Frost at Midnight (DI Jack Frost Prequel) Read online

  About the Book

  August, 1983. Denton is preparing for a wedding. Detective Sergeant Waters should be on top of the world with less than a week to go until he marries Kim Myles. But the Sunday before the big day, instead of having a run-through with his best man, the church is sealed off. The body of a young woman has been found in the churchyard, and their idyllic wedding venue has become a crime scene.

  Detective Inspector Jack Frost has been homeless for the past three months, ever since his wife’s family sold the matrimonial home. He’s been staying with Detective Constable Sue Clarke, but with a baby to take care of and the imminent arrival of her mother, she’s given him his marching orders.

  But as best man to Waters, Frost has got a responsibility to solve the mystery of the dead girl in the churchyard. Can he put his own troubles aside and be the detective they need him to be?

  All in all, August looks set to be a wicked month in Denton …

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Sunday (1)

  Sunday (2)

  Sunday (3)

  Sunday (4)

  Sunday (5)

  Sunday (6)

  Sunday (7)

  Monday (1)

  Monday (2)

  Monday (3)

  Monday (4)

  Monday (5)

  Monday (6)

  Monday (7)

  Tuesday (1)

  Tuesday (2)

  Tuesday (3)

  Tuesday (4)

  Tuesday (5)

  Tuesday (6)

  Tuesday (7)

  Tuesday (8)

  Tuesday (9)

  Wednesday (1)

  Wednesday (2)

  Wednesday (3)

  Wednesday (4)

  Wednesday (5)

  Wednesday (6)

  Wednesday (7)

  Wednesday (8)

  Thursday (1)

  Thursday (2)

  Thursday (3)

  Thursday (4)

  Thursday (5)

  Thursday (6)

  Friday (1)

  Friday (2)

  Friday (3)

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by James Henry

  Copyright

  Frost at Midnight

  JAMES HENRY

  Prologue

  ‘That’ll be an extra fiver,’ she said in a business-like fashion, already out of bed and perched – still naked – in front of the dressing-table mirror brushing her long auburn hair.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ He reached inside the bed, fumbling to find his underwear.

  ‘An extra five quid for all that … all that funny business.’

  ‘Oh … you never said before, I haven’t got that much on me.’

  She turned to face him. ‘That’s because it never used to take that long, and look’ – she pointed with the hairbrush – ‘look at these marks. I can’t have this, can I. What if my other punters start to notice?’

  He felt himself colour.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. In truth, though, he did it on purpose – the blemishes; he didn’t want her having any other punters. He wanted her all to himself but he could barely afford a fortnightly visit these days, let alone with this surcharge. It incensed him that she’d go with others – she occupied his thoughts every minute of the day. He’d once asked her on a date, to the cinema (not in Denton, of course he couldn’t risk that; Reading or one of the bigger towns). She’d laughed in his face. Date clients? ‘You’ll be wanting to pimp for me next,’ she’d snorted in a common way that made his skin crawl. As if he’d do that. The very idea.

  He watched as she stood to pull up her suspender belt; in less than an hour she’d be taking it off again for someone else, probably some scum with more money than him … she never stopped going on about what she called her ‘richer gents’. He couldn’t stand it.

  What if she couldn’t work? Just for a while maybe; out of action for a spell, needing somebody to help out … He’d be well placed to assist, what with—

  ‘Come on, out of there.’ She scowled. ‘You better not have made a mess!’

  He got out of bed and dressed hurriedly, his mind working away feverishly while he made a show of smoothing the sheets, plumping a pillow. Some minor accident, a fall maybe. Nothing too serious.

  He handed over the cash, and thanked her obsequiously. She took it without comment and seated herself again at the dressing table. ‘Same time in two weeks?’ he ventured.

  ‘I can’t. Sorry, have to be in September.’ Her attention now, having received her payment, was on her make-up. He was forgotten.

  ‘Why?’ he croaked. Not to see her for three weeks, what would he do? Maybe she was going away … with another man? ‘Why? I need to …’

  ‘Just because,’ she said to herself in the mirror. ‘In the meantime, you can always …’ and then that annoying titter of hers slipped into her voice. He froze. ‘You can always do some knitting.’ She held a tissue to her lips. ‘A nice long scarf for the winter?’ She was laughing now. Laughing at him.

