Frozen Grave

by Lee Weeks

  ‘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 didn’t set out to meet her. I met a man and he introduced me to her, one thing led to another.’ She looked at Carter and waited for a reaction.

  ‘Swingers?’Carter asked.

  ‘Crudely put, yes; I suppose so. It’s a website called Naughties.’

  ‘We’re looking into it,’ answered Carter. ‘We know Olivia Grantham had a subscription to it. It’s a site for casual sex – is that it?’ he added.

  ‘Just a way of setting out your stall, that’s all. It’s an honest approach – no ties, no hang-ups. No harm done,’ Harding said with a defensive, dismissive shrug of her shoulders.

  ‘Sure . . . Do you still have the number for the person who introduced you to Olivia?’

  ‘No. It was just a man. We got on well – we met a few times after that.’

  ‘For sex?’

  Harding took a deep breath. She had fixed her eyes on Carter throughout the conversation.

  ‘No, for tea . . . what do you think?’

  ‘What can you tell us about her?’

  ‘Her life was mundane on a daily basis. So, she invented an alter-ego. That one enjoyed meeting strangers for sex.’

  ‘Did you see her often?’

  ‘Not often. She soon lost her appeal. There was a lot of bravado involved. She was quite the baby inside.’ She paused. ‘Anyway – it doesn’t do to see the same person too often – you become overfamiliar with them. They start to mean something to you beyond a pleasure vehicle.’

  Harding sat back in her chair.

  ‘How does the site work? asked Willis.

  ‘You pay and you get a service like everything else. You subscribe and get to study the profiles of other subscribers. What you do then is up to you. The site is a host. It’s simple. I like sex with strangers. I like as many new partners as possible.’

  ‘So if you like the look of someone you email them?’ asked Willis.

  ‘Yes. If I like someone on the site then we usually meet that same evening.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘A hotel usually, their house or mine perhaps. A car park, anywhere you want. Whatever floats your boat.’

  ‘Dangerous thing to do,’ said Carter.

  She shrugged. ‘That’s the point. If I met them in a bar, they would bore me within seconds. This way it lasts an evening – at least I’ve never had a problem.’

  ‘What would have made Olivia go into that building on Parade Street? Do you know?’

  ‘Because some risks are worth taking. What is it you want me to do? What do you think I can help with?’

  ‘We need to see how it works first; will you show me?’ Willis asked. ‘We have two bogus profiles on there now – a man and a woman. We need to know how they look to the experienced eye. We have several hits already on the female.’

  Harding took her laptop out of her bag and opened it up.

  ‘You will have. Let me tell you – the women are few, the men are plenty,’ she said as she put in her passcode. ‘I’ll log in and show you who’s looking at who.’ She looked across at Willis and paused, finger over the keyboard. Willis drew her chair nearer. Carter stayed where he was.

  ‘Password. Okay – so once I’m in, I get onto my home page and see what activity there has been on it.’

  ‘When was the last time you logged in?’ asked Willis.

  ‘Last night. I looked at Olivia Grantham’s profile. She’s still up on the site.’ Harding turned and looked questioningly at Carter.

  ‘I know, but it’s not our business to inform them,’ he said. ‘We need to see if anyone has been looking at her profile.’

  Harding turned back to her laptop. ‘That would mean you would have to admit to breaking into it – which you are obviously trying your hardest to do.’

  Carter didn’t answer.

  Willis was leaning in to read what Harding had put on her profile. She stopped and looked at Harding. ‘You’re not worried about putting all this detail online?’

  ‘No, because I go through a vetting process before I meet them and this site isn’t cheap. It’s thirty pounds a month – that puts it out of the ordinary weirdo’s price bracket. No one can look at my profile unless they pay, and I am in control as to who sees what. If I “favourite” them then they can see more intimate pictures.’

  Harding was about to click on the link to profile pictures that were hidden.

  Willis stopped her.

  ‘It’s okay. I don’t need to see.’

  Harding shrugged. ‘Please yourself. This section here shows the last twenty-four hours. I’ve had five views and I’ve got an email.’ She clicked on the link to read it. ‘Okay, well this is from a guy I’ve been talking to for a week or so. We’ve exchanged about three messages. I’ll give him my mobile number now and we’ll ta
lk. If he sounds like someone I want to meet then we meet for a drink. If he passes that test then – bingo. It’s not really that different from any other dating site. Some people vet scrupulously – some people never even talk on the phone, they just want to meet straight away.’ She looked at Willis. ‘Have you never tried Internet dating?’

