Frost 5 - Winter Frost

by R D Wingfield

Frost took one of the boxes and looked inside. A beefburger, oozing fat and reeking of fried onion. 'You should have got one for Collier as well,' he said, sinking his teeth into it. His head jerked up. 'What's this?'

  A flare of headlights as a beige minicab marked 'Dave's Taxis' drew up by the phone box and honked its horn. Collier consulted his list. 'The right cab, sir.' He focused the night glasses. 'And the right driver. He's picked Polly up a couple of times before.'

  'OK, son. Follow it, then take her back to the station. I'm calling it a night.' He climbed out of the car, fatigue and depression weighing him down. He was so sure tonight was going to be the night. Now he'd have to face Mullett again in the morning and talk the cheese-paring bastard out of stopping the exercise. He took another bite at the beefburger but realized he didn't want it and chucked it into the gutter, giving it a savage kick as it fell. Round the corner to his own car and off to the other phone box. He had left Morgan watching Liz Maud but wasn't too happy at leaving the DC on his own in spite of the man's earnest protestations. 'You can rely on me, guv.' Taffy was the last bleeding bloke you could rely on.

  Half-way there when his radio squawked. 'Control to Mr Frost. Urgent. Come in, please.'

  He lifted the handset. 'Frost.'

  'Urgent assistance required. Ram raid in progress at Conway's Jewellers in the High Street. One officer injured, ambulance on way. We need all your men, now!'

  He radioed his team as he spun the car round. 'All units, abandon operation. Ram raid, Conway's Jewellers, officer injured. Get over there now.'

  Morgan radioed back. 'I'm watching DI Maud, guv. There's a cab pulling up for her now. Can't see the registration number, but it's a woman driver. Looks all right. Safe to leave?'

  'No, not safe to bloody leave,' snapped Frost. 'Might be a man in drag. Follow, pick her up at the other end, then both of you get over to Conway's pronto.'

  Skidding round the corner, he was the first on the scene, the other two cars close on his heels. A Panda car was slewed across the road. The pavement outside the jewellers sparkled with broken glass and the alarm was shrilling with no-one to take any notice. He ran over to the still shape of a uniformed officer sprawled in the gutter, his head in a puddle of blood.

  A slamming of car doors and the clatter of footsteps behind him. He knelt by the officer and touched the icy cold, chalk white face of twenty-year-old Peter Adams who had been with the Division a few months only. 'Get a blanket or something. The poor sod's freezing.' He moved to one side as WPC Polly Fletcher shucked off her tart's fur coat and gently laid it over the injured constable. Frost could smell the incongruous aroma of the heady scent she had been using.

  'Hey!' A man was running towards them from a house opposite. 'It was me who phoned your lot,' he told them proudly. 'I saw it all.'

  Frost took the man's arm and moved away. 'What happened?'

  'I was watching a film on the telly when I heard this crash. I looks out the window and I sees this van ramming through the jeweller's plate glass window. There were three of them, youngish, in their twenties I'd imagine, all with balaclavas hiding their faces. They were scooping jewellery from the window when the cop drives up. He charges over and one of them welts him with this baseball bat. Poor sod went down like a stone. They ran back in the van and roared off.'

  'Which way did they go?' asked Frost.

  He pointed. 'Down the Bath Road, speeding like the clappers.'

  'What sort of van?'

  'Little grey delivery van. There had been a name on the side but it was blacked out.'

  'Registration number?'

  The man shook his head. 'Couldn't get it. The plates were covered in mud.'

  Frost called for all units to be on the look-out. He had no sooner clicked off when Morgan radioed through, very excited. 'That van. It just passed me by the Denton roundabout going towards Exley . . . light grey, three men. Am in pursuit, assistance required.'

  'Stick to the sods like glue,' said Frost, calling in all units to assist. He found himself having to shout over the noise of the shrilling alarm. 'Can't someone turn that thing off?'

  'Key-holder's on the way,' Jordan told him. Another sound sliced through the night. The warble of an ambulance siren. Frost looked down at the unconscious man. Adams was really too inexperienced to have been out on his own at night. Sod the bloody budget cuts. And Adams had been too keen, too anxious to prove himself. He should have stayed in the Panda and waited for assistance, not gone rushing out when there were three of them, armed with baseball bats.

