First Frost (15 page)

‘That’s Mrs Litchfield,’ said Clarke. ‘She’s the woman who discovered the dead man in the canal. I forgot she was a teacher at St Mary’s.’ She paused. ‘I’m surprised she hasn’t taken a few days off work … after such an experience.’

‘Can’t say stumbling upon a stiff would put me off turning up for work here,’ Frost mused. ‘Oh, the privileged few …’ He glanced at the notes he’d hastily compiled after the rushed call to the school – following the briefing. ‘The headmistress is a Mrs Rebecca Sidley. This could be fun.’

Walking away from the Escort, Frost was aware that he and Clarke had caught the attention of the schoolgirls. One or two of the teenagers glanced flirtatiously at Frost. He straightened his back to increase his height as he climbed the steps leading to the main entrance.

Once inside Frost and Clarke were immediately met by a frail, grey man of about sixty – some kind of porter, Frost guessed – who’d been sitting on a bench in the dim lobby.

‘Yes?’ the man asked, raising one lopsided eyebrow.

‘We have an appointment with Mrs Sidley,’ Clarke said.

The man looked stonily at them for a moment, before stepping aside to let them into a vast hall. It was quiet and musty-smelling. A chill draught blew through.

‘You can’t do that in here, sir,’ the porter said coldly, gesturing at Frost’s cigarette.

Frost took a deep drag before looking around for somewhere to stub it out. His eyes alighted upon an aspidistra in a tall china stand, which he moved towards.

The man quickly leapt forward with a small glass ashtray he’d plucked from his pocket. ‘I shall advise Mrs Sidley you’re here,’ he said and abruptly disappeared.

‘Crikey, it’s like something out of the Victorian age,’ Frost said, looking up at a mangy stag’s head on the wall. ‘Hard to guess who’s the oldest, Mr Cheerful with the ashtray, or the moose.’

After five minutes or so of Frost and Clarke pacing the huge hall and eyeing tatty, out-of-date issues of
Country Life
, piled high on an oak side table, the old man returned and beckoned them down a long corridor, to a study at the back of the building.

The room was lined with bookshelves and a handful of stuffed raptors were mounted on plinths. Frost, for all his experience in police work, found something particularly unsettling about taxidermy, with both the process and those who collected the beasts. Outside, through a couple of floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see a formal garden, with playing fields beyond. Gaggles of girls stood about on the grass, drifts of cigarette smoke here and there.

‘Sherry?’ The voice behind him was refined.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Frost, turning. A tall, thin woman, with greying black hair wound into a tight bun, and with a face dominated by an aquiline nose, had appeared from a side door. ‘I am Detective Sergeant Frost,’ he offered, momentarily disarmed by her regal appearance. Holding out his hand, he added, ‘And this is Detective Constable Clarke.’

‘Rebecca Sidley. How do you do,’ she said.

‘Lovely view.’ Frost pointed his thumb back towards the girls outside the window, trying to recover his composure.

‘Isn’t it,’ she smiled calmly. ‘I do like to watch the girls at play.’ She opened a drinks cabinet, discreetly situated amid the bookshelves, and poured two large schooners from a cut-glass decanter. One went to Frost and the other was set down on her desk. Clarke she appeared to ignore.

Mrs Sidley picked up a heavy desk lighter and lit a long, thin cigarette. ‘So, how can I be of assistance?’ she asked, sucking at her cigarette. ‘I believe you are worried about one of our pupils?’

‘Yes,’ DC Clarke said, rankled. ‘We are very concerned for Julie Hudson’s safety, following her disappearance at the weekend.’

Mrs Sidley inhaled deeply, properly turning her attention to Clarke for the first time. A faint smile fluttered across her face. She gracefully tipped the ash from her cigarette and moved towards the window. Queen of all she surveyed, Frost thought.

‘Jenkins,’ she called, without raising her voice.

Seemingly from nowhere the stooge appeared. ‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘Fetch me Mrs Cooper.’

‘I believe Mrs Cooper is on break duty,’ the man replied.

‘The girls will manage just fine without her.’ Mrs Sidley smoothed back a stray strand of grey hair that had escaped the tight bun. ‘Don’t you think so, Mr Frost? Besides, it’s nearly eleven thirty, bell-time.’

Frost’s gaze had drifted back out of the window, to a couple of girls, nearby, doing handstands in short skirts. He half wondered whether the acrobatics were for his benefit.

‘Mr Frost?’ Mrs Sidley repeated, amused.

‘Yes, impressive facilities, Mrs Sidley,’ he said, turning to face the room.

‘Do sit down, please.’

Frost and Clarke sank into a chesterfield. It was particularly hard and uncomfortable.

