Frost 5 - Winter Frost

by R D Wingfield

  Plummer stayed in his chair. 'You have no faith in me, have you, Inspector?' He smiled knowingly. 'But I will change that. Do you have any item here that would have been in the girl's possession? Something actually handled by her?'

  Frost opened the file and took out the school photograph of the smiling, gap-toothed Vicky. She had brought it home from the school for her mother.

  'Perfect, perfect,' breathed Plummer, placing the photograph on the map. He closed his eyes and swayed from side to side. 'I can feel her presence . . . she has control of my hand. She is saying, "I'm here, I'm here." ' Then his finger quivered and descended on to the map. 'There! This is where you will find her, Inspector.' He opened his eyes and beamed triumphantly up at Frost.

  Frost leant over to see the spot indicated. A small section of Denton Woods, cut off by the new motorway. 'Marvellous,' snorted Frost. 'We've already searched there three times, twice with men, once with dogs. We found nothing.' He snatched the map from the desk and made a hash of refolding it. 'On your way - I've wasted enough time over this.'

  'I'm prepared to go with him on my own,' said Sandy Lane. 'You'll look a right prat if we find her after you refused to come,'

  'I never look anything other than a right prat,' said Frost. He unhooked his mac from the rack. 'All right, but make it quick.' Opening the door, he yelled down the corridor for Morgan. 'Get the car round, Taffy. We're going body-hunting . . .'

  The long grass was sodden and their trouser legs were soon soaked to the knees with a cold clamminess the howling wind was doing its best to turn to ice. Plummer had led them off the main path and they were plunging into an overgrown area where trees creaked and groaned. Frost exchanged exasperated glances with Morgan. It was obvious that Plummer, looking more and more despairing, was hopelessly lost. Behind them, deadened by a fringe of trees, came the steady roar of motorway traffic. Sandy Lane, stumbling along behind them, was trying hard not to meet Frost's eye.

  'Can we stop when we reach Edinburgh?' asked Frost sarcastically.

  'I'm sorry,' flushed Plummer. 'This isn't an exact science, you know.' ,

  'It was a bleeding exact science when you jabbed your finger on the map,' snapped Frost. 'We passed the place where we would definitely find her some ten minutes ago.'

  'She's here, somewhere,' insisted Plummer. He stopped and slowly looked about him, shaking his head. 'No . . . I'm sorry . . . something's wrong. I just don't know.'

  'My fault for agreeing to come with you,' grunted Frost who wasn't going to waste time on recriminations. 'Let's go home.'

  They had driven barely half a mile with Plummer glumly staring out of the window when he suddenly yelled, 'Stop the car!'

  Morgan, at the wheel, looked to Frost for instructions.

  'What now?' asked Frost.

  Plummer craned his neck, staring back at the way they had come and pointing excitedly to a clump of forlorn trees on the other side of the road. 'She's there!'

  'She bloody well gets about a bit, doesn't she?' snorted Frost.

  'She's there!' insisted Plummer. I'm positive. I can hear her calling, "I'm here . . . I'm here . . ." '

  Frost sighed and nodded for Morgan to do a U turn and drive back to the indicated spot. 'Your last bloody chance,' he told Plummer.

  They trudged along another winding, muddy path, then through more trouser-soaking grass, Plummer running ahead of them, excitedly, like a dog catching the scent of a rabbit, beard bristling, eyes glowing. He stopped and waited for them to catch up. 'The child is very near. I can feel the vibrations.'

  'You'll feel the toe of my boot up your arse if this is another waste of time,' grunted Frost.

  The path narrowed and bushes on either side were brushing against them. Plummer took another couple of steps, then abruptly stopped, his face contorting as if in extreme pain. 'I feel her suffering, her soul cries out in torment.'

  'Go on, then,' urged Frost. 'We're right behind you.'

  Plummer shook his head. 'No. I can't go any further.' He pointed. 'She's there, Inspector, behind those bushes.'

  Frost barged him out of the way, briars snagging his mac as he squeezed through. His nostrils twitched. Something. Something unpleasant. Faintly at first, then it hit him hard. A smell he had experienced too often before. The sickly, rancid carrion odour of death and decay. 'Morgan, come here,' he barked. 'Sandy, you stay put with Plummer.'

