Fatal Frost (26 page)

‘So she was at the hockey match?’ concluded Waters.

‘Well … no,’ said Sidley, wringing her pale hands. On one finger she wore an oversized ring in which the stone had been fashioned to look like an eye. ‘Originally we reported she’d gone to hockey, but upon enquiring further we discovered she wasn’t in fact with the hockey group.’

Waters raised an eyebrow. ‘Is it normal to have quite such a relaxed approach to your pupils’ whereabouts?’

‘Well, Detective …?’

‘Waters.’

‘Waters. We do keep as close a check on our pupils as the regular school day allows, giving due consideration to the age of the girls. After all, these are not infants. Some are mere months away from adulthood.’

‘Legally perhaps,’ Waters said, earning himself a withering look of disdain from Sidley.

‘But in any case, a pupil’s response to discovering that her brother has been found mutilated on a golf course isn’t something we could feasibly foresee, now is it?’

Hard-hearted cow, thought Waters. He was about to express his surprise that someone who worked among young people wasn’t more visibly distressed by recent events, but luckily Frost intervened.

‘If Emily went missing in the early afternoon, she wouldn’t have known Tom was dead. Her parents hadn’t told her yet. All she knew was that he’d disappeared. His parents reported him missing on Tuesday morning, but our Forensics people think
he
was killed at the weekend – keep that to yourself, that’s not been reported in the press.’

‘So, in other words,’ summarized Waters, ‘when she came to school on Wednesday, all Emily knew was her brother had been missing for several days.’

‘Miss Sidley,’ Frost continued, ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that teenage girls run off all the time, often for the oddest reasons, but in this case we’re terribly concerned, and that’s nothing to the anguish her parents are going through. We don’t yet know how Emily’s disappearance is connected to her brother’s. It’s possible she just got scared. Or perhaps there’s something deeper at the heart of it. Anything you could tell us might be of help.’

Sidley reached for another cigarette and slowly fixed it into an ivory holder. ‘You might want to talk to her friends. She’s particularly close to two of the girls here, I understand. On Wednesdays, instead of going home to Denton, Emily always goes to Two Bridges. I believe she attends Girl Guides with her two friends who live there.’

‘I see,’ said Frost. ‘That’s interesting. We interviewed a couple of girls from Two Bridges in connection with another case – the girl found dead beside the train track on Monday morning.’

‘My girls? Which ones?’ Sidley asked, concerned. ‘Wasn’t the girl on the train from Denton Comprehensive?’

Frost was surprised to hear that she was unaware of their enquiries, given that Simms had called the school to verify whether the Two Bridges girls attended St Mary’s. Of course, a secretary would have taken the call, but for the head to be left unaware that the police were asking questions seemed lax. This interview had revealed an unexpected number of holes in St Mary’s procedures, and the head was looking more and more uncomfortable.

‘Sarah Ferguson and Gail Burleigh,’ replied Frost. ‘We’re
appealing
for witnesses. We thought they may have seen the Ellis girl, or even known her.’

Sidley stubbed out her cigarette while processing this information. ‘Well,’ she finally said, ‘I’ve heard nothing in school about this, and couldn’t comment on what or who the girls have seen. But I can tell you that they both know Emily Hardy. They’re the girls she went to Guides with.’

Thursday (3)

‘BLOODY FRENCH!’ ONE
uniformed officer snapped. Wells didn’t catch who said it, as he put down the phone. It had been ringing constantly all morning – either Hartley-Jones again for the super, or the super’s wife, or the flipping press. A bunch of uniform had gathered in the lobby and were noisily debating the latest news from the South Atlantic that had just broken.

‘You can’t say that – we’ve got the same bleedin’ missiles!’ bellowed PC Jordan. The British destroyer HMS
Sheffield
had been hit by an Exocet missile. The Defence Secretary, John Nott, had addressed the House of Commons late last night, and it was all over the wireless this morning.

‘Yeah, but the Frogs gave the Argies the planes, too.’

