Winter Frost

4

He sat on the corner of the desk in the murder incident room warming his hands round the mug of tea Morgan had brought him. He chewed the last morsel of the bacon sandwich, wiped his hand down the front of his jacket, then nodded at the group of six men who formed his murder squad. Manpower was in short supply since Mullett had generously agreed to loan eight uniforms and a DC to County to help in their drugs bust operation. 'Anyone seen Detective Inspector Maud?' he asked. All heads shook. 'Ah well, we'll carry on without her.' He lit up a cigarette. 'We have one dead tom. Anyone found out who she is yet?' He looked up hopefully, but again heads were firmly shaken.

'I chatted up a couple of the girls last night,' said Jordan. 'One of them, had a room in the same block. She said the dead girl hadn't been there very long, a few weeks at the most. They hadn't spoken, so she didn't know anything about her.'

'Very bleeding helpful. Have we checked the landlord?'

Detective Sergeant Hanlon raised a hand. 'They're a limited company registered in the Cayman Islands. That block in Clayton Street is handled over here by local agents but they don't open until ten. I'm on my way there as soon as this briefing is over.'

Frost nodded. 'We want her name and home address — I presume they take up references.'

'Odds are they don't bother,' said Hanlon. 'As long as the girls can pay a month's rent in advance, plus a hefty deposit, they're satisfied.'

'Then find out how she paid them — cheque, credit card or greasy fivers red hot from the sweaty palms of her clientele.'

I'll check,' said Hanlon.

'OK,' said Frost, standing up. 'Let's just run over what we do know. We know she had a row with this drunk who welted her one in the eye. He finds his wallet's been pinched and comes to us. While he's away, someone else calls and kills her.'

'Gladstone could have killed her himself,' put in Jordan. 'I don't think we should have let him go.'

'He could have done it, son, but I don't think he did. Anyway, we know where he lives in case we run short of suspects. Let's proceed on the assumption it was someone else — and someone who followed hard on Gladstone's heels because she hadn't had time to get dressed.'

'Couldn't she. have got dressed, gone out and picked up her killer then got undressed for him?' asked Hanlon.

'Gladstone had given her a black eye,' said Frost. 'If she went out again to tout for trade, she'd have slapped some make-up over it; but she didn't. So, if she didn't go out to pick him up, he came to her. He knew where she worked… he'd been there before.'

'Any fingerprints?' asked Simms.

'Fingerprints going back to the year dot,' said Frost. 'Every flaming client she's ever had, but we're checking them all out. Mullett went as white as a sheet when I told him.'

'Is there any connection with this one and the murdered tom Inspector Allen was working on?' Jordan asked.

Frost patted the file on the desk. 'Linda Roberts was tied to a bed by her wrists and ankles, gagged, then tortured, her stomach burnt with a lighted cigarette.' He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and sizzled it to death in his mug. 'For good measure she was raped and suffocated. Last night's tom was killed standing against a wall, strangled and no sign of torture. So unless he was fussy about stubbing out his fags on a bloodstained stomach, I don't think there's a connection, but we'll keep our options open.'

He turned to the full-face photograph of the dead woman which had been pinned to the wall. 'So what do we know about her? She hadn't been on the game long, by all accounts. We don't know if she's a local girl or not. Let's get her photograph circulated to the media… someone must recognize her. In the meantime, where does she live? Why hasn't someone reported her missing?'

'She could have lived where we found her, guv,' said Morgan. 'She had a bed, a phone, heat…'

'… a sink and a toilet,' continued Frost, 'which gave the punters two places to pee down; but no fridge, oven, pantry, crockery. This poor cow had to eat. She lived elsewhere and she works late, so how does she get home?'

'She could live within walking distance,' offered Jordan.

'Then why rent a flat? Why not take her clients to her house?'

'Perhaps her family would object.' 'So what does her family think she's doing, working late at night, coming home with her handbag stuffed with tenners? A slight possibility she lives within walking distance, but what if she doesn't?' 'She's got a car?' said Morgan. Frost jabbed a finger at the DC. 'That's what I reckon, Taffy. So where is it? It's going to be parked near the knocking shop. There were cars nose to tail last night. This morning most of the owners will have driven off to work. I want — someone to go and check all cars still standing and find out who owns them.' He snapped his fingers as another thought struck him. 'She might have come by cab. Check with all the local cab firms. Did they drop her off there last night — if so, where did they pick her up?'

