First Frost Page 10

  ‘Yes,’ said Webster. ‘We’re working on it. Got an address: in Forest View, Denton.’

  ‘I know that. We gave it to you.’

  ‘But do you know about all the call-outs to that address?’

  ‘Apart from ours yesterday, no,’ said Frost, as Grace placed a mug of tea and a Kit Kat on the edge of his desk, before pulling her trolley out of the room. Frost waved her goodbye.

  ‘These go back months,’ said Webster. ‘An area car was twice dispatched to the house in the middle of the night because this Liz Fraser thought she’d seen someone snooping about outside. Nothing came of it.’

  ‘But this Simon Trench,’ said Frost, taking a careful sip of his tea, which was scalding, ‘no form?’

  ‘Haven’t unearthed anything so far.’

  ‘Workplace? Vehicle? What else you got?’

  ‘Not a lot,’ said Webster apologetically. ‘We’ve been prioritizing Steven Hudson. ‘Though I have found out that Simon Trench owns a Mini Metro.’

  ‘Chocolate brown?’ said Frost distractedly, remembering the car that had clipped the Cortina’s wing mirror in Forest View.

  ‘Just says brown,’ said Webster.

  ‘Thought so.’ Frost took a bite of the Kit Kat. ‘Get an alert put out, can you?’ he said, mouth full. ‘For whatever good that’ll do. They still haven’t stopped Steve Hudson, and his motor’s bright yellow.’

  ‘Plenty of heat on Steve Hudson, though,’ said Webster. ‘Allegations of ABH, threatening behaviour, fraud – you name it.’

  ‘So why wasn’t he on my radar?’ said Frost.

  ‘Most of it was from years ago, and nothing stuck. Appears to have been keeping his nose clean for a while.’

  ‘I wonder why?’ said Frost. ‘Leopards don’t change their spots.’

  ‘They just get more crafty. Well, I’m off down the pub, then,’ said Webster.

  ‘Before you go,’ said Frost, slumping back in his chair, ‘see what you’ve got on a Blake Richards, formerly of the Met.’

  ‘Funny you should ask about him,’ said Webster. ‘Bert Williams wanted everything I could get on him only the other week. In fact, Williams should still have the file somewhere – it was sent down from London. Thick as a telephone directory, it was.’

  Monday (6)

  Superintendent Mullett was giving his office a final onceover: the ornaments on the desk were in precise alignment, the in-tray empty, the telephone, having been dusted by his own handkerchief, was shining brightly. If nothing else, order and cleanliness always provided him with a certain comfort.

  With something approaching a satisfied smile on his lips, he tapped the edge of the desk for luck, then headed out of the inner sanctum, turning off the light, only to walk straight into PC Simms, who’d obviously been loitering by Miss Smith’s desk.

  ‘What the hell, Simms! You gave me quite a shock,’ said Mullett.

  ‘Sorry, sir. It’s just that I was hoping to have a word with Miss Smith.’

  ‘But as you can see, she’s not here.’ Mullett looked at his watch – he was going to be late for dinner yet again. ‘She left over an hour ago.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that now. What I mean is . . .’ The constable was flustered. ‘I thought maybe she’d popped to the canteen, so that was why I was waiting.’

  ‘You know the canteen is out of order at the moment.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course it is. I’d forgotten.’

  ‘It seems to me you’ve forgotten quite a lot, like the time Miss Smith finishes work for the day.’

  ‘I suppose so, sir. Sorry.’

  ‘Sorry? What did you want with my secretary anyway?’ Mullett didn’t have time for this, but then he certainly didn’t have time for any untoward behaviour in his station. A tight ship, that’s what he ran, not a knocking shop.

  ‘It’s a personal matter, sir,’ said Simms.

  Mullett was not in the least surprised. ‘Personal?’ he shouted. ‘This is not a bordello, lad. Pull yourself together.’ Mullett then set off down the corridor, thinking that Simms needed a cold shower. If not a good caning. As head boy at Charterfield, Mullett had loved thrashing the juniors.

  Monday (7)

  Jack Frost and Sue Clarke were hurrying to Wendy Hudson’s ward, down yet another squeaky corridor. Frost’s head was throbbing, the lateness of the hour and the bright fluorescent lighting not helping matters. He felt a twinge in his lower abdomen, probably down to the three pints he’d had at lunch.