‘What? Like they just
gave
them away? Don’t think so, mate …’

The phone went again, and Wells waved at the officers to keep it down. ‘Denton Police.’

‘Detective Frost, please,’ said a voice Wells recognized.

‘He’s out, I’m afraid.’

‘It’s Harding from Forensics. We’re at Kenneth Smith’s house.’ The sweep, of course. They’d located his address straightaway since Denton had only two chimney sweeps and both were listed in the
Yellow Pages
. ‘Tell Frost we’ve found no clues to Smith’s movements leading up to the crime, either here or in the van. He’s a bachelor, which doesn’t really help us, and we can’t find an appointment book. Could you be so kind as to let him know?’

‘Looks like we’ll be visiting our young lady friends in Two Bridges again,’ Frost said. ‘First we’d better stop off at the lab to see what Drysdale’s found out about the murdered sweep.’

Frost clumsily reversed the Cortina, narrowly missing an ancient-looking stone lion in the forecourt of St Mary’s. The heatwave had returned with a vengeance, and the car’s vinyl seats were like hot coals.

‘So what are these Girl Guides?’ Waters asked, winding down his window urgently.

‘You know, big Brownies,’ Frost said.

‘You what?’

‘Little girls who do good deeds in brown uniforms – the female version of Boy Scouts. You know, bob-a-job week, and all that.’

‘Sure, I know what Boy Scouts are, the ones who made those tents out of leaves in the woods that Clarke mentioned yesterday.’

‘The very same. Perhaps Brownies and Guides are more of a provincial thing,’ Frost mused, pulling out on to the main road.

‘These Girl Scouts camp too?’

‘I would guess so – though not in the same tent. Why?’

‘On Tuesday, when Simms and I went round to see Gail Burleigh, her snooty old dear was spouting on about how her Gail was one of these Guides. The girl was really embarrassed about it.’

‘What? And neither of you said anything about it last night?’

‘Didn’t think much of it – the girl was so dismissive. We were more concerned with what she was up to on Saturday. Now I think of it, her mother did mention something about camping.’

‘Simms is a clueless dork. He really should have told me this. Good lad in the field, but when it comes to engaging the old grey matter he’s next to useless.’ Frost sighed. ‘Though it’s probably nothing. Just because the golf course is next to the woods it doesn’t definitely follow that the kid was in there. He was just as likely dropped off by a golf buggy. Still, Simms better have a list of all those kids who were in Denton Woods by the time we get back to Eagle Lane … if we ever do get back. Bloody farmers.’

In front of them a tractor was towing a trailer full of pigs. The farmyard smell wafted in through the open Cortina windows. Aah, the English countryside, thought Waters, but as he sank back in the passenger seat his ribs twitched, causing him to grimace.

‘I guess the Scouts might have seen something,’ Waters reasoned, ‘but you don’t honestly think it was them who sliced the kid open, do you?’

‘Why am I driving?’ Frost asked, annoyed, ignoring his question. Turning, he said, ‘Was it the same people who vandalized your car who vandalized your face?’

‘I dunno,’ he said, staring out across the fields.

‘What’s the damage, anyway?’

‘Couple of tyres slashed,’ Waters replied. ‘Don’t worry, it should be sorted by this afternoon.’

‘Coppers, was it?’

Waters didn’t know what to make of Frost’s direct, offhand approach. Perhaps it hid an underlying concern? He wasn’t too sure. ‘It’s possible, I guess.’

‘You
guess
or you
know
?’

‘OK, well, I caught a whiff of aftershave as I hit the deck –
Brut,
I think – and it was certainly familiar.’ Waters turned and looked at Frost’s sweaty profile. ‘I wouldn’t wish to levy accusations without being one hundred per cent certain, but on the other hand …’ The fact that Frank Miller’s green bottle was there taunting him under the shaving mirror at Fenwick Street, and that every morning Miller drenched himself in the stuff, he chose to keep to himself.

