Frozen Grave (8 page)

‘I’ve phoned three so far. Haven’t been able to get hold of two others. Just about to try this one now.’

‘Okay, I’ll give it a go. Pass me over your list. I want to ring the Mr Naughties myself.’ Hector handed Carter the sheet of names. ‘Can you give me a line that
can’t be traced?’ Hector nodded. Carter read off the first number on the sheet and rang from the phone on the desk. He put it on speaker. The first two numbers went to voicemail. The
third call was answered.

‘Hello, is that Peter?’

‘Yes.’

‘Peter, this is the customer services department from Naughties Dating for Consenting Adults.’

‘What? Who?’

‘Naughties website. You subscribe?’

‘You shouldn’t call me.’ He hung up.

‘Okay – give him thirty minutes then we’ll try again.’ Carter rang the next number on the list.

‘Hello?’

‘Yes? JJ Ellerman speaking. Mermaid Yachts. How can I help?’ Pam and Hector stopped working.

Robbo had already started typing the name and the company into Google. Willis kept her eyes on Carter as she listened to the call. The reception wasn’t brilliant on speakerphone.

‘Hello, sir,’ Carter said. ‘Naughties Dating here – London’s favourite sexy adult encounters website. This is customer services.’

‘Pardon?’ Ellerman sounded annoyed. ‘I can’t speak now.’ Robbo gave Carter a look that said:
Really?
Followed by:
I want no part of it.
Hector
grinned. ‘This is supposed to be a discreet service. You should
not
be ringing me.’

Carter winked at Robbo. Robbo shook his head disapprovingly. But he hid a smile as he leant over his PC, watching the seach results appear on screen.

‘Don’t worry, Mr Ellerman, your information is secure. I just need to check we’re giving the best service to you that we can. You put that you’re looking for encounters
in the London area? Would you be interested in extending your search countrywide?’

‘Look, I don’t have time now. I’m busy.’ Ellerman hung up.

‘Unethical, but effective,’ said Robbo. ‘JJ Ellerman – he’s registered to an address in Richmond. He is the MD of a boat-building company that builds luxury yachts.
Mermaid Yachts, as he said.’ Robbo squinted at the screen. ‘Self-made, impressive.’

‘Let’s get the full picture of him and all the others on her phone, Hector. Go back a year for me. Get all the information on her you can. What type of men does she go for? What does
she look for? She must have talked it through with someone. Talk to the girlfriend she met on Saturday night. What about Facebook, Pam?’

‘She doesn’t use it much. She uses Linkedin much more but always professionally rather than socially.’

‘She’s got several dating-site aps on her phone,’ Hector said. ‘Casualsex, Sparks, Adultfun. All of them for sex rather than soulmates.’

‘Try and get into her accounts.’ Carter looked to see if Robbo would react with his civil liberties chat but he was still checking out JJ Ellerman’s profile. Carter poured out
the coffee. ‘Was Olivia actually single?’ Carter asked Hector. ‘Do we know if she had a boyfriend?’

Robbo answered: ‘So far as we know, she wasn’t seeing anyone. Never been married. Bright, fast-tracked-in-her-career type. I think maybe relationships were an afterthought to
her,’ he added as he printed off a résumé on JJ Ellerman. ‘Whereas, this guy, Mr John James Ellerman of Mermaid Yachts, has been married for twenty-one years. He’s
really big on relationships.’

JJ Ellerman hung up and cranked up his classic rock CD as he hit the edges of Dartmoor. ‘You’re As Cold As Ice’ came on. He sang along as his Range Rover
thundered over the cattle grid.

As he rose up and over his first hill he slowed down to take in the view. Austere and wild, clouds’ shadows raced across the stark moorland that was strewn with massive black-granite
boulders toppling from dramatic peaks. The low winter sun gave a shimmering pink haze across the dried fern and yellow gorse.

He pulled over at the side of the road, where a mare and foal were grazing the sparse vegetation, and checked the coordinates on his satnav; then he reached back to pick up the printed
directions from the back seat. Satisfied he knew where he was going, he picked up his phone and sent the same text to five people:

Miss you. Love JJ.

Ellerman skipped on to the next track in his rock anthems: ‘Stairway to Heaven’.

He placed his phone on charge and then followed his directions and drove through a small village, past an ancient church with a cluster of crumbling graves, then a white-painted thatched inn. He
turned off at the edge of the village and came to the end of a stony track – the wisp of woodsmoke circled above the roof of a smart-looking barn renovation.

