Frozen Grave (7 page)

‘Stop there, Eb. . .’ He leant in to emphasize. ‘
Do not
blame yourself for anything your mother does or doesn’t do. She’s a past master at
manipulation.’

‘Yeah. I know. But she is still my mum and I should have gone to see her.’

‘Okay, go and see her then. Can I suggest you go soon and get it over with?’

‘We’re busy.’

‘I can spare you for a couple of hours.’

‘Is he awake?’ Carter asked the nurse escorting them through to Intensive Care later that day – she had a sweet fresh face that belied the fact she’d
been out partying the night before and was chewing gum to hide the smell of alcohol. Her badge said
Ivy Miller
.

‘Has he said what his name is, Nurse?’

‘Yes. Michael Hitchens. He came round briefly before he went down to theatre – he’s had both legs amputated from the knee but he has complications that we are keeping an eye
on. He sustained a head injury. He asked me to ring the man who runs the hostel where he stays sometimes, to come and be with him.’

‘Simon Smith?’

‘Yes. That’s right. I asked the front desk to phone him.’

Carter glanced at Willis. She knew what he was thinking.

‘Can we see him straight away, please, Ivy? Can I call you Ivy?’ Carter tried his caring smile that said:

‘We’re the good guys, help us out here.’

‘Yes. Okay. Just take it gently.’ She hesitated. ‘When I got him undressed he had a lot of money on him.’

‘How much?’

‘Two hundred and fifity pounds and some change.’ Inside the room, there were so many connecting wires and tubes from machine to patient that it was difficult to get close to him.
Carter walked round to the left-hand side and watched as Ivy checked the machines.

‘Michael?’ Carter said. Willis waited at the foot of the bed. ‘Toffee? Is that your name?’

He nodded his response. Ivy leant in to speak to him.

‘There are police officers in the room, Michael; they want to talk to you. Do you think you can?’ His eyes fluttered, he looked at her, and then followed her gaze to Carter.

He nodded, cleared his throat as he said, ‘Hope you aren’t hurt?’ to Carter. He struggled to talk, but when he did, he had the voice of a retired English teacher. Ivy fed a
drinks tube into the side of his mouth to help with his dryness.

Carter shook his head. ‘No, I’m not hurt. I’m just sorry I couldn’t get you off the track in time. Are you the man who made the call about the dead woman,
Toffee?’

‘Excuse me?’ Simon Smith opened the door and stepped inside. He looked annoyed to see Carter and Willis. He walked straight round to the opposite side of the bed to Carter and took
Toffee’s hand into his.

‘Toffee? Is there anything I can do for you? Do you want the officers to leave?’ Toffee shook his head.

‘We need to talk to you about Olivia Grantham who, died on Parade Street,’ Carter persisted, and Ivy flashed a concerned look at him as machines registered Toffee’s heartbeat
climb. ‘You had Olivia’s phone. Did you see what happened to her?’

Toffee turned away from Carter and sucked on the drinks tube again.

Toffee’s eyes stayed on Simon, who held tightly to his hand. He was struggling to breathe.

‘I tried to help her, I swear. It all went wrong.’ He looked at Simon.

Simon nodded. ‘It’s okay, Toffee. You don’t have to say anything.’

Toffee screwed up his face in pain as he tried to swallow. The nurse fed the drinks tube back into his mouth. She looked anxiously at Carter. Willis was watching the machines. Toffee’s
pulse was climbing fast. Carter leant nearer to him. Toffee kept his eyes fixed on Simon.

Carter spoke softly. ‘Did you get paid to kill her, Toffee?’

Simon looked towards the nurse to stop the conversation. ‘Don’t talk any more, Toffee, rest. Nurse?’

Toffee shook his head, agitated.

‘I tried to protect her but . . .’ His voice rasped as he struggled to talk and breathe. He clutched at Simon’s hand. ‘Find Mason.’ The machines around Toffee
squealed out their alarms and flatlined. Ivy pressed the emergency buzzer. She pulled Simon out of the way and began resuscitating. Carter and Willis moved to the back of the room as the resusc
team arrived and Ivy ushered the detectives and Simon outside.

‘You have to wait in the corridor, I’m sorry.’

‘Ivy – we need the clothes that he came in with,’ said Carter.

She nodded. ‘I’ll get them for you. What about the rest of his belongings? The money?’

‘We’ll take those too, please.’

