R Wingfield - A Killing Frost

There was a clatter of footsteps as the staff nurse came over. ‘Please keep your voice down. There are sick people here.’

‘Sorry love,’ muttered Frost. He turned back to the woman. ‘If you can’t remember where you got it, I’m arresting you for murder and you’ll be doing porridge as well as bleeding eating it.’

‘Murder? I wouldn’t have touched a hair on that poor innocent child’s head. Those girls, they just left stuff lying around. They were just asking for it to be pinched.’

‘You stole stuff from the kids’ lockers?’

‘All the lockers. I was teaching the school a lesson. I was going to put it all back.’

‘I bet you bleeding were,’ sniffed Frost. ‘So when did this happen?’

‘On my mother’s life, Inspector, if I hadn’t been taken sick, I’d have put it all back.’

‘You’re a lying cow, Bridget. When did you nick it?’

She screwed her face in thought. ‘Let me see… Wednesday. .. Yes, it was Wednesday, the day before I was taken sick.’

‘You’re a bleeding liar, Bridget. Debbie was killed on Tuesday night and she had her phone with her. You and Kelly killed her, didn’t you?’

Her eyes spat fire. ‘Don’t you dare accuse me of a thing like that, Inspector. You can go to hell. If you want to talk to me, get my solicitor. I’m not saying another word.’

Frost stood up and scraped his chair back against the wall. ‘I’m going for now, Bridget. But remember what big Arnie said… “I’ll be back.”

Back in the car, he radioed the station to send a WPC to stay with Malone until she was discharged and take her straight to the station. Then he turned the car off the main road and headed down the side streets to Debbie’s house.

Mrs Clark was haggard with grief. Her hair was uncombed as before, her dress not buttoned properly. The house felt cold and empty – it felt like a place where someone had died. She took him into the living room. Cards of condolence were strewn on the carpet.

‘It’s about your daughter,’ began Frost uneasily.

She stared at him as if deeply surprised. ‘She’s at school. My Debbie is at school…’ Then her body shook and she collapsed into a chair. ‘She’s not at school… she’s dead. My Debbie is dead.’

‘I know, love, I know,’ sympathised Frost. God, this was going to be bloody difficult. He sat him self down in a chair opposite her. ‘A couple of questions and I’ll be on my way… it won’t take long.’

She stared at him intently, then leant forward dropping her voice. ‘Her father killed her. He lusted after her. He was jealous of that boy.’

‘You might be right,’ nodded Frost gravely, ‘but we’ve got to get a few facts straight before we can make an arrest. It’s about Debbie’s mobile phone. You said she took it with her the night she went missing?’

She blinked at him. Her phone? I bought it for her twelfth birthday.’

‘Yes, love. But the night she went missing, did she take the phone with her?’

‘I made her take it. Every time she went out, I made her take it. I said terrible things might…’ Her body shook, racked with sobs, ‘… terrible things might happen.’

‘And she took it?’

‘I always made her show it to me. She held it up. She said, “Look, Mum, I’ve got it.”

‘You’re sure about this, Mrs Clark? It’s very important.’

‘Of course I’m sure.’

‘Skinner wants you,’ said Wells, ‘and he’s spitting blood.’

‘You did say “spitting”? I’m not going in if it’s the other end,’ said Frost. He groaned. ‘Ah, well. Let’s get it over and done with.’

He took a quick look in his own office on the way down. A heap of niggling chase-up memos from Mullett lay in his in-tray, together with a report from SOCO about the coins removed from the call box. Only ninety pence in assorted coins. One of the l0p pieces had a segment of a finger print which matched the fingerprint on the video wrapping paper. The same woman each time. Big deal! They now knew it was the same woman, but still didn’t know who she was. But what else did he expect? He gave a deep sigh. Things were getting on top of him. The little unexpected lucky breaks that often came to his rescue seemed to be on unauthorised leave. He wished he was! Flaming fat-guts Skinner was no help. He’d dumped all the cases on him, ready to take the credit when they were solved and to bullock Frost when things went wrong. And talking of bollocking, he’d better go in and see what Chubby Chops wanted this time.

The typewritten notice pinned on Skinner’s office door read DCI SKINNER. ROOM 12, with an arrow pointing down the corridor. Frost poked his head inside. It was empty of furniture and a white-overalled workman was splashing paint on the walls. He looked up at Frost.

‘You the gentleman from next door, squire?’

‘First time I’ve been called a gentleman,’ said Frost, ‘but yes.’

‘We’ll be starting on your office next week. Understand you’re leaving?’

‘In my own bloody time,’ snapped Frost, slamming the door. Bloody Skinner, ordering the coffin while the corpse was still phoning for an ambulance.

Room 12’s door had a pinned notice: DCI SKINNER – KNOCK AND WAIT. Frost barged straight in.

Skinner sat behind a paper-laden desk in a tiny room jam-packed with furniture from his office. He glowered at Frost. Standing in front of him was WPC Kate Holby. She was biting her lip hard and looked on the verge of tears.

‘I didn’t hear you knock.’

‘Ah – that’s why I didn’t hear you say “Come in”,’ said Frost.

Another scowl from Skinner. He turned to Kate. ‘Now get out. You’ll hear more about this.’

She brushed past Frost and left.

Skinner leant back in his chair. ‘I’ll give that girl something to cry about. If she can’t obey orders, she’s out. I gave her a specific job to do and I find her out on surveillance at the Blue Parrot.’

‘I ordered her to do that,’ said Frost.

‘I don’t care a sod about you. She obeys my orders, not yours. She’s on probation. I’ve got to do a report on her suitability Well, I’m reporting that she’s unsuitable and that will be that.’

‘Even you wouldn’t do that,’ said Frost.

A nasty grin crawled over Skinner’s face. ‘Wouldn’t I just?’

‘You wouldn’t,’ said Frost as he sat down, ‘any more than I would report you for having sex with an under-age prostitute and bringing her to the station. I wouldn’t stoop so low – unless I had to, of course.’

The colour drained from Skinner’s face. ‘Under age?’ he croaked.

Frost nodded. ‘Fifteen this year.’ He had no idea how old she was, but Morgan had taken her home last night so he knew where she lived, and he’d get her to lie if necessary.

Skinner was trying to pull himself together. He gathered up the papers on his desk and patted them into a neat stack. ‘You’re too bleeding clever for your own good,’ he muttered.

‘Thank you,’ said Frost. ‘Praise from you is praise indeed. What did you want to see me about?’

Skinner waved a hand at the papers on his desk. ‘You know what these are? Overtime claims… unauthorised overtime claims. I’m the one who authorises overtime, Frost, not you.’

‘Superintendent Mullett – ’ began Frost.

‘And not Superintendent bleeding Mullett – you take your orders from me, not him. What did that Irish tart say about the phone?’

Frost told him.

Skinner snorted. ‘She took it from the girl’s locker? Just what I thought.’

‘Mrs Clark said Debbie had it the night she was killed.’

‘Then she’s wrong. It can’t have been in two bloody places at once, can it? The kid probably left it at school by mistake and lied to her mother. You’re wasting everyone’s time following that line of inquiry, so drop it. Bridget Malone is a petty, bog-paper-nicking thief, not a murderer, and Patsy Kelly’s a drug-dealer – I’m letting the drug squad deal with him. I’ve phoned the school. They don’t want to prosecute the woman, so that’s that.’