Hard Frost (19 page)

   Wells clicked on the wall switch with his foot. The kettle was already plugged in. "Did I tell you that Mullett's got me working here on Christmas Day again?"

   "Yes, I believe you did mention it," said Frost. It was Wells's sole flaming topic of conversation these days. Frost was not really sympathetic. He always got the Christmas Day shift, but didn't mind. It was just like any other day to him with the added bonus of the absence of the Divisional Commander.

   "I'm going to have it out with him," continued Wells. "I can be driven just so far." He picked up a written message. "We've had two more sightings of the missing boy - one in Manchester and one in Sunderland."

   "Thanks," grunted Frost gloomily, stuffing the message in his pocket. "In a couple of hours we start dragging the canals and the lakes. God knows how many dead dogs and horses we're going to turn up." He watched Wells drop a tea-bag in each of two mugs and fill them with hot water and his mind drifted back to the bungalow. "That place was spotless. The nippers were well nourished . . . clean . . . bags of toys." He sighed. "Poor cow. Better if we do find her dead. How can you carry on living knowing you've killed your own kids?"

   Wells nodded sympathetically as he brought out the carton of milk. Then he stiffened. He had heard something. A car door slamming in the car-park. "That sounds like Mullett's car."

   "You're just trying to frighten me," said Frost.

   But it was Mullett, shiny and polished in his uniform, chin pink and smooth and freshly shaved. "I've just come from Cresswell Street."

   "Ah!" Frost gave a knowing nod. Cassidy must have told the publicity-hungry Mullett that the press and TV boys were there in force with half a million quid's worth of Japanese cameras. "Get your photograph taken, did you, super?"

   Mullett smoothed his moustache. "I thought it advisable to take advantage of the TV cameras to appeal for help in tracing the mother." He flashed a smug smile. "I think it went very well. It'll be shown on breakfast television."

   That should put people off their cornflakes, thought Frost.

   "Ah, tea!" beamed Mullett. "You must have known I was coming, sergeant." He picked up the mug Wells had poured for himself. "I'll take it with me." His smile clicked off abruptly. "And I'd like a word in my office, Frost . . . now!" He spun on his heels and marched up the corridor.

   "He's found out about the fags," said Frost, horrified.

   "Don't implicate me," called Wells. "I had nothing to do with it." He looked at the cigarette smoking in his hand and quickly stubbed it out.

   But it wasn't about the cigarettes. "Sit down," began Mullett, but he was too late, as usual. Frost had already slumped into one of the visitor's chairs, putting his mug of hot tea on the polished top of Mullett's desk. Mullett hastily put a sheet of blotting paper under it.

   "Cassidy seems to think these unfortunate children might not have been killed by their mother."

   "Oh?" said Frost. "First I've heard about it."

   "He detects strong similarities between these killings and the spate of child stabbings we've had over the past weeks."

   "Stabbings?" said Frost. "The kids were asphyxiated."

   "There was a stab wound on the eldest boy's upper arm."

   Frost frowned. "I never spotted it."

   "But Cassidy did. We're fortunate in having him, Frost, otherwise goodness knows what vital clues might be missed."

   "Kids always get knocks and scratches," said Frost.

   "This was definitely a stabbing wound . . . and the Home Office Pathologist says it was inflicted after death."

   That bastard Cassidy, thought Frost. He's deliberately kept this from me. "No doubt when we find the mother she'll tell us what happened."

   "
If
the mother was responsible. Cassidy is beginning to suspect Sidney Snell."

   "Snell? Rubbish!"

   "Consider the coincidences, Frost. Snell likes jabbing very young children on the arms or buttocks. This boy was jabbed in the arm. Snell likes staring in windows, watching women undress. There was a report of a man doing just that in the same street. The previous stabbing was in a bungalow by the golf course . . . This also was a bungalow by the golf course. Too many coincidences to be ignored."

   "Snell gets his kicks from seeing little drops of blood on chubby arms and legs. He doesn't kill with pillows."

   "There's always a first time for everything," retorted Mullett. "Something could have gone wrong tonight. The children all woke up and started crying. He panicked and tried to silence them with a pillow."

   "And the mother?"

