R Wingfield - A Killing Frost

He shook a cigarette from the packet and offered one to Wells, who shook his head. Frost lit up and moved over to the window, staring down to see if the solicitor’s car had arrived. ‘Bloody nine-to-five solicitors,’ he muttered.

There was a tap at the door and Jordan looked in. ‘I found a charger, Inspector, and it is Debbie Clark’s phone.’

‘I’d be flaming surprised if it wasn’t,’ said Frost, ‘but well done, son.’

‘And even better news, Inspector. The last call she received was from Kelly’s phone!’

Frost punched the air with delight ‘Then we’ve got the sod!’ He peered out into the car park again. ‘Where’s that flaming brief?’ He turned to Jordan. ‘And how’s Molly Malone?’

‘Still throwing up,’ said Jordan. ‘I don’t know where it’s all coming from. She wanted us to send for a Harley Street specialist, but she’s got the duty quack.’

‘We’ve got to talk to her,’ said Frost. ‘She’ll be the one who made the phone call to Sandy Lane about the video tape.’

Car doors slammed in the car park. Frost turned back to the window. ‘Slippery Sam’s here. Look at the bleeding posh car he’s got.’ He swilled down the dregs of his tea and cuffed his mouth dry. ‘Right, let’s get cracking…’ He stopped dead and smacked a palm on his forehead. ‘Shit! That last call on the flaming phone – that was me checking if it was Debbie’s mobile!’ He spun round to Jordan. ‘Is there any way we can erase it?’

Jordan thought for a moment. ‘We could probably wipe it off the phone’s memory, but the phone company will still have a record.’

‘Human dung!’ cursed Frost. ‘All right. If it comes to it, they will have to prove they didn’t make the call and I’ll do what every good police officer does – lie my bleeding head off!’ He rubbed his face with his hands. He was always skating on thin flaming ice. One day it would crack and he’d fall in the freezing water.

PC Collier looked round the door. ‘Sarge, Kelly’s solicitor is here. He wants to see his client.’

‘Coming,’ said Wells.

Frost looked at his empty mug. They would have to wait until Kelly had briefed Slippery Sam on the lies he was going to tell before he could be questioned. ‘Any more tea on the go?’ he called.

Deadly silence.

‘Then someone bloody well make some,’ said Frost, giving Taffy an encouraging kick. ‘Tea all round, Lloyd George.’

Taffy reluctantly pulled himself out of his chair, where he was half asleep. ‘Tea, Guv? Right away,’ he yawned.

Frost didn’t have to wait long. Halfway through the next mug of tea Bill Wells came back.

‘They’re ready for you, Jack, and Kelly wants bail.’

‘I want a sex-mad teenage virgin,’ said Frost, ‘and Kelly’s got the same chance as me!’

With Morgan tagging along, he made his way to the Interview Room, where he nodded at the solicitor, a weaselly-faced man you definitely wouldn’t buy a second-hand car from – he looked more of a villain than Kelly, who was sitting beside him. Frost waited for Morgan to set up the tape recorder, then opened his folder.

‘As you know, Mr Kelly, on information received we obtained a warrant enabling us to search your premises, where we found you in possession of these items.’ He reached down and pulled up a polythene sack filled with the packets of coke Kelly had been carrying in the house. He took out one of the packets and showed it to the solicitor. ‘Forensic tests haven’t yet been carried out, but we have every reason to believe they contain an illegal substance.’

‘As I explained to you earlier, Inspector,’ said Kelly, in his reasonable voice for the tape recorder, ‘I found them in my airing cupboard. I had never seen them before. Someone must have planted them there.’

‘You were found with these packets in your arms and were intending to flush them down the bog.’

‘Hold on, Inspector,’ interjected the solicitor. ‘You have no idea what my client’s intentions were.’

‘It’s all right, Mr Simpson,’ said Kelly, still in his reasonable voice. ‘The inspector is quite right. To my shame, I did intend to flush them down the loo. I wanted to get rid of them. I knew he would never have believed they were planted. Inspector Frost is not a very trusting man.’

‘Planted?’ scoffed Frost. ‘Then who would have had access to your airing cupboard?’

Kelly smiled. ‘Someone who wanted to get me into trouble, Inspector. Perhaps the very same person who gave you the information you used to obtain the search warrant.’

Frost reached down beneath the table and brought up the box containing the credit cards, jewellery and mobile phone. ‘We found this hidden at the back of your airing cupboard too,’ he told Kelly.

Kelly shrugged. ‘Never seen it before in my life. Whoever is planting these things is doing a good job.’

‘Just a moment, Inspector,’ interjected the solicitor. ‘What is the significance of this? What have these items got to do with the drugs that were planted on my client?’

Frost took a swig of cold tea. ‘Serendipity Mr Simpson. We looked for drugs, the rest was a bonus.’ He glanced at Kelly. ‘Drugs might be the least of your client’s problems, Mr Simpson.’

‘Oh?’ said the solicitor. ‘Perhaps you could elucidate.’ He leant back smugly, arms folded.

Frost poipted to the mobile. ‘That phone, which we found hidden in your client’s airing cupboard, was owned by Debbie Clark.’

Simpson gave a scoffing sniff. ‘The dead teenager? Tut, tut, Inspector, you are scraping the bottom of the barrel this time. I am sure there are thousands of phones of that make and model.’

‘But not with the same phone number,’ said Frost, playing his trump card. He leant across to Kelly. ‘We’ve checked the phone number. The phone we found in the airing cupboard is Debbie Clark’s phone. We are now talking murder.’

Kelly jerked back as if he had been hit. ‘I’ve never seen the bleeding phone before. It’s been planted. It’s been bloody well planted. Bloody hell. On my mother’s life… Drugs, yes. Bleeding murder, no.’

‘Then how did the phone come to be in your possession?’ demanded Frost.

Before Kelly could answer, the Interview Room door crashed open and a red and sweaty-faced, angry-looking Detective Chief Inspector Skinner burst in, swaying slightly, quivering with rage. ‘Frost! Out here. Now!’

It was Frost’s turn to be angry. ‘Didn’t you see the red light? I’m interviewing a suspect.’

‘I don’t give a sod what you’re doing. Out here – now!’

‘Excuse me for a moment,’ apologised Frost to the solicitor. ‘I believe my superior wants to commend me for something.’ He rose and walked out to confront Skinner in the passage. ‘How bloody dare you interrupt me when I’m questioning a suspect?’

‘Don’t try your high and mighty larks on me, Frost,’ retorted Skinner, breathing out clouds of whisky fumes. ‘What are all these officers doing in the Incident Room – on overtime unauthorised by me?’

‘We are following a line of investigation,’ said Frost, trying to remain calm.

‘You don’t follow any lines of investigation without getting my approval first, especially for a tuppence-ha’ penny-possession-of-illegal-substances and receiving-stolen-goods pull. Send all those men home, now.’

‘I’m questioning a suspect in connection with the murder of Debbie Clark and Thomas Harris.’

Skinner stared at Frost with eyes he was finding difficult to focus. ‘A suspect?’ He grabbed Frost by the arm and pulled him into his office. ‘Tell me about it.’

Frost told him, skipping the details about breaking into Kelly’s house first.