A Killing Frost (7 page)

   His mobile played its little tune. It was Bill Wells.

   ‘Jack, Mr Mullett’s going spare. He wants to see you right now.’

   ‘I think he fancies me,’ said Frost. ‘Tell him I’m on my way. And Bill, would you contact the Fortress Building Society and see who, if any one, has an account number FDZ32432.’

Mullett slid the heavy glass ashtray across just too late to stop Frost’s cigarette dropping a cylinder of ash on his desk. ‘His
daughter
,’ he said, ‘missing since last night and you tell him you have no intention of organising a search?’

   ‘Not at this stage,’ said Frost. ‘I’m more or less convinced she’s done a runner with her boyfriend . . .’ His voice tailed off. Doing his usual trick of reading upside-down memos in Mullett’s in-tray, he spotted one from Head Office with his name at the top. He carefully moved his chair forward so he could read what it was about, but Mullett forestalled him, quickly pulling the in-tray away and dropping some other papers on top. Frost’s eyes narrowed.
Hello, what’s the slimy bastard up to?

   ‘Don’t you realise who you are dealing with, Frost? Clark is a very important man. He has the Chief Constable’s ear.’

   ‘I don’t care if he has the Chief Constable’s dick,’ replied Frost. ‘There’s no way I’m organising a full-scale search yet.’

   Mullett reddened as he shot a glance at his office door to make sure the Chief Constable wasn’t suddenly within earshot. ‘Less of that sort of talk, Inspector. You may not know how to handle these matters, but I do. I have told Mr Clark I am authorising a full-scale search immediately for his daughter.’

   ‘I admire you, Super,’ beamed Frost approvingly. ‘Even though you know it will be expensive and a complete waste of time, will put us way over budget and we haven’t got the men to do it, you are still prepared to stick your neck out and risk all that for a friend of the Chief Constable. I’ll get on to outlying divisions right away and tell them you have agreed to stand the cost of the search on Denton’s budget.’

   ‘Other divisions?’ spluttered Mullett, realising he should have made some checks before committing himself to Clark. ‘Why do we need to involve other divisions?’

   ‘Because we haven’t the faintest idea where they went,’ explained Frost. ‘They both went out on bikes. They could be twenty, thirty forty miles away for all we know. They could even be in London by now. The girl didn’t take any money, but the boy might well have done. Still, if you’ve committed yourself, Super, I’ll put it in hand right away.’ He made to stand up.

   ‘Wait!’ Mullett weakly waggled a restraining hand. ‘What did you intend to do?’

   ‘Put out an All Divisions Missing Persons, make a few local inquiries and wait for them to come slinking back, the girl with her knickers in her handbag and a satisfied smile on her face. If they haven’t turned up by tonight, then I’ll think about a more thorough search.’

   ‘A token search now,’ pleaded Mullett. ‘Just a token search, so I can assure Mr Clark we have it well in hand?’

   ‘Don’t worry Super, I’ll fiddle it for you,’ beamed Frost. ‘I might need you to do me a favour one day.’

DC Morgan was waiting for him in his office. ‘I’ve got a DNA sample from that bloke, Guv,’ he announced proudly.

   ‘Great,’ said Frost. ‘Any problems?’

   ‘It wasn’t easy. First. he denied being anywhere near the car park last night. Flatly denied it. When I told him we had CCTV footage he changed his story and said yes, now he came to think of it he might have been there.’

   ‘He’d forgotten where he was the night before?’ asked Frost. ‘What is he - a doddery old sod or a Welshman?’

   ‘No, Guv . . . in his early forties, I’d say. Anyway, I asked for a DNA sample. I told him he had every right to refuse, but if he did refuse I’d arrest him on suspicion of assault and rape. In the end he agreed. He’s the rapist, Guv, I’m positive. It’s him.’

   ‘I wish you weren’t so bloody sure, Taff,’ muttered Frost. ‘You’re always flaming wrong.’ He thoughtfully fingered the scar that lined his cheek. ‘Do you think he might do a bunk?’

   ‘Nice house, nice wife, two kids and a dog, Guv. I can’t see him doing a runner.’

   ‘Play safe. Make an excuse to keep going back, Taff, and make sure he’s still there. And tell Forensic I want that DNA sample tested right away. We’re short staffed and the flaming cases keep piling up. Be great if we could get this one tied up sharpish.’

   The door crashed open, banging against the wall, and an angry-looking Chief Inspector Skinner burst in. He glared at Frost. ‘You’ve let that Sadie tart go?’

