R Wingfield - A Killing Frost

Frost froze. The shrill ringing of the phone sounded as if it could be heard halfway down the street. ‘Stop, you sod, stop,’ he muttered angrily. But the damn thing went on and on and on…

‘The bloody fool’s not going to answer!’ cursed Jordan, slamming down the phone. Charlie Baker wouldn’t be there yet and the minutes were ticking away. There was nothing for it, desperate measures were called for. He’d have to involve accident-prone Taffy Morgan.

The ringing stopped. The subsequent silence screamed. Frost waited for a couple of seconds, then lifted the receiver. He shone his torch on the girl’s number and dialled. A pause. He waited, holding his breath. A woman’s voice announced, ‘The person you are calling is unavailable. If you would like to leave a – ’ Damn. Of course. He’d switched the damn thing off to conserve the battery. He hung up, switched on the mobile and waited for it to register. He dialled again. ‘The number you are calling has not been recognised…’

Double shit. He flicked his torch at the scrap of paper. Damn, he’d transposed the last two numbers. He drew a deep breath and, carefully checking each digit, slowly and deliberately he dialled again. One digit to go when…

Banging, crashing, then footsteps thudding up the stairs.

Bleeding hell! Kelly was back and no one had warned him. He clicked off the torch and stood stock still, holding his breath, his heart going ballistic, in the dark.

The footsteps stopped outside the bedroom door.

‘Guv… Where are you? It’s me – Morgan!’

Frost sighed with relief. Taffy bloody Morgan! ‘You frightened the shit out of me, you Welsh sod. What are you doing here?’

‘Get out quick, Guv. They left early. They’ll be here any minute.’

‘So why didn’t you phone me?’

‘Your phone is switched off. Come on, Guv.’ He tugged at Frost’s sleeve to hurry him up.

A car drew up outside.

Frost twitched back the curtains and took a quick peek at the street below. Flaming arse holes! Kelly’s car was reversing into the drive.

‘The back way,’ hissed Frost. ‘It’s our only chance.’

The sound of a key turning in the lock downstairs.

Frost froze. Too bloody late. There was no way they could get down the stairs and out with out being seen.

‘Guv,’ bleated Morgan.

Frost flapped a hand to silence him. ‘Keep bleeding quiet and pray.’ What excuse could he use… they’d heard a burglar so they broke into the house the back way? Sod it. Might as well be hung for a sheep as for a flaming lamb. He dialled the last digit. And nothing happened. He’d risked everything for sod all.

They stood in the dark, waiting to be caught red-handed. For a brief moment there was screaming silence. No – not silence!

Very faintly, powered by the dying breath of a failing battery, the mobile was ringing. He had dialled Debbie’s number and it was ringing. It was Debbie’s phone!

They had to get out unseen. Once out he would get a search warrant, turn the house over and ‘find’ the phone. If they were caught inside the house, Kelly’s brief could claim the evidence was planted.

Downstairs the front door opened. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. The toilet door opened and closed. The sound of someone being violently sick. One in the toilet, but where was the other one?

Kelly’s voice called, ‘Are you all right up there?’ He began ascending the stairs.

This is it, thought Frost. We’ve bloody had it.

Then there was a hammering at the front door. ‘Police. Open up.’

Kelly paused on the stairs. ‘Police?’ he echoed. ‘What the hell do you want?’

Footsteps retreated down the stairs. The door unlatched and opened.

PC Simms’s voice announced, ‘Sorry to bother you, sir. Is that your car on the forecourt?’

‘What if it bloody is? Is it an offence to park your own bloody car on your own bloody forecourt?’

‘We’d like you to check it, sir. We just spotted someone trying to break into the boot.’

‘The bastard. Did you get him?’

‘I’m afraid not, sir.’

‘Typical, bloody typical.’

Footsteps crunched on the gravel outside. Frost could hear muffled voices Kelly was on the forecourt.

I owe you one, Simms, thought Frost.

He listened to more sounds of retching from the toilet. ‘Come on, Taff. We’re going!’ They tiptoed down the stairs. Halfway across the living room, Frost stopped dead. ‘Shit.’

He was still holding Debbie’s bleeding mobile!

Prat, prat, stupid flaming prat! If he couldn’t get the damn thing back before Kelly returned it would be curtains. There would be no way they could use the phone as evidence – assuming he hadn’t been booted out of the force long before then.

‘What’s up, Guv? Why have we stopped?’

‘Don’t ask flaming questions. Wait for me in the car.’

‘But Guv – ’

‘For Pete’s sake, Taffy – go! And if I’m not out in a couple of minutes, leave me, get the hell out of here.’

‘But Guv – ’

‘Don’t argue, Taffy, just bloody do it!’ He shoved Morgan out of the way and spun on his heel to charge back up the stairs. He knew he was making a noise, but hoped vomiting Vera in the karzy would be too preoccupied with throwing up to notice.

The muffled voices from outside suddenly died. Flaming heck. Was Kelly coming back in? ‘Please, Simms,’ he prayed, ‘keep him out there for another minute – fifty seconds, anything…’

He replaced the mobile in the airing cupboard with fumbling fingers. As he dashed back down the stairs, the voices outside started up again. Reprieved, but for how long?

Through the living room into the kitchen, out into the garden, running like hell. Halfway up the garden he heard the car starting up. No Taffy – please, no!

Slamming the back gate behind him, he saw the rear lights of the car moving off.

Sod making a noise. ‘Taffy!’ he yelled.

Thank God! The Welsh git had heard him. The car stopped and backed at speed, then screamed to a stop. Frost hurled himself in and lay speechless, panting at Taffy’s side, sucking in air and rubbing the stitch in his side.

‘Drive,’ he gasped.

As they sped round the corner, they could see the area car with two uniformed men walking round Kelly’s Citroen. The driver’s window had been smashed. ‘Good old Simms,’ said Frost. He leaned over and punched the horn as they passed. Behind Kelly’s back, Simms fluttered a hand of acknowledgement.

‘Can we go home now, Guv?’ yawned Morgan. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘No we flaming can’t,’ said Frost. ‘But to compensate, tomorrow’s going to be a short day because I doubt you’ll be in bed much before noon.’

Alison Miller wrapped her sensible brown tweedy dressing gown more tightly round her flannelette nightdress and glared angrily at the two detectives who had banged on her door at this unearthly hour. ‘This had better be extremely important,’ she said. ‘Do you know what time it is?’

Frost glanced at his watch. ‘It’s three o’clock, mum,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep. I know how much you need it.’

She gave him a hard stare, never knowing whether he was being deliberately rude or not. Frost’s innocent expression made her decide, reluctantly, to give him the benefit of the doubt. She glanced at the warrant, then at him. ‘What are you playing at? This is the same address as before.’

‘You’ve got a marvellous memory, mum,’ said Frost. She winced each time the wretched man called her ‘mum’.

‘Ma’am,’ she snapped icily.

‘Sorry, mum,’ said Frost. ‘Yes, the same address, but this time I’ve cast-iron information from a very reliable source that items belonging to the dead girl, Debbie Clark, are in the house.’