Frost 5 - Winter Frost

by R D Wingfield

  'That's your bleeding theme tune,' hissed Frost. For a moment, by some miracle, he thought no-one had heard the racket, then a light suddenly cut across the garden from the house next door. 'Let's get the hell out of here.'

  Back in the car they stared at the house while Morgan sucked his bleeding fingertips and rubbed his grazed knees. 'I nearly made it, guv.'

  'And Captain Scott nearly made it to the South flaming Pole.' Frost couldn't see any lights coming on in the house and wondered if it was empty. 'Sod it . . . let's take a chance. I'm going to smash a window and get in that way.'

  Out of the car again. He was bending to pick up an empty milk bottle from the doorstep when headlights blinded him. A squeal of brakes and running footsteps. 'Hold it, you two.' He spun round, almost dropping the bottle. Two uniformed men, Jordan and Simms, were racing towards them, the flashing blue light of the area car in the road behind them. Frost gaped. 'What are you doing here?'

  'Householder reports two men in her back garden trying to break in,' Jordan told him, wondering what Frost was doing here.

  'Two men?' said Morgan. 'That was . . . Oow!' He hopped with pain as his ankle was kicked.

  'We thought we heard something,' said Frost, 'so we stopped to take a look. You two go round the back, we'll go in the front way.' He hammered on the door. A light came on in the hall. 'Police!' he called. The door inched open on a chain and a hand took his warrant card. The door opened. They stared. Wearing a powder blue dressing-gown over a flimsy nightdress, the red-headed receptionist from the dental surgery was looking equally surprised at Frost. 'Thank goodness you've come. My husband's away and I'm in the house on my own. There were two of them.'

  'We'll come in and look round,' said Frost. 'If they got into the house we'll flush them out. We've got two uniformed men round the back.'

  They quickly went through every room, Frost lingering in the bedroom which held the unmistakable aroma of the dentist's aftershave. A heap of cigarette ends in the ashtray, but no shackles, no blood, no-one else in the house.

  'No sign of them,' he told the woman. 'Probably miles away by now. We had a report of a man driving off in a Honda. Would he have been your husband?'

  She looked confused and blushed. 'Er, no . . . a friend.'

  'I see,' nodded Frost. 'Can you tell me exactly what time he left you?'

  'Just before half-past one.'

  About five minutes before Frost woke up to find the Honda had gone. 'Are you sure?'

  'I checked the clock as I got back . . . er, got into bed. Why - is it important?'

  'No,' said Frost, shaking his head. Bloody Morgan! They'd missed Ashby by seconds. 'It's not important.'

  He sat in his office, moping. What a flaming night. There would be hell to pay in the morning when Mullett learned that after nights of fruitless surveillance, their target was actually on the move but they had lost him. He looked across at Morgan who was in a reverie of erotic recollection.

  'I couldn't half have given her one, guv,' said Morgan, settling himself down at his desk. 'Red hair drives me mad. Did you see the love bites round her neck?'

  'Is that what they were?' muttered Frost. 'I thought she had fleas.' He radioed Burton who was still stationed outside the dentist's house. Ashby still hadn't come back home and no patrol had spotted the Honda. 'What can the sod be doing?' asked Frost. The phone rang. Control. Urgent message for Inspector Frost. The body of a woman had been found on the outskirts of the Denton Golf Course.

  She was lying on her back, fully dressed, the unbuttoned ginger-tinged fur coat spread, out beneath her, the low-cut dress pulled down, exposing her breasts. Sarah had looked old when Frost had seen her earlier. In death she looked very old.

  He stared down at her, moodily smoking, getting in the way of SOCO and the Forensic team who were methodically searching the immediate area. She had been dumped in rough grass on the outskirts of the municipal golf course, no more than a couple of feet from a small cut-through road so her killer wouldn't have had far to move the body before driving off. He wouldn't have had to leave the road, just stop the car, dump her, then drive off within seconds. Forensic and SOCO were wasting their time looking for clues in the grass.

  No attempt seemed to have been made to conceal the body, which had been spotted by an emergency plumber on his way to attend to a burst pipe at one of the local factories.