Bill Wells came into the incident room. 'Got a woman for you in the lobby, Inspector.'

'She'll have to wait,' grunted Frost. 'I never have intercourse immediately after a bacon sandwich.'

Wells grinned. 'You'll want to see this one. She's a tom… and her flatmate has gone missing.'

Frost's eyes lit up. 'Hold it, everyone. We might be getting a name.'

The pungent smell of the perfume she was wearing fought a losing battle with the pine disinfectant that had been sloshed down on the interview room floor after the ravages of the night before. She was in her late thirties, but without make-up looked a lot older. Straw-blond hair, skin darkly tanned, and fingers that matched Frost's for nicotine staining. She was sucking heavily on a cigarette as he entered. He sat opposite her and put the file with the dead prostitute's photograph inside on the table in front of him. He smiled. 'Your flatmate's gone missing? Since when?'

'I don't know.' She snatched the cigarette from her mouth and flicked ash all over the floor. 'I've been away for two weeks' holiday in Spain with my boyfriend. I came back last night expecting to find her in the flat. No sign of her.'

'What does your flatmate do for a living?'

She glared at him, smoke streaming from her nostrils like an angry dragon. 'You bloody well know what she does… same as me… we're on the game. She's had some weird clients in her time. I reckon one of them's done her in.'

'Where did she take her clients?'

'A room in those flats in Clayton Street. We shared it.'

'I see.' Frost tried to keep his face impassive. He opened up the folder and took out the photograph. 'Is this your friend?' he asked gently.

She looked at it and shook her head. 'No.'

Frost frowned. 'Are you sure?'

'I ought to know what she bleeding looks like, didn't I? That's one of the other girls… down on the second floor, I think.'

'You know her?' said Frost excitedly. 'What's her name?'

'I don't know her bleeding name. I've passed her on the stairs a couple of times. She hasn't been there long. Look — sod her whoever she is, it's my flatmate I'm worried about.' She opened her handbag and took out a photograph of a fat, blowsy, ginger-haired woman in her fifties.

'Flaming heck,' exclaimed Frost, recognizing the woman immediately. 'It's big bleeding Bertha — ten ton of tit and tongue.' Bertha had been arrested quite a few times for soliciting, drunk and disorderly and for assaulting a police officer.

'A bit of bleeding respect,' snapped the woman. 'She helps pay your flaming wages. She's missing. Something's happened to her.'

'She could have gone away for a few days — perhaps she wanted a holiday too.'

'No bloody way. We've got a dog — little Chummy. Bertha idolizes it. When I got back to the flat last night, there's dog's mess all over the floor and the poor thing was starving, no water, no food, nothing. Bertha would never have left it to starve. That dog was like a kid to her.'

Frost scratched his chin. This wasn't looking too good. 'You said she had some weird clients?'

'Yes. She's no glamour puss, she has to grab what she can get. Some of the rubbish she brought back to the flat! I'm not fussy, but I wouldn't go within a mile of them. Some wouldn't take their boots off in bed and there were others you wished they'd bleeding well kept them on.'

'Are her belongings still in the flat?' 'Yes. All her clothes, her bank book…'

'Credit cards? Cash?'

'She always kept them with her — in her handbag.'

'Any idea what she would have been wearing?'

'Her red dress and her long black fur coat.'

'Have you checked your room in Clayton Street?'

'Not yet.'

'We'll do that,' said Frost, taking details. He stood up. 'We'll do what we can. If she turns up in the meantime, let us know.'

She lit up a fresh cigarette for the street and shook her head with concern. 'I really am worried about her.'

Frost nodded. He was worried too.

He escorted her out and went back to Wells in the lobby. He showed the sergeant the photograph. 'She's gone missing.'

Wells studied it. 'Best thing that could have happened to her.'

Frost grinned. 'Her flatmate thinks she's been done in and I've got one of my nasty feelings that says she might be right. Circulate details and get someone to check her place of business in Clayton Street; there might be a body there we missed.' He looked up at the wall clock. Time was racing by and so much still to be done. 'Any idea where Liz Maud is?'

