Fatal Frost (12 page)

Desk Sergeant Bill Wells didn’t need to look at the lobby clock to know it had gone 2 p.m. He could tell by the early-afternoon lull. He couldn’t wait for the shift to end. All that nonsense this morning about the skip had got him pretty peeved. On the
upside,
he’d had a recent result on the gee-gees and planned to take the wife for a slap-up meal down the Denton Tandoori on his next day off.

Yes, he thought, between two and three was often the quietest part of the day, as though the villains had an afternoon nap, a bit like half-day closing on Wednesday, or a siesta perhaps. He had hoped to have Johnny Johnson’s portable to listen to the races – he felt another flutter coming on – but with Mullett around, fat chance. He daren’t risk riling him further, especially as he’d failed to do anything about the bloody skip. He hadn’t been able to contact Pooley; he lived in a flat on London Street without a phone.

Suddenly the tranquillity of the afternoon was shattered. An almighty commotion erupted just outside the door, and PCs Baker and Jordan burst through, wrestling a large, red-faced man between them.

‘I ain’t done nothing! I’m telling you – geroff!’ Once he was inside the door the two PCs released the man, who shook himself and tugged down his blue sweatshirt, which had been practically pulled over his head. Wells immediately recognized Steve ‘Mugger’ Moore, a petty felon, as his nickname suggested.

As a younger man Moore had been a roofer, and had worked on some major projects for the New Town development in the late sixties. Then one night in the Cricketers – it must’ve been some time in the early seventies – he’d drunkenly tried to lift a toilet up and launch it out of the window in the style of
One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest
. Wells had been a gawking onlooker, too drunk and meek to put a stop to it. Mugger totally shagged his back and from that point onwards never worked again. He’d turned to drink and Lord knows what else, and here he was now resisting arrest and arguing the odds about some petty crime.

‘Bill, tell ’em I ain’t done nothing, promise.’

Wells raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. His
wife
was still friends with Moore’s missus – they played darts together at the Cricketers.

‘Caught him red-handed in the pawnbrokers up on Merchant Street,’ said Jordan, hair still on end after the tussle. Merchant Street, a side road in North Denton, was one of those streets full of untaxed cars, betting shops and pubs. It also had not one, but two pawnbrokers. ‘Trying to have it away with a carriage clock. What use that would be to him, I’ve no idea.’

‘I was just looking at it, honest.’

‘But can you even tell the time, Stevie old chap? That’s the 64,000-dollar question.’

At that point a heavily perspiring Frost appeared in the lobby, Waters in his wake. ‘Bleedin’ hot one out there today!’

‘Ah, Jack, about time. The super—’

‘Spare me, Bill,’ Frost interrupted. ‘I know he’s anxious to see me, it must be at least an hour since we last spoke.’ He smiled broadly at Jordan and Baker. ‘We’re very close, you know.’ The pair looked blankly at each other.

Suddenly, Moore made a break for it and charged off down the corridor.

‘Blimey, must be caught short,’ Frost said.

‘Think so?’ said Baker, unsure what to do.

‘No, not really.’ Frost rolled his eyes. ‘I think he’s probably about as keen to see me as I am to see the super.’

Wells watched the blank expressions on Baker’s and Jordan’s faces, who after a moment’s hesitation pelted after Moore. Fortunately for them, the hapless felon had quickly been confused by the warren of similar-looking corridors and re-emerged through the swing doors at just that point, running straight into the arms of his would-be captors.

‘Think you’re right, it’s the sight of you, Mr Frost, that’s put him on edge,’ PC Baker said.

Frost grabbed Wells’s glass of water and took a huge gulp. ‘I have that effect on people, I’m afraid, son. But Mr Moore here
is
used to being on edge. In his day, Stevie-boy was on the edge of every roof on the Southern Housing Estate. But now he’s found religion, haven’t you, mate?’

Moore looked ready to burst with pent-up hatred. ‘I dunno what you’re talking about.’

‘Yes, you do. I’ve had the vicar on the horn about his bleeding roof,’ Frost said. ‘Been nicking his lead, haven’t you, you naughty boy.’

