Frozen Grave (Willis/Carter #3)(36)

He looked around at the office and the photos on the wall. They were from holidays. There was a photo of him and Craig fishing in Florida. There was one of the three of them in Disneyland, when Craig was eight. There was Ellerman’s favourite photo of his wife. Dee was standing looking happy – her face flushed with the sun. She was laughing at him. He remembered taking the photo. That was just before they bought this house. It was after they’d secured their first big sale. It was before it all went wrong.

He sent a text to Paula:

On my way.





Chapter 19


Willis was half watching the news, or rather reading the subtitles, when her mother’s case psychiatrist, Dr Lydia Reese, entered the waiting room.

‘Thanks for meeting me here.’ She extended her hand in a fingers-only handshake. Her hand swallowed by Willis’s own. The doctor managed to look perfect even after working a seventy-hour week. Her auburn hair was clipped back from her pretty face in several clasps. She had no make-up. Her face had a fresh, scrubbed look. ‘Your mother should be sent back to Rampton soon. She’s been brought here to this general hospital whilst her injuries heal.’

‘Are you sure she can’t escape?’

There was a pause as the doctor seemed to gauge her response. She smiled but her light blue eyes pierced.

‘That’s not a concern at the moment.’

‘But she is handcuffed?’

‘Yes . . . Ebony, I understand you have a less than perfect relationship with your mother . . . Annabelle, but . . . I am slightly disappointed that you seemed so reluctant to come in and see her. It’s been a fortnight since Christmas. A fortnight since we called you. It’s such a shame that this happened because she was responding so well to her new treatment. I had hopes that we could get it under control.

‘She’s on a drip still; she is taking a small amount of food now but she still talks about wanting to die. She really inflicted a lot of damage with the razor. She needed over seventy stitches.’

‘Where?’

‘What do you mean? Where was she when she tried to kill herself?’

‘No. Where on herself did she cut?’

The doctor looked at Willis as if she were asking something unsavoury.

‘On her arms mainly.’

‘Where did she get the razor?’

‘We think she became a little too close to one of the members of staff and she stole it.’

‘What happened to him?’ Willis hid a smile.

The doctor didn’t answer but she couldn’t hide her surprised expression at Willis guessing it was a male.

‘The nurse in question has been transferred to another hospital.’

‘Why did she say she did it?’

‘Suicide attempts are quite common from someone serving life; they reach a point a year or two into the sentence when they would rather die than serve it.’

‘She can never come out.’ The doctor’s expression showed that she wasn’t sure how to repond. ‘I mean this self-harming – it isn’t gaining her anything, is it?’ Willis added.

‘No. If anything, it lessens her chance of ever being transferred to a normal prison and therefore qualifying for parole. I’m sorry but if she’s suicidal it shows she’s still mentally unstable. Follow me, she is in a side ward with another patient from Rampton.’

As they entered the ward, Willis saw her mother with her shock of platinum-blonde hair glowing like a halo in the sunlight.

She looks like an angel, she thought. Her mother used to say: Bella is a fairy – she is a captured ballerina in a jewellery box – open the box and watch her dance. She remembered how her mother would get up and dance, turning circles on her tiptoes – dancing around the room, laughing and twirling until she’d collapse onto a chair, laughing. Willis remembered watching her mother dance and feeling her happiness. Once she had tried to join in, but her mother had snapped at her: ‘Sit down, Ebony, you look ridiculous.’

As they walked in, a male nurse passed them. He had Jamey written on his name badge. Willis felt the swish of air, the smell of something on him – sex. By the time she looked back up her mother was watching her approach. For a second, Willis felt her feet stop – stop dead. She looked at the pregnant woman in the bed across from her mother. The woman was handcuffed to the rails of her bed. She seemed so still that she looked dead. Until she jerked upright in her bed, snatching at her handcuffs, and screamed obscenities at Willis. The ward was filled with screaming.

‘Don’t bother about her.’ Bella glared across at the pregnant woman. ‘She can’t hurt us. Big fat ugly lump.’

Willis stopped a few feet away from her mother’s bed. ‘Hello, Bella.’ Her mother was as beautiful as ever – she had the look of a 1960s French film star: chiselled cheekbones and deep ocean-blue eyes.

Annabelle was looking past her, watching the nurse until he was out of sight. Then she sighed deeply.

‘Why didn’t you come and see me on Christmas Day? I know they rang you. They must have told you I was injured. I was in such pain. I wanted you to come here so badly. I thought I was dying. I wanted to tell you something. I was frightened it was too late.’

‘You were never fond of Christmas.’

‘Ah.’ Her mother lost any residual smile and her face became the flip side that Willis knew well. ‘I lost a lot of blood, you know – I could have died.’