Frozen Grave (22 page)

‘Saturday evening. You could come Saturday. We could meet some of my friends maybe – to make it worthwhile – then we could go out for a drink and grab something to eat. As much
as I like seeing you, we always seem to do the same thing. I cook and we go to bed.’

‘You’re right, as always. You’re right and I’m sorry. I’ve been so bogged down with work that I just haven’t given you enough consideration; but I will, I
promise. Just bear with me. This winter is tough for me. It’s the worst time to try and sell yachts and the weather is interfering with the Spanish renovations. You know I really love you,
Emily. I will try to keep you happy, I promise. When the spring comes, we’ll fly over to Spain and lie in the sun. You tell me the dates of your holidays and I’ll work it all
out.’

‘I gave them to you already.’

‘Are you sure you did? Well, just give them to me again and I’ll get straight on it.’

She slipped out of his reach and stood to smooth her skirt down and make herself presentable. She reached down and kissed him.

‘You wouldn’t hurt me, would you, JJ?’

‘No. Never.’

‘You know I will never let you down? I know we were meant for one another. I would do anything for you. I just want it to work between us. I want us to live happily ever after, just us.
I’ve been waiting for so long now.’

He sat up in bed and held on to her hands.

‘And that’s what I want too. Have faith in me, in us. I promise you it will all be okay. You mean the world to me. You know me better than I know myself.’

‘Yes – perhaps that’s the trouble.’

Emily left for work and Ellerman looked for his phone. He reached down and patted the carpet, looking for it. He usually kept it next to him whilst he slept. He couldn’t
feel it. He had been so tired the previous evening he didn’t remember coming to bed. Too many brandies had left him making mistakes. He reprimanded himself. That was sloppy. And it
wasn’t the first time recently that he’d put his phone down and forgotten where.

He got out of bed and put the light on, looked through the pockets in his jeans, his jacket; he couldn’t find it. He looked under the bed, in case he had kicked it there by accident. He
went out into the hallway and into the lounge and he saw it on the coffee table. He picked it up and looked at it. Across the cover was an alert that he had three messages and one missed call. He
was running things through his brain – what could she have seen? Anything? He was reassured.
Nothing
. There was nothing she could have seen. If she had read his messages he would
know, unless she’d marked them as unread. Not likely. She was a technophobe. She could barely use her own phone. That’s what she always said.

He put in his code. He must alter it again. He couldn’t be too careful. He smiled, curious, when he saw a new message from Jo Harding:

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.

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.’

‘She worked as a part-time prostitute; she was known in the lorry park.’ Harding looked up at Mark.

‘Was that where she was found?’

‘Yes, behind the bins in the corner of the lorry park in Shadwell. It’s where the lorries stay overnight.’

‘I am aware what a lorry park is, thank you.’ Harding looked back at Lolly with this new knowledge. ‘We need swabs taken here. She was definitely raped.’

Harding finished up and went into her office to think. She phoned Carter.

‘I’ve just completed the post-mortem on Lorraine Chance and she was severely bruised and looks like she was raped.’

‘Okay.’ Carter sighed. ‘We’ll do our best to find the CCTV footage of the lorry park. We need to see if we can find the lorry driver she was with that night; it’s a
task next to hopeless. You know as well as I do that she would have been a target. She slept on the streets and she was addicted to heroin; sold her body to feed that addiction. Is there anything
else, Doctor?’ Carter asked in the pause that followed.

‘No.’

Harding got off the phone and sat in her chair, distracted. She reached for her bag and took out the mail that had arrived at home before she left for work. More bills. She sighed, still
thinking about the dilemma she faced with Lolly. She put the mail on her desk, pushing the letters aside, unopened, when a thick cream-coloured envelope from London caught her eye. She’d been
waiting for an invite to a seminar on advances in victim identification. She opened the envelope and unfolded three pages of names, addresses and telephone numbers.

To all the women who know JJ Ellerman . . .

Megan went for a walk that morning and to check on Bramble. She went across to break the ice in the water trough. The mare followed her. Its sweet, fermented grass-breath was
warm on Megan’s face as the horse nuzzled into her, whilst Megan cracked the ice with the heel of her boot. Megan looked up at the sky. It was tinged with green, more snow on the way.

‘You know what, Bramble . . . ?’ She stroked the thick soft fur on the horse’s neck. ‘I could never be with someone who looked at you and saw a burger, even if it was a
joke. He’s a townie, isn’t he, Bramble? He’s just pretending that he loves it here – really, he would be overwhelmed by it all. He’d be as vulnerable as a newborn baby
out here on his own.’

She left the pony watching her as she walked back down to the house, and got there just as the postman’s van was in her drive. She took the mail from him and looked at it as she turned and
went back inside. There were the usual bills, a package she’d ordered, and a letter from London in a thick cream-coloured envelope.

Paula dropped the girls at school and came back to tidy up the house before getting ready to go to the salon. She didn’t have a client until twelve that day. As she got
in she picked up the mail from the doormat and looked at the usual round of bills and junk mail, and then she saw a thick letter from London in a cream-coloured envelope.

Emily went home to do some marking during the second period of the day. She picked up her mail as she opened the door and walked up the sweep of stairs. She opened the door to
her apartment and walked through, putting her books on the study table. She placed the children’s work that needed marking in a neat pile. She opened a thick cream-coloured envelope from
London. She unfolded the sheets of A4 paper, neatly folded in half, and she read the first page:

Megan dialled a number. Paula answered. She was sitting at her kitchen table, with the letter in her hand. She was working backwards in her mind, going through all the times
she should have known he was lying.

‘Hello, you don’t know me but we have something in common – JJ Ellerman. I’m also on his list. I think we should meet.’

Harding was waiting in Carter’s office when he came back from a meeting about the Hannover Gang. She handed the letter across to him.

‘Jesus. Someone’s in big trouble,’ he said as he looked through the contents of the letter. He phoned Willis, to get her in from the Investigation Team Office, where she worked
with the bulk of the murder squad.

Willis was handed the letter when she joined them.

‘When did this arrive, Doctor?’ she asked.

‘This morning. It’s a bit worrying that someone has gone to this much trouble and gone into his contacts on his phone and found my address.’

‘The person who sent this letter must have done a lot of snooping to be able to get this much info from his phone,’ said Willis.

‘But I think he has the kind of arrogance not to put a password on his phone or, if he does, then it’s one of those swipe ones – I had one like that. If you watch someone
closely, or enough times, you can see what they’re swiping with their finger.’ Harding sat back in her chair. ‘He drinks a fair bit,’ she said. ‘He’s not likely
to even know where he is some nights. When I met him, he seemed to spend just one night somewhere and then he moved on.’