Fatal Frost (25 page)

He rubbed his stubbly chin thoughtfully and considered the stacks of files on the desk in front of him, and which pile to tackle first. If he could crack these bloody muggings he’d score points with Mullett and could then get on with something more meaty. There was plenty to go around, and Simms wanted a piece of it.

Still, first things first. There was literally daylight robbery occurring on the streets of Denton, and it needed to be sorted. But was he any closer to a breakthrough? Would a disgruntled paperboy hold up his own employer? No, it was just too obvious. He scratched his head and reached for his cigarettes. He didn’t have much time; Clarke had just called to say that Frost had also assigned her to the woods expedition, and that she’d meet him in an hour. She was stopping first at the bookshop on Market Square to buy an Ordnance Survey map, as per the DS’s instructions. She sounded stroppy as hell. Whatever it was he had once seen in her, that seemed a distant memory now. Frost was welcome to the moody cow. She nearly bit his head off when he asked if she’d checked out the Scout leaders about their troop movements last weekend as Frost had asked. Myles was going to take her own car and meet them there.

He sighed at all the files on his desk. On the left were files
of
all known juvenile offenders from the last eighteen months; and to his right were Clarke and Myles’s list of kids expelled in the current school year and their personal files. Simms drew heavily on the stale Rothmans he’d found – one left behind by Frost – and frowned; the tedious task of cross-referencing lay before him.

Maybe he could just grab a gyppo off the Bath Road site and have done with it? The thieving baskets were always nicking stuff, so who would argue? Mullett would certainly back him and Frost had other things on his mind.

‘Morning,’ Waters said flatly, and the sight of him caused Simms to almost choke on his cigarette in shock.

‘Bloody hell, what happened to you!’ Waters’ right eye was badly swollen.

‘Tripped over,’ he said dismissively, lighting up a JPS.

‘Come off it,’ Simms said. ‘A shiner like that. Someone’s given you a pasting.’

Waters shrugged. ‘Any word from Frost? I was supposed to meet him here at eight. Had a spot of car trouble.’

Simms looked at the wall clock. It was gone nine. The police accommodation was little more than a five-minute walk away. ‘What – did you push it to a garage, or something?’

Waters waved off answering.

‘What happened?’ Simms insisted, determined to elicit some proper answers. There was clearly something very wrong. ‘OK, let me guess. You were out with a bird last night. A white bird.’

Waters winced in pain as he gradually lowered himself into his chair.

‘Denton isn’t exactly the cosmopolitan melting-pot you’re used to. The only place people see a face like yours is on
The Black and White Minstrel Show
and on marmalade jars.’

‘And on
Love Thy Neighbour
,’ Waters added wryly.

‘Yeah, exactly. It’s fine so long as it’s on the other side of the TV screen. Hope she was worth it. Are you OK?’

‘It’s not that bad. This’ – he pointed to his eye – ‘was from the kerb—’

‘Time to sit around and chat, have we?’ Superintendent Mullett suddenly loomed before them, his uniform as impeccable as ever. Just looking at him made Simms feel he needed a bath.

Simms reached to pick up the phone, thinking now would be an appropriate time to wheel the mugging victims in to trawl through the photo files. ‘Excuse me, sir, urgent call to make,’ he said, flicking hurriedly through his notepad as he tried to find the estate agent’s phone number, leaving Waters to chew the fat with Mullett.

Thursday (2)

CHRIS EVERETT WAS
at his wits’ end, and hadn’t slept a wink on Wednesday night. After his initial feelings of outrage at having been mugged by a bunch of kids – the jab with the knife was nothing, barely a scratch – panic swiftly ensued. Clearly, given what was in the briefcase, he needed to completely detach himself from the crime, and of all the rotten luck, it was witnessed by a plainclothes copper, just passing in the street. To cap it all, DC Simms from Denton CID had just requested he come in to go through photos and maybe even a line-up, along with ‘other unfortunates’, as the detective called them. Well, none of them was as bloody unfortunate as him, he thought, sipping his fourth coffee of the day.

Originally he thought that placing the video recorders in the chimney sweep’s van was a good idea, a great idea, in fact. A red herring, leading the police to assume the old boy was mixed up with dodgy dealings. That, of course, was before there’d been the slightest risk of Everett being caught for house-breaking.
Those
bloody kids. His carefully woven plans were starting to unravel all over the place.

He looked nervously out through the plate-glass of his office into the open-plan area beyond. The girls were going about their business, placing new listings in the window, but they knew something was up; he knew they knew. He shouldn’t have cancelled that viewing at Two Bridges. Keep things looking normal no matter what, that was the answer. He looked down at the list of clients:
Mullett, 3 Wessex Crescent
. The name was familiar, but he couldn’t think why.

Those kids – those little bastards who grabbed his case – got more than they could ever have bargained for, more than an empty sandwich box and a copy of the
Denton Echo
, which is what he’d told the police the case contained. Suppose they handed themselves in, terrified they’d robbed a villain? No, they’d lie low, realizing they’d been lucky. Which was more than could be said for him. It was unheard of, daylight robbery in a nice part of Denton, where respectable, well-to-do people lived. People who murdered chimney sweeps.

The phone rang, and he could see Vicky through the glass mouthing something at him. As well as cancelling the viewing, he’d said he didn’t want to be disturbed because of bad toothache. He cringed at how lame it sounded. He gestured to Vicky to put the call through.

He sat in silence for what seemed like eternity, waiting for the caller to speak, expecting the police again.

‘Christopher?’ It was Fiona, his wife. ‘Christopher, are you there, darling?’