  Hospitals were even worse at night, Frost found himself thinking. The long, empty corridors, bereft of patients, nurses, visitors. The stink of loneliness, fear and death. ‘Did you see The Shining?’ he asked, the atmosphere really getting to him.

  ‘No way,’ said Clarke. ‘I hate horror films. Though I wouldn’t mind seeing An American Werewolf in London – apparently that’s really funny, not just scary.’

  ‘Just trot down to Denton Woods,’ said Frost. ‘On a full moon. You’d be surprised what you’d see.’

  Lister Ward was in darkness apart from a light at its far end. They continued down the corridor past the occasional groan, moan or snore, until they reached the nurses’ station.

  A redhead was sitting by an Anglepoise lamp.

  ‘Hello, love,’ Frost said politely. ‘We’ve come to see Wendy Hudson – I’m DS Frost and this is DC Clarke, Denton CID. We got a call a short while ago, saying Mrs Hudson had regained consciousness.’

  To Frost’s extreme annoyance he’d also discovered that the WPC in attendance had been relieved of her duties much earlier in the day because Mullett thought it a waste of resources keeping a constable by an unconscious woman’s bedside. So when Wendy Hudson did wake up there’d been nobody on hand to record anything she might have said.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ A faint, Irish brogue drifted up from under the light, while the nurse continued to write carefully in a ledger.

  Now he was here, Frost was even more livid. Mullett wasn’t just a stingy bastard but an incompetent one as well. ‘Can you remind me which bed is hers?’ he asked. ‘It’s a little dark out there.’

  ‘But you can’t talk to her now,’ the nurse said, raising her angelic face.

  ‘Why ever not?’ Frost said, still trying to be polite.

  ‘Lights-out is at ten. As you may have noticed, everyone is asleep. Or trying to get to sleep.’ She smiled up at him, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  ‘Listen to me, sweetheart’ – Clarke was tugging at Frost’s sleeve, but he ignored her – ‘it’s been a very long day, we’re in the middle of a particularly serious police investigation, so go and wake her up again. She’s a big girl, I’m sure she stays up after ten when she’s at home.’

  ‘She’s still heavily sedated.’

  ‘Then why the flaming hell,’ he said, almost spitting as he leant over her desk and turned the beam of the lamp directly in her face, ‘did you call us to say she’s awake?’

  ‘Come on, Jack,’ Clarke murmured behind him.

  ‘Firstly, I didn’t call anyone,’ said the nurse, tapping his hand off her lamp with a biro, ‘I only came on at ten, and secondly, as I understand it, she was awake – briefly.’

  Frost stepped back from the desk. ‘Thank you so much for your help,’ he barked. ‘The next time she happens to wake up, perhaps you would do me the favour of letting me speak to her, so that I might have some chance of finding not just the person who damn nearly killed her, but her missing twelve-year-old daughter, who could be in serious danger.’

  The nurse looked down at the notes she’d been writing, saying nothing.

  ‘If it’s not too much trouble, of course,’ Frost added, barely able to contain himself. ‘Nurse . . . ?’ He couldn’t read her badge.

  Finally she began to speak. ‘It’s sister, actually . . . please keep your voice down.’

  Frost had already turned his back on her and was marching towards the exit. He could hear Clarke scampering after him. He needed a cigarette, and
a drink. ‘Why does the whole of Denton seem to be filling up with Irish? And none of them any bloody help.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Clarke asked, confused.

  ‘Never mind.’

  Once out of Lister Ward, and on another, more brightly lit corridor, Frost had an idea. ‘Where’s the kiddies’ ward?’

  ‘They’re certainly going to be fast asleep,’ said Clarke.

  ‘It’s not the kids I want to have a word with. Come on.’ They had reached an atrium of sorts, with signs pointing in all directions. Frost realized he had no idea where the Fraser child was now being kept, in isolation.

  Still he led Clarke towards the clearly marked paediatrics section of the hospital. After a couple of flights of stairs and more dismal corridors they came to the internal paediatrics lobby.

  Commanding the main desk was a fearsome-looking matron in a sharp blue uniform, complete with white hat. Frost knew in an instant that, warrant card or not, he wasn’t going to get past this one.

  ‘I’ve had enough people snooping around this ward today,’ said the matron, before Frost had even opened his mouth, ‘with all manner of excuses and lies.’

  ‘Sorry to hear it,’ said Frost.

