R Wingfield - A Killing Frost

Skinner faked a beam back. ‘I’m looking for ward to a long stay, sir.’ A lie, of course. Once I get my promotion you won’t see my arse for dust. He let his eyes flit round Mullett’s office with its polished oak panelling. The old log cabin, as Frost called it. The rest of the station was a tip, but Mullett had done all right for himself. Skinner would make certain his own office was done up to the same standard during the short time he had to spend in this lousy division. He drained the coffee from the poncey little cup Mullett had given him and replaced it in the tiny saucer. ‘As you know, sir, I’ll be travelling backwards and forwards to my old patch over the next few weeks. I’ve got cases to clear up, court appearances and so on.’

Mullett nodded. ‘I fully understand that, but we are extremely short-staffed at the moment, what with people on courses and the uniforms we’ve had to loan to County for that drug-smuggling operation. The sooner we can have you full-time, the better.’

‘Shouldn’t take more than a couple of weeks to tie up most loose ends, but I want to get shot of Frost as soon as I can. I met up with him today and I agree with you, sir. The man is useless.’

With a look of alarm, Mullett raised a warning finger to his lips, then hurried across to his office door, opened it and peered cautiously up and down the corridor to ensure no one was in earshot. Back at his desk, he clicked the switch which lit up the red ‘ENGAGED – DO NOT ENTER’ sign. ‘This must be kept absolutely confidential, John. If it got out prematurely…’

‘Don’t worry, sir,’ Skinner assured him. ‘It will get out when I want it to get out, and not before.’

Mullett gave an approving nod. He could hardly believe that what he had been wishing for for so long was actually going to happen. ‘But what if he doesn’t agree to a transfer out of Denton?’

Skinner gave a smug smile. ‘He’ll have no choice but to agree. I’ve done this many times before, so I know what I’m doing.’

Mullett sighed with relief. ‘It’s good to have you aboard the Denton flagship, John. I can see we’re going to get on very well together.’

Skinner smiled back. Mullett looked the sort of man he could twist round his little finger. If he played his cards right, he could end up sitting in that very chair behind that mahogany desk. He stood up. ‘I’d better get back to my suspect now – the woman who tried to kill her baby.’

‘I’m impressed by the way you’ve got stuck in on your very first day,’ said Mullett. ‘Very impressed.’ As Skinner left, he switched off the red warning sign. It would be good to have some one like Skinner in the division to do all the dirty jobs Mullett didn’t have the guts to do himself. Yes, this was going to work out very well.

Frost squeezed his car into the only available space, narrowly avoiding scraping the paint off Mullett’s brand-new, metallic-blue Porsche. He mooched across the car park to the rear entrance of the station. He was not feeling very happy. The semen sample from the rape victim didn’t match any known offenders – but perhaps that would have been too easy. And Forensic, while admitting that the severed foot could have come from a hospital dissecting room, refused to rule out the possibility of foul play, which meant he would have to treat it as a possible murder inquiry. And his team was already stretched to the limit now that Hornrim Harry had sent half the force out to catch some other division’s drug barons, and the other half were on courses to improve efficiency. The way to improve sodding efficiency was to be on the spot, solving the flaming crimes, not writing poncey essays about understanding the criminal mind. If Forensic had to provide the manpower, they’d flaming soon classify the foot as a medical student’s joke, he thought glumly.

Ahead of him, Jordan and Simms were escorting a weaselly-looking man they had arrested for shoplifting, who was bewailing his luck. ‘I had to do it, officer,’ he told Simms. ‘I haven’t eaten for three days.’

‘So what were you going to do with the bra you nicked?’ asked Jordan. ‘Boil it or fry it with the knickers?’

‘It’s easy to be funny when you’ve got a full stomach,’ whined the man.

Frost followed them down the passage and through the swing doors leading to the lobby, where a frazzled Sergeant Wells was with a frosty-faced elderly woman who was clutching a shopping basket. When the woman caught sight of the shoplifter, she dropped the shopping basket and raised a shaking finger, her eyes wide. ‘That’s him. That’s the man. He did it!’

‘Did bloody what?’ blinked the man. ‘What’s the silly cow on about?’ He moved towards her, but Frost pushed him away.

‘Get him to the Charge Room now,’ he ordered the two constables. ‘I’ll sort this out.’ He turned to the woman, who was now trembling and panting with fright. ‘What’s this all about, love?’

She waited until the Charge Room door had closed before answering. ‘I’d just drawn my pension. I went down that little alley at the side of the post office and he jumped out, snatched my handbag and legged it. How am I going to get through the week with no money?’

Frost sighed. There’d been a spate of these handbag-snatchings over the past few weeks, usually from elderly women. ‘Are you sure that he was the man who robbed you?’

‘Positive. I’d stake my life on it. I’d know him anywhere.’

‘And when did you say this took place?’

‘About half an hour ago. I’d just drawn my pension… You ask them in the post office.’

Frost held up a hand to stop her. ‘It couldn’t have been him, love. Half an hour ago he was in Marks and Sparks nicking bras.’

‘If he says that then he’s lying to protect himself,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not senile. It was definitely him. Have you searched his house?’

‘From top to bottom,’ lied Frost. ‘All we found were nipple-less bras and crotchless knickers.’ He waited in the lobby while Wells found a WPC to make the woman a cup of tea and see her home safely.

‘Bloody, woman!’ moaned Wells. ‘She’s positively identified every face in the flaming mug-shot book. We haven’t the faintest idea what the bloke looks like. She’s identified men of every colour, any age, hairy, bald, giants, flaming midgets. As long as they wear trousers, she’ll identify them!’

‘Show her a picture of Mullett,’ said Frost. ‘If she identifies him, I’ll arrest him for you. I suppose no one’s come hobbling in saying they’ve lost their foot?’

‘No,’ grinned Wells. ‘Did you know the new DCI has arrested Sadie Rawlings on suspicion of attempted infanticide?’

Frost stopped in his tracks. ‘Sadie? He’s bloody mad.’

‘He reckoned there was enough salt in her baby’s bottle to kill an elephant.’

‘I can imagine her killing an elephant, but not a baby. She’s a long way from being a bloody saint, but she’d never try to kill her kid. The man’s a bloody fool.’ He sniffed. The siren call of sausage and bacon was wafting from the canteen.

‘I’m off for some breakfast.’

The phone rang. Wells answered it. ‘Hold on, Jack! It’s the manager from Supersaves. They’ve had a letter from some nutter claiming he’s poisoned some of the food on their shelves.’

‘Supersaves? Half their stuff tastes as if it’s been poisoned anyway. Send DC Morgan.’

‘He’s out collecting the CCTV tapes from the multi-storey car park.’

Frost frowned. ‘The car park?’ Then he remembered. Oh – the rape. Send an area car – it’s probably a hoax.’

‘Jordan and Simms have just gone out to see the parents of a girl who went missing last night.’

‘I’m flaming starving. There must be someone else you can send?’