A Killing Frost (41 page)

   ‘It could have been anyone in the school, Guv - most likely one of the kids. I didn’t run them through the computer.’

   ‘The kids call her Molly, and she’s living with scumbag Patsy Kelly. Suspicion, but not a shred of proof. We need to turn their place over, but Kelly would never let us in without a search warrant. Who’s the duty magistrate this week?’ Morgan consulted the list on the pinboard.

   ‘Alison Miller, Guv.’

   Frost’s face fell. ‘Shit!’ he said.

Frost rubbed his hands together to get his circulation going. It was freezing cold in the back room where old mother Miller had parked him while she finished her meal. He took out his pack of cigarettes, but the clinically clean room hissed its frowning disapproval, so he hastily dropped them back in his pocket and fidgeted in the uncomfortable armchair, watching the hands of the clock on the mantelpiece crawl round. At last the door clicked open and Alison Miller, a heavily built, thick-eyebrowed, grim-looking woman in her late fifties came in to glare down at him.

   ‘You do pick the most inconvenient times, Inspector Frost. I was in the middle of my meal.’

   ‘Sorry mum,’ mumbled Frost. ‘Murderers have no consideration for others.’

   ‘Don’t be flippant and don’t call me “mum” - it’s “ma’am’ if you don’t mind. And please sit in the other armchair - that one has just been re-upholstered after someone’s cigarette burnt a hole in it.’

   ‘Ah - yes. Sorry about that, I couldn’t find an ashtray.’

   ‘The reason you couldn’t find an ashtray, Inspector Frost, was because I do not permit the filthy habit of smoking in this house. You may inform Superintendent Mullett that the bill for the re-upholstery will be forwarded to him for payment as soon as I receive it. So why are you here?’

   Frost pulled the papers from his pocket. ‘If you could just sign this, then you can get back to your nosh.’

   She found her glasses in her pocket and studied the papers carefully. ‘A search warrant, Inspector? Another one of your famous search warrants?’

   ‘Yes,’ said Frost anxiously. ‘If you could just sign where I’ve marked it.’

   ‘I know perfectly well where to sign search warrants, Inspector. Let me remind you that I do not sign these orders automatically. If I am to give the police powers to do a ham-fisted search of someone’s house, probably dumping lighted cigarettes willy-nilly, then I want justification.’

   ‘But of course - ’ began Frost.

   A bony hand waved him to silence. ‘The last two warrants you prevailed upon me to sign - at two o’clock in the morning, as I recall - were a red-hot, cast-iron tip-off from a 100 percent reliable source and two houses jam-packed to the rafters with stolen goods, if I remember your words correctly. And what did you find?’

   ‘Ah . . .’ began Frost before the hand again cut him short.

   ‘You found nothing, Inspector. Nothing at all. You promised faithfully that you would report back to me with the results of the searches, but you were obviously too ashamed to do so.’

   ‘We were so busy . . .’

   ‘A promise is a promise, Inspector. It was on that condition, and that condition only, that I signed the warrants in spite of my misgivings. And then there was that Warrington Road episode.’

   Frost groaned. He knew the old cow would bring that up. Flaming Taffy Morgan getting the address wrong.

   ‘A warrant, signed by me and made out for the wrong address. A perfectly respectable lady, a lay preacher, a member of the Church Council. And you broke into her house in the early hours looking for evidence that she was running a brothel. And you got me to sign the warrant.’

   ‘That’s all in the past - ’ began Frost.

   ‘The very recent past, Inspector. It is no wonder I treat all your requests for search warrants with the greatest suspicion. Just because this woman is called Molly, you want to search her house in the hope that you can find something that will connect her with the murdered girl?’

   ‘Yes,’ nodded Frost.

   ‘Just a name that the girl might or might not have said.’ She folded up the warrant and handed it back to him. ‘You might just as put the names of every woman called Molly into a hat, pull one out and then expect me to sign a search warrant. No, Inspector Frost. You give me some solid evidence first.’

   ‘They could have this other missing girl, Jan O’Brien. I want to get to them first.’

   ‘Then come up with some proof. I’d like you to leave now, Inspector.’

Seething inwardly, Frost stomped out to the car, slamming the front door loudly behind him. He flopped into the front passenger seat. ‘Back to the nick,’ he barked to Morgan.

   ‘Did she sign it, Guv?’

   ‘Just shut your bleeding mouth and drive,’ snarled Frost.

   ‘I’ll take that as a no,’ grinned Morgan.