Turning into the steep driveway his car finally came to a stop outside the long barn.

Megan opened the front door and stood watching him. He thought how she was just as beautiful as the first time they had met six months earlier. Her eyes stayed intensely fixed on him.

He switched off the engine, got out and reached in the back for his jacket. The icy wind blew through the fabric of his thin shirt and dried the layer of perspiration on his skin.

She stepped towards him. ‘You were lucky you made it – the forecast is for snow. But you never know what you’re going to get here – four seasons in a day sometimes. You
found me okay?’

‘Of course.’ He gave her the look that he called his Bond look – it involved a lopsided smile and a raise of one eyebrow. A combination created to charm.

‘Did it take you long?’

‘About five hours.’

Ellerman closed the car door and took a step closer to her. ‘It was a lovely drive. I was early so I even took a detour to see an art exhibition at a town on the way – in
Ashburton.’ She looked impressed as she tilted her head and smiled. All the time her eyes were watching him.

‘I was wondering if your work would be there but I didn’t see it.’

She smiled with her eyes. He thought how full of passion they were, so dark. Her skin was luminescent. Her hair was long and flowing around her shoulders in a mane of black and silver.

‘I’m not exhibiting locally at the moment. My agent in London is taking everything I can produce. I can show you some of my canvases – works in progress.’ She reached out
a hand as he came near. ‘I appreciate you coming all this way.’

He looked at her hands; they looked older than the rest of her – the years of oil painting had dried them.

‘It’s no trouble. I have an appointment in Exeter this evening, just finalizing a really big order for five yachts. But I couldn’t wait to see you again – that’s
the truth. You left me wanting more.’ He leant in to smell her as he kissed her neck. She smelt of roses and musk. She wore a velvet dress that came almost to the floor. Between her breasts
was a silver pendant. He watched it rise and fall then traced it with his forefinger.

‘A Claddagh pendant . . . Love, loyalty and friendship. Did you wear that especially for me?’

She gave a curious smile, her eyes shining. ‘Perhaps.’ She looked past him. ‘Looks like the mist’s following you. It wants to keep you here.’

Ellerman turned to see that all around was now obscured by white, and cold dampness filled the air.

She looked at him. ‘I hope you don’t intend trying to leave,’ she said, laughing as she turned towards the house.

‘No intention of it. One moment.’ Ellerman turned back to his car, opened the passenger door and, reaching inside, he pulled out a box that had been on the floor. It contained six
bottles of wine.

‘I brought us something interesting to try. It’s ideal for the Dartmoor weather. I hope you’re keen on taking risks?’

‘Absolutely.’

He followed her into the house and down some stone steps into a flagstone-floored kitchen with a large Aga, a sturdy oak table and hanging pots and pans. He came behind her and slipped his hands
around her waist. The velvet of her dress was soft to the touch. He heard her intake of breath.

‘But, are you ready for the first taste?’ she said breathlessly.

‘Yes.’

‘Close your eyes.’

She stepped away from him and he heard the clink of glasses and the sound of liquid filling a glass. He smiled knowingly.

‘Unmistakable.’

‘Damn!’ She laughed. ‘I opened the bottle as you drove in. I hoped to be cunning. You heard the fizz as it hit the glass, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. Let me guess the vintage. Mmm. I can smell almond and cocoa and . . . dried flowers.’ He took a sip and held the liquid on his tongue for a few seconds before he swallowed and
smiled and nodded appreciatively.

‘Yes . . . tactile, dark and chiselled, even. Dom Pérignon 2004?’

She laughed excitedly. He could feel her heat close to him.

He opened his eyes slowly. ‘What a perfect choice to cement our friendship.’

She smiled, happy. ‘When I read that on your profile – “my favourite thing of all is champagne” – then I knew you’d be romantic.’

‘And you were right. I have a sensory nature: sensual, hedonistic – open to pleasure, sharing pleasure.’ His eyes stayed on her and he took a step closer. ‘I want to see
where you paint. I want to know everything about you.’

‘Then come with me.’

She picked up the champagne bottle and turned and led him through the kitchen to a room off the back of the house. It was high-ceilinged, with skylights, and one whole wall was glass set in
stone. The smell of oil paint hit him. She was working on several paintings. Slashes of black and grey and yellow gorse covered her canvases. They were bleak, dark and full of movement and
anger.

