Frozen Grave (Willis/Carter #3)(35)

‘I’m working on it. I also found traces of blue cashmere. It’s got to be hers.’

‘The blue coat the caretaker said she was wearing.’

‘Were there any fibres that match that at the crime scene?’

‘Not so far. Round up some suspects and I’ll match them to the traces left in this car. Have you done that yet?’

Carter let the question pass him by.

‘Have you had a look at Toffee’s clothes?’ he asked. ‘We got them back from the hospital.’

‘Yes, I did. There are traces of Olivia’s blood on them. Were there any swabs taken from his genitalia?’ asked Sandford.

‘No. He’d been washed by the time we got to him. He went straight down for an operation before we could take any samples.’

‘Shame.’

‘Yeah.’

‘You still might get something.’

‘No. We tried, believe me, but we have bite marks on Olivia Grantham’s body; it’s a dog – but you never know, we might be able to tie in all this information and get the owner, especially with what you’ve found. We also have skin particles beneath her fingernails. There are several sites of bruising on her body – we might be able to pull off a fingerprint or two.’

‘Do we know why she went in there?’ asked Sandford.

‘She was on sex sites. She went in there to have sex. Toffee says something went wrong – something he was involved in. But he also said he tried to save her. He is guilty of something and he is our key witness to what happened to her. He had several small cuts and bruises on his face. It could have been from the train but it looked like someone had punched him in the face a few times.’

‘Can we get a knuckle imprint from the bruises on his face?’

‘Listen, to be honest, if he was dead we could get anything we wanted, but right now the hospital aren’t too keen on us taking samples from him. I’ll get what else I can.’

‘Are you facing an enquiry?’

‘For what?’

‘For his injuries?’

‘No, I hope not. Willis was there. There are witnesses.’

‘Good luck.’





Chapter 18


Ellerman awoke not knowing where he was for a few seconds. He was in no-man’s land between wake and sleep, where his eyes had opened but his dreams continued and the room was dark. The curtains had folds that seemed to him like a tidal wave of water in front of him. It was so near he raised his hand in the air to see if he could touch it. His hand passed through the ghost of the wave.

He closed his eyes and slept again.

When he awoke next time, morning had come to bang on his head like rapping knuckles. He reached for his phone and saw it was nearly nine o’clock. His own bed was the only place he ever slept so late. He would have been up and gone at anyone else’s house.

He turned to look at the empty space next to him. The pillow smelt of his wife. He listened hard and heard the sound of movement downstairs. He heard the scrape of the chair on the kitchen floor as she stood and he heard the click of a switch, the kettle boiling. He lay there thinking, his hands spread out along the sheets, and he ran through the events of the last few days. He thought of Megan again and he smiled to himself. She excited him. Maybe she was the one to change his life, to turn it round and give him back some luck. She had money. She wanted him. He could tap into that. Would it be enough for him to leave Dee? How many times had he thought that before, with every new woman? He didn’t like to consider it. He looked at his phone again and at his text messages. He had four already this morning. The women had all missed their morning text from him because he had overslept; he normally sent a round of texts as he left in the morning – always by eight anyway. He’d have to answer them soon, before they started calling him. He’d send one text to them all now to keep them happy. He sent a text to Paula in Reading and one to Lisa in Brighton, Emily in Taunton and finally to Megan on Dartmoor.

Morning, my beautiful wild woman – miss you. xx

He showered and went downstairs. Dee looked up at him and smiled mechanically. There was no happiness in her eyes. Her smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Nothing has changed, thought Ellerman. She is the same. He could almost feel her flinch as he passed. He strode across to the kettle and made as much noise as he could. He stood with his back to her as he waited for the kettle to boil. He looked out at the garden.

‘The bank keep ringing,’ she said, in her quiet voice; it had an apologetic but at the same time accusing tone.

‘Yes, I know. I’m dealing with it.’ He could sense that she would love to say more, that if he turned round now and asked her what she really felt, she would open her mouth and the truth would explode in an eruption of volcanic hate that nothing would stem. She blamed him for everything.

‘Why did you come back early this week?’ she asked.

‘I’m not staying. I just came to pick up some papers I left behind. I’ll be off again this morning, just as soon as I’m packed. I’ll see you Friday as usual.’

‘Would you like lunch before you go?’

‘No, sorry – can’t hang about – people to see, money to make. Someone’s got to dig us out of this hole, after all.’ Ellerman made himself coffee then took it into his office and closed the door. He sat at his desk and rested his head in his hands, closed his eyes as he thought things through. A text came from the bank – he needed to put some money in by the end of the day. He scrolled through his emails for any sign of good news. He found none. Christ’s sake – could something go right for him for once!