The Incident Room was hazy with cigarette smoke as Frost paced up and down, waiting for the call from PC Jordan, who was in an unmarked car keeping Kelly’s house under observation.

   Bill Wells came in with two mugs of tea. He looked around the room. ‘Where is everyone?’

   ‘It’s best you don’t know,’ said Frost, taking one of the mugs.

   Wells sat himself down. ‘So she wouldn’t sign the search warrant?’

   ‘That fat, lousy, four-eyed cow . . .’ began Frost.

   ‘To be fair . . .’ soothed Wells.

   ‘I don’t want to be bleeding fair,’ snapped Frost. ‘I’m trying to save the life of a missing schoolgirl, assuming the bastards haven’t already done to her what they did to Debbie Clark - but she says there’s not enough flaming evidence. Do we let a kid die just because there’s not enough bleeding evidence?’

   ‘There’s nothing you can do about it, Jack,’ said Wells.

   ‘Oh yes there flaming is.’

   ‘What?’

   ‘You don’t want to know - trust me, you don’t want to know.’ Frost plucked the cigarette from his mouth and ground it to death on the floor. ‘If that cow won’t sign a search warrant, I’ll search the place without one.’

   ‘Kelly would never agree to that.’

   ‘I don’t intend doing it while Kelly is there.’

   Wells stared at him. ‘You’re not going to break into his house, Jack? You’re not that bloody stupid?’

   Frost sipped his tea and said nothing.

   ‘Jack - Skinner’s back. He phoned from his digs. He could well be coming into the station tonight. If he finds out - never mind kicking you out of Denton, he’d have you booted off the force.’

   ‘Sod Skinner.’

   ‘Jack,’ pleaded Wells, now getting desperate. ‘If you’re caught in that house, any evidence you find will be slung out of court. They’ll say you planted it.’

   ‘I won’t get caught,’ said Frost stubbornly.

   ‘You said you wouldn’t get caught with your fiddled car expenses countered Wells.

   ‘That’s right,’ snorted Frost. ‘Hit me with bleeding common sense. It’s stupid, it’s daft, it’s suicidal, but I’m going to do it. I’ve turned Kelly’s house over enough times. I know my way around it blindfolded, and I know how to get in without leaving a trace.’

   ‘But Jack - ’

   Frost waved him to silence. His radio, which was on the desk in front of him, was squawking. It was PC Jordan.

   ‘Inspector, Kelly and the woman have just left 23 Dunn Street in a light-blue Citroën heading for the town centre.’

   Frost glanced up at the wall clock. Ten thirty-four. ‘They’re going to the Blue Parrot. They go there every Friday night. Keep on their tail. Once they’re inside, radio back and I’ll send someone else to take over the surveillance for when they come out.’

   ‘Roger.’ The radio clicked off.

   ‘What’s this about, Jack?’ demanded Wells. ‘Jordan and Simms are supposed to be checking a suspected flasher at Flint Street.’

   ‘This is more important than a flaming dick-dangler. Kelly and the tart go to the Blue Parrot every Friday night and stay until two o’clock in the morning. That gives me over three clear hours to turn their pad over.’

   ‘You’re mad, Jack. Stark, staring mad. You joined the force to uphold the law, not break it.’

   ‘I didn’t join the force to stand idly by when a kid’s life could be in danger just because some fat cow of a magistrate won’t sign a search warrant.’ Frost unhooked his scarf and yelled down the corridor for Taffy Morgan.

   ‘Yes, Guv?’

   ‘Get your jemmy and a sack marked “Swag”. We’re going to do a spot of house-breaking.’

   ‘You’re taking Morgan with you?’ asked Wells incredulously.

   Frost nodded.

   ‘Then it’s doomed, Jack. It’s flaming doomed.’

No lights were showing from the front of the house as the car cruised past. Frost tapped Morgan’s arm. ‘There’s a road round the rear - next turning on the left. Let’s make sure there’s no sign of life round the back.’

   Morgan drove round to the back street, where a high brick wall with wooden doors fastened on the inside provided a back entrance to the houses. Only one of the houses showed a light. Frost did a quick count: it wasn’t Kelly’s house. He double-checked. He’d be a real right prat if he broke into the wrong house. ‘One last check, Taff,’ he muttered, pulling his mobile phone from his pocket and dialling Kelly’s number. He let it ring and ring before clicking off. ‘No one at home,’ he reported. ‘Park here, Taff, and switch off the lights.’ He looked up at a starless sky. ‘A burglar’s moon. Just what we want.’

   Morgan didn’t share the inspector’s enthusiasm. ‘I don’t like this, Guv.’