  In seconds the paramedics were gently easing Adams on to a stretcher. 'Looks like a fractured skull,' they told Frost, adding ominously, 'Could be nasty.' Frost detailed Polly to go with Adams to the hospital, the paramedics expressing surprise as she tottered up the steps in her short skirt and high heels. He didn't bother to explain.

  As the rear lights of the ambulance dwindled to pinpricks as it sped down the Bath Road, Frost scrunched over broken glass to examine the shop front. The metal grid used to protect the display was crumpled and had been cut with heavy duty cutters. The display shelves were stripped bare, except for a solitary diamond necklace which hung forlornly, its price ticket string caught on a drawing pin. Unhooking it, he checked the price tag. £4,500. He whistled softly. He'd have guessed a couple of quid.

  Morgan radioed through. 'Still on their tail, guv. They're going at a fair old lick. Any chance we could head them off from the other direction before they reach the turn-off?'

  'I'll check.' He called Control, but Morgan was out of luck. The only available vehicle was over the other side of Denton and would never get there in time. He was pocketing his radio when a black Honda Accord braked to a halt outside the shop and a short, tubby man in a sheepskin driving coat clambered out. 'The name's Conway . . . it's my shop,' he told Collier, then surveyed the wreckage of the window with mounting indignation. 'Bloody hell! Look at it! The third time in four months. I've only just had that window put in.'

  'My heart bleeds for you,' grunted Frost, introducing himself. 'You're insured, aren't you?'

  'Top rate premiums and I have to pay the first £5,000 of any claim, but after that I'm insured, yes.'

  'Tough,' said Frost. He jerked a thumb at the alarm. 'Can you turn that flaming thing off?' Conway scowled. 'I can turn it off if it offends your ears, Inspector, but tell me something, would you? Where was your bloody lot when it went off?'

  'Our bloody lot was lying in the gutter with his skull smashed in,' snapped Frost. 'He was welted with a baseball bat.'

  The man's eyes opened wide in concern. 'My God! I didn't know. Is he all right?'

  Frost shrugged. 'He's unconscious. We're waiting to hear from the hospital.'

  Conway covered his face with a hand and shook his head. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't know.'

  'We'll want an inventory of what's been taken.'

  'That's easy,' said Conway, bitterly. 'It's everything that was in the window.'

  'As soon as you can,' said Frost, moving away as his radio paged him. Morgan again.

  'We've lost them, guv.'

  Frost stared at the radio open-mouthed. 'You've what?'

  'Not our fault, guv. They swerved in front of an articulated lorry. The lorry driver slammed on his brakes, skidded and jack-knifed. We couldn't get past.'

  Frost sighed. "There's not many places they could have gone. Keep looking!'

  The clock on the interview room wall clunked its way round to 4.12. The radiator still wasn't working properly in spite of Frost's kicks and the room was cold. Frost thumbed through the list of stolen items then raised his eyes to Conway. 'Nearly a quarter of a million. What were you stocking - the Crown Jewels?'

  'It was all good stuff: gold, silver, jewellery, Rolex watches. It soon adds up.'

  'Why wasn't it in the safe?'

  'Good question. The flaming safe's jammed. We can't open it. The locksmith's coming tomorrow to fix it - too flaming busy to come today. I had to get special dispensation from the insu
rance company to leave it in the window overnight.'

  'That was good of them.'

  'Yes . . . very generous,' replied Conway with heavy sarcasm. 'All they charged was an extra premium of £500. £500 for twenty-four flaming hours.'

  Frost glanced at the list of stolen items again. 'I bet they wish they'd turned you down, now.' He took out a cigarette. 'Was tonight the first time the stuff was left in the window?'

  'Yes. These crooks were either bloody observant or bloody lucky - tomorrow night the stuff would all have been nicely locked away in the safe.'

  Frost thumbed his lighter. 'At least you were insured.'

  'Oh yes, and if I live long enough, and they can't find anything in the small print so they can wriggle out of paying, I'll get the wholesale price less £5,000 excess and treble the premium for next time.' He blew his nose noisily. 'But here am I ranting on and forgetting about that poor devil in hospital. Any news?'

  'Still unconscious. It doesn't look too good.' The jeweller's face creased. 'I'm so terribly sorry. I owe him. If there's anything I can do . . .'