'She crept in late then went straight in to see Mullett,' Wells told him.

Mullett made a great show of pushing the pile of papers to one side to let Liz know she was tearing him away from much more important matters, then put on his 'tired, overworked, but my staff come first' expression. 'You wanted to see me, Sergeant… er, Inspector?' He knew what it was about, of course. These damned women always claiming sex discrimination. WPCs were fine for searching female prisoners but promote them, give them a bit of authority, and the minute something happened they didn't like they started screaming 'sex discrimination'.

'The murdered prostitute…' began Liz.

Mullett frowned and pretended to consult a note on his desk. 'Ah yes. The one in Clayton Street. Inspector Frost is handling that, I believe.' He consulted his Rolex. 'I hope this won't take long. I want to look in on his briefing meeting.'

'It should be my case,' insisted Liz. 'It could be the same killer as the prostitute murder Inspector Allen was handling — a case I've taken over from him.'

Mullett expressed surprise. 'Mr Frost didn't think they were connected.'

'Well, I do.'

He took off his glasses and made great play of polishing them as he gave Liz his warm, friendly, open smile. 'Teamwork, Inspector. That's the keyword, teamwork. No cowboys, no Indians, no generals, no privates — all one big team.' These were the words the Chief Constable had used in yesterday's meeting at which Mullett had nodded his fawning agreement. He was surprised that Liz didn't seem to be doing the same. 'You and Frost will make an excellent team.'

'But it will be his case, not mine.'

'Someone's got to be in charge,' said Mullett, 'and he is, er…'

'A man?'

'A more experienced officer.'

'So he's the general and I'm the private? I see.' She stood up abruptly. 'I see.'

"Thanks for being so understanding,' said Mullett. 'I knew you'd understand.'

'Yes,' hissed Liz, breathing fire at him. 'I understand perfectly.'

The door closed behind her as Mullett sank back in his chair and raised his eyes. 'Women!' he protested to the ceiling.

Frost pinned the enlargement of Bertha's photograph next to the photograph of the dead woman from the night before. 'Some of you may recognize her. Big Bertha — Bertha Jenkins. She's gone missing. It may not tie in with last night's dead tom, but they both plied for hire from the same building in Clayton Street.' He filled them in on the details. 'Two dead prostitutes and now one missing, so I'm worried…' He paused. All heads turned as the door opened and Police Superintendent Mullett, shiny and gleaming in his 'going to County' best uniform, marched in. Everyone sprang respectfully to their feet. Mullett signalled for them to be seated, noting with annoyance that Frost had made no effort to raise himself from the corner of the desk.

'If I could have a few words, Inspector?'

'Right,' barked Frost. 'Super's going to say a few words. Try and look as if you're paying attention.'

Mullett gave a tight smile. 'I want this one cleared up as soon as possible. Crimes involving women of the street get maximum attention from the press and this, in turn, stirs up cries from the respectable members of the community demanding we clean up the red light area. Even at this early hour I have received numerous phone calls complaining about kerb-crawling… predatory motorists looking for women, not watching where they are going, causing accidents.'

Frost looked up. 'The Super smashed his car up last night.'

'It happened in the station car-park,' snapped Mullett, ignoring the sniggers.

'I didn't know the details,' said Frost.

Mullett's angry glower bounced harmlessly off Frost's expression of utter innocence. 'Now that we're adopting this excellent team work initiative of County's I'm looking for improved results. Our unsolved crime figures are appalling and I want them brought down. The fewer unsolved crimes, the better the figures. So the best of luck and let's hope for some good news when I report to County.' With a curt nod to Frost, he marched briskly out.

As the door closed behind the Divisional Commander, Frost got to his feet. 'The Super has put his finger on it as usual. The more unsolved crimes we have, the worse our unsolved crime figures — so what's the answer?'

'Fiddle the unsolved crime figures?' suggested Morgan.

'I've already done that,' said Frost, 'and they're still bad, so let's try the hard way. You all know what to do, so go out and do it.'

