Fatal Frost (31 page)

Everett relaxed; that was his wife off his back, at least. But the missing briefcase was still a problem. Fiona knew nothing about the mugging and his summons to the police station. Nor would she – he would fob her off with a tale about an evening viewing when he left in half an hour or so.

He had to be at the station at six. Just thinking about it, he started to tense up again. He would say he didn’t recognize anyone – the last thing he wanted was the little bastards being caught.

‘Nice of him to pop by,’ Frost muttered as Mullett left the Incident Room. Clarke noticed a tangible sense of relief as the superintendent stormed out. Desk Sergeant Bill Wells had interrupted him in full flow with the news that Mrs Mullett’s car had broken down on the M3.

‘Now, from one pain in the arse to another – Social Services. What’s all this about the Burleigh girl?’

‘Not a pain in the arse yet, Jack,’ Waters said. ‘I just overheard her old man banging on about procedures regarding questioning a minor. It’s illegal without Social Services’ involvement, he reckons.’

‘Probably a mistake bringing her in. Maybe we should have called round. But she’s here now, anyway. Clarke and myself will have a chat,’ he said, undaunted.

Clarke regarded Frost with affection. There was something
endearing
in that hapless but determined approach of his. Here he was juggling three, possibly four fatalities – Ken Smith, Samantha Ellis, Tom and Emily Hardy – fielding everything that came his way, and despite spending half the time looking lost and desperate, he always kept going. She didn’t know how he did it. She felt lost herself, but had the likes of him to look to for support. Jack would always win through, somehow. His drive and dedication was unfaltering.

The phone went. It was Desk Sergeant Bill Wells.

‘DC Simms,’ said Frost, ‘it appears you have visitors.’

‘Shit – that’ll be the robbery victims, here to go through mugshots.’ Simms lifted his feet off the desk.

‘You’d better get on with it, then. Waters and Myles, get over to Denton Close and the surrounds. Check the corner shops first, they might still be open.’

The phone rang again. ‘Flamin’ hell, anyone would think we’ve got nothing better to do than answer the phone. Yes?’ he snapped.

‘Jack, it’s Mrs Ellis …’

‘Tell her I’ll call her back.’ No doubt she was terribly upset at the
Denton Echo
headlines – claiming her daughter’s death was suicide – and rightly so. He should have called round first.

‘She says she called you yesterday too—’

‘I’ll ring back tonight, I promise,’ he said, nudging his coffee mug across the blotter and underlining the word ‘Ellis’ that he’d written the previous evening.

Thursday (8)

EVERETT SAT IN
the lobby of Denton police station. It occurred to him that he’d never actually been in a police station before. He had no preconceived ideas of how one should be, but somehow the magnolia emulsion struck him as peculiar.

Next to him on the bench was an Asian gentleman, softly mumbling to himself. Overhead the wall clock ticked steadily. He flinched as something touched his neck; one corner of a warning poster – something to do with beetles – had lost its fixing on the noticeboard behind them.

The revolving door spun and a middle-aged man walked up to the front desk. He was asked to join Everett and the Asian man on the bench.

The door went again and in came a gaunt officer in uniform, immediately followed by the man whose portrait Everett had seen all over the Wessex Crescent property this afternoon, the moustachioed policeman off the TV. He was in the middle of berating the younger fellow, something to do with a skip and a damaged wall, but after laying eyes on three men seated
beneath
the noticeboard, he stopped in his tracks. Everett was alarmed to see him standing there, one hand on hip, the other stroking his moustache. His glare was menacing. But it was over in an instant and he marched off yelling, ‘Wells!’, giving the man behind the front desk a start. Everett guessed he was the next unlucky victim of the angry fellow’s wrath.

The young detective in denims who’d found Everett in the street had appeared before them. ‘Sorry to keep you, if you’d all like to come this way.’

They looked at one another, realizing for the first time that they were all victims. Everett felt decidedly uneasy. He followed the CID man down the corridor, just wanting to get this risky situation over with. Suddenly, through a swing door came the scruffy guy he’d seen at the train station. By the looks of him he hadn’t shaved since Everett had almost bashed him with his briefcase on Monday. Everett looked away far too obviously, which triggered from the man a cursory glance of suspicion.

‘Right, Bill.’ Frost banged his fist on the desk, causing Desk Sergeant Bill Wells to jump again. Before him were DS Frost and DS Waters. ‘Where’s this teenage girl, then? Not under there, is she, giving your shoes a polish?’ Frost rapped his knuckles on the desk surface.

‘Don’t do that, Jack. The super’s been doing my pieces all afternoon,’ Wells said, rubbing his forehead. ‘The skip-hire people have taken the wall off the garage next door. The girl and her father are in Interview Room 2. DC Simms has number 1.’

‘Yes, with his robbery victims. A motley-looking trio, they are,’ Frost mused. ‘The shifty-looking blond chap – he definitely looked familiar.’

‘Everyone looks familiar to you, Jack,’ Wells said. ‘It doesn’t mean they’ve done anything. You’re too suspicious for your own good.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong, Bill. Everyone’s done something wrong at some point – even you. Isn’t that so, Johnny boy?’

‘Reckon so. Life’d be dull otherwise.’

‘Looks like it’s not been dull for John just lately. Nice shiner you got there,’ Wells said, noticing Waters’ black eye. ‘Would have to have been a big lad brave enough to have a crack at you.’

‘Big or not, we’ll have them. What are you still doing here anyway, Waters? Where’s that little blonde strumpet?’ Frost joked.

‘Powdering her nose,’ Waters replied.

