Fatal Frost (2 page)

Despite the bank holiday Mullett had felt obliged to come in. Assistant Chief Constable Winslow’s new chap was turning up today. And of course, Denton’s new golf club would not open until later in the week, which had an impact on his decision; though not long to go now, he thought as he smiled to himself – the members’ private viewing of the new clubhouse was this coming Wednesday. But without his golf, and with Mrs M being away in Dorset, he was admittedly at a bit of a loose end. That reminded him … He pulled from his breast pocket the list his wife had left on the kitchen table:

Pick up cleaning
.

Key to estate agent
.

Filter for aquarium
.

Back Thursday! Love Gx

He stroked his moustache thoughtfully again. Clearly all would be in disarray at Eagle Lane, as it always was without him. It would keep them on their toes, him turning up unexpectedly
like
this. He spotted Wells in heated discussion with contractors outside the still closed rear entrance to the station and shook his head in despair.

The contractors’ red Transit was sloppily parked in the disabled bay, next to a Cortina, presumably Frost’s. The builders were already running drastically behind schedule and Mullett had stopped any further advances for materials until substantial progress had been made, which was probably why they’d had to show up on a bank holiday Monday. Heaven knows why Winslow had recommended he use this bunch of cowboys.

‘Wells!’ Mullett called out irritably. ‘I say, Wells!’ The desk sergeant looked towards him, made a placatory gesture to the tradesmen and hurried over.

‘What’s going on here?’

‘Builders, sir,’ the breathless sergeant answered, sweat already forming on his brow. Despite it being only 8.30 in the morning, the sun already had strength.

‘I can see that. But what are you doing out here? PC Pooley has been designated responsibility for coordinating building repairs. If you’re here, who’s on the front desk?’

As Sergeant Wells stuttered an answer Mullett noticed Winslow’s ‘protégé’ from the Met, DS Waters, emerging from a green Vauxhall. He didn’t like this one bit. Call him old-fashioned, but Stanley Mullett knew what was what, and this would be problematic, of that he was sure. Not that he was prejudiced, like the bald, bespectacled Assistant Chief Constable. He watched the tall, black officer, casually clad in denims, make his way round to the front of the building.

Wells noticed the super’s distraction and gave up on his excuses, clearing his throat before starting again. ‘There’s an issue over the new back door, sir.’

Mullett looked at him scornfully.

‘It has to meet certain criteria – regulations – which go beyond your budget …’

‘What regulations?’ Mullett snapped.

‘Health and Safety – it needs to be a fire door, which means the lintel or support has—’

‘Safety? Fire regulations? It’s a door, Sergeant. A door. The last one was blown to kingdom come. Do these halfwits understand nothing?’ He gestured in the direction of two string-vested individuals, idling and drinking tea. ‘I don’t have time for this nonsense; just deal with it! Oh, and Wells, the “travellers” have returned again. They appear to be setting up camp in the fields off the Bath Road. Get uniform down there to put the wind up them a bit.’

‘What, gyppos, sir?’

‘Caravans, horses, dogs and unwashed children,’ Mullett said with distaste. ‘Spotted them on my way in. Just let them know we’ll be watching their dirty hides.’

DC Sue Clarke took a seat in the briefing room next to DC Kim Myles, a feisty blonde who’d recently transferred from Rimmington. The windows were open, but the dust still hung in the air. They’d quickly become accustomed to the drilling, hammering and general building-site noise now the renovation work had started, but it was near impossible to ignore the clouds of asbestos, or whatever it was, that clawed at the back of the throat.

Mullett was already in full flow, but Clarke found it hard to drag her mind into focus. She was still dwelling on the weekend and the conversation-stroke-row she’d had with DS Frost.

Anyway, Mullett, who was addressing an audience less than thrilled at his impromptu briefing, was only droning on about staff changes, most of which she’d heard before. DS Frost was to assume a larger role – good for him, but the downside was that this would make it even harder for them to spend time together. She wasn’t sure if that would bother Frost. He seemed content with a bunk-up midweek, asking for nothing more. It wasn’t as
if
he was spending the rest of his time with that tart of a wife of his; he wasn’t – he was always working. If his modus operandi was more orderly, she fumed to herself, he might spend less time in the CID offices.

Superintendent Mullett continued to bleat on. Something about gypsies, then staffing issues again – DI Allen away on a computer course, DC Hanlon off on compassionate leave, a reminder of her ex-boyfriend Derek Simms’s recent promotion to CID. She still found the thought of that mortifying.

Suddenly all thoughts of Simms and even of Jack Frost were swept from her mind at the incongruous sight of a tall, black officer stepping up on to the dais alongside Mullett.

‘… and although Simms’s promotion last month has solved a certain amount of our short-staffing, we are still a senior officer down, so it’s extremely fortuitous that we now have DS Waters on loan from Bethnal Green. This is part of a new Home Office initiative called “Ethnic Diversification”. I’d like you all to give DS Waters a warm welcome to Denton Police Division.’

There were a couple of half-hearted claps, but Clarke also detected muffled sniggers and murmurs.

‘We’ll have none of that here!’ snapped Mullett. ‘Equal opportunities for all is the policy of Denton Division, and you’ll be impressed to hear that Detective Waters has received a commendation for his undercover work in the East End.’

‘Working at night, was he?’ someone quipped.

Clarke inspected DS Waters. He towered over Mullett, who was hardly a shorty, making him 6 foot 4 at least. He stood upright and stoic, but the faintest of smiles was playing along his lips, as if to say, Just you wait. She felt a dig in the ribs and turned to see Kim Myles grinning lasciviously. What on earth?