He swilled down the cold dregs of his tea, drowned his cigarette end in the mug and ambled back to his office to rake half-heartedly through the pile of paper in his in-tray. Lots of memos from Mullett demanding all sorts of answers, which were shuffled down to the bottom of the pile. A letter handwritten in green ink caught his attention. He plucked it up and held it disdainfully at arm's length between thumb and forefinger as he read it.

'What's that, guv?' Morgan had followed him in.

'One of our local nutters who reckons he's got second sight. He's telling us where to find Vicky.' Frost nodded to the 'Missing Girl' poster on the wall. 'Listen — "The missing girl will be found on grass, near trees under a blue sky." That narrows it down, doesn't it?' He screwed up the letter before hurling it in the general direction of his waste-paper bin. The search for Vicky Stuart had come to a dead end. They had searched everywhere, dragged the canal and the river, pleaded for information over the media, followed up hundreds of sightings; the girl had been seen with long distance lorry drivers, with a black-bearded man in France, with a convoy of New Age travellers… All had proved negative. And now this flaming soothsayer wanted to get in on the act. He looked across at Morgan who was sitting at his desk flicking through the phone directory. 'Aren't you supposed to be out working?'

The DC held a hand to his jaw. 'Sorry, guv — got a tooth giving me gyp. Do you know the name of a good dentist?'

'There are no good dentists,' said Frost. "They're all sadistic bastards. Tie a bit of string to it with a brick on the end and drop it out of the window.'

The office door crashed open and slammed shut and there was Liz Maud, snorting fire. She jabbed a finger at Frost. 'You told Mr Mullett you didn't think the two prostitute murders were connected.'

'Yes, love,' nodded Frost ruefully, 'and if I had known the sod was going to put me on the case, I'd have lied. I didn't want to get up at the crack of dawn and see Drysdale filleting that poor cow.'

'You knew I wanted that case. By rights it should be mine.'

'We'll work together on it,' said Frost. 'If I sod it up, I'll take the blame. If we crack it, you can take the credit.'

She gave a grudging nod. Unlike her, she knew the inspector didn't want to rise any higher in the force.

Morgan finished a phone call and called over to Frost: 'Is it all right if I take a bit of time off to visit the dentist, guv?'

'Sure,' nodded Frost. 'Take all the time you like — as long as you do it in your lunch hour.' Back to Liz. 'How's your armed robbery going?'

She suddenly felt a wave of nausea ripple through her stomach and sat down heavily in the spare chair.

'You all right, love?' asked Frost.

'Just a stomach upset,' she muttered. She'd been putting it off, dreading the result, but as soon as she got back to the flat she would use the pregnancy testing kit. 'The armed robbery? I haven't got very far yet. A description of the two men, but no sign of the car they hijacked. The old boy who tackled the gunman demanded to see me last night to tell me nothing we didn't know. I'm on my way now to the hospital to talk to the husband.' She shot an accusing glance at Morgan. 'You were supposed to be checking the background of the cashier.'

'Was just about to do it as you came in, ma'am,' said Morgan, scuttling out of the office.

Frost grinned to himself. Morgan was picking up his own bad habits.

Police Sergeant Bill Wells squinted up at the wall clock, then pushed open the doors to the stairs leading up to the canteen for a tentative sniff. He frowned. He couldn't smell frying bacon. If they'd run out of cooked breakfasts again… PC Collier was due down to relieve him any second. He should have made Collier wait and gone up first himself but flaming Mullett kept phoning, demanding all sorts of stupid information for his meeting at County. Damn. Collier or no Collier, he was going up for his breakfast. It wouldn't hurt for the lobby to stay unmanned for a couple of minutes.

He screwed his face up in annoyance as the sound of someone clearing their throat and a gentle tapping on the desk demanded his attention. A little fat man in a checked suit, clutching a plastic carrier bag. Not another dead cat, he pleaded. People were always bringing dead cats into the station. 'Found this in my front garden, officer.'

'Yes, sir?' he grunted, ready to grab the bag, stuff it under the desk and belt upstairs.

'Can I speak to someone?' asked the man.

Aren't I bloody someone, muttered Wells under his breath. 'What about, sir?'

The man pushed the carrier bag under Wells' nose. 'I found this in my garden.'

