Frozen Grave (Willis/Carter #3)(27)

Carter nodded to Willis that he was ready if she was. She stood up and picked up her coat.

‘We’re going to take another look at Olivia Grantham’s body and talk to Harding, if she’s there.’

‘Pam, have you got any photos of the men Hector’s been phoning?’ Carter asked before leaving.

‘Yes . . . some.’ She pulled out a file from her desk and handed it to him.’

When they got outside, Willis went towards where the BMW was parked.

‘Let’s walk.’ Carter started along the main road. She stayed where she was for a second. ‘Yeah – I know, but I want to talk things through with you,’ he added, then waited for her to walk alongside him.

‘Any news about your mum? The lovely Bella Donna?’

Willis shook her head and looked at her feet. The pavement was saturated, but her new Chelsea boots, which her housemate Tina had got her for Christmas, were keeping her feet dry. The socks Carter gave her for her birthday were keeping them toasty warm. It was the kind of luxury that Willis could never have afforded herself. All her money went into savings accounts. She planned to buy a flat next year.

‘I’ll go tomorrow.’

‘Is she still in bad shape?’

‘She’s still on a drip. Not sure what else. Have to see when I get there. They say she nearly bled to death.’

‘Nearly, huh? Bad luck.’

‘Yeah.’ She smiled at the same time as she sighed heavily.

She carried on looking at the wet tarmac.

‘You take as long as you need tomorrow, Eb. Get it done and then get back to the job – focus.’ Willis looked across at him; she looked confused, hurt. ‘You’re just quiet, that’s all. I need participation, verbal. I need you on the same planet as the rest of us.’

‘Yes, guv.’

She looked away; he knew it was to hide her hurt. But a jolt back to the real world wouldn’t hurt. Carter also knew that Willis was used to tough love and she knew he cared.

They reached the Whittington Hospital and rang the bell to let them into the mortuary. They were answered by Mark.

‘The doctor’s not here, I’m afraid.’

They stepped under the fluorescent striplights of the corridor.

‘No problem. Can we take another look at Olivia Grantham?’

‘Sure.’ Mark led them through to the storage area and opened up the fridge. He wheeled out the body.

Carter stood back to observe as Willis walked around the body.

‘Good job in making her look good for her family,’ Carter said.

Mark nodded, pleased. ‘Thanks. It took me ages to cover the bruises.’

‘What was he like, the dad?’

‘He didn’t really speak much. He looked numb.’

‘Did you take casts from these bites yet?’ asked Willis.

‘Not yet. We’re waiting for the specialist to come over tomorrow and do it.’

Willis took the latex gloves now being offered to her by Mark as she examined the bite wounds on Olivia’s breast.

She pressed the wounds with her hand, to see the depth of bite. ‘These are from a dog. A dog first bites then tears.’

‘Can you take a cast from a dog?’ Carter looked at Mark for a reply.

‘Yes, I don’t see why not.’

‘Balik’s dog, maybe?’ Carter said to Willis’s back as she disposed of her gloves in the bin. ‘Or that lad with the hat had a dog. We need to find him. He should be easy to spot with half his face hanging off. What happens if he doesn’t get that fixed?’

‘It will get infected,’ Mark answered.

‘And?’

‘And it’s serious – life-threatening. Infection kills people on the streets every day,’ he added.

Harding walked in as they were finishing up and Mark was zipping the body bag back up.

‘Evening, Dr Harding,’ Carter greeted her.

She had on civvies: animal-print skirt tastefully stopping just on the knee, black boots stopping just below, a dark brown turtleneck sweater, and black-leather coat to mid-calf.

‘Must be difficult,’ Carter said, as he pointed to Olivia Grantham’s body, more to see how she reacted than with sincerity.

‘Not difficult. More strange than sad.’

‘Can we have a word?’

‘I suppose so.’ They followed Harding into her office. She opened a bottle of wine. ‘Pull up a chair. How’s the investigation going? What’s happened to the man you chased under a train, Carter?’ She passed him a glass. Willis declined.

He smiled. ‘Not quite how I remember it, Doctor. But he’s now in an induced coma. His name is Michael Hitchens, aka Toffee – he’s a former whizz kid in the City, now a homeless alcoholic. He’s our only real lead so far. He said it went wrong with Olivia – I’m not so sure it did.’

‘If he’s in an induced coma, you can forget him for at least ten days. Plus, you have no idea whether there is permanent brain damage. He may never be able to answer your questions. What do you need from me? How can I help?’

‘We need a little more background on Olivia Grantham, if we can.’ Willis took out her notebook.

‘I told you where she worked.’

Willis looked up from the notebook. ‘If we tell you what we found when we went to Miss Grantham’s flat, maybe you can think about the kind of info we are looking for,’ Willis said. She was one of the few women who liked Harding. She had no husband or boyfriend to lose. They were alike in some ways – both used to being alone. Both found it difficult to relate to and trust others.