   "Mr. Cassidy thinks she could have heard the commotion and come running in, so he had to kill her as well."

   "And then he took her body away in case someone tripped over it?"

   Mullett flapped away the awkward question. "We don't know the exact details."

   "The mother killed her kids and did a runner," said Frost firmly. "Snell had nothing to do with it."

   "I hope, for your sake, you are right," said Mullett. "I understand Cassidy wanted you to arrest Snell, but you were content to warn him off. Might I ask why?"

   "We've got too much on at the moment to sod about with Snell. Let Newcastle handle him."

   Mullett took a sip of his tea. "If we find that the man you couldn't be bothered to arrest then goes out and murders three innocent children, I will personally throw the book at you, Frost."

   Frost gave him a sweet smile and stood up, ready to go. "I wouldn't expect anything else of you, sir."

Bill Wells could hear raised voices rolling down the corridor and was deciding whether to take a stroll past Mullett's office in the hope he could overhear what was going on. But a sudden blast of cold air that ruffled the papers on his desk made him look up. A little old woman had toddled in from the street. Frail-looking, in her eighties, she clutched a large empty shopping bag. Her feet flip-flopped across the lobby. She was wearing pink bedroom slippers with large red pom-poms.

   "What's happening with the buses?" she demanded in a shrill voice. "I've been waiting ages at that bus stop for a number 6 and nothing has turned up nothing. I've got to get to the shops before they close." Wells sighed and shook his head sadly. "It's four o'clock in the morning, Ada. The buses stopped running long ago and the shops are all shut. Everyone's in bed - and that's where you should be."

   The old woman blinked at him in confusion. "But I've got to get dinner ready for my husband. He . . ." Her voice tailed off. Her husband had been dead for more than sixteen years.

   The phone rang. "Yes," said Wells, 'she's just walked in here. I'll get someone to drive her back." He put down the phone and went over to the woman. "That was your daughter. She's worried about you."

   "Did you tell her I'd gone shopping?"

   "I think she knows," said Wells, taking her arm and sitting her down on the bench.

   Frost came charging through, still seething after his bout with Mullett, but he brightened up when he saw the woman. "Hello, Ada. What are you doing here?" He gave her his mug of tea.

   "I'm doing my shopping."

   "Shopping? Not the sex aids shop again - you cleaned them out of mechanical dicks last time."

   She giggled and slurped her tea. She liked Frost. He made her laugh.

   "Any chance of giving her a lift home?" whispered Wells.

   "I've still got things to do here," replied Frost.

   A brisk clatter of feet as Mullett bustled through. Frost called him over and spoke quietly. Mullett frowned and looked across to the old woman sipping noisily from Frost's mug of tea. "It's on your way, sir," wheedled Frost.

   "Very well." Mullett wasn't too happy about it. It would take him well out of his way, but one had to do one's duty to the public. He walked over to her and shouted in her ear. "If you'll come with me, madam, I'll drive you home."

   "I'm not deaf," she snapped, gathering up her shopping bag. "Can we stop at the shops on the way?"

   "They're closed, madam," said Mullett, ushering her out.

   As the swing doors closed behind them, Wells turned in agitation to Frost. "Did you warn him, Jack?"

   Frost frowned. "About what?"

   "About Ada - she's incontinent."

   Frost sounded surprised. "Is she?"

   "You know damn well she is. The last time you took her home she piddled all over your front seat."

   "I thought that was Mrs. Mullett," said Frost innocently. Then he snapped his fingers as if he had just remembered. "No, you're right . . . it was Ada." He smiled. "I suppose I shouldn't have let her drink my mug of tea."

   Wells's jaw sagged. "You gave her tea? Bloody hell, it'll go straight through her."

   "Let's hope he drives fast," said Frost. "Them blue velvet seats don't half stain, and Ada's output always seems to exceed her input."

   Feeling considerably bucked, he wandered into the incident room where Burton, the only occupant, was sitting by the phone, reading a paperback as he munched on a sandwich. He looked up guiltily as Frost entered. "It's all right, son." Frost dropped into the seat beside him. "Anything happened? Has the kid been found, but it slipped your mind to tell me?"