Simms sat in Frost’s office waiting for the DS to put in an appearance. The office was dreadfully cluttered, with paper spilling everywhere. Instead of clearing Williams’s yellowing paperwork, of which there was plenty, Frost had simply plonked his own mess on top of the existing piles.

Whilst he’d been in uniform, Simms had loathed the grubby detective, not least because of Sue Clarke’s adoration and her subsequent affair. Now he’d been promoted, he recognized the need to tolerate Frost as a necessary evil in order to get on, and at least give the impression of having some regard for him. But in reality, he still disliked him. It astonished Simms how Frost would wilfully rub Mullett up the wrong way – not that Simms had any great love for Mullett, but he
was
the gaffer, and Simms respected him as such. He couldn’t summon up such respect for Frost, but with DI Allen absent and Frost in charge of CID, he’d have to put up with him for now, at least.

Like a bad penny, the man himself appeared in the doorway. ‘Right, what you got? Anything?’

‘The taxi driver, Feltham, I finally caught up with him down by the station. He remembered dropping both girls off in the Two Bridges area. He gave me rough addresses.’

‘So, posh, were they?’ Frost asked. Two Bridges was a hamlet towards Rimmington. Simms, though unfamiliar with it, knew it to be well-heeled.

‘He didn’t say.’

‘Age?’

‘Teens. He wasn’t specific. It was dark, I guess.’

‘The other driver I spoke to reckoned they were drunk. Did your guy confirm this?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘What was he, a mute?’ Frost stared at Simms directly.

‘Sorry.’ The DC fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. With barely any effort the old git had made him feel inadequate. ‘I did run out to Two Bridges and I tried some houses, but there was nobody home.’

‘Late or early teens?’

‘He didn’t …’ A glare from Frost prevented him finishing the sentence.

‘Well, if they’re early teens, then they’re probably still at school. My guess would be St Mary’s, the private place out that way. If they’re late teens, then where they are is anybody’s guess – St Tropez, perhaps?’ Frost rolled up his sleeves, perspiration patches visible under his arms. His forehead was beaded with sweat. Christ, it was only May, what would he be like in July? Frost offered Simms a Rothmans, which he declined. ‘Yes, my hunch is it’s very unlikely these two knew our poor Samantha Ellis, a mere Denton Comp girl.’

‘Shall I go back?’ Simms said. ‘To Two Bridges, I mean.’

Frost took a seat in Bert Williams’s old, moth-eaten chair. ‘If you think you have the correct addresses, give St Mary’s a call. That will soon answer that.’

‘Right you are.’

‘I know the headmistress,’ Frost mused, a twinkle in his eye. ‘She’s got a soft spot for me. If it turns out our girls do go there, I’ll follow it up later.’

Smug bastard, Simms thought. The woman must be blind, and not the only one, either. What on earth did they see in him?

‘DS Waters is in with Hornrim Harry, being given an
induction.
Let me know when he’s finished his talking-to. Decent bloke, that Waters.’

‘Yeah, he’s all right for a …’ Simms checked himself, not knowing where Frost stood with the coloureds.

‘For a
what
?’ Frost said. ‘A black bloke? All the same to me, whatever the colour.’

The subject prompted Simms to remember something that he’d previously given little thought to. ‘My kid brother, David, is at Hendon. He says there’s a couple black fellers in training there. Apparently they get a hell of a time. They tied this one chap up and gave him a right pasting.’

‘Well, if anything like that goes on here, I want to know about it, you hear?’

Simms nodded.

‘Oh, I nearly forgot – any joy from British Rail on the lost-property front?’

‘Yes, they found a girl’s sequinned bag at the depot,’ Simms said hastily, pulling out his note pad. ‘Smoking carriage at the front.’

‘Anything in it?’

‘A paperback book, ten Silk Cut, a pair of sunglasses, a sunhat and a Sony Walkman.’

‘A what?’

‘A portable cassette player – you know, with headphones.’ From Frost’s expression it was obvious that he didn’t. ‘Like those Dictaphones they dished out last month, but for listening to music.’

Frost rubbed his damp brow and lit another cigarette. This time Simms took one.

‘So, let’s assume the bag’s hers. Fingerprints on the Walkman and so on will confirm that. Was all the stuff – the book and cassette recorder – inside the bag when it was found by the cleaner?’

