R. Wingfield - A Touch of Frost

“She’s been raped,” said Mullett.

“She should be so lucky!” said Frost.

Mullett’s face went red. He had to compress his fists to control himself. He inched his face very close to Frost’s and said through clenched teeth, biting off and spitting out each word, “Get a woman police officer and also someone capable of taking a statement, and join me immediately in the interview room.”

He turned to the woman. “If you would kindly accompany me, madam?” As he led her to the interview room she turned and beamed Frost a thin, tight smile of smug satisfaction.

Frost looked up at the ceiling for sympathy. “Why does that stupid, horn-rimmed bastard always want to interfere?” He lowered his head as Webster, engrossed in conversation with Detective Constable Susan Harvey, pushed through the swing doors.

“Hold it, you two,” he called. “We’re wanted in the interview room. A lady’s been raped.”

Mullett sat the woman down, phoned for a cup of tea to be brought in for her, stressing that he wanted a cup, not a chipped enamel mug, then looked at his wristwatch to time how long it took Frost to obey a direct order. He didn’t have to wait very long. The tea arrived, followed closely by Frost with that reject from Braybridge and the good-looking Susan Harvey. Frost had a blue folder tucked under his arm.

Susan drew up a chair next to the woman to give her moral support.

Frost leaned against the wall, a cigarette drooping from his mouth. Mullett wished he would smarten himself up a bit. And he wished the man wouldn’t slouch in that slovenly manner. He looked more like a street-corner layabout than a detective inspector.

When Frost was satisfied that Webster was ready with his shorthand notebook he dropped his cigarette end on the floor, then gave Miss Gibson a disarming smile. It failed to disarm her.

“If you’d like to tell us what happened, Miss Gibson?”

She looked down at the floor and blushed. “I was raped last night.”

“What, again?” asked Frost.

Her head snapped up. “Yes, again! Some women are natural targets for filthy men, and, sadly, I seem to be such a woman.” She fumbled in her handbag for a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

“Tell me,” asked Frost, striking a match on the wall to light up yet another cigarette, chow many times have you been raped over the past three months?”

Her lips compressed. “It’s not the sort of thing one keeps count of, Inspector.”

“But we keep count of them, Miss Gibson. Every time your knickers are forcibly removed, the old computer clocks it up. Now let me see.” He opened the blue folder and flipped through its contents. “Here we are. At the last count it was seventeen times but each time the doctor examined you he found you were still a virgin. So who raped you, the archangel Gabriel?”

It began to dawn on Mullett that things were not as he had been led to understand. Why hadn’t somebody told him? He cleared his throat and studied his watch as if surprised at the time. “Dear me.. You must excuse me…” And he scuttled out of the room.

“We’ll carry on without you then, sir?” called Frost after him. Mullett affected not to hear.

The woman sat straight-backed in the chair, tightly clutching the handbag resting on her lap. “I might have made mistakes in the past, Inspector, but last night was real.” She dabbed at her eyes again. “You’ve got to believe me.”

Frost sat down. “If you say you were raped, then of course I believe you, Miss Gibson. Tell us what happened.”

She reached out for Susan’s hand and clutched at it. “I was walking through Denton Woods last night, a little after eleven o’clock, when a naked man leaped out on me from the bushes. He knocked me to the ground and savagely raped me.” She stared pleadingly into his face. “That’s the truth, Inspector.”

Frost rubbed his scar. “I’m sure you wouldn’t tell us lies, Miss Gibson.” To Webster’s surprise, the inspector’s voice was strangely gentle. “Can you describe this man?”

She dropped the handkerchief back into her handbag. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t let it worry you,” said Frost, patting her hand. “None of his other victims could describe him either.”

She blinked back her tears and smiled bravely.

“Would you be willing to submit to a medical examination?” Frost asked. “A lady doctor if you prefer.”

Her eyes widened in alarm and she firmly shook her head. “Oh no. It would be too humiliating.”

“I quite understand,” sympathized Frost. “Thank you so much for coming, Miss Gibson. You’ve helped us a lot. I’m sure we’ll catch him now. But in the meantime, stay away from the woods.” He whispered to Susan to drive the woman home, and gave a friendly wave as the door closed behind them.

“The poor cow always asks for me,” said Frost. “I’m the only one who’ll listen to her.”

Webster snapped his notebook shut. “Stupid bitch. What a complete and utter waste of time.”

“Don’t be too hard on her,” said Frost softly. “Imagine how you’d feel if the nearest you ever got to the real thing was making up stories for the police.” He aimed his cigarette end at the waste bin. “Let’s get a cup of tea.”

Sergeant Johnson was waving frantically as they crossed the lobby. “Mr. Mullett wants to see you right away, Jack. Understand he’s worried about your lack of progress with the rape inquiry.”

“Blimey!” exclaimed Frost. “I only took it over yesterday.”

The phone rang. “Denton police,” said Johnson. He listened, then smiled. “Yes, madam, he is.” He held the phone out to Frost. “One of your lady friends, Jack. Won’t give her name.”

Frost thought for a moment. “It must be Shirley. I think I was supposed to take her out last night.” He sent Webster to collect two teas from the canteen and reached for the phone but, seeing Johnny’s ears flapping, decided to take the call in the privacy of his office.

He sat at his desk trying to think of an excuse for Shirley. He saw the report from Forensic and skipped through it. “If they want to search, let them bloody well do it,” he muttered, pushing it away. He picked up the phone. “Hello, Shirley.”

There was silence from the other end, then a woman’s voice said “Mr.

Frost…?” It wasn’t Shirley.

“Yes, Frost here,” he said. “Who is that?”

“It’s Sadie — Sadie Eustace.”

Frost slid back in his chair. Sadie! The wife of Useless Eustace!

“What do you want, Sadie?”

“Can I talk to you in confidence?”

“Of course you bloody can’t,” said Frost. “Your old man’s wanted for murder.”

“He didn’t do it, Mr. Frost.”

“Of course he didn’t, Sadie. He didn’t do any of the jobs he was sent down for. He’s a model citizen.”

“But he didn’t kill that copper. He swears it. Listen, Mr. Frost, this is for your ears only. Stan’s been in touch with me.”

Frost sat up straight. “No, you listen to me, Sadie. First of all, I’m not on this case, so you’re wasting your time talking to me. Secondly, whatever you tell me goes straight on the record every word. If you don’t want that to happen, hang up and I’ll forget this conversation ever took place.”

“Stan wants to talk to you, Mr. Frost. He says you’re the only one he can trust.”

“Then let him come to the station and give himself up. I’ll talk to him then.”

“No, Jack, please. I don’t want to speak over the phone. Can you come over to the house?”

“Just a minute.” He put down the phone and wandered outside so he could see the lobby. The desk phone was on its rest and Sergeant Johnson was taking details from a woman whose cat had been locked in a neighbour’s shed. Satisfied that the sergeant wasn’t eavesdropping on the conversation, he went back to his desk. “Listen to me, Sadie. I can’t come to your house. It would be more than my job is worth. I shouldn’t even be talking to you now.”