First Frost

  Mullett pointed to the incident board, and a large-scale map of Market Square and the surrounding streets. Various photographs had also been pinned up around the map: the rear of the Fortress, the Fortress’s car park, three shots of Lower Goat Lane – where DC Clarke might have spotted the getaway car reversing at speed – views of the white van, the artist’s impressions of the gang that had hit Rimmington and Wallop.

  Standing out was the picture of a black leather mask, with two tiny holes for the eyes, a beaky extension for the nose, and a zip where the mouth should be. The raiders had all been wearing similar masks.

  Mullett began, ‘This is what we know, so far.’ He paused almost immediately. With so many assembled bodies, the squeaking of the new chairs was driving him to distraction. He’d have to ask Miss Smith to contact the supplier, discreetly of course. He didn’t want to be seen to have procured sub-standard furniture.

  Where was he? He turned to the board and back to the floor. ‘The gang used a most effective diversion tactic, the bomb scare. And we haven’t ruled out the possibility that the torching of a car on the Southern Housing Estate was also connected.’

  ‘Rule it out, sir,’ came a voice from the far-left corner. It was Frost.

  ‘Sorry, Frost?’

  ‘The torching, sir. I think we’ve already cleared that up,’ said Frost. ‘The car’s been identified. It’s a Datsun sports, stolen from Hudson’s Classic Cars sometime last night.’

  ‘What makes you think it’s not connected, Frost?’ said Mullett.

  ‘Because a little sod by the name of Sean Haynes, with a very long history of joy-riding, despite the fact he’s still in short trousers, has already confessed to nicking it. Uniform picked him up an hour ago.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mullett. ‘Thanks for telling me. Where’s this lad now?’

  ‘He had to be let go,’ said Frost. ‘Social Services couldn’t lend us another chaperone. They’ve got their work cut out with Liz and Becky Fraser, and they’re also deciding what to do with Julie Hudson.’

  ‘Right,’ said Mullett. He scratched his head. ‘But that still doesn’t explain why this car was set alight this morning, at exactly the same time as the hoax and the raid.’

  ‘Bit of local jealousy,’ interjected Frost. ‘Seems some other thugs thought Haynes was getting too big for his boots.’

  ‘So they decided it was the fifth of November early,’ said Mullett.

  ‘In one, Super.’

  ‘Well, let’s leave the car out of the equation, for the moment,’ said Mullett. ‘This still leaves the fact that there’s an armed gang out there somewhere, with both the will and the intelligence to mount a serious bomb hoax, while swiftly and brutally raiding a building society … of over a million pounds.’ Mullett paused for effect. ‘Most worrying, aside from another couple of female tellers being on the wrong side of a pistol-whipping, is the fact that they did use a recognized code word – whether it’s out of date or not.’

  ‘The thing is,’ interjected chubby, ruddy-faced Police Sergeant Nick Webster from Records, ‘this gang is not just going to have us after them, but the IRA as well. The Provos don’t take too kindly to impersonators.’

  ‘If they were impersonators,’ said Mullett. ‘DCI Patterson will be looking at the possibility that the raid was conducted as part of a fund-raising effort for the terrorists.’

  ‘I didn’t think the IRA were short of cash, not with the backing they get from the Yanks,’ said Webster, who, with his tightly curled mop of blond hair, looked more like a farmer than a police officer.

  ‘Also, would an IRA outfit have targeted three building societies in one county – presuming all these raids are linked?’ asked Hanlon, sitting near the front. ‘Surely they would have spread themselves wider, what with their resources. There must be a strong local connection.’

  ‘Good point, Hanlon,’ said Mullett.

  ‘Don’t think, if they were IRA,’ said PC Pooley, who’d been standing to the side of the room, ‘that they’d use S&M masks, even if it was for the good of the cause. You know, being Catholics?’

  ‘Who knows,’ said Frost. ‘Right load of hypocrites.’

  S&M? Sadomasochism? Mullett had been wondering about the masks. Now it was obvious what they were really for. Perhaps he’d been underestimating the motley bunch in front of him. ‘Thank you, Pooley,’ he said. ‘This might well give us something to go on.’ Mullett’s mood was brightening considerably – he wasn’t going to dwell on how PC Pooley had come to the S&M conclusion.