Wells peered warily inside, remembering the woman with a similar carrier bag who had brought evidence of a burglar defecating on her carpet for DNA testing. If this was the same, he'd made certain Liz Maud had to handle it. But this was different. Grinning up at him from the bottom of the bag was a human skull.

Frost raised his head from the folder when Wells burst in demanding to know where Wonder Woman had crept off to.

'The hospital,' Frost told him. 'She'll be back after lunch.'

'Then you've drawn the short straw,' said Wells, passing over the carrier bag. 'Bloke found this in his back garden.'

Frost looked inside. 'Bloody hell!' He pushed the bag away. 'If it isn't claimed within three weeks, tell him he can keep it.' He went back to the folder. 'Give it to Morgan, it will be good experience.'

'He's out doing a job for Wonder Woman. It's got to be you. There's no-one else available.'

'Sod it!' groaned Frost. 'Why do I always get landed with the long-dead?' He followed the sergeant out to the lobby and nodded curtly to the little fat man. 'Found it in your garden?'

The man nodded. 'I was pulling down an old shed. We're selling the house and my wife thought the shed was an eyesore and would bring the price down. When I broke up the concrete base I found this.'

'How long had the shed been there?'

'Donkey's years. It was there when we moved in and that was thirty years ago.'

Frost fished out the skull from the bag and looked at it, hoping it would give him inspiration. He was struggling to find reasons to send Fatty away and forget the whole thing. 'Probably built your house on an old burial ground — they did that, you know.'

The man shook his head. 'It was marsh land. They had to drain it before they could build. You don't have graveyards in marsh land.'

You're too bleeding clever for your own good, thought Frost. Aloud he said: 'That's all you found — just the skull?'

'That's all I brought. There's lots of other bones there as well. I thought it best not to disturb them.'

Frost nodded gloomily. 'We'll get someone down there to have a look.' He waited for the man to go, then turned to Wells. 'I want two uniforms with shovels.' As the sergeant was making the arrangements he put the skull on the counter and stuck a lighted cigarette between its yellowed teeth.

'Very funny!' sniffed Wells. 'Now get the bleeding thing out of here.'

Frost put the cigarette back in his own mouth. 'How old do remains have to be before we don't have to bother to investigate them?'

'Seventy years.' Wells turned his attention to PC Collier who had returned back late from the canteen. 'Any breakfasts left?'

Collier shook his head. 'You might get a bacon sandwich if you hurry, Sarge.'

Wells hurried. He would tear Collier off a strip when he got back.

Frost took one last look at the skull before dropping it back in the carrier bag. 'You'd better be over seventy years old,' he told it, 'or you've ruined my bleeding day.' ^^

The area car pulled up outside the semi-detached house with the 'For Sale' board stuck firmly in the lawn by the front gate. PCs Collier and Jordan got out, picks and shovels over their shoulders, looking like two of the seven dwarfs returning home after a stint in the diamond mine. A grumpy-looking Frost followed them up the garden path. The front door opened before they were half-way and the fat man scanned the street anxiously before urging them in. Behind him, arms folded, stood his wife, a dragon of a woman, her lavender-dyed hair complementing the smell of lavender furniture polish which hit them like a baseball bat. She didn't look very happy. 'That's right!' she barked at her husband. 'Let everyone in the bloody street know we've got the police coming.'

'I didn't know they'd come in a police car, did I?' protested the fat man.

'What did you expect them to come in — a corporation dust cart?' She switched her attention to Frost and Co. 'Wipe your feet and shut the door — quick.'

Her eyes glowered at them as they marched down the hall which had been lined with old newspapers to protect the carpet from police hobnails, through the kitchen, and into the back garden.

The broken concrete was stacked neatly alongside the components of the dismantled wooden shed. Poking through the compact earth was something that looked suspiciously like a human shoulder bone. 'All right,' sighed Frost, moving well out of the way. 'Get digging.'

From the row of houses overlooking the garden many lace curtains twitched. Uniformed policemen digging up a garden was of consuming interest.

'I hope you're satisfied,' nagged the woman to her husband. 'Now everyone in the flaming street knows!'

'What was I supposed to do?' pleaded the man.

'Like I said — dig another hole and bury the lot.'

Best bit of bloody advice you ever had, thought Frost.

