Frozen Grave

Chapter 47

In Brighton, morning dog walkers were out before work on the undercliff path, making the most of the lull in the bad weather. The sun had just risen. It was crisp and cold but there was a milky-blue sky.

Andrew the accountant was out walking his two miniature poodles Pompom and Lulu. He called to them to be quiet as they stopped on the path ahead of him and yapped excitedly. He reached them and looked upwards. Hanging above his head a woman was impaled on the metal cage used to collect falling stones. Her twisted body was bathed in frost. She was frozen solid. Her eyes were shining as they reflected the rising sun. Her blood was a dark stain on the white cliff face where it had run out.

It was 7 a.m. Willis hadn’t slept more than a few hours when she switched off her alarm clock before it rang. The business of finding her father had turned out to be relatively easy once she had his name and photo. But once she started it was hard to stop looking for things written about him. Eddie Francis hadn’t been able to make it as a sprinter, in the end. But he’d coached many good ones over the years and was still involved with the Jamaican athletics team. He’d never married but he had two sons. Willis wondered why her mother had never bothered to find him before. She hadn’t needed him before now, Willis supposed. Or maybe she had contacted him but not got the response she wanted. Willis needed to talk to Dr Reese again. Bella’s normal accommodation was a twelve-patient ward for people with personality disorders who were deemed to be both a risk to themselves and the public, but a ward was a collection of rooms. Bella was diagnosed as having paranoid schizophrenia. The hospital allowed her mother Internet access, along with a swimming pool, her own TV and a garden to tend. But it was still a maximum-security hospital and every movement she made was meant to be on camera or watched over – maybe they had decided it wasn’t going to help her to contact Eddie Francis.

Willis printed off a couple of clear photos she had of Eddie and then she took one downstairs when she heard Tina getting up for work. They met in the kitchen.

‘What do you think, Teen? He’s an athletics coach.’

Tina took the photo from Willis and gave it straight back.

‘He’s all right but he’s a bit old for you.’

‘No, I don’t mean as a potential boyfriend. I mean as a dad.’

Tina stopped buttering her toast and looked wide-eyed at Willis.

‘Excuse me?’

‘This is him. Or he could be. We don’t really have any proof except what my mother said and she’s—’

‘STOP… stop right there. Let me see this photo again.’ She took it from Willis and looked at it closely.

‘OMG. Yes… for feck’s sake – he’s not going to be able to deny it. Look at you both – two peas in a pod!’

‘Well, it’s early days yet, Teen. I mean, we only have my mum’s word and that’s not worth a lot.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. Christ, Eb… is this where I think it is? Is this in Jamaica?’ she said, scanning the background to the photo. Willis nodded. ‘Book us flights. We are going out there to confront him. I mean, who wouldn’t want a dad in Jamaica?’

‘No confrontation…’ Willis smiled as she shook her head. Tina’s enthusiasm was infectious. ‘We don’t want to scare him off.’

‘What’s to scare? Who wouldn’t be proud of a daughter like you? Look at all you’ve achieved. Look at who you are.’

‘Thanks, Teen.’

‘I mean it.’ Tina picked up her toast and munched double-speed. ‘Eb – you know what this means?’ Willis shook her head – hardly daring to ask. ‘We have holiday opportunities off the scale.’

Willis got a call from Scott Tucker as she was getting off the bus at Archway.

‘Just thought I’d catch up.’

‘What did you think of Megan Penarth?’ she asked.

‘Interesting woman – lives on Dartmoor in a barn conversion. She seemed to be quite sorted. She doesn’t seem to be finished with JJ Ellerman yet – seems to me like she was planning to have her say before walking away.’

‘Did she give him any money?’

‘She says not. How are you getting on with the other women on the list?’

‘I’m just about to attend a meeting now. I’ll send you a report when we’re done. After that, we’re planning to head to Brighton to talk to Lisa Tompkins, the gym manager.’

‘A phone call will do. I mean, I know you’re busy. We could Skype again and you can let me know later.’

‘Yeah. Okay, thanks a lot for the call. I’ll keep you informed. Actually, you should come and meet us when we go to Brighton. I’ll text you when we’re leaving. How long will it take you?’

‘Four hours. I’d better start now. When are you going?’

‘After this meeting – in a couple of hours.’

‘Okay – see you there.’

‘Can you spare the time?’

‘Absolutely.’

Willis ended the call and went straight to Robbo’s office, ready for the meeting. Carter was already there.

‘What did we find out about the women’s history, Pam?’ Willis asked as she hung her coat on the hook.

‘Paula Seymour has a conviction for…’ Pam opened and read the file on her desk. ‘Shoplifting and assault. The first offence came after several warnings. Seems she was known to the police as a teenager. The assault charge was when she was nineteen – she glassed another woman in a club. She’s not had anything since.’

‘Bored teenager syndrome,’ said Hector from his desk.

‘Not many people are capable of glassing someone,’ Carter remarked.

‘Drink was involved,’ said Pam, as she continued reading from the email. ‘Paula Seymour always denied it was her but a jury convicted her. She was pregnant at the time; she did community service. She’s been clean since.’

Carter sat quietly. He leant back in his chair as he stared out into space.

‘Ellerman could have killed Gillian Forth,’ he said after a few moments’ contemplatation. ‘He had time that evening, to get from Exeter to Reading; three hours max. Fire started at seven. He would have got to Paula at ten.’

‘It’s possible – she seemed vague on the phone; we need to pinpoint his arrival time.’

Carter sat up in his seat.