  ‘One chap even tried to bribe me, he did,’ said the matron. She looked at Frost keenly. ‘I know what you two are up to – on the hunt for a story. Well, you’re barking up the wrong tree with me. You’re not going to get another inch down that corridor.’

  ‘Wait a minute, love,’ Frost protested, alarm growing. ‘Just because I wear a raincoat doesn’t make me a scavenging news-hound.’

  Finally having established his and Clarke’s identity, the matron was surprisingly forthcoming about Becky Fraser’s predicament. ‘The poor mite’s obviously being kept in a room all of her own, and we’ve set up a bed for her mother to be by her side; didn’t seem any point in keeping her out.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ agreed Frost, though suddenly worrying about Liz Fraser, and whether he’d got it all wrong and that it was her and not the child’s father who had been abusing Becky. Frost had too much on his mind – he was losing sight of what was really what, losing his edge, his conviction.

  ‘I think they’ve been together all day, playing happily,’ said the matron.

  ‘I see,’ said Frost.

  The matron looked around her, before whispering, ‘The tests are continuing, but we won’t know anything until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.’ She winked.

  Frost could sense that Clarke was on the verge of giggling. He had no idea how much the matron really knew, or whether she realized the child’s isolation had actually been orchestrated by a Denton CID detective both for her immediate protection and to gain some precious time.

  ‘And the consultant?’ Frost suddenly couldn’t remember the doctor’s name. ‘Can I have a word with him? Is he about?’

  ‘No, Doctor Philips has long been gone for the day,’ the matron said, adding quietly, ‘though I do believe he tried to contact you at the station this afternoon.’

  ‘Is that right? Well, the message never got through.’ Frost tried to remember whether it had or not.

  ‘He’ll be here in the morning,’ said the matron more sternly.

  ‘Good, I’ll contact him then.’

  ‘Do you want to see whether the mother’s still awake? You could perhaps have a word with her.’

  ‘No,’ said Frost. ‘No need to bother her. It’s Doctor Philips I should talk to first.’

  Frost also knew he had to get on to Social Services sharpish.

  Standing outside the hospital, in the cold night air, under the car-park lights, Frost held out a match for Clarke. She cupped his hand and leant forward, cigarette between her teeth, but shivering as she did so.

  ‘Feels like winter is well and truly on its way,’ she said. ‘It’s bloody freezing.’

  ‘I like the winter,’ said Frost, ‘clears my sinuses.’ He paused, looking towards the bushes. ‘But what I don’t like are sneaky old hacks.’

  ‘I’m sorry, not with you.’

  The rustling Frost thought he’d heard became more pronounced.

  ‘Jack!’ rang out from the shadows, as a tall, slim man stepped into the light and walked towards them. Frost realized he’d been expecting as much.

  ‘Hello, Sandy,’ said Frost dismissively. ‘What brings you to Denton General this time of night – I hope you’re not as ill as you look?’

  ‘Fit as a fiddle, actually,’ the tall man said.

  ‘Sue, allow me to introduce you,’ said Frost. ‘DC Clarke, this is Sandy Lane, Denton Echo’s one and only hack.’

  ‘Hello, DC Clarke,’ Lane said, taking his time over shaking Clarke’s hand.

  ‘So, why are you skulking about out here?’ Frost asked, wheezing slightly as the chill air got right inside his lungs.

  ‘My mum, taken bad a couple of days ago. They think she’s had a stroke.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that,’ said Frost, trying hard to sound like he meant it.

  ‘She’s doing all right, though. Made of stern stuff, us Lanes.’ The reporter paused. ‘Funny bumping into you, Jack. She’s in a ward with another old dear, a Mrs Hanlon. Been chatting to one of your colleagues this afternoon, as it happens – DC Arthur Hanlon.’

  With a sinking feeling Frost had a good idea what was coming next. Though thorough and diligent, Hanlon wasn’t always as sharp and on his guard as he could be.

  ‘Rabies in Denton. Now, Jack, that’s a big scoop,’ said Lane smugly. ‘Of national interest.’

  Frost said nothing. Reached for another smoke. Working out his line.

  ‘Care to comment?’

  Frost knew the presses for tomorrow’s paper would have run by now, and that anything he said would be largely irrelevant. ‘What have you set in motion, Lane? Be awful for you if it turned out to be nothing more serious than an errant squirrel cosying up to a nipper.’

