Fatal Frost (5 page)

‘Why cut them?’ Simms asked.

‘Save time. There’s a mass of wires: video recorder and all the hi-fi stuff, amp, cassette deck, turntable, speaker cable; he’d be here all night untangling all this stuff at the back of the cabinet. SOCOs come up with anything?’

‘No prints – clean as a whistle. So, broadly, it was just the VCR and jewellery that were taken?’

‘Yes. And an amplifier, I believe. I don’t know much about the hi-fi. I do hope the video recorder was covered by the insurance. It was terribly expensive.’

‘Had it long?’ enquired Waters.

‘A couple of weeks! Michael had only just mastered recording off the television. The instructions for these things are so complicated, don’t you find?’

‘Can’t afford one on a copper’s salary, unfortunately,’ Simms said. ‘And the jewellery – was there anything specific, an antique or heirloom? Those are sometimes easier to recover.’

‘My mother’s engagement and eternity rings. I took some photos of them some time ago, if that’s any use?’

‘Yes, please, it all helps.’ Simms asked if they could look around further, although he didn’t expect to find anything. He thought the woman’s manner was vague and disinterested. Apart from concern for the cat she didn’t seem to mind that much. They made for the kitchen, where the thief was thought to have entered through the large, latticed rear window. Each of the three main panels was made up of six smaller panes.
One
such pane, in the middle of the central panel, had been replaced with a cardboard rectangle.

‘Impossible to get a glazier out on bank holiday Monday,’ the woman said.

‘So,’ concluded Simms, ‘the thief broke a pane, then reached through and lifted up the lever. Then he climbed in through the window.’

Mrs Hartley-Jones was nodding, but Waters shook his head, sucking air in through his teeth. He reached up and removed the piece of cardboard. ‘Mind if I go outside a sec?’ he asked. Mrs Hartley-Jones unlocked the back door.

Simms watched, impatient, as Waters stuck his arm through the splintered pane and reached for the nearest latch, at the bottom of the right-hand panel. It was a stretch, but he managed to open the window and stood facing them both from the garden.

‘What exactly was the point of that?’ Simms asked.

‘If I was going to break in, I’d probably have broken the pane right next to the latch, wouldn’t you?’ He tapped the unbroken section of the window. ‘Save reaching through and risk cutting yourself?’

‘Good point,’ Simms said, annoyed he’d not considered that. ‘But it
was
dark.’

‘A cat burglar without a torch? C’mon.’ Waters then turned to Mrs Hartley-Jones. ‘You reported the burglary very early this morning. Is that correct?’

‘Yes, correct. We’d been on the South Coast – caravan site – we keep a caravan there and go quite often … We didn’t get back until late last night.’

‘Who was feeding Mr Tibbs? One of the neighbours?’ DS Waters asked.

‘No, my niece, Samantha.’

‘When was the last time she fed him?’

‘Well, there’s the funny thing. She should have been the first
to
discover the break-in, on Sunday morning. But when I called my sister that morning, she said that Sam hadn’t come home on Saturday night. We rang again in the afternoon. Sam wasn’t back, so we decided to come home early, as we were worried about Mr Tibbs. That reminds me, I must call my sister.’

Desk Sergeant Bill Wells glanced at the lobby clock. Only midday and he was starving already. During the refurbishments last year, when the canteen had been closed, the trolley service had been a real bonus. He could conveniently grab a bite whenever Grace trundled by. But the superintendent had not seen fit to redeploy meals-on-wheels while Eagle Lane recovered from bomb damage, and went mental if Wells so much as left his post for a pee.

‘Ah, Wells.’ Mullett appeared before his eyes, as if the mere thought of the super was enough to make him materialize. ‘What’s the matter, man, wake up – you’re in a daydream. Where’s DS Frost?’

‘Somewhere by the train line still, maybe – a body—’ The phone rang, cutting him off, and he looked at Mullett expectantly.

‘Well, answer it then, man,’ the super snapped angrily.

Wells picked up the phone. ‘It’s for you – Mr Winslow.’

