‘So she was held down and raped,’ said Carter.
‘There are multiple footwear marks around the body,’ Sandford said as he angled the light for Harding.
‘Which would explain the hasty exit,’ said Carter. ‘Everyone in here was involved in this in some way.’ He looked around. ‘Maybe she came in here with someone. Maybe this wasn’t her usual place to sleep and she drifted onto someone else’s turf. She pissed someone off.’
Carter was watching Dermot as he moved a mattress and propped it up against the wall then knelt to examine it.
‘Someone’s been bottled by the look of it. There is fresh blood on the mattress – still wet.’
‘No evidence of wounds consistent with being bottled,’ said Harding. ‘It looks like someone tried to strangle her though.’ She moved to one side so that the detectives could see the ligature around the woman’s neck.
Dermot stood and held something in the air for them to see.
‘Expensive knickers.’
He walked across and passed them to Carter.
Carter looked at the label. ‘La Perla. Very posh.’
‘There’s also one half of a pair of stockings attached to a suspender belt,’ Dermot said, taking the knickers back from Carter and putting them into a crime-scene bag. He handed the stocking across. ‘Just one so far.’
‘The other one is round her neck,’ said Willis, who was squatting level with the body and leaning into the room to get a better look.
‘This is expensive lingerie,’ Carter said, holding the stocking. ‘This outfit must have cost a hundred quid – probably two. La Perla is expensive, isn’t it, Doctor?’
‘Yes.’
Carter knew there was no point in him asking Willis. Dermot walked back across the plates and resumed his examination of the mattress.
‘Do we know the cause of death, Doctor?’ asked Willis.
Harding turned the woman’s head away from her.
‘There is a crush wound to the skull, a lot of blood lost here, and possible brain injury.’ She shone the light onto the woman’s face. ‘But there are so many other poss—’ She paused mid-sentence. She moved the light closer. Her voice quietened: ‘We’ll have to get someone else to perform the post-mortem.’
‘What’s the problem, Doc?’ Carter moved towards the body, stepping on the first plate.
Dermot stopped working and stood upright.
‘I know her.’
‘You sure?’ asked Carter.
‘Yes… of course I’m sure – I wouldn’t say it otherwise. I don’t know her well but I’ve met her a few times. Her name is Olivia Grantham. Early forties. She lives in Brockley, south-east London. She works for a solicitors’ firm in London Bridge, near the Shard.’
‘Any idea what it’s called, the place she works at?’
‘Spencer and Something. As far as I remember, she’s a junior partner.’ Harding started to pack away her kit.
Sandford and Dermot were poised, listening to the outcome of the conversation.
‘When was the last time you saw her, Doctor?’ Carter asked.
‘Not sure, about six months ago, probably.’
‘Could she be sleeping rough here, Doctor?’ asked Willis.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ snapped Harding. ‘You don’t go downhill that fast. The last time I saw her, she was drinking cocktails and hoovering a line of coke.’
‘How exactly did you know her?’ Carter asked, interested now that Harding had painted a scene and accidentally painted herself into it.
‘Through friends. Social events. That kind of thing.’ Harding stood, ready to leave. ‘I’ll organize for someone to do the post-mortem for me and I’ll let you know what time it’s happening.’ She turned to Sandford. ‘When you’re ready for her to be moved, phone me and I’ll send someone down to collect her.’
As Harding passed him, Carter turned and followed. By the time he got outside, she was already half out of her forensic suit.
‘You all right, Doc? It’s not easy when it’s someone you know.’
Harding didn’t look at him. She opened the boot of her car and deposited her bag inside.
‘I told you, I didn’t know her well. Merely a social acquaintance.’ She glanced his way as she got into her car.
‘But still…’
She held his gaze. ‘But still, nothing, Inspector. Don’t read into it.’
Carter hovered by the door. ‘Do you know what street she lived in?’
‘No.’
She slammed the door.
Carter was watching her drive away as Willis came out of the building and joined him.
‘What was that all about?’ he said, peeling off his suit. ‘She was even more abrupt than usual. She couldn’t wait to get away, could she?’
‘She had to, guv – difficult position to be in. I guess she must have felt really bad seeing her friend like that.’
‘Yeah, right… she doesn’t have any friends.’ Carter looked around as he made a mental map of the area. ‘The nearest station is Woolwich Arsenal,’ he said. ‘And that’s a good eight, ten minutes’ walk, especially in heels. She’d got to have been wearing heels with that outfit. I think she would have got here by car – she drove or took a taxi. We need to find out all the local taxi firms; see if there’s any CCTV as well.’
‘Yes, guv.’
He took out his phone to make a call to the crime analyst back at the office.
‘Robbo? We have a possible name for the victim: it’s Olivia Grantham, early forties. Dr Harding recognized her. She thinks she works in a solicitors’ office at London Bridge – Spencer and Something. See if you can find it and an address in Brockley for her. There was a fight here; someone got bottled; check the A&E departments as well. Do you know what, Robbo? This place is the same derelict buildings where we had that Polish man kicked to death a few years ago. That’s progress for you.’
He ended the call and looked back towards the entrance of number 22. ‘What a place to end up in: “Shit Central”,’ he said as he discarded his suit and handed Willis a bag for hers. ‘Got to hand it to Sandford and that lot in there – it’s a shit job but someone’s got to do it.’ He smiled a little at his quip. Willis didn’t react but took the bag from him as she stared down the street.
‘Don’t get it, guv. Who comes to a place like this on a Sunday evening dressed in expensive lingerie?’
‘I agree – I don’t know many women who wear stockings unless it’s to add spice to the bedroom. This is certainly not a romantic setting to slip into your La Perla. If Harding is right about her, then Olivia Grantham didn’t need to slum it.’
‘I’ve seen some women in the changing room at the gym wearing them,’ Willis said. ‘Coming straight from work, I suppose.’
‘Really?’ His eyes glazed over for a few seconds.
‘Okay, well maybe some women wear them for work as well, but I think the majority of women put them on especially. But not especially to come into a shithole like this. Plus, it was sleeting last night. Not the kind of night to walk around in your underwear.’
Willis bagged up her suit and signed it off in the logbook as she thanked PC Gardner.
Carter took out his coat and handed Willis hers. Willis was studying a street map of the area on her phone.
‘See if Robbo has that address for Olivia Grantham’s place and we’ll go there now,’ said Carter.
‘He’s already sent it – 103 Station Road, guv.’ Willis began reading it from her phone. ‘Runs from the High Street to…’ She stopped talking and began running towards shouts coming from the end of the street.