  He scrabbled for his clothes to cover himself. He should never have mentioned his hobby. It was not the first time she’d poked fun at him: that time he’d given her a gift, she couldn’t control her laughter either. How he’d hated her then. And now a red mist descended, anger welled like he’d experienced before, extinguishing any lingering pleasure and affection in an instant. No one can mock me, least of all her, unholy harlot that she is. He glanced down at her exposed white neck; if she insulted him like that again he’d do more than shove her down some stairs—

  ‘Call me later in the week’ – her voice abruptly assumed the rigid formality of earlier – ‘I’ll see if I can squeeze you in, otherwise it’ll have to be next month.’

  He stood, lingering over her a second or two longer. He was steady again, but he was not himself; desire and anger had fused into a black poison that still pulsed within. If she paid him the slightest attention, turned from her own reflection, she’d see just how much danger she was in …

  ‘Go on then, off you toddle,’ she commanded. A retort rose in his throat, but the words wouldn’t come. ‘And shut the door on your way out, there’s a love.’

  Sunday (1)

  ‘Right you – off.’

  From underneath the eiderdown he sensed she was holding the child; that horrible milky smell – the odour reached his nostrils. Boy, it smelt bad. He hugged the cover tighter.

  ‘I mean it,’ she said, closer this time. The baby was gurgling – any second now it would start wailing, he could tell. He cringed down into the settee, steeling himself – babies and hangovers definitely did not mix.

  ‘… you were supposed to go yesterday. My mother will be here at midday. It’s not fair, Jack. The place is a tip – I just can’t keep on top of it, what with you and Philip.’

  The gurgling was growing louder. Any second now … He stretched a foot out tentatively; but withdrew it hastily on contact with something soggy. Last night’s Kung Po? And then off it went – a deafening wail. Christ alive! The next thing he knew the eiderdown was wrenched away from him.

  ‘Oi!’ he protested.

  ‘God, you pong.’

  Frost, lying prone in his string vest, was greeted by the silhouette of Sue Clarke and her hungry baby. His skull throbbed like the devil was playing the bongos right behind his eyeballs. He blinked rapidly then sat up. A cluster of empty beer cans that had been nestling overnight in his crotch clattered to the floor.

  ‘And get rid of that beard. You don’t only smell like a tramp, you look like one too.�
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  ‘Never mind me – oughten you to feed the nipper? He’s making a helluva racket.’

  ‘He’s fine,’ she said, impervious to the god-awful din. Clarke bent down to pick up the empties, bringing the baby to eye level with Frost – prompting a renewed bout of screaming. ‘Stop looking at him, though – you know you scare him.’

  ‘I—? Oww!’ Frost winced in pain, as he propped himself up. ‘Me back!’

  ‘I’ve booked you in to see Dr Mirchandani on Thursday, I’m sick to death of you whining like an old dog every morning.’

  ‘That’s very—’

  ‘At nine sharp. And get in the bath. Haven’t you to be at the vicar’s by ten? You can’t enter the church looking like that – or wait, maybe you’ll get struck down? That’d teach you a lesson.’

  ‘Ha ha.’ Frost got up from the settee – the proximity of the baby and its lactic tang had made him nauseous.

  ‘You know, it wouldn’t be half so bad if you weren’t so damn messy,’ she sighed, surveying her tiny front room. The small glass table doubling as a bedside and dining table; ashtray, cutlery, crumpled trousers, Scotch bottle …

  ‘Well, you could always let me sleep with you?’ He beamed.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ she said flatly, ‘and you could get yourself somewhere proper to live. There’s nothing to stop you. Your house was sold ages ago. You’ve been here months.’

  ‘I keep telling you it wasn’t my house. Never has been.’

  ‘Well then. If it never was your house, waiting for it to get sold never had any bearing on you getting sorted out, did it?’ She was angry and upset. He knew he’d outstayed his welcome – it was unfair to put her through this, what with the kid and everything. And tomorrow was a big day for her, he knew. She was anxious on top of everything else.