‘I bet she is, and the rest. Try not to get beaten up this time – at least not until you’ve finished your house calls.’

Wells shook his head despairingly and answered the phone which had been ringing throughout the exchange. Its shrill jangle had been almost constant throughout the day – in fact, it had reached the stage where he was more aware of it when it wasn’t ringing.

‘Denton Police.’ A voice announced itself to be from Denton Council. Heavens, thought Wells, it’ll be about that infernal skip.

Waters was surprised by Frost’s remark to Bill Wells about catching the people who had given him a beating after walking Kim Myles home from the pub the previous evening. Frost had not commented on the incident apart from an aside in the car that morning. Also, it was strange the way he’d casually revealed his knowledge that Waters had been out with Myles. How did he know? Frost was a difficult guy to fathom; his mind might seem to be elsewhere, but he was taking things in all the time, and would let them slip out when you’d least expect it.

Myles emerged from the Ladies. ‘Sorry I took so long,’ she bubbled. ‘Jesus, what the hell happened to you?’ She reached out to touch his face but he instinctively pulled back. He’d not had a chance to talk to her and explain, and now she was here, he really didn’t feel like doing so.

‘Hey, I’m fine, let’s get out of here.’ He ushered her towards the door and out into the last of the sun. ‘Someone’s made a mess of that wall,’ he remarked, pointing at a pile of bricks at the edge of the car park.

‘And someone’s made quite a mess of your face,’ Myles said. ‘So when did it happen?’

‘After I dropped you off. Two guys.’

‘Bastards. Bet it was those pigs from the pub.’

‘I don’t know about that. There are lots of muggings around here, it seems. Couldn’t say for sure who it was.’ As he said it, Waters tried not to think about the pungent smell of Brut which he’d detected just now in the corridor of Eagle Lane, as a group of other officers walked by.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. It wasn’t a bunch of kids on BMXs that jumped you, was it? The Eagle is a coppers’ pub. You know who it was; why cover up for them? We must’ve been followed.’

‘I don’t think we were followed,’ he said seriously. ‘Denton’s hardly a crowded metropolis – the streets were empty. We would have noticed if someone had left the pub and followed us. Maybe they were lying in wait? But then they’d have to know where you live.’

‘What are you suggesting?’ she snapped.

‘I’m not suggesting anything! Just leave it. Are you OK to drive?’

‘I’d prefer to go in yours. Far better than a beat-up Escort.’

‘It’s in the garage.’

‘What d’you mean?’

He shrugged.

‘Shit, no, don’t tell me they’ve done your car as well. Why didn’t you say? It’s obviously not just some opportunist loser from the pub. Have you told Frost?’

‘The chance hasn’t presented itself.’

‘Well, present it, then. Get in.’

* * *

Simms left the three men to page through the mugshots of youth offenders. He’d not removed the snaps of those already convicted and holed up in borstals, just to see how reliable they turned out to be as witnesses.

The jeweller, the estate agent and the newsagent sat carefully studying the assortment of absconding schoolboys and minor teenage felons in silence; he’d told them not to confer.

Simms sat on the corner of the desk, lit a cigarette and pulled the marker from the
Yellow Pages
. He studied the four phone numbers he’d scribbled down that morning. It was gone six thirty – they’d probably be home by now. With a sigh he picked up the phone and dialled the first number. ‘Hello, Mrs Tindell? Denton Girl Guides? Hi, this is Detective Constable Simms of Denton CID.’

‘Good evening, Gail, Mr Burleigh.’ Frost nodded, as the duty constable opened the door to Interview Room 2. ‘Thank you for coming in, though there really was no need. A misunderstanding on my colleague’s part. We have a missing girl who—’

Burleigh got to his feet, seething with fury. ‘This is an outrage!’

‘Sit down!’ Frost shouted. ‘Now! Or the constable here will take you down to the cells.’

The man was instantly silenced. The constable shut the door and stood against the back wall, and Frost winked at him in assurance that everything was under control.

‘I have two dead teenagers on my hands and another missing. What I don’t need is a load of verbal aggro from you, thank you very much. Now, if you can just see your way clear to answering a few questions?’ Frost paused, turning to address Gail. ‘Presumably you are mildly concerned about your friend Emily Hardy?’

‘Yes, of course,’ answered Burleigh senior.

‘Please, sir, let your daughter answer.’

The father glanced uncertainly at Gail, who until now had said nothing. She lifted her precocious dark brown eyes and fixed her gaze squarely on Frost. ‘Of course, I’m very worried. But I don’t see why it’s me who’s singled out.’

‘Well, funnily enough, it has something to do with Emily spending most Wednesday evenings at yours, so on the day she disappeared some people thought she was with you,’ he said testily, knowing this not to be the case.

‘But she wasn’t.’ The girl smiled. ‘I rang her parents.’

‘Tell me,’ Frost said, lighting a cigarette. ‘What did you two girls usually get up to of an evening – you know, now you’re growing up. It used to be the Girl Guides, according to your headmistress.’

‘Is that relevant?’ Burleigh snapped.

‘Ever the lawyer,’ Frost said. ‘You know, if I’m to have any chance of finding this missing girl, I need to know as much about her as possible, presumably by talking to someone who knows her well.’

‘Why not try the parents?’ Burleigh huffed.

‘Oh, believe me, we do. But as children reach a certain age’ – Frost regarded the girl in heavy make-up before him – ‘it often transpires that the parents are the last to know what the kids are up to.’

The father looked expectantly at his daughter, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. Frost repeated his question to Gail.

‘We play records and stuff. We’re quite into our music.’

‘Of course you are. I understand that on Saturday night you went up to the Smoke with your mates.’