R Wingfield - A Killing Frost

‘You told me to come down here,’ protested Morgan.

‘I don’t care what I said – get rid of her.’

Morgan clawed his way up to head her off, but to Frost’s annoyance soon made his way down again with the woman in tow.

‘I thought I told you to get rid of her,’ hissed Frost.

‘You don’t know who she is, Guv. She’s the new Home Office pathologist.’

Frost gaped. ‘Flaming heck, Taff. There is a God after all!’ He introduced himself to the woman. ‘Detective Inspector Frost.’

She flashed a smile, showing perfect teeth. ‘Dr Ridley. What have you got for me, Inspector?’

‘We’d better look at the body first,’ said Frost with a giggle. He hesitated at the flap. ‘It’s a bit whiffy in there.’

She opened her bag and took out a gauze mask that covered her mouth and nose, then stepped inside, her forehead wrinkling in distaste as she saw the body. At first she seemed as reluctant as Mackenzie to actually touch it. ‘Not much I can tell you until I get her on the autopsy table.’

‘She?’ queried Frost. ‘Definitely female?’

‘Yes, female. She’s been dead anything up to a month, could be more. Animals have had a good old go at her.’

‘Any idea of age?’ asked Frost.

The pathologist shook her head. ‘She’s in too poor a condition – you can just about tell the sex. I’d guess she’s in her late teens or early twenties, but it’s only a guess at this stage. Don’t ask cause of death, because again, I don’t know yet.’

‘Sexually assaulted?’ asked Frost.

‘The state the body’s in, we will probably never know, but again, wait for the autopsy. Any ID?’

Frost shook his head. ‘We retrieved a dustbin sack full of girl’s clothes from the lake in the woods yesterday. I’m hoping they tie in with the corpse.’

‘Get them over to the autopsy room. I’ll try to match them up with the body.’ She took a last look at the remains. ‘Nothing more I can do here.’ She straightened up, snapped her bag shut and squeezed through the tent flap to the fresh air outside. She tore off her mask and sucked in gulps of air. ‘Some pathologists take it in their stride, but I can never get used to it.’

She dictated a few brief notes into a small cassette recorder, then dropped it in her pocket and zipped up her windcheater. ‘Where do we do the post-mortems?’

‘The mortuary at Denton General,’ Frost told her. ‘Meet me at Denton nick first and I’ll take you there.’

‘No need. I’ve got a map.’ She consulted her wristwatch. ‘Too late to do it now. Tomorrow afternoon – say one o’clock.’

‘I’ll be there,’ called Frost, admiring her plump little bottom which was wiggling provocatively as she walked away.

‘Cor. I couldn’t half give her one,’ whispered Morgan.

‘That’s because you’re a randy Welsh git,’ snapped Frost. ‘And in any case, I saw her first so it’s droit de seigneur, my little leek-muncher.’ He returned the wave she gave him as she clambered over the bridge wall, then called Harding over.

‘The pathologist’s doing the PM tomorrow afternoon. Get the body to the morgue as soon as you’ve done your stuff. We might have to get the Maggot Man in to tell us how long she’s been lying there, so bring the creepy crawlies as well. Did you get any DNA from those clothes we found in the lake?’

‘Yes,’ Harding told him.

‘Good. Let’s hope we can match it up with the body. But get them over to the morgue. The pathologist might be able to tell us if they would fit.’

‘Did she give any indication as to the cause of death?’ asked Harding.

‘No. Hopefully the autopsy will tell us.’

‘So at this stage, for all we know, it could be natural causes?’

‘The poor cow’s naked. You don’t take off all your clothes, lie down on a railway embankment and die of natural causes.’

‘There’s chunks of her missing, Inspector. Animals could have torn her clothes off.’

‘If you find bits of clothes underneath her when we shift the body, then it’s possible. But if animals had done it there’d be shreds of clothing in the vicinity and you didn’t find any. It’s her clothes we fished out of the lake. I just know it.’

His mobile trilled. ‘I’m busy – what is it?’ he snapped.

‘Is that you, Frost?’

Bloody hell! It was Mullett. ‘Yes, Super, but I’m rather busy. ..’

‘What on earth is going on? I’ve had Debbie Clark’s father on the phone threatening to go to the Chief Constable. This is intolerable… absolutely unforgivable!’

‘Sorry about that, Super,’ breezed Frost, apologising on autopilot while trying to work out what the hell he was supposed to have done now.

‘Sorry? Being sorry isn’t good enough,’ spluttered Mullett.

Then I’m not flaming sorry, thought Frost, still wondering what it was all about.

‘His daughter is dead and he has to find out from a third party. Even by your standards, this is disgraceful.’

Frost frowned. What was the prat on about? ‘Dead? Debbie Clark dead? Flaming heck, Super, I didn’t know that.’

‘Didn’t know? What are you talking about? You find her body, but you tell the press before you tell the family? The first they know of it is when a reporter from the Denton Echo hammers on their doorstep to ask for a photograph of their dead daughter – ’

‘Hold on, Super,’ cut in Frost. ‘We haven’t found his daughter’s body. The poor cow we’ve found is maggot-ridden. She’s been dead for at least a month.’

‘Then why tell the press it was Debbie Clark?’

‘I never told the press.’

‘Don’t try and get out of it, Frost. I’ve checked. Even for you this seemed unbelievable, so I phoned the Denton Echo myself. They assured me that their reporter was informed by the police that it was Debbie…’

‘Then he’s a bleeding liar,’ said Frost. ‘I’ll ring you back.’ He cut Mullett off, dialled the Denton Echo and asked to be put through to the editor.

‘What the hell are you playing at, Sandy,’ he demanded, ‘sending one of your reporters round to the Clarks and telling them we’d found their daughter’s body?’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ Lane asked.

‘We haven’t found her bleeding body, that’s what’s wrong with that.’

‘Balls, Jack. She checked with one of your men and was told categorically you had found Debbie Clark’s body. I’m running the story under her byline now.’

‘She? It’s a bloody she?’

‘Yes, Jack. A new girl, very keen. She’ll go far.’

‘Not bleeding far enough, if I get hold of her. If she says she’s checked with one of my men, she’s lying.’

‘Jack,’ insisted Lane, ‘she may be new but she knows the ropes. She would never go ahead with a story like that if she hadn’t been given the facts.’

‘Sandy, I and another officer viewed the body, which definitely wasn’t Debbie Clark, and we certainly didn’t speak to a reporter.’

‘I’m sorry Jack. She spoke to one of your men.’

‘None of my men would be so stupid,’ began Frost – then he remembered that Taffy Morgan had been chatting up a young woman as Frost was slithering down to view the body. He went cold. ‘I’ll call you back, Sandy.’ He dropped the phone in his pocket and yelled for Morgan to come over.

‘Press, Guv?’ said Morgan. ‘No, I haven’t spoken to the press.’

‘Well, some silly sod has and you’re the only silly sod around here.’

‘Not guilty this time, Guv.’

‘Did you speak to anyone?’

‘No, Guv. Definitely not.’

‘Someone with big tits, perhaps?’

Morgan opened his mouth, then shut it again as his eyes widened ‘Ah…’