  He realized Morgan was alongside him, also studying the body. 'I could have saved her life, Taffy,' he said. 'She asked me to lend her the money for a cab, I said no, so she went off to earn enough for her fare and this bastard picked her up.'

  'It's a wonder anyone would want lo pick her up,' said Morgan. 'I wouldn't fancy her myself.'

  Frost expelled smoke. 'When I was a young copper, Just joined the force, years ago - hansom cabs and Jack the Ripper - I often used to see Sarah plying her trade. She was a bloody cracker then.' He took another drag at the cigarette which was tasting hot and bitter. 'So where is our flaming dentist?'

  'You reckon it's him, guv?'

  'I hope and pray it is, Taffy. He's all we've got.' He moved back to let SOCO take photographs. Another look at the body. 'She's fully clothed. Why didn't he take her to his lair and strip her off like the others?'

  'Probably picked her up in the dark and didn't fancy her when he saw her in the light?' offered Morgan. He nudged Frost. 'The doctor's here.'

  Slomon, the duty police surgeon, annoyed at being dragged out of a warm bed at three o'clock on a cold, frosty morning, scowled a greeting at Frost, then knelt by the body and touched the flesh. 'Hasn't been dead long, a couple of hours at the most.'

  Frost nodded. "That fits in, doc. I was talking to her a couple of hours ago. She offered to show me her titties.' Want to see the twins undressed, love? Twenty pounds as it's cold. It was even colder now and everyone could see the twins for free.

  Slomon made a brief examination, then studied the face. 'No sign of injuries. I think she had a heart attack.'

  Frost frowned. 'Heart attack? All the others were suffocated.'

  'Not this one.' Slomon stood up. 'She probably had a wonky heart to start with and when she realized what he meant to do with her, the shock killed her.'

  Frost crouched and lifted the dress so he could study her stomach. No sign of cigarette burns. He checked the wrists and ankles. No rope burns.

  'Could it be a different killer?' asked Morgan.

  'I don't think so,' said Frost. Sod it . . . he had enough unsolved cases without a different bleeding killer being involved. 'He gets his kicks out of seeing women suffer and there's not many giggles if she's dead and can't feel anything. That's why he dumped her so quickly.'

  Slomon was scribbling out his expense claim. 'You anywhere near catching him?'

  'Not so near that you'd notice,' sighed Frost. If only Morgan hadn't fallen asleep. If only he'd given the poor cow her cab fare. If only he was a better flaming detective. If, if, if . . .

  One of the men from Forensic was examining the fur coat. 'This has seen better days, Inspector.'

  'Better decades more like,' muttered Frost. He bent and rubbed the coat with his thumb. As he did so, wisps of fur floated off. 'It's moulting,' he told Forensic. 'If she got into anyone's car, or sat close to them, we'd find traces of rabbit's fur or whatever it is - right?'

  'Without a doubt.'

  Frost nodded his satisfaction. His radio called him. Burton reporting that Ashby had just returned home. Frost checked the time. 3.32 a.m. 'Where's his car now?'

  'In the drive.'

  'Right - stay there. If he attempts to leave the house again, arrest him on suspicion of murder. SOCO and Sergeant Hanlon will be with you in around fifteen minutes.' He clicked off and yelled to Detective Sergeant Hanlon: 'Arthur. The dentist has just returned home. I want his clothes, his car, and his house examined for traces of moulting fur - take SOCO with you. Then get Ashby down to the station, arrest him if necessary, but don't tell him about Sarah, tell him it's about his late receptionist.'
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  'Aren't you coming?' asked Hanlon

  'No. I've got to wait for Drysdale. Just stick Ashby in an interview room with a warm cup of tea and let him sweat it out until I get there.'

  No sooner had Hanlon and SOCO driven away than the lights of Drysdale's Rolls-Royce cut across the golf course.

  'Another one?' sniffed the pathologist, peeling off his gloves and handing them to his secretary.

  'Kill one, get one free,' said Frost. 'Dr Slomon reckons she died of heart failure.'

  'Brilliant,' said Drysdale coldly. 'Everyone dies from heart failure. It's what causes the heart to fail that matters.' His examination didn't take long. With much reluctance he agreed with Dr Slomon. 'A heart attack, probably brought on by shock. I don't suppose it will reveal much more than that, but the autopsy will be at two tomorrow afternoon.'