  ‘Don’t worry, you know it’ll be fine – I’m telling you.’

  ‘You don’t know for sure. I don’t know why you’re so confident.’ She regarded him with consternation. ‘Anyway, it’s not just that – it’s you. I don’t want to kick you out, really I don’t, but it’s the only way you’ll ever get yourself together.’

  Frost frowned and picked up his flattened pack of cigarettes off the makeshift bed. ‘Don’t you worry, love. I’m sorted … nearly.’

  ‘Jesus, Jack, are you or aren’t you?’

  ‘Am I what?’

  ‘Sorted?’

  ‘Almost.’ Frost scratched his unruly beard.

  ‘Define “almost”.’

  From across the kitchen table, Waters appraised his friend and colleague. Granted, Frost appeared marginally fresher, with an unfamiliar smell of soap about him and hair that had glanced at a comb; but the huge bags under his eyes were an indication the man hadn’t had a decent night’s kip in a long time. Unsurprisingly.

  The big sergeant tutted. ‘Seriously, Jack, you can’t just go from couch to couch any more. You’re not a bloody teenager.’

  ‘Well, I’d be all right, if flamin’ Hornrim Harry hadn’t kicked me out the police digs on Fenwick Street.’ Frost flicked ash angrily at the large blue crystal ashtray. He missed, sending the cinders skittering across Waters’ fiancée’s highly polished table instead.

  ‘You know why he did that, man,’ Waters said gently, not wishing to rake over old ground. ‘I’m not saying I agree, but you know Mullett’s a stickler for what he sees as proper conduct.’ Waters shook his head. When he’d moved into this place – his fiancée’s – they’d offered his old lodgings at Fenwick Street to Frost. It had all been fine at first. Then there was the carry-on with Suzy Fong and her pals, impromptu parties and playing unorthodox games of Twister into the small hours (something he’d preferred to watch rather than participate in). Then the complaints from the two female occupants … He sighed and looked sadly at his pal, sitting hunched across from him, staring into his mug of heavily spiked coffee. Of course it had all reached Superintendent Mullett’s ear and, quite rightly, he’d had to do something. Frost’s antics set a bad example to the junior policemen and Mullett knew it. In truth Frost knew that too; his anger was shielding a sense of shame. And here he was now, slumped and half-stale from Sue Clarke’s couch.

  ‘So what have you got lined up, in an “almost” type way?’

  Frost smiled slyly. ‘As of today I’m house-sitting and pet-minding for a friend.’

  ‘Really?’ Waters was surprised. ‘What friends you got that would (a) let you loose in their home, and (b) trust you to look after their cute and furry ones?’

  ‘I’m keeping an eye on the Jade Rabbit for a fortnight,’ he said proudly.

  ‘You are kidding me, man! Old Fong must be losing his marbles; you corrupt his daughter then he leaves you in charge of his restaurant?’

  ‘Suzy and I are just good friends.’

  ‘Yeah right.’ Waters scratched his head in mock confusion. ‘Now remind me, what were we just talking about at Fenwick Street?’ He reached over for the Rothmans lying on the table. ‘What the hell do you know about running a Chinese restaurant?’

  ‘Bugger all,’ Frost admitted, spinning his newly issued bleeper on the table. ‘Mr Fong’s cousin from Rimmington is looking after the kitchen. I don’t think he trusts him to be honest, and he thought I’d be some sort of security; you know, watch over the place.’

  Waters tapped the cigarette tip on the box. ‘I’d be amazed if he didn’t think you needed watching.’

  ‘I’m a highly valued customer – what I shell out on Kung Po a month feeds and clothes all the little Fongs.’

  ‘And the rest.’

  ‘Now, now. If you must know, he’s taken Suzy back to Peking.’ He stretched across with a lighter.

  ‘Safest place for her, undoubtedly.’

  ‘He won’t be back until some time in September, so I’m sorted for a month. Moving in this afternoon. Suitcase is in the back of the motor.’ Frost looked smug. ‘And the family pets,’ he continued, ‘are not furry; no, it’s feathers and scales.’