Mullett’s face fell. ‘Give it here. Morning, sir. Yes … Yes, he’s here. Nice chap. Yes … Tall,
yes
…’

Wells watched the super intently, guessing the subject of the conversation was DS Waters. There had never been a black officer at Eagle Lane before and the station was buzzing with gossip. Not that Denton was unique in its prejudices. When it came to attitudes towards ethnic minorities, the force’s record was dubious at best. Wells clearly remembered the scandal at Hendon when a bloke had been bound and gagged by a bunch of cadets dressed as Ku Klux Klan. Made the headlines. Nasty business.

‘Here … here!’ The super was waving the receiver at him, irritably pulling at his moustache with the other hand. ‘Now – where was I?’

‘On the way to the Gents, sir?’ Wells said hopefully.

Mullett ignored him. ‘Get Frost to call me.’ He shot Wells a stern look and was gone.

The phone rang again as if to remind Wells of its presence.

‘Is that the police?’ said a man in angry tones, barely pausing for a reply before firing off his grievance in a voice so shrill with emotion that Wells had no idea what he was saying.

‘Calm down, sir. I can barely understand you.’

‘My shop has been robbed! Are you deaf? Robbed! At gun point!’ The caller had a strong Indian accent.

‘Sir, please calm down. Now, can you describe the assailants? How many of them were there?’

‘Don’t patronize me, you … you desk jockey. There were two.’

‘And can you describe them, sir?’

‘Short!’

Wells waited, but nothing more was offered. ‘Any further description to go on? Do you know if they were black or white, for example?’

‘They was wearing bloody balaclavas – how the hell would I know? All I know is, they were short. Very short.’

‘The fridge?’ Frost’s voice sounded distant. The line was so dreadful you’d think he was calling from Timbuktu, not a phone box a couple of miles away. Mullett heard the pips go, followed by cursing as Frost struggled to find some change. Then the line went dead.

Mullett drummed his fingers thoughtfully on his polished, spartan desk. ‘Yes, the fridge,’ he repeated to himself, and pivoted round on his chair.

But his golfing chum’s cat was not the main thing on his mind. At the time of Frost’s call, Mullett had been reflecting on the
morning
briefing. If he’d had the presence of mind, he’d have done better to hold DS Waters back and quietly assign him to Frost, but the jeering had flustered him, and his ill-considered act of handing the DS to a rookie like Simms in front of the whole division was one he now regretted. The men had respect for Frost; partnering him with Waters would have reflected far better on the visiting policeman.

The phone flashed again.

‘Sorry, sir, ran out of change.’

‘Where exactly are you?’ Mullett asked, exasperated.

‘On my way to the lab, to find out more about this dead girl, the one found this morning …’ The line crackled.

‘Yes, yes, I know which one.’ Mullett’s secretary, Miss Smith, appeared in his peripheral vision and he waved her away without looking up. ‘But what I want to know is, where exactly was the body found?’

‘Beg pardon, sir? By the train line.’

‘Wells told me it was more or less in Rimmington.’

‘Between the two.’

‘Well, can’t our Rimmington colleagues deal with it?’ Mullett was eager to offload the case. Dead girls were not the way he wanted a bank holiday weekend to finish up.

‘A Denton resident reported it,’ Frost said sharply. ‘There’s no ID – we’ll run the description through Missing Persons; might be local, might not.’

‘That’s a shame. So was it suicide?’ Mullett said hopefully.

‘Can’t rule it out. I’ll find out more when I get to the lab. Sir, while I’ve got you, about DI Williams’s paperwork. I appear to be continuing to handle it, while DI Allen—’

‘We can talk about that later,’ Mullett interjected quickly as he lit a cigarette. ‘You get what you can from Drysdale, then get back here pronto, there’s something special I …’

The pips went once more, and Mullett was left talking to himself.

No sooner had he replaced the receiver and taken a drag of his cigarette than the phone began flashing angrily at him again. Mullett was about to sound off at Frost for not carrying more than tuppence, but instead it was the doleful voice of Desk Sergeant Wells that greeted his ear.