Simms nodded; he hadn’t heard any different.

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘If you’re travelling alone, you’d be reading maybe, or your Walkman would be out. So, if those items had been found outside the bag, we could deduce she’d been taken by surprise. But they weren’t.’

‘In that case,’ said Simms, ‘it seems more likely she jumped.’

‘Unless, of course, someone put them back in the bag to give that impression—’

‘Not disturbing anything, am I?’ DS Waters appeared in the doorway.

‘Come in, John,’ Frost said amiably. Simms moved his seat across to allow the man into the cramped office.

‘Jack, Superintendent Mullett would like a word.’

‘If only it was simply one word it wouldn’t be so bad, but it never is.’ Just then the phone rang. ‘Saved by the bell.’ Frost rooted around his untidy desk, finally pulling at the cord to coax out the beige handset. ‘Yeah, all right.’ He covered the mouthpiece, mouthing the name ‘Baskin’. ‘All right. No, I won’t. All right. Course. Ta.’ He replaced the receiver. ‘It seems Mark Fong failed to turn up for his shift at the Pink Toothbrush.’

Frost was addressing Waters; Simms was out of the loop.

‘Who?’ Simms asked.

‘Chinese kid. We think he was on Samantha Ellis’s train on Saturday night. He’s living at the Jade Rabbit but he works on the side for Baskin, doing odds and sods at his new place.’

‘What, the one Mullett was banging on about, the massage parlour? Where Sue got jabbed?’ Simms asked.

‘That’s the one. DS Waters and I bumped into Mark Fong outside his uncle’s takeaway place. But he seemed in a bit of a hurry, and didn’t want to stop for a chat.’

‘Jack nearly caused a pile-up pegging it down Queen Street after him.’ Waters laughed. He pulled off a tinny from a four-pack of lager and offered it around. ‘Still cold.’

‘Let me guess,’ Simms said as he pulled off the ring. ‘He got away?’

‘It was close. Of course he would never have outrun me if a Volvo hadn’t got in the way.’ They all sniggered. ‘Where did you get these beers? Hornrim Harry give them to you?’

‘Picked them up after our jog, while you were grilling the guy in the takeaway.’

‘Nice one. Well’ – Frost gulped – ‘Uncle Fong confirmed Harry’s story that junior was up in town on Saturday seeing his sick grandma.’

‘Why would he hare off, then?’ Simms asked.

‘Exactly. I’ve got the granny’s address in here, somewhere in Chinatown. But even if it checks out, it doesn’t rule out him chucking pretty girls off trains on his way home.’ Frost searched his pockets. ‘Here,’ he said, handing a crumpled piece of paper to Simms. ‘Meanwhile, I’d better go and see our beloved leader.’

Frost downed the lager, belched loudly, kneed the empty can towards the bin and missed.

After he’d left, Simms squinted at the tatty piece of paper torn from a notebook. ‘I can’t figure out how he ever made sergeant with handwriting like this.’

‘Here, give it to me,’ said Waters, placing his lager can precariously on a pile on the unkempt desk. ‘I know someone in that manor, Soho, who can check it out for us. Chuck us that phone.’

‘Right,’ said Mullett, ‘this has got to be quick. I’ve been waiting for you all day.’

Mullett’s agitation wasn’t due solely to Frost’s elusiveness; there was still his wife’s list of chores to contend with, which he’d yet to make a start on. It was imperative he got away in time to call in at the dry cleaner’s, but he was hardly about to share this information with Frost; indeed, he had never discussed his wife with anyone at Eagle Lane. Likewise, he certainly had no
interest
in what any of his underlings got up to in their private life.

Frost took a seat. ‘I’m all ears,’ he said, with his typical air of irreverence.

Mullett felt his eye begin to twitch. ‘What’s happening about Baskin’s sauna place?’

Frost frowned in puzzlement.

‘After-hours shenanigans – the soliciting allegations?’ Mullett persisted. ‘It’s only a matter of time before we get serious complaints.’

‘Well, I’ve nothing to report.’

‘Nothing to report full stop, or nothing to report because you’ve done nothing?’