They were left alone in the corridor as they watched through the window at the frantic efforts to keep Toffee alive.

Carter turned to Simon. ‘Mason, the lad with the dog? That’s who he’s talking about?’

Simon shook his head. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘He seemed to think you’d know. I hear Toffee is a father figure to some of the younger ones, Mason included. He asked you to look for him. He must think you have a chance of finding
him. If it’s the same lad we saw – he definitely needs help with the injuries to his face.’

‘I don’t know Mason or where he is. I wouldn’t know where to look. But, I’ll do what I can – talk to the regulars. I’ll do my best.’

Carter wasn’t having it.

‘Did you ever see him with large amounts of money on him before?’

‘No. Never.’

‘So you’d be surprised to learn he came in here with two hundred and fifty quid?’

‘It’s a big surprise.’

‘No idea where he got it?’

‘No, I’m sorry.’

Someone must have an idea; one of his friends must know something. We need your cooperation with this. They obviously talk to you. Someone’s going to be wanting to get it off their chest
– they might even be looking for the money. Find Spike for us. He must know Toffee’s involvement. Tell them there’s a reward for information. I’ll pay fifty quid to the
person who tells me something useful.’

They looked back through the window into Toffee’s room.

The machines had come to life again.

Ivy brought Toffee’s belongings and clothes in a bag for Carter. He signed for them.

A blonde-haired woman wearing the detective’s unnofficial uniform of black trousers and a dark jacket came towards them down the corridor.

‘This is Detective Constable Zoe Blackman,’ Carter said to Simon as she got near, before walking her back down the corridor to talk with her privately.

‘We need samples: hair from all sites, DNA, fingerprints. As much as we can get. You’ll be all right to stay the night?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘That’s our prime murder suspect in there.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And get friendly with Simon Smith. He’s lying or at least he’s not telling us everything he could. I want to know why.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Sandy stood and stretched as she felt Mason move in his sleep. She was desperate to get up. She walked across to the other side of the arch, where she had once killed and eaten
a rat and squatted and peed. From there she could watch anyone approach. She began a low growl.

‘Mason – it’s Spike. Tell your dog to back off. Mason!’

Mason turned over.

‘Sandy, come here, girl,’ he called. She wagged her tail as she obeyed and sat next to him to wait, keeping an eye on Spike. ‘Where’s Toffee?’ asked Mason.

‘He’s hurt. Train hit him. We saw the ambulance come. It was in a hurry so I suppose he’s alive. Not sure for how long. Jesus, look at your face.’

‘A train?’

‘Yes, a train. The police chased him. We’re all in a lot of trouble.’

Mason shook his head, confused. He couldn’t take it in.

‘He had this bag of stuff when it happened. He told me he was getting it for you.’ Spike opened the carrier bag from the chemist’s. ‘I suppose I can try and clean you up
if you want and you can owe me?’ Mason didn’t answer. Spike laid out the contents of the bag on the blue coat and tore open a packet of antiseptic wipes, opened a bottle of antiseptic.
Mason flinched as Spike cleaned up the cuts and stuck strips across to hold them shut. The cut beneath Mason’s eye opened up again immediately.

‘There – that’s the best I can do. I’ll bring you some food later, if you’ve got money. Did Toffee give you any? I know he had some on him.’ Mason
didn’t answer. He lay back and closed his eyes and breathed hard through the pain. ‘Where is it?’ Spike put his hand inside Mason’s pocket; Sandy sprang forward and
growled.

Spike got to his feet. ‘All right, all right – you can fucking starve then. Have it your own way.’

After Spike left, the day grew dark and Sandy grew so hungry she couldn’t settle, but she wouldn’t leave Mason. She watched him as he slept. She sniffed Mason’s face. She
listened to him as he talked in his sleep and she lay close by to keep him warm.

In the morning, Sandy opened an eye at the sound of the cars arriving to park for the day. She recognized the sounds of individual cars. She crept out to take a look and to
watch the people. None of them ever took any notice of her or her master. She watched the young woman get out of her car. She did the same thing every day. She got out and put on her coat and then
she reached back in for her backpack. It smelt of food.

At ten, Carter and Willis were back in Robbo’s office with him and his staff. They had worked late into the night.

‘Did you check her PC yet, Robbo?’ Carter turned in his seat to ask.

‘We’re still doing it. It will take time.’