  ‘I look at it sometimes but I don’t have the time for it. Is anyone on there that you think Olivia Grantham might have been interested in?’

  ‘Yes. I think I could pick out a few.’

  Harding clicked on a profile of a man. His erect cock filled the screen.

  ‘Hardly anyone shows their face. They are married or at least they are in a relationship that doesn’t quite do it for them sexually and they think this way is cleaner, safer, no one gets hurt and it’s free. Free sex is always a man’s goal.’

  ‘Do people who are one site tend to be on others?’ Carter asked.

  ‘Of course. Some people are on every single site.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘No, I find the right sort of people on this.’

  Willis pointed to the cock onscreen. ‘Do you know that man? Have you met him?’

  Harding leant forward to look at the name on the account.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you willing to talk to us about any of the men you’ve met?’ asked Willis.

  ‘Yes. Bring me details of someone you’re interested in and I’ll tell you if I’ve had sex with them.’

  ‘We have some photos to show you now,’ Carter said.

  ‘Shoot.’ He took out the file Pam had given him.

  ‘We’re giving you all the info we have on them so far. These are the men who definitely contacted Olivia Grantham. They are from her phone. They have been given the surname Naughties by Olivia, which we presume means she knows them from there, so we’re hoping you might recognize one or two.’

  Carter handed Harding the first man’s details.

  ‘This is a man named Peter Hill; he lives in Kent but works in the City.’

  She took the photo, studied it and shook her head.

  ‘No. Don’t know him.’ She pushed the picture aside.

  ‘This one is Malcolm Roberts – accountant.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘John James Ellerman – JJ – high-roller. He lives in—’

  Harding held up her hand to stop Willis. ‘Yes. Definitely.’

  ‘When? With Olivia?’

  ‘Once with her. I met him a few times on my own.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Must be two years ago. But he still looks at my profile online. I still get the odd text from him. He’s on this site all the time.’

  ‘Why didn’t you keep meeting him?’ asked Willis.

  ‘He didn’t want to. I wasn’t what he was looking for.’

  ‘What were your impressions?’

  ‘He was a bullshitter. He tried to impress with his car, his talk of going all over the world. I remember thinking: “Can we just cut the crap and get on with it?”’

  Carter smiled.

  ‘You think it’s not just the sex with him?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s right – he wanted to take me for dinner. He wanted to take me on holiday.’

  ‘You weren’t keen?’ asked Carter.

  ‘I made it plain I just wanted sex. That’s what the site is for – not for relationships.’

  ‘Of course . . .’ Willis said. ‘Did you know he was married? Did he tell you?’

  ‘Yes, he did, even though I wasn’t interested in hearing it. He said he had a son, couldn’t leave his wife — all that bullshit.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Harding.

  Carter answered: ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Okay, but I know it will take you weeks to get permission to access the dating site’s private info. Let me help then.’

  ‘How? We can’t put you at risk.’

  ‘I can go on the hunt if it’s useful. I can contact him – it will be easy.’

  ‘We appreciate it,’ said Carter. ‘Can we think about it, please?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Chapter 14

  Ellerman drove to Exeter and parked up at the Quay. He put on his gold-rimmed aviators, got out and walked across to look out over the river. The low winter sun was shining in his eyes as it set. He breathed in deeply. He was always happiest when he was back near water. As man and boy he had been drawn to it. He looked at his phone. There were several missed calls and unread texts. The bank was chasing the mortgage payment again.

  ‘Fucking vultures,’ he said out loud.

  He felt the cold air whip straight off the water and across the sweat that had come to his brow. The sky clouded over and turned slate grey and the river mirrored it. He shivered. He hurried back to the car and drove back along the main road into the city. He parked up and opened the boot of his car. Unzipping his bag, he swapped his dirty clothes for fresh and changed his smart shoes for suede loafers. He walked back along the street, stopped at number 35 and pressed the doorbell as he put his bag down. He smiled at the woman approaching from the other side of the bevelled glass door.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ she said as she opened the door and wrapped her arms around his neck before he’d had time to step inside. She had on a tight pencil skirt and a neat white blouse.

  ‘Missed me?’ Ellerman kissed her, squeezed her tightly as he stroked the side of her breast through the crisp white blouse. ‘You’ve been to work today. I love it when you look so officious.’