  Frost sighed. 'I'll be there, doc.' He seemed to be spending half his flaming life at Drysdale's elbow in that miserable autopsy room. He left Jordan to oversee the removal of the body and let Morgan drive him back to the station. The aroma of Sarah's cheap perfume still clung to the interior of the car and there were bits of her tatty fur on the seat . . .

  'You can't talk to Ashby yet, Jack,' Bill Wells told him. 'He's sent for his solicitor.'

  'People are too flaming aware of their rights,' moaned Frost. The canteen was closed at that hour of the morning so he sent Morgan off to make some tea, then sat in his office to wait and draw doodles on one of Mullett's memos.

  Morgan pushed the door open, bearing two mugs of tea. He was followed in by Detective Sergeant Hanlon. Frost fished the tea-bag from his mug, took a sip and shuddered. 'Cat's pee,' he said.

  'Sorry, guv,' mumbled Morgan. 'Making tea isn't my strong suit.'

  'Nothing done in a standing position seems to be your strong suit,' said Frost. He turned to Hanlon. 'What joy with Forensic?'

  'They're still going through the house, Jack. They bagged up some clothes for examination, including the coat he was wearing in the car, but no obvious sign of any fur fibres.'

  Frost looked worried. 'You sure it was the right coat?'

  'His keys and his driving licence were in the pocket.'

  'For all we know he went back to that red-haired receptionist's flat and changed. I should have left someone watching the place.'

  'You think she's in it with him, guv?' asked Morgan.

  'I reckon there's got to be two of them, Taff. He couldn't have carried Big Bertha's body from the car on his own, not without a fork lift truck.' He took another sip from his mug before grimacing and pushing it away. His cigarettes went the rounds. 'Knowing who did it is one thing - proving it can be bloody difficult.' He looked up hopefully as Rawlings, the SOCO, followed by Burton, came in and dropped into a vacant chair. 'This had better be good news,' said Frost, 'or I'll get Taffy to make you a cup of tea.'

  Rawlings waved away the offer of a cigarette. 'Forensic are doing more thorough tests, but I haven't turned up anything either in the house, his clothes or his car. My guess is she was never in that Honda.'

  'I'm not interested in your guesses,' moaned Frost. 'If you've nothing positive to report, then lie.' He turned to Hanlon. 'What happened when you went to the house?'

  'I told him we'd like him to come to the station to answer a few questions. He said he'd come tomorrow. I said now. He told me to get stuffed, so I arrested him.'

  'On suspicion of the murder of Helen Stokes?'

  'Yes. He called us a load of incompetent fools.'

  'He knows us too well.' Frost yawned. It had been a long day and it wasn't yet over. 'Unless Forensic come" up with something, we haven't got a lot on him; suspicion, but nothing concrete. We're going to bluff our way through this, pretend we know a lot more than we actually do.' His internal phone rang. Ashby's solicitor had arrived.

  Ashby, dishevelled and furious, was seated next to his solicitor, a small balding man who looked equally annoyed. 'My client would have been perfectly willing to answer your questions at a reasonable time, Inspector. It's intolerable that you should drag him down here at this hour of the morning.' He glanced at the sheet of paper in front of him. 'I understand you wish to question him regarding the death of his late receptionist Miss Helen Stokes?'

  'Bang on!" nodded Frost, settling himself down in the chair with his files, his cigarettes and his lighter. He checked that Burton was ready with the tape machine.

  As soon as it was running, the solicitor said his set piece. 'My client wishes to state emphatically that he knows nothing at all about the death of his employee and he resents most strongly that you have arrested him without a shred of evidence.'

  'Then let's try and clear this little misunderstanding up,' beamed Frost, leaning across the table to Ashby and making great play of studying his earlier statement. 'Miss Stokes was killed in the early hours of Saturday morning. You told us you went straight home Friday night, after the surgery closed, stayed in and didn't go out?'

  'That's correct.'

  'Is it?' asked Frost, sounding surprised. He pulled another sheet of paper towards him. 'So any witness saying they saw you out in your Honda in the small hours would not be telling the truth?' He had no such witness, of course and kept his fingers crossed that the solicitor wouldn't challenge this point, but to his relief Ashby swallowed the baited hook.