Carter picked up the sheets to read through Olivia Grantham’s phone records.

‘About one in five of these texts is sexually explicit,’ said Hector. ‘And they’re from different men.’

‘Did you have trouble getting into the phone?’

‘No. I managed to bypass her code easily. It looks like she gives several men the same surname: Naughties. So we have Peter Naughties, Mark Naughties, JJ Naughties. I Googled Naughties.
It’s a website for swinging Londoners.’

‘I know it. Naughties is the one advertised on the Tube, isn’t it?’ asked Carter. ‘The one with the woman with heavy eye make-up saying “Shhh” and the man
stripping off in the background?’

‘That’s the one,’ answered Robbo.

‘Start phoning these men – the ones she’s been texting,’ said Carter, looking at Hector. ‘No – on second thoughts, ring all of the male contacts you can find
on her phone. We need to know if they met her, if they had sex with her and, if so, then we need the details. Check out where they were on Sunday evening. Tell them Olivia Grantham has been
involved in an incident and we’re trying to trace her contacts. Try not to give too much away. I want to know exactly who they are, what they do for a living, any previous for anything at
all. We need to build up more of a picture of Olivia’s life and we need to talk to her workmates again. Someone must know who she’d been seeing.’

‘Do we need to be discreet?’ asked Hector. ‘They could be married.’ He looked at Carter’s expression. Carter had a face that read: ‘Who cares?’

Carter shrugged. ‘Okay. We’ll be respectful . . . for now.’

Robbo sat forward in his chair and pulled images up on his screen.

‘You attended the post-mortem?’

Carter nodded. ‘Yes. Dr Kahn, Harding’s stand-in, performed it. Have you got the post-mortem report yet?’ he asked.

Robbo pressed the download button on the screen and Willis came round to his PC to view it.

He brought up the photos of Olivia Grantham’s body on the mortuary table, then zoomed in and scanned down the photo of the first overall view of the body. Willis sat down in front of the
screen.

‘Three cracked ribs, broken humerus.’ Robbo said, bringing up the X-ray. ‘Several bite marks,’ he added as he continued to study it. ‘Kahn says here that she died
from a brain injury caused by a head wound, but that there was internal bleeding and a ruptured spleen. Beaten to death, basically.’

They took a few minutes to look through the photos. Carter sat back.

‘Mob frenzy that someone paid for.’

‘Gang rape can’t have been what she was looking for or buying in to?’ said Robbo. He looked at the photo of Olivia that was on the Linkedin site. It was the profile of a family
lawyer. ‘She was headed for great things in her company: ambitious and bright. All the things you’d expect.’

‘Except her sex life was lacking and she was looking to spice it up,’ said Carter.

‘You think of lawyers as cautious types,’ said Pam. Her desk was neatly divided into piles of files. She was the senior researcher in the room. She spent her time trolling through
details on websites and checking facts.

Carter shook his head. ‘Not this one, Pam,’ he said as he continued looking through transcripts of the texts. ‘Her bucket list was getting longer by the minute.’

‘She had plenty of sex equipment in her flat,’ said Carter. ‘She’d already tried more than the average person.’ He looked Willis’s way. She was quieter than
he liked her to be. He wished she’d spend more time speaking her thoughts.

‘Detective Willis?’

‘Yes, guv?’

‘The sex equipment in Olivia Grantham’s flat. Is she a giver or a taker?’

‘The hood with the mouthpiece was definitely a woman’s. I think she must have been submissive.’

‘Yeah . . . submissive but not suicidal, huh?’ said Carter, turning round to Robbo. ‘I think she must have been still learning – she was pushing the boundaries of her
sexual experiences . . .’

‘Any good photos of her on the phone, Hector?’ asked Robbo. ‘Anything we can give Intel, to try and spot her on CCTV in the area around? She may have checked out this place
before she went there on Sunday evening.’

Hector smiled, embarrassed. ‘Brings a whole new meaning to
selfies
. But yeah . . . a few headshots, normal ones. I’ll download her photo library and see who she’s with
in them.’

Carter leant back in his chair to think. ‘Pam – your comment about her being a cautious type – you’re right. It had to have been someone she trusted
enough
. She
wouldn’t have met someone in there that she didn’t know, that she hadn’t had sex with before. She was a bright woman – calculated-risk taker. How far are you on the list of
phone contacts, Hector?’ Carter looked across at him.