‘Yes, darling, I’m here. What is it?’ he snapped. He was relieved it was only his wife but irritated with her for disturbing him at the same time.

‘Darling, you know when that chappie was working on the chimney on Tuesday, did he say there was a problem?’ Everett sat looking intently at the surface of the fake-wood desk.
‘Darling?
I can still hear cooing. Did you hear me? The pigeon, darling, I can still hear it cooing.’

Waters ejected Frost’s jazz cassette and rooted around in the glove box for something more current. He could have brought something from the Vauxhall, but he had other things on his mind.

As well as a slight hangover he was still dazed from the attack last night. He knew he’d made a mistake going to
that
pub with Myles. A police pub with a very cute female police officer; how dumb was that? He’d let his guard down; he’d been lulled by Denton’s simplicity and Myles’s carefree confidence. Yes, just for a brief moment he’d started to enjoy life – more fool him. He felt OK in himself, but it was the slashed tyres on the Vauxhall that really hurt. He loved that car.

12 Gold Bars
by Status Quo. It would have to do. He slipped the cassette in, and wound down the window too to get rid of the unpleasant smell. He’d not been in Frost’s Cortina before, having driven the Vauxhall yesterday. Whatever it was, the smell was pretty pungent, and even the volume of cigarettes that was clearly smoked inside the car – the velour roof was stained yellow – was unable to mask it. Could be anything in this motor, he thought; the footwell was full of discarded fast-food cartons. Jesus, something could be living in there. Waters reached under the seat to adjust the leg room, nudging a sizeable Jiffy bag out of the way as he did so.

‘What the bleedin’ hell is this?’ Frost spluttered as he climbed back in after stopping to buy some cigarettes. ‘Heavy Metal?’

‘Chill your boots,’ Waters said. ‘It’s just music.’

‘Bit loud!’

‘I found it in your glove box.’

‘Must be Arthur’s,’ Frost said, his glance briefly taking in Waters’ black eye. ‘Got a bit of rhythm this, actually. The jazz didn’t really do it for me, I must admit. The tape was my
mother’s.
More curious to know what she listened to as much as anything …’

To Waters’ surprise Frost had failed to remark on his bruised face when he’d picked him up from Eagle Lane twenty minutes ago. Mullett had ignored it too, but that was less of a surprise; with Frost he felt he’d built up some kind of rapport. Up to now he’d found him chatty and jolly; today he was subdued and uncommunicative. Waters doubted he was the sort to be troubled by a murder scene – the sweep’s was the third dead body Frost had seen this week alone – but he didn’t feel he knew him well enough to ask if there was anything troubling him.

So he’d changed the music in the hope of sparking off a conversation. But after the surprise mention of his mother, Frost had become sullen and lost in thought again.

They were now on the way to St Mary’s, to check the background of Emily Hardy, Tom’s sister, who was still missing. Uniform had been all over the school yesterday, but Frost was determined to see the headmistress for himself. Apparently they’d crossed swords before. No surprise there, thought Waters; everywhere in Denton he seemed to be a well-known character.

They drew to a halt at the end of the sweeping drive. The school was by far the strangest place Waters had come across since arriving in the area. A musty old Victorian edifice, the like of which he’d seen only in black and white films.

Girls stopped to stare wide-eyed as the incongruous figure of DS Waters – over six feet tall, chestnut skin, bruised and swollen face – stepped over the stone threshold.

‘Boo!’ he said, grinning at a gaggle of girls who were loitering in the polished hallway. They burst into giggles and ran off.

‘Told you you’d go down a treat here. The headmistress may take a shine to you – but watch it, she’s into taxidermy. Before you know it, you’ll be stuffed and mounted as a curiosity.’

The ancient school porter showed them into Sidley’s study. She was staring out of the window, smoking a cigarette, and as they entered she turned. Dressed from head to toe in black, she struck a tall, elegant, slightly Gothic figure. A teased mane of mulberry-coloured hair framed an angular face of the type that would sooner raise an eyebrow than a smile.

‘Sergeant Frost,’ she said, ‘it’s been a while.’ She failed to acknowledge Waters. He shrugged off the slight and instead took in the peculiar array of stuffed objects – an owl, a raven – placed around the bookcase-lined office.

‘Yes,’ Frost was saying. ‘I considered applying for the PE instructor vacancy but I wasn’t sure I had the physique for it.’

‘Well, don’t hold your breath,’ she answered curtly. ‘I assume you’re here about this?’ She was indicating the copy of the
Denton Echo
on the enormous, empty oak desk.

Frost picked up the paper and read the headline:
Teenage Boy Found Mutilated by Golfing Chief of Police
. Ha – Mullett would love that. So much for the press conference. ‘Yes, it’s about the lad’s sister, Emily, a pupil of yours. Must keep a better grip on your girls – they’re forever going astray.’ He tutted.

‘Yes, your uniformed colleagues were here yesterday – quite a few of them. Very upsetting for the girls.’

‘Of course,’ Frost said gently. ‘They can be a bit heavy-handed at times. In fact, that’s part of the reason I’m here … and of course to see you again, Miss Sidley.’

Waters was taken aback. Was Frost flirting with the old dragon? An ageing Morticia Addams who surrounded herself with stuffed carcasses?

‘Yes,’ Frost continued. ‘There seems to be some confusion among my colleagues regarding the time young Emily disappeared. As I’m sure you understand, it’s crucial to our inquiry to know whether she went missing before or after learning of her brother’s death.’

‘She was here first thing for assembly and when the register was called in the morning, but she did not attend afternoon lessons.’

‘Did nobody notice her absence?’

‘She was going to the afternoon hockey match, so anyone who knew that would not have thought it odd that she wasn’t in school.’