'There might have been other skeletons there for all I knew,' protested the husband.

'Might? With our flaming luck you can bank on it. How are we going to sell the place now?' Her head jerked as she glowered up at the twitching curtains and open windows. 'Had your bloody eyeful, have you?' she bellowed.

This had the effect of increasing the number of spectators as other people rushed to their windows to see what the noise was all about. Frost was finding it chilly, just standing and watching. 'I suppose there's no chance of a cup of tea?' he asked as she spun round to return to the house.

'You're bloody right — there's no chance,' she said, slamming the door. Her husband gave an apologetic smile and hurried in after her. They could hear her strident voice berating him non-stop as they worked. 'I bet she's fetching his pipe and slippers,' said Frost.

Liz Maud had stopped off at her flat on the way back from the hospital. The old boy hadn't been very helpful, simply confirming what little his wife had already told them. The smell of cooking from the hospital kitchen had brought on the nausea and she was sick in the car-park. There was no putting it off any longer. She opened up the pregnancy testing kit and read the instructions.

Collier and Jordan had shifted much of the covering earth and were now down on their knees, brushing dirt away carefully so as not to disturb the position of the bones. 'I think we've uncovered it all now, Inspector,' called Jordan.

Frost mooched over then looked down glumly. There appeared to be a complete skeleton, minus the head, lying full length. He tossed the skull to Jordan so he could put it in position. 'Great Plague victim,' he pronounced firmly.

'A bit later than that, I think,' said Collier.

'Fell out of a Zeppelin then. Eighty years old if it's a day.'

The back door opened and Dr McKenzie, the duty police surgeon, toddled out. Frost gave him a cheerful wave and hissed for Collier to nip out and move the area car if the doctor had parked his own in front. McKenzie had been known to put his own car accidentally into reverse when driving off, especially when too many grateful patients had given him a drop of something to keep out the cold. His florid complexion, slightly unsteady gait and a strong smell of whisky suggested the cold had been well and truly kept out this morning. 'What have you got for me, Inspector?' he asked as he accepted one of Frost's cigarettes.

'Stone Age skeleton,' said Frost, showing him the bones. 'Too ancient to bother you with really, but we've got to go by the book.'

The doctor hunkered down. 'Stone Age?' he mused.

'At least,' Frost assured him.

'It's a male and he's been dead for some time.'

Frost nodded. 'Trampled on by a dinosaur, I reckon, doc. So he's been dead at least a hundred years?'

McKenzie shook his head. 'Not as long as that.'

'Seventy-one at least?'

'You can't tell by just looking. You'll have to get them over to Demon Hospital. One of their consultants is an expert on bones; he'll be able to tell you.'

'Need we bother with all that?' pleaded Frost. 'Can't we tie it up now?'

McKenzie said nothing. He was gently prodding the back of the skull with a stubby finger. 'The skull's fractured.'

'And that's what killed him?'

The doctor put the skull back in position and rubbed the dirt from his fingers. 'No way of knowing, Jack — he could have been disembowelled and pumped full of arsenic first for all I know. The consultant at the hospital might help you there.'

Frost pulled a face. 'Let's be practical, doc. I've got a dead tom and a missing kid to worry about. I can't waste time sodding around with the Piltdown Man. I know I can't pin you down, but just say, in your honest opinion, bearing in mind that you're smoking one of my fags, that he's been buried for seventy years at least. I might even find a bottle of whisky in the car…'

McKenzie scratched his cheek thoughtfully, but suddenly squatted down again and began scratching away some caked earth from around the wrist. He frowned, scraped away some more, then stood up so Frost could see. 'If I remember rightly, Inspector Frost, Stone Age men told the time by the sun.'

'Shit!' said Frost.

Encircling the brown arm bone was a wrist-watch on a stainless steel strap.

'Am I still on for the whisky?' asked McKenzie.

'Like hell you are,' snapped Frost. 'Go and ask the lady of the house for a cup of tea.' He radioed the station for SOCO and someone from Forensic, then hurled his cigarette on the pile of bones and drove back to the station.

'

Shit!' said Liz. The plastic rod was showing a blue band. She checked the instructions just in case she had misread them. She hadn't. She was pregnant.