  She pulled him inside.

  ‘Yes, I have. Come on, let’s go to bed, it’s been two weeks too long.’

  He held back, grinning awkwardly. ‘You’ll have to feed me first. I’ve had a busy couple of days – difficult client. I need fuel. Then I’ll ravish you.’

  She pulled away, instantly annoyed.

  ‘Where have you come from?’

  ‘The wilds of Dartmoor.’ He brought his bag further into the hallway and followed her through to the lounge.

  ‘Not far then. It’s just up the road.’

  ‘Of course, it’s a great place. We must go there for a night sometime. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is. The last time I saw it though I was on training exercises in preparation for Afghanistan. That was a rough experience.’

  She smiled, tight-lipped. ‘It must have been. You promised me you’d wear your uniform this time. I’ve never seen you in it.’

  ‘Sorry, darling. I completely forgot to put it in the car. I’ll wear it next time.’ He held on to her and kissed her neck. He could feel the tension in her. Something wasn’t right. He was trying to think what it could be. ‘Wish I’d had you in Afghanistan. You’d have kept my morale up as well as something else. Now put the kettle on chop-chop and make me something to eat.’ He smacked her hard on her bottom as he turned to pick up his bag from the doorway.

  She gave a false laugh but didn’t move.

  ‘No. I really want to go out for dinner this evening. You said we would this week. I’ve been looking forward to it. Seeing someone every two weeks means you have to make a big effort when you do. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Of course. Thought we’d light the fire and get cosy.’ He put his bag down in the hallway.

  ‘You know what, JJ?’ Gillian stood with her hands on her hips. ‘I’m sick of staying in and waiting for you to come and then we do nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’m beginning to think you just use me as a stopover. Eighteen months we’ve been together and we’ve only been away once. It’s not good enough. I can’t even put photos of you on my Facebook. It’s like I’m your dirty secret.’

  Ellerman sighed. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I’d love to announce our relationship to the world on Facebook but I was in the SAS, remember? Do you know how many people would love to get me? I put some serious terrorists out of business. I—’

  Gillian didn’t wait to hear him out; she turned and walked away into the kitchen.

  ‘Did you bring any wine with you?’
<
br />   ‘No. Sorry. I was in such a rush to get here.’ Ellerman strained to listen to her response. Normally, she would have melted at that kind of a comment – ‘couldn’t wait to get here and rip your clothes off’ kind of thing. But recently things had changed between them. Ellerman wondered whether their time was coming to an end. Christ knows, he was banking on her today. He was tired, hungry, a little hungover. He had been expected to really perform at Megan’s. He’d thought he was in for an easy night at Gillian’s. He hadn’t anticipated this reception. He heard the fridge door open and heard the clink of bottles. ‘I’ll go and get some,’ Ellerman called out as he jangled his keys.

  ‘Don’t bother . . .’ Gillian reappeared. She had stripped and was wearing a red corset. How Ellerman hated red lingerie. It reminded him of blood.

  ‘It can wait. I’ve got some.’ Gillian handed him a glass of cold white wine. He sipped it and tried not to grimace. Eastern European. He gave what he considered to be his deep seductive laugh – full of 007 promise, appreciative of what he saw in front of him and the beautiful figure that he was supposed to be delighting in, but in real terms he thought Gillian had become a little fat. He saw her as a little on the big side now and he wasn’t a great lover of curvy women. He liked all his women to be petite, much smaller than him. He loved to be able to pick them up in his arms and carry them, but he was pretty sure that Gillian now weighed twelve stone and would take some lifting. She looked at him expectantly but he saw by the glint in her eyes that she was challenging him.

  ‘Let’s go upstairs.’ She picked up the bottle. ‘I want to work up an appetite for this meal that you’re going to take me for.’ Ellerman looked at her expression and thought how she had obviously been building up to this and he hadn’t noticed. Whatever she had suppressed in the last few visits, it had certainly decided to surface now and he was feeling very deflated.

  ‘I’ve booked a restaurant in town. It costs a lot but then I’m worth it, aren’t I?’

  She led the way up to her attic room.

  He went across to look through the skylight at the evening. He could see the orange glow of car headlights going past on the road below; he could see streams of them in the distance on the motorway. He couldn’t see his car from there – he always parked it further up the road, well away from any chance of it being knocked. But he knew it was waiting for him. He felt the urge to get back in it now and drive, put on his music, and hit the highway.