‘Order! I will have order!’ Mullett had turned puce. He twatted the little stick he insisted on using at briefings at the incident board like some uppity NCO. ‘The next man to even
smirk
will be on a charge for insubordination. And that goes for any further incidence of this disgraceful behaviour outside this room.’ The meeting fell silent. ‘Good, I’m glad we have an understanding.’ He paused. ‘DS Waters will be working with’ – Mullett rapidly scoured the room in search of a suitable partner – ‘DC Simms.’

Clarke glanced over at Simms, who she could tell was groaning inwardly. PC Baker, his old mate from uniform, patted him on the back, grinning like the moron he was. What an inspired choice, Clarke thought to herself – Simms had only been in CID a month. No chance Mullett would assign Waters to a
woman
– God forbid.

‘The pair of you can get straight over to Forest View. Another break-in – the third such instance in less than a month. Forensics and uniform are there now.’

‘Do we have anything to go on, sir?’ Simms asked. ‘A pattern, maybe?’

‘Perhaps,’ Mullett said.

As far as Clarke was aware, DI Allen had been handling the spate of house break-ins Denton had suffered of late, until he’d buggered off to play computer games, that is.

‘In the first case in Forest View, the family dog, a Pekinese, was garrotted with something akin to cheese wire. This time we have a dead cat.’

‘Strangled?’ Simms asked.

‘That’s for you to find out.’ Mullett paused, as if for effect. ‘I want you to give top priority to this case. The victims happen to be friends of mine, and I have given the Hartley-Joneses my personal assurance that we’ll find the culprit swiftly. I want this investigation to be the very definition of exemplary policing,’ he emphasized pointedly, glaring at Simms. ‘Besides, we can’t have this class of people …
assaulted
in this fashion, in such an exclusive area of Denton. This is not the Southern Housing Estate.’

What a snob, thought Clarke. So much for equality in the eyes of the law.

‘Now, moving on. DC Clarke, one for you to follow up. We’ve had a number of complaints from residents about the Pink Toothbrush, this new sauna and massage parlour on the corner of Foundling Street …’

‘But that’s not in a residential area, sir,’ Clarke said half-heartedly, trying to seem interested. Where the hell was Jack, she wondered.

‘What about the flats in Baron’s Court?’ Simms interjected. ‘They overlook the car park at the rear.’ He turned and gave her a sly smile. ‘Folks reckon it might be a knocking shop; soliciting in the car park.’

‘People know it goes on,’ Clarke said. ‘But if there’s not a disturbance, why the fuss?’

‘Worth checking out,’ Simms said with a smirk.

Arsehole
, she thought.

Mullett, of course, nodded his approval, smoothing his moustache and adding, ‘Get your friend Frost to help. His old adversary Harry Baskin is bankrolling the place.’

Clarke flushed. She hated any reference at the station to her relationship with Frost, although, as it happened, the remark was probably innocent. Catty jokes were hardly the superintendent’s style.

Mullett banged his papers on the lectern, signalling the end of the briefing. Chairs scraped back and officers began talking amongst themselves. Clarke watched as Simms approached DS Waters, extending his hand. Kim Myles nudged her again.

‘What d’you reckon there, then?’ Myles said slyly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Bit of all right, him.’

‘What, Derek Simms?’ Clarke replied absently, noticing
that
Frost hadn’t done his usual trick of creeping in late at the back of the briefing room. Mullett hadn’t even remarked on his absence. Maybe she’d missed something.

‘No, stupid … the dark feller,’ Myles said over her shoulder, as both women made for the door.

‘Oh right – yeah, very cute.’ The girl’s a nympho, she thought. She changed the subject. ‘You know DS Frost – did you see him in there?’

‘Weren’t you listening?’ Myles said, lighting a cigarette in the corridor outside the Ladies. ‘Dead girl out by the railway track – Frost is out there with Maltby now.’

DC Derek Simms shook the powerful hand offered with all the confidence he could muster. He’d only been in CID a month; having this thrown at him was all he needed. A commended officer from the Met.
Jesus!
And a black one at that. He’d be a laughing stock. The big man grinned amiably, or so it appeared, although Simms wondered whether he was taking the piss, like everyone else seemed to do since his promotion. They left the briefing room together and made for the exit, passing Baker, Simms’s ex-beat colleague, in the corridor. Simms caught the surreptitious snigger as Baker disappeared towards the canteen. Idiot, he thought.

‘So what brings you to Denton, John?’ Simms asked as they entered the car park.

‘Home Office initiative – they need a token black man in the provinces.’ Simms looked puzzled so Waters continued. ‘The powers-that-be want more ethnics in the force, the better to relate to the villains, so they’re farming us out in the hope of attracting recruits. Your man Winslow didn’t seem too pleased about it. Said there wasn’t much call for my type of qualities here in Denton.’

‘There’s none of your “type” here, that’s for sure – you’ll
stand
out like a sore thumb. As for your qualities, Sarge, I wouldn’t know,’ Simms said. Waters shrugged as they stood beside Waters’ green Vauxhall.

‘VX4/90 – nice motor,’ Simms commented. ‘Pretty pokey, too. Is that standard CID issue in Bethnal Green?’

‘Ha. Not standard – guess you could say there is no standard. Drove up this morning.’

‘Well, there is here. Would love to go for a spin sometime, if that’s OK with you? Better head off in mine for now until you get to know the area.’

‘I need to dump my stuff off at Fenwick Street. Know it?’

‘Yeah, Plod Park: coppers’ housing.’ Jesus, he’d be living with the guy, too. ‘You’d better do that later, Sarge; we’re heading for somewhere a bit more upmarket first.’

Monday (2)