Frozen Grave

Prologue

The January gloom that made everything grey also made Olivia’s white Fiat shine luminescent on the deserted street in Woolwich. Her bright red lipstick was vivid in the gloom. She reread the message on her phone:

I’ll be waiting for you.

Her mouth was so dry that she found it hard to swallow; the ends of her fingers tingled as she slipped her hand beneath her coat and felt her warm bare skin between the lace and silk; she shivered.

She got out of her car and pulled her coat tightly around her. Her heels echoed on the cobbles as she crossed the road. Stopping outside number 22, Olivia placed her bright red nails on the peeling paintwork and pushed the door open just a little. She looked back at her car. She had only to run across the road and jump in and she would be safe. She turned back to number 22 and loosened her coat; her flesh glowed in the darkness as she stepped inside.