‘Mrs Cooper – she’s Julie Hudson’s form teacher – will be with us shortly.’ Mrs Sidley slowly eased herself into the deep red-leather chair behind her desk.

Back trouble, Frost suspected. Had she been turning cartwheels in her spare time? When she was younger?

‘Mrs Cooper will be a lot more help than I. We have over four hundred girls here. Now, I do believe you have a new superintendent,’ Mrs Sidley queried. ‘A Mr Flounder?’

‘Mullett,’ said Frost sharply – he didn’t have time for small-talk. As he felt his pockets for his cigarettes, there was a knock on the door.

‘Ah, Mrs Cooper, do come in,’ Mrs Sidley called.

Frost watched as a short, plump blonde in her early thirties, wearing a ridiculously tight, flared purple-corduroy trouser suit, stepped hesitantly into the room.

‘Mr Frost and his colleague here,’ said Mrs Sidley, addressing Mrs Cooper, ‘are asking after Julie Hudson.’

‘Oh,’ Mrs Cooper said. ‘Well, Julie was absent yesterday and today.’

‘I could have told you that,’ said Frost.

‘It’s usual if a child is sick for the parents to call in,’ Mrs Cooper persisted. ‘We’ve not heard anything and, yes, we were starting to become concerned.’

‘You’re not the only one,’ said Frost. ‘So you tried to contact the parents?’

‘Yes, we’ve rung a couple of times. But there’s been no answer.’

‘No surprise there,’ Frost said.

‘How is Julie in general? Attentive? Happy?’ DC Clarke asked.

‘She’s certainly a bright girl and normally seems happy enough. Though I have to say she’s possibly been a little distracted of late,’ answered Mrs Cooper, glancing at the headmistress. ‘I have been worried about her weight, too – she’s very thin.’

‘May I ask about the reasons for your concern for Julie?’ Mrs Sidley interrupted, looking straight at Frost.

But it was Clarke who answered, blurting out, ‘She disappeared sometime on Saturday afternoon, we think from Aster’s department store.’

Frost frowned at his colleague. He hadn’t intended to reveal all the specifics, not straight away.

‘Shopping – that’s all these girls are interested in nowadays,’ sighed Mrs Sidley.

‘Disappeared? Oh dear. The parents must be distraught,’ Mrs Cooper said.

‘You could say that,’ Frost said sternly, deciding that perhaps shock tactics were the best option. ‘Problem is, Mrs Hudson is in Denton General – beaten to within an inch of her life. And Mr Hudson has gone missing.’

Mrs Sidley gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘Goodness. You don’t think he’s had anything to do with it, do you?’

‘I’ve always found Mr Hudson to be rather charming,’ said Mrs Cooper, flushing slightly.

‘We aren’t ruling anything in or out at this stage,’ said Frost. ‘What’s important is that you tell us anything about Julie, and her family, anything at all that you think odd or unusual, or that might be useful.’

Mrs Cooper looked thoughtful.

‘You said Julie’s been a little distracted and reserved of late?’ prompted Clarke.

‘Well, there is maybe something you should know,’ the teacher began, looking at her boss, clearly asking for approval. Mrs Sidley nodded. ‘It has been said, among the girls that is, that Julie’s father is not her natural father. But you know what girls are like. They can be very cruel.’

‘Is there any bullying at this school?’ asked Clarke.

‘I should think not,’ said Mrs Sidley sharply.

‘When did you first hear this?’ said Frost, ignoring Mrs Sidley and directing his question to Mrs Cooper.

‘Recently. Let me think, last week? Perhaps the end of the week before.’

‘Who from exactly?’ Clarke asked.

‘Oh, more than one girl. It’s just something I’ve overheard.’ Mrs Cooper was looking increasingly flustered.

‘The timing could be very important – please try to be more specific.’ Frost was vexed: a whole new scenario was materializing.

‘I’m afraid we’ve all had a rather shocking couple of days, as I’m sure you are aware,’ Mrs Sidley said, taking control. ‘It’s not every day that one of our teachers discovers a dead man in Denton Union Canal.’

‘If you are referring to Mrs Litchfield – is it? – she seemed fit enough to come to work today,’ countered Frost.

‘We saw her talking to some girls out front,’ added Clarke politely, ‘as we arrived.’

‘That’s as maybe. But we were all rather shocked and upset nevertheless.’

‘However you look at it,’ said Frost, ‘better a dead old man, than a young girl … kidnapped, raped, murdered, you name it.’ He paused. ‘What about Julie’s mother? What can either of you tell me about Mrs Wendy Hudson? There must be a lot of contact with the parents at a posh place like this.’