  'Saw me driving? Ah, yes, now I come to think of it . . . I suffer from insomnia, Inspector, and sometimes have to get up and take a short drive in my car. I find driving aimlessly around helps me sleep.'

  Frost smiled happily. 'That clears up that little point, sir. We don't like to have these discrepancies.' He shuffled through the papers and pulled out a witness statement. 'Now what was the date that other witness mentioned . . . ? Ah yes . . . the early hours of Tuesday morning . . .' He raised his eyebrows enquiringly. More bluff. The statement was from a householder reporting they saw nothing at all at the time the body was dumped under the fast food van.

  'Ah . . .' said the dentist, as if suddenly remembering. 'I did go out for a late night drive . . . It slipped my mind before.'

  Frost ticked the statement. 'Good. We know the body was dumped between half-past midnight and half-past one Tuesday morning. Can you tell us where your aimless drive had taken you between those times?'

  'I'm sorry, Inspector, I don't stare at the clock as I drive, I just don't know.'

  'Did you know Miss Stokes had a secret passion for you sir?'

  Ashby blinked in amazement. 'What . . . ?'

  Frost showed him the photograph. 'We found this in her bedroom . . . the red marks are lipstick. She'd been slobbering all over it. Didn't you detect any signs of a smouldering passion?'

  'No, I did not.'

  The solicitor came to life. 'I can't see where any of this is is leading, Inspector.'

  'Bear with me, sir.' Back to Ashby. I'm suggesting, sir, that Miss Stokes, with her secret passion, would have been insanely jealous if you gave your favours to someone else.'

  'I'm a happily married man,' snapped Ashby.

  'Yes, sir, but is it your wife who is keeping you happy or your new receptionist?'

  The solicitor quickly intervened. 'Are you suggesting my client is having an affair with his receptionist?'

  Frost gave the solicitor a knowing smile. 'I don't think your client will deny it, sir, especially as I caught them at it.' Back to Ashby. 'Did Miss Stokes catch you at it as well, sir? Did she threaten to tell your wife? Is that why she had to be silenced?'

  'No, no, no,' shouted Ashby, his fist hammering on the table for emphasis.

  'You had motive and opportunity, sir.'

  Before the dentist could answer, the solicitor raised a hand. 'Just a minute, Inspector. A purely hypothetical motive which my client has denied, and as for opportunity, being unable to state definitely where he was at a critical time is hardly proof that he committed a crime.'

  'You're right, sir,' said Frost ruefully. 'It's not enough, is it?' He lit up another cigarette and slowly exhaled smo
ke. 'Let's see if we can't bolster our case up a bit.' He put Sarah's file on the top of the heap and opened it up. 'Now here's coincidence. Death does seem to follow your client around. He was seen with another woman earlier tonight and now she's dead!'

  The colour drained from Ashby's face. 'Jayne? Are you saying Jayne's dead? Oh my God!'

  Frost's mind whirled. Jayne? Who the hell was Jayne? Then it clicked. She was the redhead. Clever, bloody clever. The man deserved an Oscar. 'Not your receptionist sir, a prostitute . . . Sarah Hicks, fur coat and bobble hat.'

  Ashby's eyes narrowed as if he was trying to remember. 'You mean that old granny? She offered me her services and I told her to leave me alone. I then went into my receptionist's flat for a quick chat.'

  'What time did you leave there, sir?'

  'Round about half-past one.'

  Frost nodded. That agreed with the time the receptionist had told him. 'And what time did you return to your house?'

  A vague shrug. 'Around a quarter to two, I suppose.'

  'That's the time I would have expected you to arrive if you had driven straight there, but in actual fact it was gone 3.30, not too long after we found the body.'

  Frowning, the solicitor looked up from his notes. 'Who says my client didn't arrive home until nearly 3.30?'

  'One of my officers, sir. Your client has been under surveillance all evening.'

  'If he was under surveillance, you will know where he was during that time.'

  Frost tried not to look uncomfortable. 'Unfortunately, sir, the officer concerned was called away to another incident for a while.' A tap at the door and Bill Wells came in. 'Not now,' hissed Frost.