  With Morgan tagging close behind, he parted some brambles and stepped into a small clearing overgrown with sodden tall grass. Morgan bumped into him as he halted. 'Shit!' he hissed.

  'What is it, guv?'

  Frost pointed.

  They stared down at a mess of sodden clothes; and bloated flesh that was once an eight-year-old girl.

  Morgan closed his eyes and looked away. 'I thought we'd searched this area, guv?'

  'We did,' Frost told him. 'Three times. She must have been dumped here after we searched.'

  'What's going on?' yelled Sandy Lane.

  'Stay there,' ordered Frost. 'We're coming out.'

  They gingerly retraced their steps, anxious not to disturb any evidence which might be lurking in the long grass.

  'You've found her, haven't you?' asked Plummer, a smug smirk of triumph on his face.

  Frost stared coldly. 'Yes, we've found her, and it hasn't made our day like it seems to have made yours.' He sent Morgan back to the car to mobilize the murder team, then stopped Sandy Lane who was tugging a mobile phone from his inside pocket.

  'Hold it, Sandy.' He pulled the reporter to one side and lowered his voice. 'She hasn't been identified yet, so just say we've found a body, and don't send one of your tactful reporters round to the mother's house before I've been over to break the news; she's going to take this bloody badly. And lastly, don't mention Plummer's part in this.'

  'Now hold on, Jack,' protested the reporter. 'We've paid good money for this exclusive. Plummer's red hot news.'

  Frost glared incredulously. 'You've what?'

  ' "Clairvoyant Finds Body Of Missing Girl" - it's a dream story. We've paid £5,000 for the exclusive world rights.'

  'You never told me this,' said Frost, angrily. 'I'd never have gone along with it had I known.'

  'Then you would never have found her.'

  'Listen, Sandy. I don't care how much you've paid that smug bastard, but he's too clever for his own good. He knew where she was and not through bloody second sight. He's got a lot of questions to answer.'

  'You don't believe in second sight?'

  'Not even at £5K a bleeding throw. That bastard knew she was there. He's just become my number one suspect.'

  Chapter 13

  The pathologist emerged from the small temporary canvas tenting erected over the body which had the effect of containing the reek of decay, but Drysdale didn't appear to mind. 'Sexually assaulted and manually strangled, like the other girl,' he told Frost 'Killed elsewhere, of course, and brought here some time after death.'

  'How long has she been here?' Frost asked, hoping it was well after the time the area was thoroughly searched.

  'Difficult to tell without knowing the previous-storage conditions. At a guess I'd say some two to three weeks.'

  'Storage conditions?'

  'I suspect the body was kept in a deep freeze of some kind before being brought here.'

  'A deep freeze?' echoed Frost. 'Bloody hell!' The freezer compartment to the fridge in Weaver's house was tiny and nowhere near big enough to store a body. He made a mental note to check Plummer's house and see what sort of a deep freeze he had.

  'If she was killed shortly after she went missing,' continued Drysdale, 'then there would have been much more evidence of decay. I should be able to be more precise when I do the PM. I've a busy schedule, but I can fit it in today - two o'clock this afternoon, Denton Hospital mortuary.'

  'I'll be there, doc,' said Frost.

  No matter how many times Frost said it, Drysdale always winced at the 'doc'. He couldn't stand the man's coarse familiarity. As he lef
t, Harding and the Forensic team, who had been waiting patiently, went inside the canvas shelter.

  Frost's mobile phone bleeped. Mullett calling from the station. 'You've found the girl?'

  'Yes. Raped and strangled like Jenny.'

  'By the same man?'

  'I bloody hope so. It's hard enough finding one killer, let alone two.'

  'I understand you've arrested this man Plummer. Can I take it you now accept that Weaver was innocent?'

  'No. I reckon Weaver and Plummer acted together. Plummer could have hidden Jenny's body while we had Weaver in custody, then sent that letter with the button.'

  'Hmm,' grunted Mullett, sounding unconvinced. 'Try and speed things up. The news has leaked out that we're holding a suspect and we're being inundated with phone calls from the press. And something else. I've had an irate Chief Inspector Preston from Belton Division on the phone. You haven't sent over the files on the prostitute killing he asked for.'

  'Damn,' said Frost. 'Funny how you forget things when some bastard strings himself up in his cell. I'll see to it as soon as I get back.'