   Frost started to explain about the blackmailer and the baby milk powder, but Skinner cut him short.

   ‘Whatever the reason, in future you tell me first, not let me find out by walking into an empty cell.’

   ‘Good point,’ nodded Frost approvingly, as if praising Skinner for raising it.

   ‘Another thing. I’ve called a meeting for all station staff, four o’clock this afternoon in the main Incident Room. I’m briefing everyone on the way I’m going to run things here in future. Make sure you are there.’

   ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ cooed Frost.

   Skinner stared at him. Like Mullett, he was never sure when Frost was being sincere or was taking the pee. He turned his attention to Morgan. ‘What are you doing here?’

   Morgan told him about the DNA sample.

   Skinner grunted and turned his attention back to Frost. ‘Right. For the moment, this is your case, Frost, but if the DNA is positive and it looks like we’re going to get a result, then I take over . . .
comprende?
’

   You bastard
, thought Frost.
We do the hard work, you take the credit
. But he nodded. ‘
Comprende, signora.
’

   Again Skinner glowered at Frost. Was the man being insolent or didn’t he know what
signora
meant? No way of knowing for sure, but the fool’s days in Denton were numbered, so there was no point making a scene now. He spun on his heel and barged out of the office, leaving the door wide open.

   Morgan closed it carefully. ‘I’ve heard about Skinner from my old division, Guv. He makes everyone else do the hard graft, then he steps in and takes the credit.’

   ‘I know,’ nodded Frost. ‘It’s like sweating away on the foreplay, then some other sod gets his leg over.’ His internal phone rang. Lambert from Control.

   ‘PC Jordan wants you to get over to Denton Lake right away, Inspector. They’ve found something.’

   Frost’s heart skipped a beat. ‘The girl?’ whispered.
God, not the girl
.

   ‘No, Inspector. Another piece of chopped-off leg.’

   ‘Shit!’ said Frost.

Frost, DC Taffy Morgan at his side, gazed down gloomily at the muddy, evil-smelling piece of flesh, half-hidden in long, straggling, rain-beaten grass. Jordan and Simms looked on like two puppies wagging their tails at finding the ball for their master.
Pity you didn’t chuck the flaming thing in the lake and say nothing
, thought Frost.
More flaming paperwork to no avail.

   ‘It’s a bit of leg,’ said Jordan.

   ‘I know,’ sniffed Frost. ‘I’m a leg man, but it doesn’t turn me on. There’s probably more choice bits lurking about for some silly sod to find, but we haven’t the time or the resources to look for them. Bag it up. See what Forensic make of it.’ He was still hoping this was some medical student’s idea of a joke, but had the growing suspicion that it was going to turn out to be something a lot more sinister.

   He took a deep drag on his cigarette and looked around. They were on the outskirts of the lake which had been a magnet for dead bodies so many times in the past. He mooched over to the water’s edge and stared down into the green, slimy water which was being rippled by the cutting wind. At the far end a duck squawked and flapped its wings as it skimmed across the surface. He shivered. It was flaming cold standing here. No way Debbie would risk her brand-new bikini in this slimy muck.

   Another possibility kick-started - something he hadn’t considered before. Supposing the boy had done away with Debbie, then roared off in panic. She could have told him she was pregnant and would name him as the father. Possible but the unsubstantiated thought wasn’t getting him anywhere. Where the hell was she and where the hell was the boy? She would have come back for her birthday if she could. He kept trying to kid himself she wouldn’t, but . . . He stared again over the lake and shivered, this time not from the cold. He had one of his doom-laden premonitions.

   He nodded at the lake. ‘I think she’s in there,’ he said flatly. He knew he would never get Mullett’s permission to call the underwater search team out just on the strength of one of his nasty feelings, when their past record had such a low success rate. But he felt strongly this time.

   He turned to Morgan and indicated a dilapidated rowing boat, half in, half out of the lake, its bottom awash with muddy water. ‘Feel like a row, Taff?’

   Morgan stared at the boat in dismay. ‘Flaming heck, Guv, look at the holes in the bottom. It’s like a sieve. I can’t swim.’

   ‘I can’t play the violin,’ said Frost, ‘but I don’t moan about it.’ He signalled to Jordan. ‘Push the boat out. Have a prod around with Taffy. She might be in there.’

   Jordan was equally unenthusiastic and surveyed the leaky rowing boat with apprehension. ‘Is that an order, Inspector?’