  ‘But sir, even dismissing an elaborate IRA connection,’ protested Frost, ‘this is the third armed raid in the county in as many months. Seems to me we should have more information on the form of this gang by now. What’s County really know?’

  ‘Actually, I was just getting to that, thank you. I do understand your frustration, Frost, believe me,’ said Mullett. ‘As I said, Assistant Chief Constable Winslow will be with us shortly, principally to coordinate the three directly affected divisions: us, Rimmington and Wallop. It’s no time for one-upmanship or petty rivalries. We’re all in this together. The public only deserves as much.’ Mullett was of course determined for Denton to make the major breakthroughs and come out on top.

  ‘Bit too late, if you ask me,’ Mullett heard Frost mutter, and for once he was inclined to agree.

  Just what was County holding back? This business about a mole, since the raid this morning, had been sitting more and more uneasily on Mullett’s shoulders. County must have had some reason for implying there was a leak – no smoke without fire. Yet Mullett was determined to prove them wrong, by God he would.

  Which reminded him – he hadn’t yet informed Frost that Winslow wanted him to head up the Bert Williams investigation. In his heart, Mullett still thought it would be better if Frost had a few days of compassionate leave, but there was no way that would be possible now. Even if DI Allen were to suddenly materialize, all leave had been officially cancelled as of noon today. And as it was Frost was bang in the middle of everything, worryingly indispensable.

  ‘There are three key lines of inquiry I want the Denton Division to pursue,’ Mullett said sternly. He enjoyed a good fight, and it didn’t do anyone any harm being the underdog. ‘I want every employee of the Fortress interviewed and scrutinized, whether they were a witness or not. I want the history of that van traced double-quick, and I want every face, scout and tout in Denton given a drilling.’ There was a collective groan from the floor.

  ‘And I want to know exactly where those masks came from,’ he added.

  Frost sat back at his own desk for the first time in ages, or so it felt.

  ‘Don’t know what’s got into Mullett,’ said Hanlon, ‘but he seems to be in a surprisingly good mood, for someone who’s currently without a single inspector on duty and with his arse on the line, what with these bigwigs about to descend on us.’

  ‘Funny you should mention that,’ said Frost. ‘He just collared me in the corridor, slapped me on the back.’ Frost wasn’t going to reveal the full extent of Mullett’s private exchange after the briefing – he couldn’t quite believe it himself. ‘I’d have preferred a good bollocking. At least you know where you are then.’

  ‘And, by the sounds of it, I thought you’d made a right cock-up, climbing into that van, leaving Julie on the pavement. Half the division, Mullett included, looking on in horror. This is the stuff of legend, Jack.’ Hanlon laughed. ‘Plus there’s that not insignificant matter of you insisting we keep the radio switched off. Which is why we ended up in the shit in the first place.’ Hanlon chuckled again, stuffing the last chunk of a sticky-looking Danish into his mouth.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ said Frost. ‘If those in charge had done their job properly we wouldn’t have been able to pootle down Gentlemen’s Walk.’

  ‘Come on, Wells, and Clarke for that matter, by all accounts did pretty well … considering,’ said Hanlon, pastry crumbs blowing over the desk.

  Frost was just thinking
he hadn’t had any lunch, having missed the last trolley round, but now he wasn’t sure he was still hungry. ‘Don’t get me wrong. It’s Mullett I blame. He thinks he’s so damned organized, but his problem is he’s not very good at delegating. He doesn’t trust people. Thinks we’re all idiots. Then he panics when the shit hits the fan.’

  ‘Did you hear about his car?’ said Hanlon, his mouth still full.

  ‘Who hasn’t? The story Mullett’s putting around is that a car came straight at him, in the middle of the road.’

  ‘And he did all he could to avoid it,’ finished Hanlon.

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the other way round.’

  ‘Wouldn’t surprise me, either. Right mess the car’s in.’

  ‘Maybe someone will make a complaint.’

  ‘It’ll be hushed up quick enough.’

  ‘I expect so.’ Frost moved over to the other side of the desk and began rummaging through the nearest mountain of folders and paperwork. What had he done with Blake Richards’s blue Met file?