Clarke clutched Myles’s arm as she hobbled through to A&E. Her leg was numb, her hands sticky with congealed blood and she felt light-headed. She couldn’t have lost that much in, what, twenty minutes, could she? Her jeans were pretty damp …

‘Let’s stop here a sec.’ Myles propped her against a wall, the surface feeling cold against her cheek. Where is he? she thought. Surely Jack must’ve heard by now? Myles had whacked the blue light on the roof but it had still taken her a fair while to get across town through the bank holiday traffic.

‘Did you tell Eagle Lane what happened?’ Clarke asked again – meaning Jack Frost does know, doesn’t he?

‘Yeah, Control are notified. And uniform are all over central Denton. But you can bet those kids are dust by now. Here, flop into this.’ Myles pushed a wheelchair towards her. ‘We’ll get you seen to straightaway.’

Clarke pulled tighter on a makeshift tourniquet – an old scarf they’d found in the boot of the Escort – to stem the bleeding.
Christ
, it hurt.

Frost returned to the car after smoking two cigarettes outside the phone box. ‘Something special,’ Mullett had said. He didn’t like the sound of that at all. Smacked of a stitch-up, if he knew the super. He looked at the names and addresses the cab controller had given him and then at his watch: 12.05. Six hours’ sleep would be enough for a taxi driver; more than he ever got, anyway. He’d pay them a call before he headed back to Eagle Lane; the super’s special project could wait. The radio
was
crackling nineteen-to-the-dozen so before setting off for the lab he picked it up.

‘Afternoon, Bill. Lot of noise out there. What’s up?’

‘Sue Clarke, Jack. She’s been stabbed.’

Frost held his breath, then said, ‘Where?’

‘Outside Baskin’s sauna place.’

‘Not where – I meant, is she badly hurt?’ Frost snapped.

‘In the leg. Lost a fair bit of blood. But hopefully nothing serious, mate,’ Wells crackled. ‘Myles took her over to the General. Sorry, I didn’t want to panic you – just thought you should know.’

‘She all right, though?’

‘She’s fine – probably.’

‘OK, thanks,’ Frost said, relieved. ‘I’m on my way to see Drysdale.’

‘Before you do, Mr Mullett wants you to call in at Singh’s the newsagent’s, on the Southern Housing Estate.’

‘Can’t he get his own newspaper?’ Flamin’ hell, he’d only just got off the phone to the man.

‘They’ve had a robbery – a gang of armed midgets, by all accounts,’ Wells explained.

Frost choked on his cigarette. ‘Armed midgets? Do me a favour.’ He snorted. The first time he and Clarke had been on a date came to mind, when he was recuperating last year, to see a fantasy flick she fancied. ‘Maybe they’re the
Time Bandits
, though why anyone would want to drop in on Denton in 1982 is beyond me.’

‘Straight up. I took the call myself.’

‘Surely such a small problem can be handled by uniform.’

‘You know the super: anything involving shooters is CID.’

Frost sighed, watching a fox leisurely pad across the road. ‘Can’t somebody else take this?’

‘Everyone else is out.’

‘
I’m
out!’

‘Sorry, Jack. And Jack, the vicar called again.’

‘Again?’ Frost exclaimed. ‘I only spoke to whatshisname, the church warden, on Saturday.’

‘Turner, George Turner.’

‘That’s him. I said, leave it with me and we’d catch the bugger. Blimey, it’s only Monday!’

‘He wanted to know how he was going to get the church roof repaired.’

‘I don’t bleedin’ well know: ask the Almighty. Or, better still, ask his punters to dig deeper next Sunday, ’cos that lead’ll be halfway to Eastern Europe by now.’

Frost hung up. Poor Sue; he should really get over to Denton General. He’d go after he’d seen the cabbies. On top of that,
and
a dead girl, he was now being lumbered with a ‘gang of midgets’; well, he was adamant – somebody else could pick that up. He would do as planned and see Drysdale at the lab. So much for a quiet bank holiday.

Monday (4)