‘But then we know that whoever set Olivia up is able to manipulate or pay for someone else to do the job,’ he said. ‘Could someone have been paid to set fire to Gillian Forth’s house?’

‘We looked into the possibility of a hired killer coming to do it,’ answered Robbo. ‘Truth is, it would cost a lot more than the money Ellerman took from her. I can’t see that being worth it.’

‘He could have paid one of Toffee’s crew to come and do it. That would have cost him, what? A few grand, tops. Or Balik – he might be up for a change of scenery. We need to look at CCTV of trains to Exeter, see if we can spot any of them waiting to board.’

‘I think,’ said Willis, ‘that if he paid someone, he might even have to drive them there. They’re all off their faces. How could you be sure they would do the job?’

‘No, I reckon you could go through the route with one of them. You could show them exactly what, where and how and they could do it. We need to get the computers taken out of the hostel and we need to look at them – that’s the most likely place any planning would have been done. Toffee’s got to come out of this coma with a name for us of who paid him. Someone must have seen him talking to a stranger. We need to ring Detective Blackman now and ask her if there’s any news on Toffee.’

Willis rang Blackman and put her on speakerphone.

‘What’s the latest on Toffee?’ asked Carter.

‘I’m at the hospital now, sir. He’s stable, and there’s talk of starting the process of bringing him round. The swelling on his brain is reduced. They’re not sure how much it will affect his memory or speech at the moment.’

‘Is Simon Smith still there?’

‘Most days he calls in. Sometimes he stays a few hours, sometimes it’s a flying visit.’

‘We’re having the PCs picked up from the hostel. What about your mum in there? Does everything seem okay in there to her? Is there any more talk of the murder?’

‘There’s plenty of talk about it. Apparently, Balik is bragging about how he murdered Olivia Grantham. There’s talk that he kept a souvenir from the attack. He’s saying he got paid by Simon. The Hannover Boys continue to come over and intimidate the residents. I think we need to have a show of force on the estate.’

‘Why is it so hard to find Balik?’

‘I don’t know, sir. We have patrols out looking for him. I think the only hope is through his grandfather.’

‘Well, keep looking, Blackman. We need Balik in for questioning.’ They fininshed the call to her as Sandford joined them.

‘I’ve prepared a report on Harding’s car.’

‘That was quick,’ said Robbo.

‘Yes, well, it didn’t have to be examined on the inside. We’re just looking for matches on the outside to Olivia Grantham’s car and to the crime scenes.’

He came across to Robbo’s desk, put his case on the floor and opened the file, spreading the photos and diagrams in a line across the desk.

‘There are twelve sites which are of interest on Hardings’s car. We have dog hair of a similar light colour to that found in Olivia’s car. We have two sets of hand and fingerprints that match to her car also. Here, on the roof, where someone’s stamped on the roof and a boot has torn the fabric. There is a match to the heel imprint and the boot print around Olivia’s body.’

‘That’s not going to convict anyone,’ said Carter.

‘No, but this along with evidence might do.’ Sandford brushed aside Carter’s negativity. He had saved his best piece of information till last. He pulled out another set of photos from the file and held them in his hand.

‘I contacted Fiat and they sent me a replacement first-aid kit because someone had ripped hers open. They also sent me a replacement spare-wheel kit.’ He took the kit out of his case and unfolded it. ‘This…’ He held up the foot-long piece of metal piping with a square end for undoing the wheel nuts. ‘Is an exact match to the puncture wounds on Harding’s car.’ He spread out the photos he had in his hand. ‘And the same diameter as the…’ He looked at Willis.

‘The blow that killed Olivia, the one that punctured her skull.’

‘Exactly.’ He smiled at her.

After she finished talking to Carter, Zoe picked up her car keys and drove to Hannover Estate. She sat there, watching the activity. There was no sign of Balik. She regretted not arresting him outside the hostel. She thought it reflected badly on her. She hadn’t handled it as well as she could have. She thought about Balik’s dog and rang an old boyfriend – a police-dog handler.

‘Griff, I’m not good with dogs; what should I know if one attacks me?’

‘It will lunge, teeth bared. You kind of know it’s going to do it. Before it attacks, don’t make eye contact, don’t wave your arms around. Stay still. Don’t front it, turn to the side so that it doesn’t think you’re aggressive – a threat. Don’t scream unless it starts biting you and then scream as loud as you can to get help. Throw anything at it to give it something to chew on besides you – a bag, shoe, book, anything, then get away, walk. Don’t run, it will see you as prey.’

‘What if that doesn’t work?’

‘When the dog bites, it is trying to bring you down. Stay on your feet. If it bites your arm or leg, don’t move. If you move then the dog bite tears into your flesh, causing maximum damage. If it gets you onto the floor and starts biting you then roll into a ball and make fists with your hands and protect your neck, your head, face. Wait until it loses interest in you then walk away.’

‘What if it doesn’t? How will it try and kill me?’

‘Rip out your throat. Anyway, how are the kids? How are you? Fancy a drink some time?’

‘I’ll let you know – thanks for the advice.’

She parked up, got out of the car, and walked across to the tower block. On the sixteenth floor, she listened hard at Balik’s grandfather’s flat. She could hear the sound of the dog moving. It was walking up and down behind the door, pacing back and forth. She knocked. The dog went ballistic; it hurled itself at the door.

‘Mr Balik, can you hear me?’ There was no reply.

Inside the flat, Mr Balik was dead. His throat had been ripped out but not before he had been bitten one hundred and seventy-three times.