   Before Frost could reply, PC Jordan radioed in. ‘I’m at the Blue Parrot, Inspector. Kelly’s parked the car. They’re entering the club now.’

   ‘Keep the car under continuous observation. They shouldn’t be out until gone two, but if they emerge any bleeding earlier, don’t keep it to yourself. Let me know right away. I’ll send someone to relieve you in a couple of hours.’

   Frost lit up a cigarette and noticed that his hand was shaking. His sprained wrist was aching like mad - it was not in an ideal condition for climbing over brick walls, but it was now or never. He rubbed it to ease the pain. An icy blast of chilling premonition that things were going to go badly wrong rippled through his body. ‘Right, Taff, it’s over-the-top time.’

   ‘Do you want me to come with you, Guv?’ asked Morgan, praying for a ‘no’.

   ‘No, Taff. For two reasons. If it all goes pear-shaped it’s better that one silly sod is caught instead of two, and secondly, if you come with me you’re bound to sod things up. Stay in the car with the engine running, and if I come charging out with people screaming behind me, don’t say “What’s going on, Guv?” - just put your foot down and drive the flaming heck out of here - making sure I’m in the bleeding car first.’

   ‘Right, Guv,’ nodded Morgan.

   Frost pinched out his cigarette and dropped it back in the packet. ‘Come on, Taff. Give me a leg up so I can get over the wall, then I’ll unbolt the back door ready for a speedy withdrawal, or coitus interruptus as we call it in the trade.’

   Morgan, too nervous even to grin, heaved the inspector up to the top of the wall. Frost pulled himself to the top, wincing at the pain from his wrist, when – 

   ‘
Shit!
’

   A security light flashed on, flooding the back garden with light. Frost hugged the top of the wall, trying to bury himself into the bricks. Then he gave a sigh of relief as something scuttled along the ground below him. The security light was in the garden of the house next door and had been set off by a cat. Heart hammering, he pressed harder against the top of the wall, waiting for the neighbours to come out to see what had triggered the security light. He waited. Nothing happened. The cat had probably caught them out many times before.

   Sliding over, he dropped down into Kelly’s garden, narrowly missing the cucumber frame that Taffy Morgan would have hit spot on, then he quietly unbolted the back gate and opened it. ‘Back in the car, Taff,’ he said to Morgan. ‘Engine running and ready to get the hell out of here.’

   Morgan nodded and returned to the security of the car.

   Leaving the back gate slightly ajar, Frost made his way up the path towards the rear of the house. It was dark. There were tall wooden fences on each side which meant the chances of him being seen were limited. Crouching down, he hurried to the back door and, ever the optimist, tried the handle. It was locked.

   The old Victorian house had sash windows, which were usually a sod to open quietly. He hoped the catch inside wasn’t on. He managed to get his fingernails under the frame, then his fingers. For a change, his luck was in. The window slid upwards, but in the silence of the night the creaking sound screamed out. Someone must surely hear that. He paused, listening, ready to run - but nothing.

   The beam of his torch travelled around an expensive fitted kitchen in charcoal grey with solid teak worktops. A knee up on the sill and he was inside.

   Again he paused, ears strained. The silence was broken only by the ticking of a clock somewhere in the room and the thudding of his heart.

   He headed to the large, double-doored, American-style fridge-freezer, which was crammed with all sorts of expensive foods and bottles of wine. He helped himself to a strawberry then went straight for the chiller compartment. Nestling next to the tomatoes and salad stuff was a roll of greasy banknotes, just where he expected to find them. Kelly was nothing if not consistent. He riffled through the wad - about six thousand quid. Crime was definitely paying for Kelly. He replaced the notes where he found them and pushed through a door into the dining room, walking across deep-piled, expensive fitted carpet to a massive oak sideboard.

   Frost pulled open a couple of drawers and made a half-hearted search, but his gut feeling was that whatever Kelly had to hide, he wouldn’t keep it in such an obvious place. His gut feeling also told him the missing girl wasn’t in the house. That would be too much to hope for.

   He gave the lounge a quick going-over - a massive forty-two-inch plasma screen dominated the room and there were surround-sound speakers all over the place. A flashy figured walnut cocktail cabinet bulged with wines and spirits.

   He followed his torchbeam up the stairs. First stop the bathroom, where he lifted the ceramic top of the lavatory cistern and took out a water proof bag. Five thousand pounds or more in used banknotes and about twenty small polythene packets of white powder - drugs of some kind. Not what he was looking for. He put them back in the cistern and replaced the lid.