‘Magnificent.’

‘Thank you.’

She was watching him as he looked at her work; he went around the studio, pausing in front of each easel, each piece of art. He took his time. She had stopped by one she was currently working
on: a whirl of blue spring sky above forbidding granite shelters. He walked over to her and stood behind her, pulling her closer to him, feeling her buttocks nestle into his hips.

‘Your paintings are magnificent, beautiful, wild. They make me feel exhilarated. They overwhelm me with passion and excitement.’

She led him back through the kitchen, champagne bottle back in hand, and upstairs to her bedroom; he ducked to avoid the low beam. It was beautiful, minimal, with white-plastered walls and old
beams.

Megan poured him another glass of champagne.

‘It’s been too long,’ she said as she began undressing. Ellerman studied her. When she was standing naked, he walked across and pushed her back onto the bed. He placed his
hands beneath her and cupped her buttocks, parted her thighs and sucked so violently on her sex that she writhed and squealed beneath his mouth. She tried to push his head away but he stayed until
she orgasmed. He took a swig of champagne and looked at her as she lay in the foetal position, squeezing her hands between her thighs.

He refilled his glass.

She turned onto her back and brushed her hair from her eyes as she watched him walk naked round to the other side of the bed. He was semi-erect.

She crawled to the edge of the bed and went to touch him. He stopped her hand, gently but firmly.

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

‘I want you to be my slave.’ He reached down as she knelt on the edge of the bed and touched her between her thighs: still wet, still swollen and still so sensitive. ‘I want
you to love me so completely. I want to be everything to you.’ He held her and kissed her gently as he slowly made love to her.

He was just drifting off to sleep, feeling like he was floating in a warm, sex-scented bath, when Megan rolled onto her side and he felt her eyes studying him. He opened his eyes reluctantly and
looked at her. Her eyes were narrowed, focused on his face. He smiled and closed his eyes again, hoping that she would get the hint as he reached out a warm heavy hand and laid it on her thigh.

‘So tell me – if I fall for you, what am I letting myself in for?’ she asked.

‘As in?’ he said on a sigh, trying not to sound irritated.

‘As in – you are separated?’

‘Yes, but it’s complicated.’

She reached for her champagne. ‘Go on.’ She looked at him, waiting.

Ellerman breathed in deeply, resisted the urge to sound pissed off. He forced himself to sit up, rest back on the pillows.

‘I have a son who needs me. My wife’s unstable. I told you about it last time . . .’

‘Unstable how? What has she got? She’s bipolar, you said?’

‘She’s never been diagnosed with anything but she doesn’t cope well with situations.’

‘What kind of situations?’

‘Anything really. If I want to talk about
us –
the relationship my wife and I have, or lack of it?’ He looked across to gauge Megan’s reaction. She was resting
on an elbow, watching him intently. He could see his wife in her.

‘How is that likely to change in the future?’

‘Well . . . because my son is sixteen now. He’s doing his GCSEs. He’ll be going to uni when he’s eighteen, then I can leave.’

‘And you think that will realistically happen?’

‘Yes. Absolutely. I will have fulfilled my side of the bargain then. I owe it to my son to stay and see him through this part of his life but then . . . when that’s done, I’m
one hundred per cent calling it a day. I’m already doing up the house in preparation. You know, I took on a wonderful old house that needs so much work and now, of course, I need to finish
that work in order to get the best possible price for it when I sell it.’

‘Does your wife know that you are dating?’

‘Yes.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course. I expect her to be doing the same thing. We live in the same house but we are most definitely separated. We haven’t had any intimacy for five years.’

‘Really? You seem very practised at it, despite that.’

‘Glad you think so. Must be beginner’s luck. Maybe we’re just good for each other. Who knows?’ He pulled her to him and began kissing her, stroking her. She held his hand
and halted him.

‘It’s not ideal.’

‘No.’ He looked into her eyes and gave her all the sincerity he could muster. ‘But it’s a good start,’ he continued. ‘And I feel we have a bond already. I
feel . . . well . . . I don’t want to rush things.’ He sat up and got his champagne and sat back to sip it. ‘After all – I don’t know what you want from
me
? I
have a lot at stake here too. You could do this kind of thing all the time – meet men from dating sites and lure them to your house in the country and then God knows what happens!’ She
laughed. He smiled. Grateful to see her mood lighten. Grateful to be let off the hook.