   Frost shook his head. ‘Of course not, son. You’ve both volunteered.’

He sat in the car with the heater going full blast, sucking at a cigarette as he listened to the local news on the radio.

  
. . . Denton Police are appealing for help in tracing the whereabouts of two teenagers, Debbie Clark and Thomas Harris, who did not return home after a cycle ride yesterday evening. Anyone with information . . .

   Bleeding Mullett, jumping the gun. Appeals to the public always brought an abundant crop of false sightings which some poor sod had to follow through.
And I’ll be that poor sod
, he thought ruefully.

   His head jerked up. What was that? It sounded like Jordan calling. He groaned. God, they’d found her. They’d found the girl. He clicked the radio off and flung open the car door. The cry was repeated. But it wasn’t Jordan. It was the squawk of a flaming duck flying overhead. He sank back in his seat in relief. He didn’t want them to find her. He wanted Debbie to be safe and well. But she was dead . . . He just knew it.

   He started to fidget. Sitting, doing nothing, wasn’t his way of working, so he mashed out the cigarette and climbed out of the car.

   Another cry. But it wasn’t the duck this time. It was Jordan. ‘Inspector!’ It was the urgent cry of someone who had found something nasty.

   The two men were near the far side of the lake, the boat tilting over at an alarming angle as they both leant over one side to try to pull something out of the water. They were in grave danger of capsizing the rowing boat. They were dragging something out of the lake. Not a body. It was a red cycle, which didn’t seem to have been in the water for very long.

   Frost’s heart sank. Debbie’s bike was red. It had to be her bike.

   For once, he didn’t want his gut feeling to be proved correct. Then he heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn’t Debbie’s. It was a man’s bike. And the boyfriend’s bike was blue, so it couldn’t be his.

   ‘Chuck it back,’ he called. ‘It’s a man’s bike . . . Women’s bikes don’t have bars in case it snags their bloomers.’

   ‘You’re behind the times, Inspector,’ yelled Jordan. ‘Bikes are unisex now.’

   Frost went cold. ‘Are you sure?’

   ‘Positive.’

   With a final heave they hauled the dripping bike into the boat. Jordan bent and examined it. ‘Same make and same serial number, Inspector. It’s Debbie Clark’s bike.’

   Frost turned his back against the wind and lit up another cigarette. Shit and double shit. He waited impatiently while they rowed across, stepping back as they humped the bike out of the boat and laid it on the grass. He double-checked the serial number, but Jordan was right. He took another look at the murky, icy water. If her bike was there, the girl’s body could be there, caught up in jettisoned debris somewhere - perhaps the boy’s body as well, Why had he been so bloody cocksure in assuring the parents they’d soon be back home again, safe and sound. He shook his head to dispel the morbid thought. They’d found the bike, that was all. Debbie could still be alive and well, shacked up with the boy somewhere, miles away. But that didn’t make sense. Why dump the bike? She’d need it to get home again. And why chuck it in the lake so it wouldn’t be found? No. She had to be in that lake. There was enough evidence now for him to ask Mullett to call the police frogmen in and do a thorough search.

   ‘Get it over to Forensic,’ he told them. ‘I doubt if any prints have survived submersion, but don’t confuse them by adding your own.’

   He pulled the mobile from his pocket and rang Mullett.

   ‘I’m at Denton Woods, Super. We’ve just fished Debbie Clark’s bike out of the lake. I think her body’s in there. We’re going to have to call the underwater search team in.’

He watched impassively. It was just a matter of time before they dragged the kid’s body up. Her thirteenth bleeding birthday. All her cards waiting to be opened. He dreaded going back to the house and breaking the news. Not many bloody laughs in this job.

   The underwater team waded out and plunged under the surface. His heart juddered skipped a beat each time they hauled something up and dumped it in their rowing boat. As the boat filled it was rowed to the shore and its contents dumped. Soon the shore round the lake was littered with retrieved debris, including supermarket trolleys, a DVD player and a video recorder whose serial numbers tallied with goods stolen during an ancient burglary; and a long-dead fox.

   Morgan and Jordan, in the small rowing boat, were keeping well out of the way of the frogmen, and were prodding the bottom with a large pole. ‘Over here,’ called Morgan, waving frantically at the frogmen. ‘I think it’s a body . . .’

   ‘Don’t let it be,’ pleaded Frost to himself ‘Please, don’t let it be.’