  'Thanks,' said Frost, rubbing his hands together to restore the circulation. 'And thanks for coming. We'll keep you informed.'

  Conway zipped up his briefcase and pulled on a pair of leather gloves.

  'Half a mo!' said Frost. As Conway sat down again, Frost beckoned Collier over. 'Nip out and see if there's any news from the hospital, would you, son?' He waited until the constable had left before leaning across the table to Conway and lowering his voice. 'Wanted him out of the way for a minute,' he said, tapping his nose conspiratorially. He pulled a brown paper bag from his pocket and shook the contents into his hand. A necklace which sparkled in the overhead light. 'I bought this from a bloke in a pub today, paid fifty quid for it. He swore blind it was worth £400. Was I caught?'

  Conway stripped off his gloves and examined the necklace. A sad shake of his head as he handed it back. 'You got exactly what you paid for, Inspector. It's worth £50 top whack.'

  With a rueful grin Frost tucked the necklace back in his pocket. 'The lousy bastard!' he said. Then he clicked his fingers as if he had suddenly remembered something. 'I'm a silly sod. This isn't the necklace I bought in the pub. This is the one I took from your shop window tonight. It had this £4,500 price ticket on it.' He swung the price ticket backwards and forwards.

  Conway went white. I don't understand . . .'

  Frost grinned back at him. 'Don't you, Mr Conway? Your bank manager does.'

  'My bank manager?'

  A cheerful nod from Frost. 'I phoned him a few minutes ago. It might have been my imagination, but he didn't sound too pleased at being woken up from a sound sleep. Anyway, it seems you're overdrawn like mad, the bank want to repossess your house and your shop, and there's quite a few of your cheques bouncing like the Dambusters' bomb. He said you had a profitable little business there until you let your son start running it.'

  Conway stared, mouth agape, then, with an effort, pulled himself together. 'This is all beyond me, Inspector. I'm going - '

  'Sit down!' barked Frost.

  Conway's shoulders slumped. He dropped down in the chair.

  A tap at the door and a grim-faced Collier returned.

  He whispered something to Frost whose lips tightened. 'Thank you, Constable.' He stared at Conway. 'A fractured skull, extensive brain damage. They rate his chances as lower than fifty/fifty, but even if he does pull through, they doubt if he will ever be able to lead a normal life.' He bent forward, his face nearly touching Conway's. 'You bastard!' He spat out the words.

  Conway jerked back as if he had been hit. 'How dare you!' he spluttered.

  'An insurance fiddle. I can smell them a mile off. A fake raid, then claim on the insurance. And thanks to your scam a bloody good police officer who was trying to protect your property has been ruined for life.'

  Conway flushed. 'This is preposterous. You're making wild accusations without a shred of proof. I am not saying another word unless my solicitor is present.'

  'Good,' said Frost, opening his folder. 'You can show him this when he gets here.' He pulled out a printed form and handed it over. 'It's a search warrant . . . I took the liberty of getting one ready in advance. We're going to search your house.'

  'My house?' croaked Conway, the search warrant shaking as he tried to hold it steady.

  Frost nodded. 'Who knows, we might find a lot of the good stuff hidden away somewhere that you forgot to stick in your shop window.'

  The jeweller's face crumpled. He stared down at the scratched and scarred table top. 'You've got to believe me, Inspector. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt.'

  Frost signalled for Collier to start up the cassette recorder, then gave Conway a warm, encouraging smile. 'Tell us all about it,' he said.

  Frost watched Wells lock the cell door on Conway. 'His son and two mates carried out the fake raid. We've sent a couple of cars to pick them up, so get the other two cells swilled out.'

  'Conway's son was behind it all, then?' asked Wells.

  'Yes,' agreed Frost. 'Conway put him in charge of the shop. The worst mistake of his life. Sonny Boy's been selling off the stock to pay for his gambling and drug habits and replacing it with cheap swag, hoping no-one would notice. Conway was going to sell the business and had the buyer coming in next week to appraise the stock, so Sonny Boy had to come clean. They thought this would be a good way out of their troubles. Let this be a lesson to you, Bill - crime does not pay!'

  'Not a wasted night after all, then?' said Wells as they walked back to the lobby.

  'If you overlook the poor sod in hospital and the fact that our serial killer is still on the loose, then by my lousy standards it was an unqualified success.'

