R Wingfield - A Killing Frost

‘Be my guest,’ said Frost grandly, gathering up the file and leaving them to it.

‘How’s it going?’ asked Wells as he passed Frost, who was leaning on the wall in the passage outside the Interview Room, sucking at a cigarette.

‘Him and Fanny are concocting a new story line to prove he didn’t do t. I think she raped herself, then strangled herself. How’s the paedophile thing going?’

‘We got the search warrant you wanted and they’re on their way now. Do you think you can trust Morgan with this?’

‘By the law of averages he must do something right now and again,’ said Frost. ‘But I’ll poke my nose in as soon as I get Skinner’s ancient murder out of the way. Ah!’ The door opened and the solicitor beckoned him in.

‘We’re ready, Inspector.’

He stubbed out his cigarette and followed her back in. ‘I’m all ears,’ he said, dumping the file on the table and dropping down into his chair.

The woman nodded for her client to begin.

‘All right, Inspector,’ said Fielding. ‘I’ll tell you the truth. I was afraid to say it before as it looked bad for me. Yes, I was with her on Christmas Eve. Yes, we had sex, but she was alive when I left her. I swear by my baby’s life, she was alive when I left her. I didn’t beat her up. I didn’t kill her. When I heard she was dead, I panicked. I didn’t come forward.’

‘Are you saying she willingly submitted to sex?’ asked Frost.

‘Yes.’

‘That doesn’t add up, I’m afraid, son. The poor little cow must have been terrified. She fought off her attacker… fought like mad. Like I told you, there was skin under her fingernails where she had scratched him. And it was your skin, son. The DNA test proves that conclusively.’

‘I’d been with her a couple of times before, Inspector. At her climax she liked to rake your bare back with her nails. It gave her pleasure. It gave me a bit of pleasure at the time too, but it bloody well hurt afterwards. Some women are like that.’

‘Yes, some like to bite your dick off, but I’ve never met any, thank God. So where did you have this back-lacerating sex?’

‘Denton Woods.’

‘Where in the woods?’

‘By the lake.’

‘Right, so what happened after you disentangled your lacerated body?’

‘I dropped her off just outside Denton and we arranged to meet on Boxing Day.’

‘Why didn’t you take her home?’

‘She said she had to meet someone and they’d give her a lift back.’

‘Who?’

‘I can’t remember, Inspector. It was a long time ago.’

‘It’s a long time ago now, son, but it wasn’t then. When you heard she’d been murdered, why didn’t you tell the police the name of this bloke she was meeting?’

‘I don’t know, Inspector. I think she muttered a name which meant nothing to me and I could hardly make out what she was saying. Perhaps I didn’t ask her… it was a bloody long time ago…’

‘All right. Let’s say I’m stupid enough to believe you. The next day, Christmas Day, she is found stripped naked, beaten up, raped, strangled, and dumped in a churchyard. The police put out appeals for help. Her parents are crying their bleeding eyes out. Why didn’t you come forward then?’

‘Because I was bloody scared. I was only seventeen. You don’t believe me now. I’d have been lynched if I’d gone to the cops then. They were screaming for blood.’

‘I was on duty at the time,’ Frost told him. ‘I had to break the news to the girl’s parents. I’d have lynched you my bloody self. So you’re trying to tell me that you had willing sex, had your back torn to ribbons, dropped her off and someone else murdered her?’

‘Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

Frost shook his head sadly. ‘If I were you, son, I’d make sure you get yourself a bloody good lawyer.’

Fielding scowled. ‘You don’t believe me?’

‘It’s not my job to believe you, that’s the jury’s job. But if I were on the jury, I wouldn’t have to retire to find you guilty.’

‘It’s true,’ Fielding shouted, banging his fist on the table.

‘Then be prepared for a gross miscarriage of justice,’ said Frost, ‘because you will certainly go down for life.’

‘My client’s story sounds perfectly plausible to me,’ said the solicitor. ‘I intend to demand bail.’

‘My colleague, Detective Chief Inspector Skinner, will be back tomorrow. He will question your client, take a statement and formally charge him. You can then ask the magistrate for bail.’

‘I didn’t do it,’ insisted Fielding.

‘Most of the people I arrest say that,’ Frost told him. ‘Funnily enough, the ones who confess are usually lying.’

He was in the car, driving to Denton Woods to check on the search team, when his mobile rang. It was Taffy Morgan.

‘Guv, I’m outside that paedophile’s house. We’re just about to serve the search warrant.’

‘I didn’t ask for a flaming running commentary – just serve the flaming warrant.’

‘You should hear this, Guv, it’s important.’

‘It had better be flaming important,’ cut in Frost. ‘I’m driving and on my mobile. It’s against the law. I might have to arrest myself.’

‘You’ll like this, Guv. Guess who’s just gone into the house?’

‘Prince Philip?’

‘No – better than him.’ He paused for effect. ‘Harold Clark – Debbie Clark’s father.’

Frost rammed his foot on the brake and swung the car into a screeching U-turn. ‘Stay put. Don’t do anything, Taff. I’m on my way. ..’

The lay preacher’s house was tucked down a quiet, tree-lined side road. It was an imposing dwelling, ivy clad and with a stone wall running round the perimeter. Clark’s car was parked in the driveway by the front door.

Frost drove slowly past, then spotted DC Morgan’s car tucked down an adjoining side street. He nosed the Ford in behind it and waited while Morgan and a bespectacled, worried-looking man, whom Frost took to be the computer expert, climbed into the back.

Morgan made the introductions. ‘This is Harry Edwards, the computer man, Guv. Clark’s still inside. It’s that big house round the corner.’

‘I saw it,’ grunted Frost, holding his hand out for the search warrant to check Taffy hadn’t made one of his par-for-the-course sod-ups. All seemed to be in order. He opened the car door. ‘Right. Let’s frighten the shit out of them.’

Frost switched on his charming smile as the front door was opened by a middle-aged man in a brown tweedy jacket, who blinked in surprise to find three strangers on his doorstep. ‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’ he asked.

‘I wonder if you would mind reading this, Mr Alman,’ said Frost sweetly. ‘We’re police officers and this is a warrant to search your premises.’

The man stared at the search warrant, then looked up at the inspector and shook his head in horrified disbelief. ‘I don’t understand. There must be some mistake.’

‘Could be,’ agreed Frost, ‘but we have to check it out. The FBI seem to think that someone from this address, with your name and your credit-card details, has been buying and down loading pornographic images of children from the internet.’

The blood drained from Alman’s face. He attempted a dismissive laugh and failed. ‘It is a mistake, officer. I don’t even have a computer.’

‘Fair enough,’ purred Frost. ‘We’ll just come in and take a look at the computer you haven’t got, then we’ll turn your place upside-down, and if we don’t find what we’re looking for, you won’t believe the profuseness of our apologies.’ He pushed past Alman into the house, followed by Morgan and Harry Edwards.