  ‘Anyway, I still don’t know why Mullett’s so cheery,’ resumed Hanlon.

  ‘Maybe he likes proving himself. He hasn’t got much option at the moment. About time he looked a little closer to home for friends.’ Frost lit another Rothmans. ‘Which reminds me. I’ve been thinking we should let Steve Hudson go home for now.’

  ‘You’re joking. Why?’

  ‘Well, Julie’s now safely in the care of Social Services – whether she likes it or not – and her mum’s still tucked up in hospital.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say “safely” in the care of Social Services,’ said Hanlon. ‘You should have seen them.’

  ‘Ah, thanks for dealing with them, Arthur, but you don’t need to go into details.’

  ‘We’ve hardly finished with Social Services yet.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Frost.

  ‘There is the small matter of Liz and Becky Fraser.’

  ‘Right,’ said Frost.

  ‘The problem is,’ said Hanlon, ‘Social Services won’t intervene while Becky’s still in hospital. Some new directive has just come on stream.’

  ‘So where does that leave us?’

  ‘Well, seeing as we’re jammed up here, I had no alternative other than to let them go home. Social Services said they’ll pick it up right away, and I’ll get round there as soon as I can.’

  ‘Seems a bit risky to me,’ said Frost.

  ‘Not as risky as releasing Steve Hudson, if you ask me. Why don’t we just charge him?’

  ‘With what, exactly?’ said Frost. ‘Plus I don’t think he’ll make a run for it, not again. Far too much heat on him now. Besides, I reckon he’s more use to us out and about.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘That car, nicked from his forecourt, the Datsun, which was torched on the Southern Housing Estate? I’ve got a hunch.’

  ‘I thought that had been resolved. You told the super as much in the Fortress briefing.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Frost. ‘But it doesn’t quite stop there. Another car’s playing on my mind – and Steve Hudson’s grubby little paws don’t seem to be very far away from that one, either.’ He paused, scratched his chin. ‘The thing about this job,’ Frost continued, gathering some papers, and making for the corridor, ‘that’s been foxing me from the beginning, my very first days in CID, is that the minute you think you’ve got somewhere, you’re really somewhere else entirely.’

  ‘I don’t know how your mind works, Jack.’

  ‘Neither do I.’

  ‘Hey, where are you going?’ shouted Hanlon.

  ‘The morgue,’ Frost shouted over his shoulder, hurrying down the corridor.

  ‘What about Lee Wright?’

  Damn, Frost thought, turning not left at the end of the corridor, towards the lobby and the exit, but right, in the direction of Forensics. He’d forgotten about Wright.

  As she was walking briskly down the main corridor on the ground floor of the station, making her way to the exit, Clarke suddenly felt an arm on her shoulder, someone pulling her back. She turned to face Derek Simms.

  ‘Don’t keep creeping up on me, Derek, for God’s sake,’ she yelled.

  ‘Keep your knickers on,’ said Simms. ‘I just wondered whether you wanted any help from me tracking down that gang on the Southern Housing Estate. PC Baker and I were out there earlier, helping pick up the tyke who torched that car. You don’t want to go sniffing around there on your own, I can tell you.’

  Clarke doubted very much that Simms’s offer of help was genuine. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. ‘You keeping tabs on me, Derek?’

  ‘No – what the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘I can’t seem to breathe without you sticking your oar in. Look, if I need back-up, I’ll ask for it. There are procedures.’ She peered anxiously about the corridor – she didn’t want to be spotted talking to Simms like this, the way rumours spread around the station. But luckily no one else was in sight.

  ‘You were more than happy for me to come down with you to the canal yesterday,’ said Simms.

  ‘I’ve thanked you for that.’

  ‘So what’s changed now, all of a sudden?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Clarke. Even if she had been planning to drop by the Southern Housing Estate, anxious that Graham Ransome wasn’t forgotten in the light of the raid on the Fortress, she wouldn’t have wanted Simms along. She wasn’t entirely sure what had changed between them now, but something had.

  ‘I saw you, you know,’ said Simms menacingly.

  ‘Saw me what?’

