Frozen Grave

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.’

‘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.’