R. Wingfield - A Touch of Frost

Webster charged ahead, not caring how much noise he made. Frost, hard on his heels, getting the backlash of branches forced aside by Webster.

On each side of them,

Burton and Collier smashed their way through the undergrowth. A stitch in Frost’s side almost made him cry out, but he gritted his teeth and forced his legs to keep going.

They reached the main path. Webster looked to right and left. “Which way?”

“Right!” panted Frost.

They hammered along, sobbing for air. The first turnoff. Burton was sent to investigate. On to the second. Webster’s torch slashed the dark. On the pathway, a CND badge. “Here!” he screamed.

Ahead something white. Then a crashing as someone broke from cover. A man. Zigzagging. A naked man. And there was Sue, on the ground, her clothing torn, her face bleeding.

In the dark distance bushes shook, marking the path of someone running.

“After him, son. I’ll see to Sue.”

Webster charged on. Frost radioed for the van to try and head the man off, then homed in Burton and Collier to join the pursuit. That done, he knelt beside the girl. “Sue?”

She eased herself up into a sitting position, wincing as she did so.

“I’m all right, sir.” She gingerly touched her face.

“You’re not all right. It looks as if he gave your face a real right bashing. Take it easy, I’m going to send for an ambulance.” He raised the radio to his mouth, but she tugged his arm down.

“I don’t want an ambulance, sir, honest. I’m fine. I just want to get home.”

“We’ll take you to Casualty. If they say you can go home…”

“No… please. I’m all right.” There was blood on her face from a split lip. She found a tissue in her bag and cleaned it up.

Frost was relieved but couldn’t help feeling that her wish not to go to hospital was for his benefit. An injured officer needing hospital treatment meant a special inquiry to ascertain blame. And how Mullett would love that, especially as this failed, botched-up operation was put into effect without his authority.

She made an attempt to get up, but he restrained her. “I can stand,” she insisted.

“So can I,” said Frost, flopping down on the path beside her, ‘but I’m so bloody nackered I’m going to have a rest. So what happened?”

“I wasn’t expecting him. Suddenly there was something black over my face. It felt like plastic’ She paused. “It had buttons I felt buttons.”

“You mean, like a plastic mac?” asked Frost.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s what it was. A plastic mac. He threw it over my head, then started hitting me, punching my face. His hands moved down to my neck and he started to squeeze.” She touched her neck and flinched. “I managed to pull his hands off, but he started punching again. I couldn’t see. I’m sorry.”

Frost poked a cigarette between her bruised lips, stuck one in his own mouth, then lit them both. “No, love, I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I sodded it up. We were too far away from you, and I should have called it off when your radio packed in.”

She drew on the cigarette. “I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe. He kept hitting…”

He took her hand and patted it. “I know, love. I know.”

Webster staggered back and leaned against a tree, his legs sagging, his mouth open as he tried to satisfy the demand of his lungs for air.

“Any luck, son?”

Between gasps, Webster shook his head. “I thought I’d got him, but he must have doubled back and suddenly shot away behind me. Chased after him, but he was too far ahead. Heard a car drive off.”

“Are you sure it was our man?”

“Positive. The bugger was stark naked. How’s Sue?”

“Beaten up, but not too bad. Take her to Casualty, then drive her home.”

She pushed herself up to her feet and began brushing leaves and pieces of dead grass from her clothes. “I don’t want to go to Casualty, I just want to go home.” She picked up her shoulder bag, then looked around for her torch.

“Well, drive her home anyway,” Frost told Webster. He then radioed all units requesting they stop and search all cars driving away from the vicinity of Denton Woods. They were helping Susan back to the car when the radio blurted out.

“Kenny to Mr. Frost. Come in, please.”

“Frost here.”

Kenny’s voice was triumphant. “I’ve got him, sir. I’ve got him!”

Thursday night shift

An almost liquid surge of warm relief flooded over Frost. He could hardly take in what Kenny was saying. Kenny had spotted the man charging out of the woods, stark naked. The man had jumped into a car and roared off, but the police constable had managed to swing the patrol car across his path and bring him to a halt. “Where are you?” asked Frost.

“In the slip road, about four hundred yards southwest of you.”

They cut across until they could see the sodium lamps and the flashing blue of Kenny’s patrol car, which was sprawled across the road, hemming in a metallic silver D-registered Mercedes. The windows of the Mercedes were misted with streaming condensation.

Kenny had a man in an arm-lock, bent across the bonnet. The man was not quite naked. He wore red socks and black shoes.

“You dirty bastard!” snarled Webster.

Frost moved to block Webster, who seemed ready to lunge at the man. “Put the cuffs on him,” he said. Kenny spun the man round, then snapped handcuffs on his wrists.

“Well, well, well,” commented Frost, running his eye over their captive, who was about thirty-five, short, plumpish, and looking absolutely terrified. “Is this him, Sue?”

“I don’t know, sir. I didn’t see him at all.”

“Would you mind telling me what this is all about,” squeaked the man, bringing down his handcuffed wrists to cover himself.

“Don’t you know, sir?” asked Frost, mockingly. Then his eye caught a movement inside the Mercedes. “Who’ve you got in there?” The misted windows blocked his view. He yanked open the rear door. “Flaming heck!”

In the back seat, frantically trying to get into a dress, was a young woman, naked except for a pair of briefs. The heater had been going full pelt and the interior was overpoweringly hot and thick with the lingering cloy of cheap perfume and sweat. The woman snatched up the dress and bundled it to cover her breasts. “Shut that bloody door,” she hissed.

Frost slammed shut the door. The first doubts crept in. “Who is your passenger, sir?”

“None of your business, officer. Would you please allow me to get dressed. I’ll end up with pneumonia.”

Frost risked the passenger’s wrath and opened the rear door again.

“You’re not being raped by any chance, are you, madam?”

“No, I bloody-well am not,” she snapped. “Now piss off, all of you!”

The inspector closed the door yet again. “Your friend has a charming way with words, sir. Would you care to explain what you are doing here?”

The man raised his eyes to the dark, moonless sky. “Are you sure you’re a detective? We’re in the car. I’m stripped. She’s stripped. What do you think we were doing, playing bingo? What I’d like to know is what the hell you are doing here?”

“Attempted rape, sir. About five minutes ago.”

“Well it certainly wasn’t attempted by me, Inspector. It’s taking me all my time trying to keep up with that nymphomaniac in the back seat. Now, can I please get dressed?”

Frost shook his head. “You weren’t in the car when my officer first saw you, sir. You were running, stark naked, from the area where the attempted rape took place.”

The man snorted with exasperation. “All right. If we have to go into detail then I’ll go into detail. I left the car because I felt the need to relieve myself. I also felt the need for a bit of a break. It’s like working a treadmill trying to satisfy her in there. I’m having a nice, quiet restful pee under the stars when suddenly there’s someone charging up on me. I think it’s her husband so I race back to the car to get the hell out of there. Next thing I know I’m in a scene from “Starsky and Hutch” sirens… skids… police. I pull over and I’m yanked out of the motor and spreadeagled all over the bonnet. I’ve committed no offence and I don’t see why I should be treated like this.”