday morning, she took a call from an unknown number and that lasted thirty-two minutes. She made a call to the same number at three in the afternoon, which lasted only five minutes.’

Carter spoke: ‘I would think that was the call that reassured her enough to go to Parade Street. Maybe she was having second thoughts before that. After the call she made at three, did she make any more, or did she get any?’

‘None,’ answered Hector.

‘But she didn’t put a name to this number – why was that?’ said Willis.

‘He could have been someone she knew well – he could have told her he was on a temporary number, told her his phone wasn’t working – something like that?’ Hector said. ‘We know he’s phoned her a couple of times on it. She must have thought it wasn’t worth adding to a contact.’

‘My feeling is she knew him.’

‘Or . . .’ Carter began, ‘. . . she might have been getting braver. This could have been a very convincing person on the other end of the phone – well-spoken, professional; maybe she thought: “How dangerous can it be?” Was she pushing her own boundaries?’

‘Could it really have been Toffee?’ Robbo asked.

‘On the phone he could get away with it – he’s articulate. He’s definitely well-spoken. He might have been able to fool her,’ Carter answered. He looked at what Hector was working on – Olivia’s bank statements.

‘Found anything interesting? asked Carter.

‘Just looking into the sites she subscribed to.’

‘Sign yourself up to all of the ones she was on, Hector. Ask Intel for a cover.’ He turned to Robbo. ‘Could it have been some gang-rites thing? If so, the rough sleepers must have been in on it. Toffee said it went wrong. What was the plan? To lure her in there, rape, kill. What did they steal from her? Toffee had her phone. I can’t imagine she took her bag in there, but it’s gone – probably from the car. No money was withdrawn from her bank account. Did they get paid to do it? Did someone pay Toffee to organize it?’