  In the lobby a worried-looking Burton was waiting for them. 'Anyone seen Liz?' he asked.

  'Detective Sergeant Maud, to you,' snapped Wells. 'And I haven't seen her. Try the ladies' toilets - she spends most of her time in there.'

  'She's probably in the incident room,' called Frost as Burton hurried off. To Wells he said: 'What's the world coming to? They get their leg over, then start calling senior officers by their first name.' But on the way back to his office he found himself worrying. He couldn't recall seeing Liz since early on in the operation, and now he thought about it, she wasn't at the scene of the jewellery raid. He found Burton staring into an empty murder incident room.

  'She might have gone straight home, son,' he suggested. 'Have you phoned her?'

  'I've phoned: she doesn't answer.'

  'Let's ask Morgan where he dropped her.'

  The sound of raucous laughter from the rear doors heralded the return of Morgan with Jordan and Simms, all escorting three sullen men in handcuffs, the ram raiders. Simms was carrying the bags of fake jewellery. 'We've got them, guv,' announced Morgan triumphantly.

  'Where's Inspector Maud?' asked Frost.

  'No idea, guv. Isn't she here?'

  'Would I be asking you if she was? You picked her up after the cab dropped her. Where did you take her?'

  'I didn't pick her up, guv. I stopped following the cab when I chased after these three in the van.' He pointed to the handcuffed men.

  Frost stared. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'You just left her?' Morgan nodded. Telling Jordan and Simms to get their prisoners charged, Frost dragged Morgan into the murder incident room. 'You just flaming left her?' he repeated incredulously, an angry Burton looking on.

  Morgan's head turned from one to the other, not understanding what the fuss was about. 'I couldn't chase the van and follow the cab at the same time, guv. I told you I was going after the van. You didn't object.'

  'I didn't object,' exploded Frost, 'because I assumed you'd already picked her up. I didn't think you'd be so stupid as to abandon her.'

  'Sorry, guv,' mumbled Morgan. 'A misunderstanding. But it was a woman driver. Inspector Maud will be all right. She probably got them to drive her straight back home.'

  'I've phoned,' Burt
on told him. 'She doesn't answer.'

  'She could be in bed with a sleeping tablet,' suggested Morgan hopefully.

  'She could be in bed with a flaming serial rapist,' snapped Frost. PC Simms was walking past the door.

  Frost called him in. 'Drive straight over to Inspector Maud's flat, kick the door in if necessary, but get inside, confirm she's there, and radio me immediately either way.'

  'Hold on,' said Burton, digging into his pocket. 'No need to kick the door down.' He handed a key to Simms, then turned back to Frost. 'She wouldn't have gone home without reporting back here.'

  'She might have got pissed off with us because Taffy didn't pick her up and thought, Sod them!' said Frost. But he wasn't even convincing himself. Doubt and self-guilt chewed away at his innards. Why the bloody hell didn't he check with Taffy that he had Liz on board when he phoned? He jabbed a finger at Morgan. 'Phone the minicab firm . . . find out where they dropped her off.'

  A hot, liquid surge of relief as the phone rang. This had to be Liz. But it was Arthur Hanlon joyfully reporting from Conway's house. They had found most of the allegedly stolen jewellery and watches in the home safe. This didn't cheer Frost one bit. The ram raid wasn't important any more. 'We've got a problem, Arthur.' He told him about Liz and ordered him to get over to Sutton Street where Liz should have been dropped off by the minicab, in the slender hope she might still be impatiently waiting to be picked up by Morgan. 'If she's not there, keep an eye out on the return trip. She might be walking back to the station.' In high heels and a tom's outfit? What a bloody hope, but it had to be covered.

  No sooner had he replaced the phone than it rang again and again his hopes soared. This had to be Liz. But it was Mullett.

  'I understand we've got an injured policeman in hospital. Why wasn't I told?'

  God, he should have told Mullett right away. 'Sorry, Super - so much going on.' He filled the Divisional Commander in, but didn't tell him about Liz. 'They are operating on him now. We've got the men who did it.'

  'Hmph,' grunted Mullett. 'Keep me informed.' Frost hung up as Morgan finished his call to the minicab firm, his expression telegraphing bad news. 'They don't use women drivers at night, guv. They took the call and sent a man driver, but when he got to the pick-up point there was no-one there.'