  'Make sure you do,' Mullett snapped. 'These things reflect on the Division. Have you told the girl's parents yet?'

  'No,' said Frost, fingering the plastic bracelet found on the body. He was going to ask them to identify it as Vicky's. He didn't want them to have to see the body in its present state. 'I've got that treat to come.'

  'After weeks of uncertainty, it might even come as relief,' suggested Mullett.

  'Yes,' said Frost bitterly. 'We might even have a few laughs about it.' He clicked off the phone and dropped it in his pocket. No point in putting it off any longer. He walked to his car and drove to the parents' house.

  It was Vicky's mother who opened the door. She had seen his car pull up outside and couldn't wait to hear the good news that Vicky had been found and was alive and well. Then she stared and clutched her chest. His face told her everything. He looked at her and sadly shook his head. She forced herself to ask 'Vicky?'

  Frost nodded.

  'Dead?' She was already shaking her head, refusing to believe what he was going to tell her.

  He nodded again. He always tried to be detached and not let these things affect him, but this time he found himself struggling to hold back the tears.

  She put her arms round him and hugged him tight. 'You poor man,' she crooned, as if soothing a child. 'You tried so hard, you hoped for so much.' And she was comforting him.

  In the living-room her husband sat with his arm around her, the tears they had both held back for so long now flowing freely. Over the mantelpiece, in the original of the police poster photograph, their dead daughter smiled down at them.

  Frost took the green plastic bracelet from his pocket. 'Is this Vicky's?'

  The mother took it, holding it in her open palm. 'Yes,' she nodded. 'It's . . .' She couldn't bring herself to say her daughter's name. She closed her hand tightly and pressed the bracelet against a tear-stained cheek.

  'We need it back,' said Frost, gently. He had to prise open her palm to take it.

  'Did she suffer?' asked the husband.

  'No,' lied Frost, firmly. 'She didn't suffer.'

  'And will you get the man who did it?'

  'Yes,' said Frost. "That I can promise you. We'll get him.'

  Drysdale looked at the large clock on the tiled mortuary wall and frowned. Ten past two. He'd specifically told Frost two o'clock and couldn't start the autopsy until the inspector deigned to put in an appearance. There would be an official complaint about this.

  A slamming of doors and the sound of raucous laughter. The pathologist's lips tightened. He didn't need to turn round when the mortuary doors opened and closed. 'You've kept me waiting, Inspector.'

  'I've been breaking the news to the kid's parents,' said Frost, shuffling on one of the green autopsy gowns he always felt such a fool wearing. 'Not the sort of thing you can cut short.' DC Morgan, who had come in with Frost, had difficulty with his gown and smiled gratefully as Drysdale's secretary helped him find the sleeves.

  'If you're ready, at last.' Drysdale pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and surveyed the body like a diner ready for his main course. Hovering at Drysdale's shoulder, the green-gowned SOCO man waited patiently, his camera at the ready. Overhead a large extractor fan whirled lazily, but didn't seem to be doing much to improve the fetid atmosphere.

  Frost stared down at the tiled floor and let his mind wander. He'd give his flaming pension for a cigarette. He didn't want to watch the proceedings unless it was absolutely necessary. Morgan seemed to find it impossible to tear his eyes away from Drysdale's blonde secretary. Whenever she met his gaze, she flushed, bent her head and scribbled furiously in her shorthand notebook.

  'Ah . . . !'

  Frost looked up. Drysdale, who had been probing the girl's mouth, had extracted a sodden mess of something. 'Toilet tissue . . . like the other girl . . . used as a gag.'

  'The bugger was nothing if not consistent,' said Frost as the mess was dropped into a plastic jar held out by SOCO.

  'And, like the other girl, she was raped before death but as before, he seems to have used a condom, so no chance of DNA identification.'

  The pathologist reached for a scalpel to open up the stomach. Frost turned his head away. This was the part of post-mortems he really hated. Morgan, looking green, had lost interest in the secretary and was sitting in a chair at the back, dabbing his brow with a handkerchief.

  'It would help if I had your attention, Inspector,' said Drysdale peevishly. Frost raised his head. The pathologist was dropping something into a sample jar. He held it up so Frost could see. Little lumps of something brown floating in a murky liquid. 'The last thing she ate very shortly before death . . . I think it is a sweet . . . a toffee or something.'

