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

‘When was the last time you saw her, Doctor?’ Carter asked.

‘Not sure, about six months ago, probably.’

‘Could she be sleeping rough here, Doctor?’ asked Willis.

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ snapped Harding. ‘You don’t go downhill that fast. The last time I saw her, she was drinking cocktails and hoovering a line of coke.’

‘How exactly did you know her?’ Carter asked, interested now that Harding had painted a scene and accidentally painted herself into it.

‘Through friends. Social events. That kind of thing.’ Harding stood, ready to leave. ‘I’ll organize for someone to do the post-mortem for me and I’ll let you know what time it’s happening.’ She turned to Sandford. ‘When you’re ready for her to be moved, phone me and I’ll send someone down to collect her.’

As Harding passed him, Carter turned and followed. By the time he got outside, she was already half out of her forensic suit.

‘You all right, Doc? It’s not easy when it’s someone you know.’

Harding didn’t look at him. She opened the boot of her car and deposited her bag inside.

‘I told you, I didn’t know her well. Merely a social acquaintance.’ She glanced his way as she got into her car.

‘But still . . .’

She held his gaze. ‘But still, nothing, Inspector. Don’t read into it.’

Carter hovered by the door. ‘Do you know what street she lived in?’

‘No.’

She slammed the door.

Carter was watching her drive away as Willis came out of the building and joined him.

‘What was that all about?’ he said, peeling off his suit. ‘She was even more abrupt than usual. She couldn’t wait to get away, could she?’

‘She had to, guv – difficult position to be in. I guess she must have felt really bad seeing her friend like that.’

‘Yeah, right . . . she doesn’t have any friends.’ Carter looked around as he made a mental map of the area. ‘The nearest station is Woolwich Arsenal,’ he said. ‘And that’s a good eight, ten minutes’ walk, especially in heels. She’d got to have been wearing heels with that outfit. I think she would have got here by car – she drove or took a taxi. We need to find out all the local taxi firms; see if there’s any CCTV as well.’

‘Yes, guv.’

He took out his phone to make a call to the crime analyst back at the office.

‘Robbo? We have a possible name for the victim: it’s Olivia Grantham, early forties. Dr Harding recognized her. She thinks she works in a solicitors’ office at London Bridge – Spencer and Something. See if you can find it and an address in Brockley for her. There was a fight here; someone got bottled; check the A&E departments as well. Do you know what, Robbo? This place is the same derelict buildings where we had that Polish man kicked to death a few years ago. That’s progress for you.’

He ended the call and looked back towards the entrance of number 22. ‘What a place to end up in: “Shit Central”,’ he said as he discarded his suit and handed Willis a bag for hers. ‘Got to hand it to Sandford and that lot in there – it’s a shit job but someone’s got to do it.’ He smiled a little at his quip. Willis didn’t react but took the bag from him as she stared down the street.

‘Don’t get it, guv. Who comes to a place like this on a Sunday evening dressed in expensive lingerie?’

‘I agree – I don’t know many women who wear stockings unless it’s to add spice to the bedroom. This is certainly not a romantic setting to slip into your La Perla. If Harding is right about her, then Olivia Grantham didn’t need to slum it.’

‘I’ve seen some women in the changing room at the gym wearing them,’ Willis said. ‘Coming straight from work, I suppose.’

‘Really?’ His eyes glazed over for a few seconds.

‘Okay, well maybe some women wear them for work as well, but I think the majority of women put them on especially. But not especially to come into a shithole like this. Plus, it was sleeting last night. Not the kind of night to walk around in your underwear.’

Willis bagged up her suit and signed it off in the logbook as she thanked PC Gardner.

Carter took out his coat and handed Willis hers. Willis was studying a street map of the area on her phone.

‘See if Robbo has that address for Olivia Grantham’s place and we’ll go there now,’ said Carter.

‘He’s already sent it – 103 Station Road, guv.’ Willis began reading it from her phone. ‘Runs from the High Street to . . .’ She stopped talking and began running towards shouts coming from the end of the street.

Carter shouted across to Gardner.

‘Call for back-up but stay here, tell Sandford what’s going on.’

Willis reached the officer and helped him up from the ground.

‘You okay?’

‘Yes. I’m okay. I couldn’t stop him, I’m sorry. He came out of nowhere and the dog charged me.’

‘What did he look like?’ asked Carter as he got to them.

‘In his late twenties, scruffy, blood on his face, hands . . . he had on a grey woolly hat pulled down over his ears. His dog looked like it had been in a fight too. It’s light-coloured – one of those big ugly ones. He came out of the space behind the bins over there on the second to last property.’