‘On the other hand, it’s hard to imagine who else you might have upset in such a short space of time,’ Frost finished the sentence for him. ‘Christ, that bloody truck stinks to high heaven!’

‘Surprised you can tell, given the pong in this motor,’ Waters couldn’t help but say. ‘Could do with a dose of Brut in here.’

‘I beg your pardon, son? Are you saying my vehicle has odour issues?’ Frost retorted.

‘As it happens, I am,’ Waters said.

‘And there’s me thinking you’d let rip.’ Frost smiled. ‘Only joking. There’s not a Jiffy bag down there somewhere, by any chance?’

‘Yep, there’s a package.’ Waters reached down and picked up the Jiffy bag, giving it a squeeze.

‘Forgot about that. It’s a cat for DC Simms.’

Waters froze before chucking the thing to the floor.

‘Dead one,’ Frost added, as if there could be any doubt. ‘I guess the hot weather hasn’t done it much good. I thought the car was a bit ripe this morning myself, in an unkebab-like way.’

‘Ditch it, for Christ’s sake!’ Waters said, aghast.

‘Nah, you keep hold of it, son, young Derek will be eternally grateful to you this afternoon. It belongs to one of Hornrim Harry’s mates, the one who was turned over last weekend. Be hell to pay if we don’t hand it back.’

‘And there won’t be if we hand it back like this?’

‘Good point. Maybe shove it in the fridge – take the edge of it.’ Frost grinned. ‘After all, that’s where it was found.’

* * *

‘Right, here we are, right back where we started,’ Simms said with a hollow laugh. He had the OS map spread out on the car’s bonnet, which was parked at the bottom of a cul-de-sac beside the overgrown entrance to Denton Woods. He and Clarke had set off from here once already, wasting ten minutes traipsing along the path before discovering, when it broke off in three different directions, that they’d forgotten the OS map.

The temperature was rising steadily and the air was humid. Even beneath the shade of the trees it was hot. ‘Are you all right?’ Simms asked.

Clarke was tired already. Her fuzzy head was made worse by the events of yesterday jostling for position. Pangs of guilt and shame kept flooding through her, making her feel like she was going to throw up. Why did she do it? Why did she sleep with a stranger? Initially she’d felt liberated, but as the morning wore on the gloss faded and all that lingered was disgust.

‘I’m fine. Leave me alone,’ she said defensively. ‘I’m not even sure why we’re here. I was here with uniform late yesterday, after they’d trampled all over the bluebells.’ She sighed.

He scrunched up the map and squared up to her. ‘No, I won’t leave you alone – we’re here to do a job. Pull yourself together, bloody drama queen. They only made a cursory sweep to look for clothing. Now we’ve got this’ – he waved the Ordnance Survey map at her – ‘we’re going over the area properly. Got it? God, you stink of booze.’

She was taken aback by his vehemence, and stumbled into a bramble, which caught her bare leg. She winced. Having got up late she’d rushed to get ready, forgetting to think about appropriate clothing. A short, pale-yellow summer dress and open-toed sandals weren’t really the best things for tramping about in Denton Woods.

They set off along the path again, but within seconds the car
radio
crackled into life, a distinct burst of noise in the peaceful surroundings.

‘That’ll be Myles.’ Simms turned on his heel and marched back. He was quite attractive when cross, albeit in a sort of boyish way. He leaned into the car to pick up the handset, his white T-shirt riding up as he did so.

Clarke picked up the map he’d dumped on the ground and walked back to the car with it, unfolding it on the bonnet as Simms had done. It was years since she’d looked at one of these – not since orienteering field trips for geography A level. Frost was right, she thought, flicking her hair behind her ears, you see the terrain differently on a detailed map; the contours of the land – dips and rises – give it proper definition. Yesterday afternoon uniform had been stumbling around blindly. She looked in fascination at the dotted paths, the markings for woodlands and orchards, the strangely named farms and the symbols for churches. Familiar names and sights linked up with less familiar ones to form a complete picture, like the pieces of a jigsaw. How much simpler everything seemed with a bit of perspective.