  ‘Come on, there’s a little girl in there undergoing tests for rabies, and that’s a fact.’

  ‘Can’t argue with that,’ said Frost.

  ‘See, see, I knew it was true!’ cried Lane. ‘That bloody lying matron.’

  Had Frost simply confirmed Lane’s suspicions? ‘Hold on a minute. A test is one thing – confirmation’s another. Besides, how do you know there aren’t other reasons why she’s here as well?’

  ‘But Jack, you don’t get it, do you? Whether there really is rabies in the county is neither here nor there. The possibility that it might be here is enough of a story. Doctors, tests, isolation wards. It’s a bloody big story too – with pictures, interviews. We’ve got more than enough.’

  ‘Interviews?’ Frost laughed. There was only so much that Lane could have cobbled together. Though standing in the shocking cold, pushing eleven at night, Frost was almost beyond caring. ‘You and that rag of yours, Lane’ – Frost tapped Clarke on the arm, gesticulated towards the Escort – ‘you’ll be begging us for the real story one day. For any real story. So, in the meantime, just remember the public, those people who’ll be too terrified to leave their houses, to go to school, to the doctor’s, to do their shopping. All because you couldn’t be bothered to check the facts. They’d be better off reading the bloody Beano.’

  Once in the Escort, the engine being warmed by Clarke’s keen foot, Frost asked, ‘How about a nightcap? We should just make last orders. I’m frozen from the inside out and the Cricketers is just around the corner from here – believe there’s a bit of a darts match going on.’ It was also just possible, Frost hoped, that Bert Williams could be there; it was one of his regular haunts. Or if he wasn’t, someone might have seen him very recently.

  ‘Can’t,’ said Clarke. ‘I’m already late.’

  ‘Aye-aye – who’s the lucky chap?’

  ‘As if I’d tell you.’

  ‘Amount of gossip flying around that nick, could be one of many,’ said Frost, laughing.

  ‘Not everyone mixes work with pleasure.’ Clarke accelerated out of the hospital
car park.

  ‘No, but you’re a copper. Coppers don’t have much time for anything other than the job.’

  ‘Yes they do, if they’re quick about it,’ said Clarke, turning to smile at him.

  ‘That’s my problem, then. I always take too bloody long.’

  ‘There’ll be a lot of women who think that’s an advantage,’ she said, turning on to the Rimmington Road. ‘I’ll drop you off, if you like.’ The Cricketers appeared up ahead.

  ‘That would be grand, thanks.’

  ‘Do you ever go home?’ she asked.

  ‘Something always seems to crop up first,’ Frost said.

  Tuesday (1)

  ‘What the blazes is this?’ Mullett slammed the newspaper on Frost’s desk, sending paperwork and cigarette ash everywhere.

  Frost looked up, doubting whether he’d ever seen the super so angry. Mullett’s face was puce above the starched collar of his white shirt. His magnified eyes seemed to be popping out of their sockets behind his horn-rimmed glasses. Frost glanced across at Hanlon, who immediately rose from his chair and made a dash for the door.

  ‘Desperate,’ Hanlon muttered, clutching his vast stomach and backing away down the corridor.

  Frost unfolded the Denton Echo and read the headline: RABIES IN DENTON! BABY CONFINED IN GENERAL. The story was accompanied by a huge photo of a rabid dog – the image looked familiar. ‘Wonder where the snap came from?’ Frost said, mostly to himself, lighting a cigarette.

  ‘Balls to the photo!’ Mullett shrieked as he paced the cramped CID office. ‘Have you any idea what this means? We’ll have every vulture up from Fleet Street now, all right.’

  ‘I thought they were here already,’ said Frost. ‘On the hunt for paedophile-aiding-and-abetting coppers.’

  ‘That’s more than enough of your lip, Frost. I’ve already had the Chief Constable on the phone. Give me one of those.’

  Frost slid the Rothmans over. ‘I don’t know anything about it, sir. Presumably the hospital isn’t airtight. One of the nurses, maybe?’ The superintendent was making him feel even more defensive than normal.

  ‘What do you mean, you know nothing about it?’ Mullett barked. ‘That hack Sandy Lane told the Chief Constable first thing this morning – the Chief Constable no less – that he’d spoken to one DS Frost outside the hospital late last night, and you’d all but confirmed it was true. For heaven’s sake, Frost!’