R. Wingfield - Hard Frost

"Search party three covering sector two. Nothing found. Now moving to sector three. Denton Woods." She shifted a coloured pin to a new position on the wall map.

Frost went cold, remembering an earlier occasion when they were combing the woods, then in deep snow, for a missing girl, eight years old, who was dead when they found her. He uttered a silent prayer that the pattern wouldn't repeat itself with Bobby… surely one dead kid was enough? But his prayers were seldom answered these days. He turned back to the photograph. "The first thing to do is see if the mother's story checks out. In the absence of anyone else, she's our sole suspect."

"What possible motive would she have for killing her own son?" queried Liz.

"He could have been getting in the way when she brought men home," said Frost. "It puts a man off when he's half-way up a woman's leg and the kid comes in for an ice lolly."

You callous bastard, thought Liz.

"It may not be very probable," continued Frost, 'but let's check her out. Did anyone see the boy leave the house at the time she said? Did anyone see her leave for the Coconut Grove? What time did she get there… what time did she leave? And we'll need to question her client."

"They don't usually leave their name and address," Liz pointed out.

"The Coconut Grove is a gambling club you've got to be a member. And knowing the way they work, the punter probably paid for her services by credit card so he could clock up some air miles. There'll be no difficulty getting his name and address." He shuffled through his notes. "Someone was going to check with the cinema."

Jordan elbowed his way through. "I did it. They think they remember seeing Dean yesterday afternoon. They often get kids in the afternoon who have sneaked off from school. The ticket seller thinks she sold him a ticket about three-ish. The tart in the hamburger kiosk says Dean could have been one of the kids who bought food… but all kids look alike to her."

"Right." Frost took a last bite at his sandwich before hurling the crust in the bin. He wiped his fingers on his jacket and lit up the cigarette before sitting down again. "Let's assume he went to the cinema around three and saw the film through. What time would he leave?"

"Between half-past five and six."

"By which time it was dark, most of the shops shut and the town looking like a morgue. I reckon he would want to go straight home." He swung his chair round so he was facing the large street map of Denton on the wall. "He doesn't know the area too well, so he takes the main road, not the back doubles."

"But that wouldn't take him anywhere near Patriot Street where we found the body," said Burton.

Frost nodded. "You're right, son. So let's try this for a working hypothesis. He's walking home. Some bastard in a car toots his horn and says, "Do you want a lift, sonny?" He gets him in the car, gives him chloroform, kills him, panics and dumps the body. So…" He jabbed the wall map. "Let's set up a road block here tonight. Stop all cars. "Were you here this time last night, sir? Did you see anyone give a lift to a kid?" You know the form."

"I'll lay it on," said Burton, scribbling on a pad.

"Hold it!" said Frost, spotting a snag. "It's not as simple as that, is it? The kid has only just moved into Denton. He could have been going the wrong bloody way. He stops a bloke. "Excuse me, kind sir, can you tell me how to get to Kenton Street?" "You're miles out of your way, sonny. Hop in, I'll give you a lift mind that bottle of chloroform and the knife."

"I'll get Traffic to cover all roads in all directions," said Burton. "It'll mean more overtime. Mr. Mullett won't like that."

Frost flapped a dismissive hand. "Don't worry. I'll sort old Roughchops out. Next, we'll put out an appeal over the media. Anyone who was in the Curzon Cinema between, say, two and seven, we want to hear from you… All calls treated in the utmost secrecy just in case kids playing truant might not want to come forward… and say we'll accept reverse charge calls if they don't want to phone from their parents' home." He rubbed some life into his scar. "Anything I haven't thought of, do it anyway."

"Do we still need to check out all the hamburger outlets?"

"I think so, son. Forensic are comparing the stomach contents with a sample from the cinema, but until they confirm its the same we'd still better check them out." He stifled a yawn. He hadn't got to bed until the early hours and had then been dragged in at the crack of dawn by flaming Mullett. He realized quite a few of the team looked as if an early night wouldn't go amiss and they were only into the first few hours of the murder investigation. "Split up into two groups half of you snatch a few hours' sleep, then relieve the others. I don't want you stumbling around like bloody zombies there's enough useless people in this station as it is." He looked up as Mullett entered and, without changing his expression, said, "Hello, sir, we were just talking about you."

Mullett smiled and nodded to the team, wondering why some of them seemed to have difficulty in keeping their faces straight. A surreptitious peek to check that his zip wasn't open. "A quick word, inspector."

"Be with you in a tick, sir." Back to the team. "One last thing. On no account must we let anyone know that the poor little sod had his finger hacked off. We'll soon be swamped out with phone calls from weirdos and cranks confessing they killed him. Most of them will be time-wasters, but if anyone mentions a missing finger we jump on the bastard."

They clattered out. Liz answered another phone call from a search party reporting negative results. She re sited a yellow pin on the wall map. Mullett took Frost's arm and moved away from her. This was to be confidential. "Any progress?"

"Everyone's sweating their guts out, but nothing definite achieved so far," grunted Frost.

"It would be helpful if we could get this tied up very quickly, Frost. With all the overtime involved, the cost of these searches is astronomical. I take it we do need all these men from other divisions? The cost goes on our account, you know, not theirs."

"Tough!" said Frost. "And yes, we do need them all. If we want to find him alive, we need to find him quickly. It's bleeding cold out there… you probably noticed it as you staggered out of the boozer last night."

Mullett's face reddened. That was something he didn't want to be reminded about. "Do you think you will find him today?"

"I'm not a bleeding fortune teller."

"I can cover the overtime from our budget for another eight hours. After that, I'll have to go to County, cap in hand."

You can go with your dick in your hand for all I care, thought Frost, but aloud he said, "It'll take as long as it takes. I can't hurry it." He felt this was not a good moment to tell the superintendent about the extra overtime needed for Traffic tonight. He yawned again as another wave of tiredness washed over him. "And when are we going to get a replacement for Inspector Allen?"

Liz Maud, hovering in the background, pricked up her ears. This was what she was anxious to know. As Mullett turned his head in her direction, she pretended to be engrossed in the contents of a folder.

Mullett lowered his voice. "I'll have news on a replacement for Mr. Allen very shortly. I'm only waiting for confirmation from County." He gave Liz a thin smile as he went out. She beamed back, reading the secret message in his smile. She knew that the temporary promotion was hers. Frost had come over to her. She closed the folder. "Yes, inspector?"

"Your abduction case. It might be a good idea to chat up the girl again." He told her about finding the blanket.

"And you're suggesting it was all a fake? She wasn't abducted? There was no robbery?"

He nodded. "The titty-grabbing bad guys knew too much… where the meter cupboard was, that there was only a cordless phone upstairs. They knew the parents would be away and they knew they wouldn't be back until well after midnight."