Frozen Grave (Willis/Carter #3)(58)

Hello, stranger.

He made himself a coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to text her back:

If I remember rightly you’re an early riser; and if you remember – so am I. Fancy meeting up? Why don’t I just come straight to you? I still have your address in my satnav.

Her text came back:

Tempting, but I’m just leaving for work. Call me later and we’ll discuss.

Ellerman didn’t reply. Today it was only Wednesday. He had two more days before he’d be heading home for the weekend. The thought didn’t fill him with joy. He preferred it on the road now. He liked to hit the floor running.

Ellerman put his phone down on the kitchen table, turning the phone over and over as he thought about the texts. He had always seen Harding as out of his league. She was more merciless than he was and she had a sex drive that far surpassed his own. Maybe when he had enjoyed life at a more relaxed pace, she would have been a good match for him but, right now, he needed to keep it simple. He needed to find himself a woman of simple character with a lot of money. He needed to up his game and forget the ten thousand here, five there. He needed to find women who didn’t question everything he did, who were grateful and kind and loaded. Harding had money. It might be worth another go. She had a brittle side to her that he might just be able to tap into. Did she know about Olivia? Was that why she was back in touch? Ellerman began to feel the heat coming to his face. He felt the sweat start to trickle down his back. What if that was it? A trick. Harding worked for the police pathology department. Was she trying to trap him? He needed to stay calm. He needed to use his wits. He logged on to his emails. He had several new messages from dating sites. He didn’t put his photo up, or if he did it was one he really couldn’t be recognized in. On one site he had a full-length shot of him standing by a river, one foot up on a rock, in shorts, backpack, hiking mode. His shoulders side-on to the camera. There was another of him skiing, his face partially obscured by goggles, wearing a hat. He stood tall and strong, ski poles in hand, squinting in the Alpine sun as he grinned into the camera. A third was an action shot of him racing down rapids in a canoe. None of the images could be made any bigger before they turned too grainy. They had served him well – Mr Action-packed. Mr Hunter-gatherer. I can afford to ski every year. He was anything between thirty-eight and forty-eight. His height ranged from five ten to six one. His preference for red wine over white stayed constant. His like of action thrillers sometimes gave way to romcoms and documentaries. He was loyal and charming and as faithful as a Labrador puppy. He always had an Aston Martin.





Chapter 32


Harding looked at her schedule for the day – she had taken her car into the Audi body-repair garage but they had said it would take two more days: they had to order a new roof from Germany. They weren’t even starting the body work until that came. That was annoying. She was sick of waiting. But it meant that she could get more work done if she didn’t have to pick up her car.

She looked at her list and Lorraine Chance’s name was top. She opened the door to her office and went to find Mark, who was preparing Olivia Grantham’s brain for further dissection – cutting it into centimetre slices – the task made easier now that it had hardened.

‘Mark – I want to reschedule Lorraine Chance. Let’s do it now whilst we have a few hours. Ready in ten?’

‘Yes.’ Mark smiled at her enthusiasm. He knew that the study of how the homeless die on UK streets was something that Harding had written a paper about.

Harding went back into her office to create a new file. Mark stopped what he was doing and went to prepare the tools for the post-mortem, which were laid out on table four, second to last in the row of six steel dissecting tables. Mark then went to Hardy’s office, entering as she was printing off new body diagrams for her to use. She brought up Lolly’s details onscreen.

‘We have her medical records and her file from Social Services. She attended a rehab clinic in 2010 and she stayed clean and on methadone for a few months. During that time she stayed in two hostels, where she is thought to have lapsed into heroin abuse again. Twelve convicitons for theft. All of them are related to her heroin addiction. Okay – let’s get her out.’ Harding stayed in her office to finish downloading the files on Lolly, whilst Mark went out to finish preparing.

Harding finished up and went to get suited before joining Mark.

‘Okay, checklist: coroner’s consent form, identity . . . Yes or no?’ she said as she came out of the changing room.

‘Yes, Lorraine Chance, known as Lolly. Age forty. Height five foot five. Weight eight stone one.’

‘We’re here to establish the cause of death and whether it was natural. No particular risks. We know Lolly worked as a prostitute and was a heroin user. Normal precautions with an HIV-positive patient.’

Harding began her dictation as she approached the body.

‘Lorraine Chance was homeless; she slept outside due to her addiction to heroin and lack of suitable residential care for her. The average age of deaths in women who sleep rough is forty-three. Outward inspection of Lorraine Chance shows a large amount of surface lesions and bruising. Patient has needle marks in her arms and feet. She has abscesses on the left inner elbow. The lividity has mottled her skin; hard to establish if she was moved after death. There are multiple swellings and abrasions on her body – I’d say that Lorraine suffered a beating before her death. I would say bruising around the genitals indicates more than one partner just prior to death.’