R. Wingfield - Hard Frost

"Oh," said Liz. She smiled to herself. Then it would definitely be her.

Bill Wells sipped his mug of tea and took a sly drag at his cigarette. His first chance to relax all afternoon. Mullett had been flapping in and out, wanting to know if anyone had been asking for him, but not explaining who he was expecting. A blast of wind as the main doors opened. With practised skill, he pinched out the cigarette and slid his mug of tea under the counter top. "Can I help you, sir?"

The man, carrying a suitcase, walked across to the desk. Fair-haired, thickset and in his early forties, he gave a curt nod.

A cry of recognition from Wells, 'jim Cassidy! What are you doing back in Denton?"

Cassidy put down the suitcase and twitched a wan smile. His manner was far less enthusiastic than the sergeant's. "Hello, BUI."

"I've heard you've been in the wars some bastard stabbed you?"

Cassidy nodded, his expression making it clear this was something he didn't want to talk about. "I'm here to seeMrMullett."

So this was why Mullett had been flapping. And not a word to a flaming soul! "May I ask what about?" said Wells, picking up the internal phone and dialling Mullett's number.

Cassidy frowned. Surely the news should have been out by now? "I'm back in the division for a while. I'm going to be your acting detective inspector."

Well's jaw dropped. Cassidy! Acting detective inspector? Cassidy who was a trainee constable while Wells was already a sergeant. Some people, if their faces fitted, would always rise in the ranks. While others who flogged their guts out, worked all the hours God sent, were bunged on the rota every bloody Christmas… He realized Mullett had answered and was barking angrily in his ear. "Detective Sergeant Cassidy to see you, sir… Yes, sir." He put the phone down. "Go straight through, Jim. You know the way."

Cassidy nodded and slid his suitcase across the counter top for safekeeping. At the swing doors he paused. "Important point, sergeant. While I'm acting inspector, I want to be treated as such. Call me inspector, or sir not Jim."

Forcing a smile, Wells seethed inwardly. You bastard! Pulling rank on me! "Very good… sir," he said, through clenched teeth. "By the way… sir. I saw your wife — sorry your ex-wife in town the other day."

Cassidy stiffened. He wouldn't turn round. He had no intention of letting the sod know how deeply that shaft had hit home. "Did you, sergeant? How was she?"

"She looked great. Her new husband was with her. They both looked very happy."

The swing doors closed shut behind him and Wells chortled with wicked delight. "Game, set and match," he beamed, retrieving his mug of tea.

"What was that all about, sarge?"

Wells turned his head. PC Collier on his way up to his meal break had seen the little drama enacted.

Normally Wells would have told him to mind his own business, but basking in the warm glow of his little victory he was only too pleased to explain. "That big-headed git you just saw go through is Jim Cassidy. He was a detective constable here some four years ago — before your time. Career mad… nothing was going to stop him getting on and he didn't give a toss who he stepped on to get there. Grabbed all the credit, even when it wasn't his, and worked all the hours going without claiming overtime, which made him Mullett's blue-eyed boy. Anyway, one night he'd promised to take his teenage daughter out to see a film she'd been dying to see, but a job came up so he cried off. She went out on her own and got knocked down and killed by a hit and run driver. He went to pieces and his marriage broke up. He started criticizing everyone here because we couldn't trace the hit and run driver and became impossible to work with. So he was transferred to Lexford, at which point we stopped hating him and they started."

"And now we've got him back as acting detective inspector?"

Wells nodded grimly. "And that will put the cat amongst the pigeons, I promise you." There was a bit more to the story, but Wells was keeping it to himself. He couldn't wait to see Jack Frost's face when he told him Cassidy was back. The internal phone rang. Mullett. Demanding two coffees.

Wells looked round, but Collier had gone. "Sorry, sir, I've got no one to send."

"And some biscuits," said Mullett, putting down the phone.

"Come in, Jim, come in," said Mullett warmly, hand outstretched. "Good to have you back in the division."

Cassidy shook the offered hand and noted with relief that there was a hard-seated chair in front of the polished mahogany desk. But to his dismay, Mullett waved him towards one of the two deep-cushioned armchairs reserved for important visitors. Damn! He could lower himself in it all right, but the effort of hauling himself from its depths would trigger off the pain again. He gritted his teeth and sat down. No-one must know he was still suffering from the after effects of the stabbing, not if his promotion to Inspector was to go through this time. He turned a grimace into a smile of thanks as a ripple of pain sizzled across his stomach. The seat was lower than he thought and there was no support and it was pulling on his wound.

Mullett took the other armchair, concerned to see Cassidy looking so drawn. "Sorry to hear about the stabbing. Are you all right now?"

"I'm fine," lied Cassidy. He was learning to mask the pain. He had fooled the police doctor and should have little difficulty in fooling Mullett and his pack of dummies. "I'm anxious to get started, sir. I understand Inspector Allen was handling a murdered boy enquiry. When can I take over?"

"One dead boy, one missing boy," corrected Mullett. He paused as a sullen-looking Sergeant Wells came in with the coffees and banged them down on the desk, spilling some into the saucers. He waited until Wells had left before continuing. "You'll be working with Mr. Frost on this one."

Cassidy's head snapped up. "Frost! Jack Frost?"

Mullett saw something very interesting to look at through the window the blank wall on the other side of the road. "Er quite so."

"My understanding was '

"Circumstances have changed," interrupted Mullett. "I had intended you would be taking complete charge of Mi Allen's cases and working on your own '

"That was the only reason I agreed to come back here," cut in Cassidy. "You will appreciate that Denton has many unhappy memories for me."

"I understand that, but nevertheless you will be working under Mr. Frost."

"Under? I'm an acting detective inspector. I didn't come all the way back here just to stay a sergeant."

"The Chief Constable is a little concerned as to your fitness…"

"I'm perfectly fit."

'… and he has a much higher opinion of Frost than, perhaps, those who have to work with him have. He wants you to work under Frost's authority as he considers this is a case requiring the leadership of an experienced officer."

With difficulty Cassidy pushed himself out of the chair, his anger overcoming the pain. "I am sorry, sir. I would find it impossible to work with Frost. The way he mismanaged the investigation into the death of my daughter…"

Mullett gave a deep sigh. "I know you weren't happy at the way he handled the case. I agree he's unorthodox."

"Unorthodox," exploded Cassidy. "He's more than unorthodox. He's sloppy, lazy, inefficient, devious '

"That will do!" An angry Mullett pounded his fist on the desk. It was not that he disagreed with the views expressed he, himself, might have gone further but he wasn't having this sort of talk from a sergeant, especially one from another division who could well carry a report of the conversation back. He was concerned that Frost's deficiencies should not be too widely known, otherwise his chances of dumping the man on another, unsuspecting division would be minimal. "Whatever your feelings, Cassidy, you will put them to one side. The Chief