   Burton grinned and pointed to a filing basket brimming over with the night's phone messages. "Sightings galore, most of them worthless, but we're following them up. No joy from the road blocks. Too many kids out with guys for anyone to recall one specific boy." He tugged out a message from under the stapler. "This bloke phoned a couple of hours ago. Wouldn't give his name, but was most insistent we should follow it up. He said he and his girlfriend were having it away under the canal bridge off Union Street when they heard a car draw up overhead. He heard some grunting and groaning as if something heavy was being lifted from the car, then something was chucked into the canal. It sunk right away. He reckons it could have been a body."

   "Grunting and groaning?" said Frost. "I reckon him and his girlfriend were doing all the grunting and groaning." He took the message and skimmed through it. "We've got the frogmen arriving tomorrow, they can start off looking by the bridge."

   He poked a cigarette in his mouth. "Having it away under the canal bridge? Some people pick the most romantic spots - it's cold, it's damp and it stinks. I'm not fussy, but even I would think twice." He stood up and stretched. "Let's go home, son. Early start tomorrow. The briefing is at eight." He consulted his wristwatch. "Just over four hours time."

Chapter 8

The early morning TV news showed pictures of the 'sad bungalow of death' and of the undertakers carrying out the bodies in a single coffin. Interviewed neighbours said how shocked and saddened they were and what a loving family it was and how everyone was shattered. A photograph of the mother filled the screen and a grim-faced Superintendent Mullett explained that the police were concerned for her safety and appealed to members of the public to look out for her.

   Mullett clicked off the set with a nod of approval. An impressive performance, he thought. He picked up his gloves and patted his pocket to make sure he had his car keys. A final check in the hall mirror, a slight repositioning of the knot of his tie to dead centre and he was out to the car. As he opened the driver's door, he frowned and turned his head away, his nose wrinkling. The blue velvet seat cover on the passenger's side had been removed and was in soak with lots of disinfectant, but the smell still lingered. He vigorously squirted the interior with air freshener and drove to the station with the window open in spite of the cold. That damn woman! And Frost! Frost would have known all about her. He had set this up deliberately. He smiled grimly. Well, Detective Inspector Jack Frost was due for the biggest dressing down he had ever received.

   His car purred down Bath Hill and glided into Cork Street. A young, uniformed officer spotted his car and gave a smart salute which Mullett acknowledged with a smile and a wave, delighted to see that the officer was in uniform. He had noticed two officers entering the station in their street clothes and would have a few sharp words with Sergeant Wells about that.

   The car-park was crowded with vehicles of all types, most of which belonged to members of the search party. It was still dark and they would be having breakfast in the canteen before the main briefing. In the far corner two men were offloading aqualung cylinders from a van. The frogmen had arrived. Mullett had difficulty manoeuvring into his own parking space. As he locked the doors and tested the handle he was almost run down by a dirt-streaked Ford which squealed to a halt within inches of his heels. His face darkened when he saw Frost, a cigarette dangling insolently from his mouth, climb out.

   "Frost!"

   Frost looked up, startled. He hadn't expected to see Mullett in so early. A quick check confirmed that Hornrim Harry's seat cover was missing. A warm glow started up inside him. God bless incontinent old ladies. "Good morning, super!" he called cheerily.

   "That woman you induced me to take home - "spluttered Mullett.

   "Yes, very kind of you, sir," interrupted Frost. He smacked a palm to his forehead as if the thought had just struck him. "Meant to warn you about Ada, although I'm sure it isn't necessary in your case. I was going to say don't get sexy with her. If you rub your knee against hers, tickle her groin, or anything like that, she'll pee all over your front seat."

   Mullett's mouth opened and closed. He never quite knew how to take Frost.

   "What was it you wanted to say to me, sir?" asked Frost innocently.

   "Nothing," snapped Mullett. "Nothing." He spun on his heel and stamped off into the building.

   In the incident room, PC Jordan was waiting to report to Frost. He had got the information from the Discount Warehouse on the posthumous purchase made with Lemmy Hoxton's credit card. "That was flaming quick," said Frost, "I thought they didn't open until nine."

   "Mr. Cassidy said I should drag the manager and his staff out from their homes," said Jordan. "He reckoned a murder enquiry shouldn't have to wait for the store to open up."