  Frost nodded grimly. The bastard always gave them a sweet to suck while they were waiting to be raped and murdered.

  Drysdale slashed, hacked and weighed as the extractor fan proved more and more ineffective, but nothing of further importance was found. At last he was finished and was washing his hands at the sink as the mortuary attendant did his best to sew the tiny body into something more presentable. 'About time they got some decent soap,' complained Drysdale, scrubbing away at his nails. 'My findings are as before, Inspector. Like the first girl, she was gagged, sexually abused, then manually strangled. The body then appears to have been stored in a sub-zero temperature, probably a domestic deep freeze. Date of death?' He shrugged. 'The unknown storage conditions mean I can only guess. I'd say nine, ten weeks.'

  'Which is round about the time she disappeared,' said Frost. He sighed. 'Thanks, doc.' A jerk of his head to Morgan who had recovered enough to be chatting up the secretary. They discarded the green gowns and dropped them in the bin, then hurried out of the building to suck in lungfuls of clean, cold, untainted air before climbing into the car for a smoke.

  'Post-mortems are part of the job I hate, guv,' said Morgan.

  'It's not as much fun as frisking toms,' agreed Frost, sliding into the passenger seat.

  Morgan switched on the ignition. 'That Drysdale's secretary, guv. I've got a thing about long-legged blondes. I wouldn't mind having her.'

  'I reckon she's seen enough organs to last her a lifetime,' said Frost.

  Back at the station he was barking out orders to the murder squad. 'I want Plummer's house searched. See if there's any porno pictures of kids, or anything at all that would tie him in with Weaver. And do Weaver's place over again, see if there's anything to tie him up with Plummer.' As he was leaving the incident room he remembered something else and spun round. 'Vicky had been eating toffees just before she was killed . . . so see if Plummer's got any bags of sweets.' No sooner out, than he was back again, telling the WPC who was manning the phones to photocopy the prostitute serial murder files and send them over to Belton Division right away. Then back yet again as he thought of something else. 'Bag up all the note-paper and envelopes you find at Plummer's
place and send it over to Forensic. Let's see if they can match it with that anonymous letter with the button.'

  As he scuttled back to his office, Bill Wells yelled that Plummer was demanding to know why he was being held.

  'He's supposed to have bloody second sight, let him find out for himself. I'll talk to him in a minute.'

  His in-tray was overflowing again - more statements taken from prostitutes about weirdo clients. Nothing that looked promising. The internal phone rang. Harding from Forensic.

  'Vicky Stuart, Inspector. Did she have a pet dog?'

  'No.' He shouldered the phone to his ear as he lit up a cigarette.

  'Did Weaver?'

  'No - why?'

  'We've found hairs from a black dog on Vicky's clothing. Find the dog and we can match them.'

  'I'll do some checking.' He hung up and wiggled the cigarette up and down as he thought. His hopes were raised, but the dog hairs could have come from anywhere. He buzzed for Arthur Hanlon.

  'Arthur, you questioned Vicky's school friends when she first went missing. She used to visit their houses. Did any of them have a dog with black fur?'

  Hanlon thought for a moment. 'Two of them, Jack . . . a black and white spaniel and a black mongrel.'

  Frost showed his disappointment, but at least it would eliminate the animal hairs as a possible clue to the killer.

  'Go to the houses, get samples of the dogs' hairs and send them over to Forensic for testing.'

  He took another long drag at the cigarette before pinching it out and yelling for Morgan to accompany him to the interview room for a cosy little chat with Plummer.

  Plummer's beard was bristling with anger. 'I hope you are prepared for a substantial claim for false arrest. This is absolutely intolerable.'

  Frost looked hurt. 'A few questions, Mr Plummer. I naturally assumed you'd be more than anxious to help us. After all, if it wasn't for you we might never have found her.'

  Slightly mollified, Plummer sat down. 'If I can help you further . . .'

  Frost smiled his gratitude and dragged the other chair to the table. He jerked a thumb at Morgan. 'My colleague, here, sir, doesn't understand one or two things about what has happened. He's a bit slow on the uptake, I'm afraid, on account of being Welsh. Perhaps you could enlighten him?'