  ‘Wha—’

  The phone on the kitchen wall shrilled, interrupting them. Waters reached behind him.

  ‘Mr Waters, sorry to disturb you.’ Waters recognized the polite, elderly voice. Holding his hand over the mouthpiece he said, ‘It’s the vicar. What’s the time?’ Then he added, ‘Father Hill, I’m so sorry, we must have lost track of—’

  ‘No, no, dear me, it’s not your rehearsal I’m calling about. No, I’m afraid it’s something quite terrible. Maybe I should call the station – it’s just I was already expecting you …’

  ‘What is it, Father?’

  Frost craned in to hear.

  ‘There’s a dead body in the cemetery.’

  ‘I’m sure there’s more than one,’ Waters said, confused and pulling a face at Frost.

  ‘Mr Waters – what I mean to say is … this one’s above ground.’

  Sue Clarke plonked the baby down on the bathroom floor and approached the bath. ‘Eugh,’ she said.

  The child started to whimper.

  ‘You may complain now, but if you could see the state of this bath you’d refuse to get in. Just a minute …’

  She sighed and plugged the shower hose on to the bath taps. Frost had left a tidemark to end all tidemarks. And there were what could only be described as an array of ‘bits’ – some sizeable – left in the dregs. She couldn’t bear to think where or what … When was the last time this man had bathed? Goodness, to think that she had shared a bed with him once upon a time. To think that he—

  ‘Hey! What’s that you’ve got in your mouth – we don’t have any purple face flannels … Oh my Lord, no!’ She yanked the material away from her son and held up a pair of heavily stained Y-fronts. That man has got to go. Baby Philip let out an almighty squeal – as though Frost’s pants were a life-giving source. ‘Believe me, honey, you’ll wind up in Denton General sucking on those. Yuck, yuck, yuck!’

  After scrubbing and hosing the bath down she ran a shallow one for her boy, where she teased him
with the bright yellow duck Frost had brought him. She allowed herself to breathe easy for a minute. She’d get the baby looking respectable first, then whisk the hoover round, nip to the corner shop – she’d just about be straight before her mother arrived. It was imperative to get off on the right foot with her mother, show her that her household was in order, prove herself capable. If she appeared in disarray it would add fuel to the flames of disapproval ignited over her possible return to work. She could hear her mother now: if she couldn’t even keep the place in shape while she was off work, what hope would she have of juggling both?

  Sue did not want to fall short of her expectations; Mrs Clarke had been the model mother. Given up the library job until Sue was at school. Kept house. Then again, she never had Jack Frost lodging with her. Sue smiled down at her baby and imagined her mother meeting Jack. God, they would not get on, on any level. All the more reason to remove any traces of him.

  The truth was, she had slightly fudged the details with her mother, work-wise. Things were still up in the air. She had a meeting with Superintendent Mullett on Monday morning to ‘discuss the possibility’ of her re-joining the force. Clarke had walked out on the job towards the end of last year following her assault on a suspect. She’d known she was for the high jump and didn’t care.

  Superintendent Mullett had been all for firing her outright. Not only had she attacked DC Simms’ murderer, she had also scarred the woman’s face, leading to subsequent problems with the court hearing. But when he’d learned of her pregnancy, Mullett had shown clemency and they had agreed a temporary leave of absence on half-pay.

  She’d had time to think it over. Nothing would bring Derek back from the dead. Clarke had been dating a young energetic detective, DC Derek Simms, who had been murdered nearly ten months ago. His death occurred the week she’d discovered she was pregnant, and the poor man died thinking himself the father. This belief, however, might not be justified; for Clarke had had a fling with Jack Frost prior to getting together with Simms – there was this flicker of doubt … Now, though, Clarke could not bear to consider the question, it hurt too much and she missed Derek terribly, not realizing how much she cared about him until he was no longer there. And perhaps this had influenced her decision to return to work so soon; keep her mind active with police work, she was sure that’s what Derek would have wanted. Besides, what the hell else was she to do? Be a single mum? Work part-time in Bejam to support the pair of them? No, it was the force or nothing.