  ‘Leap into that van, after Frost. You could have got yourself killed. I mean, what did you think you were doing rushing across Market Square?’ His voice was getting louder and angrier.

  ‘There was a girl there too, you know. It was her safety I was worried about.’

  ‘Not what it looked like from where I was.’

  ‘Derek, leave it, all right? This is not the time, or place. There are a few more important things going on.’

  ‘It was disgusting,’ said Simms. He had grabbed hold of her shoulder again. ‘You’re disgusting. A disgusting little tart.’

  Without thinking Clarke raised her right hand, knocked Simms’s arm away, swung wildly and slapped him hard on the cheek.

  Wednesday (5)

  ‘Second time this week,’ said Drysdale, in his usual dismissive tone.

  ‘Lucky for you,’ said Frost, stepping into the freezing lab and shivering. ‘Crikey, can’t you get some heating in here, given what we must be paying you?’

  ‘If you want the place to stink to high heaven. You know, Frost, you should cut down on the cigarettes. Terrible for your circulation.’

  ‘Don’t you start.’

  ‘Two bodies, Detective; two suspicious deaths,’ said Drysdale. ‘Plus this raid on the Fortress that everybody’s talking about. You’ve certainly got your work cut out.’

  ‘Hang on a minute’ – Frost felt in his pockets for his fags – ‘you’re going too fast. I say, where’s your assistant?’ Frost had never trusted that boy. Shifty eyes, and who’d want to work in a morgue at his age?

  ‘He’s at college Wednesday afternoons.’

  ‘Studying what? Hairdressing?’

  ‘Can we stick to business?’ said Drysdale. ‘I haven’t got all day.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like anyone’s leaving here in a hurry.’

  Drysdale walked over to the vertical bank of steel-fronted fridges, began pulling up a handle, then appeared to have second thoughts. ‘Mr Ransome – no need to bother him again. Though I expect his nearest and dearest will be getting a little impatient.’ Drysdale gave Frost a piercing look. ‘They’ll want closure, you know, those responsible properly dealt with.’

  ‘His mutt is being very well looked after, thank you.’

  ‘Now, Mr Frost,’ Drysdale said, opening another drawer, ‘this has come as something of a surprise.’ He pulled the drawer out, grunting a little as he d
id so. The sheet had already fallen away from much of Bert Williams’s considerable upper body. Drysdale stood back respectfully. ‘Personally, I always liked the inspector. A troubled man in many ways, though not without charm.’

  ‘Get on with it,’ said Frost. He was the impatient one now, unable to look at Bert Williams’s bruised and bloodied torso.

  ‘Severe trauma to his upper chest, consistent with a body slamming into a steering wheel – with considerable force. It’s possible to work out the speed of impact, et cetera.’

  Frost sighed, looked up at the harsh lights. This was not what he wanted to hear.

  ‘Three broken ribs, one puncturing his left lung, or what was left of it – heavy smoker, wasn’t he? – another narrowly missing piercing his heart. Snapped in half almost. Very nearly didn’t spot the contusions around his kidneys, and bladder, or the pounding his liver must have taken.’

  This was more like it. Frost closely scrutinized the pathologist, a blackness descending. ‘You’re saying he was beaten? Tortured even?’

  ‘What I’m saying is,’ said Drysdale, ‘and I’m going to be very particular about this, Mr Williams received multiple injuries, some more serious than others, some seemingly consistent with a car accident, some not.’

  ‘Someone made it look like an accident, didn’t they?’ said Frost, not sure why the Force bothered employing Drysdale’s services. He turned to leave.

  ‘You’ll need to see what Scenes of Crime, and Forensics, have to say about that. Corroboration will be essential.’

  ‘Day, exact time of death?’ Frost shouted over his shoulder, knowing it didn’t really matter. It was when Bert was attacked that would help Frost the most, and he had a clear enough idea.

  ‘I’d put it at sometime on Sunday evening, Sunday night.’

  Frost was by the doors, but facing into the room. ‘But he didn’t die immediately, did he?’

  ‘No, he hung on for quite a while,’ said Drysdale. ‘Possibly even twenty-four hours, given the amount of blood in his lungs, and the clotting on the wounds.’