‘She always seems very keen to do the best for her daughter,’ said Mrs Cooper, being careful, Frost thought, not to look at Mrs Sidley. ‘But, how can I put this? She seemed maybe a little too anxious to fit in. It’s a class thing, I suppose. A lot of our girls come from very privileged, county backgrounds. I’m not quite sure that the Hudsons were from quite the same social strata – they do, I believe, live in Denton itself. And Mr Hudson is a second-hand car dealer, isn’t he?’

‘And Julie?’ asked Clarke. ‘Were you aware of any special friendships? Boyfriends even?’

‘Boyfriends?’ Mrs Sidley snorted dismissively. ‘Boys are not even allowed on the grounds. We have none of that sort of nonsense here.’

‘All right then,’ persisted Frost, unabashed, ‘what about girlfriends? I think you know what I mean.’

‘I most certainly do not!’ The headmistress rose to her feet. ‘Jenkins,’ she shouted. Then more quietly but equally firmly, ‘Detective, I think this appointment has come to an end.’

The old stooge appeared in the doorway.

‘Jenkins, see these people out, please,’ Mrs Sidley said sharply.

‘I’m sure we can find our own way,’ said Frost. ‘Sue, how’s your geography?’

‘Got an A,’ Clarke answered smugly.

Leaving the study, and the great hall, and making their way to the car, Frost and Clarke appeared to have hit the end of break-time. Girls were rushing everywhere. Frost didn’t know where to look, bumping smack into a slight young Asian girl, nearly knocking her to the ground. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Didn’t see you there.’

‘Are you our new Head of Games?’ she asked.

Tuesday (3)

DC Hanlon replaced the receiver and scanned his notes. This, he thought, should at least get him off the hook with Jack Frost – and Mullett, for that matter. Progress of sorts, but he could kick himself. Telling his mum that there was someone in the same hospital being tested for rabies, what was he thinking of?

He’d supposed that his mum, lying wired up on a hospital bed, wasn’t taking much in. But of course she was – only to blab to the old biddy in the neighbouring bed. Next thing Hanlon knew, he was being chatted up by slimy Sandy Lane.

Hanlon greedily tucked into a second sausage roll; at least it was providing some comfort. Handy this business of Grace with a trolley, he thought, no need to trek all the way to the canteen.

‘If you’ve got a dodgy belly you should go easy on those sausage rolls,’ said Frost, entering the office. ‘What with you and the ailing Old Bill on the front desk, the place is fast becoming an infirmary.’

‘Jack, hello, I’ve got some good news … what do you mean, “go easy”?’

‘Just been chatting to a man from Rentokil in the car park. Since they gutted the canteen, they’ve found the place is crawling with rats,’ Frost said chirpily.

‘Rats?’

‘Yes, hundreds of the buggers.’

‘Ah, but they’d have been there all along,’ Hanlon said hopefully. ‘Haven’t had a problem yet, and I’ve eaten enough meals there over the years.’

‘That was before we had rabies.’

‘Right,’ said Hanlon. ‘Look, about the
Echo
story … I can explain, Jack.’ Hanlon watched Frost move round to his mess of a desk and begin foraging in a drawer.

‘Too late, the damage’s done.’ Frost retrieved an old Bic lighter, which he began shaking vigorously. ‘Anyway, cheer me up. What’s this good news, apart from the fact your mum’s got perfect recall?’

‘Forensics isolated an intriguing set of prints in the Hudsons’ kitchen.’

‘How do you mean?’ Frost, still in his mac, which was suddenly looking very much the worse for wear, pushed a pile of paperwork aside and perched on the edge of his desk.

‘They made a match.’

‘A match? Arthur, I could forgive you anything.’ Frost beamed, much to Hanlon’s relief. ‘Someone with form?’

‘Could say that,’ said Hanlon. ‘They belong to one Lee Wright – with a string of convictions, most seriously armed robbery. He was released on parole three months ago. Just spoke to his probation officer in Bristol.’

‘Let me guess: a no-show last week?’

‘Spot on. And what’s more, he’s a Denton boy. Birth certificate says Denton General, 1948.’

‘So he’s come home to reek havoc,’ said Frost.

‘Looks like it, but why? And where is he now exactly?’

‘You were doing so well, Arthur. Thought you were going to tell me all that.’ Frost shrugged, dug his hands into his pockets. ‘I wonder if he’s settling an old score?’ He scratched his head. ‘Or he’s come to collect what’s his?’ He paused. ‘Any contact address for him in Denton? Any living family?’

‘That’s where it begins to run a little dry,’ said Hanlon apologetically. ‘His last-known address was with his parents, off New Lexington Road.’ Hanlon didn’t even have to look Frost’s way, before continuing, ‘Yes, Jack, I’ve checked it with Records. The Wrights gave up the lease over ten years ago and moved out of town – around the time, I guess, when their son was banged up good and proper. