Frozen Grave by Lee Weeks Page A

disposed of her gloves in the bin. ‘Or that lad with the hat had a dog. We need to find him. He should be
easy to spot with half his face hanging off. What happens if he doesn’t get that fixed?’
    ‘It will get infected,’ Mark answered.
    ‘And?’
    ‘And it’s serious – life-threatening. Infection kills people on the streets every day,’ he added.
    Harding walked in as they were finishing up and Mark was zipping the body bag back up.
    ‘Evening, Dr Harding,’ Carter greeted her.
    She had on civvies: animal-print skirt tastefully stopping just on the knee, black boots stopping just below, a dark brown turtleneck sweater, and black-leather coat to mid-calf.
    ‘Must be difficult,’ Carter said, as he pointed to Olivia Grantham’s body, more to see how she reacted than with sincerity.
    ‘Not difficult. More strange than sad.’
    ‘Can we have a word?’
    ‘I suppose so.’ They followed Harding into her office. She opened a bottle of wine. ‘Pull up a chair. How’s the investigation going? What’s happened to the man you
chased under a train, Carter?’ She passed him a glass. Willis declined.
    He smiled. ‘Not quite how I remember it, Doctor. But he’s now in an induced coma. His name is Michael Hitchens, aka Toffee – he’s a former whizz kid in the City, now a
homeless alcoholic. He’s our only real lead so far. He said it went wrong with Olivia – I’m not so sure it did.’
    ‘If he’s in an induced coma, you can forget him for at least ten days. Plus, you have no idea whether there is permanent brain damage. He may never be able to answer your questions.
What do you need from me? How can I help?’
    ‘We need a little more background on Olivia Grantham, if we can.’ Willis took out her notebook.
    ‘I told you where she worked.’
    Willis looked up from the notebook. ‘If we tell you what we found when we went to Miss Grantham’s flat, maybe you can think about the kind of info we are looking for,’ Willis
said. She was one of the few women who liked Harding. She had no husband or boyfriend to lose. They were alike in some ways – both used to being alone. Both found it difficult to relate to
and trust others.
    Willis opened her notebook.
    ‘Not in a relationship – no couple photos. Corporate, neat – very tidy. Didn’t get to know neighbours. The caretaker said she was polite, reserved.’
    ‘That’s right. I would say she was quiet, thoughtful. She wasn’t a big party girl – she was private, discreet, boring really. Boringly average.’
    ‘Average but with a dark side?’ suggested Carter.
    ‘There were a few specialist sex toys in her bedroom; not sure they are average,’ Willis clarified, spoiling Carter’s fun.
    Harding tried not to smirk. ‘Tell me.’
    Willis read from her notebook: ‘Bondage harnesses, an assortment of weapons: whips, spikes, hot-wax dispenser, clamps, needles.’
    Harding raised an eyebrow. ‘Not weapons, those are toys.’
    ‘Does it ring a bell with you, Doctor?’ asked Carter.
    She fixed Carter with a look of contempt.
    ‘Your point? What am I supposed to know about it?’
    ‘Did you know that side of her life? The side that may have led to 22 Parade Street?’
    ‘Okay. I will tell you what you seem so desperate to hear but none of it goes beyond this room. None of it gets written down,’ she said, looking at Willis. Willis looked at Carter;
he nodded. Willis closed her notebook. ‘I tell you two and then it’s forgotten.’
    ‘We can’t promise you that, Doctor,’ said Willis. ‘I may not write it down but I can’t just forget it.’
    Carter held up his hand.
    ‘We understand. Carry on.’ Willis was about to object again. Carter stopped her. ‘If we use the information then it came from an informant who can’t be named.’ He
looked at Willis. She nodded reluctantly.
    Harding sighed and sat back in her seat.
    ‘Don’t get too excited, Carter. It isn’t that sensational. I met her through an Internet site. I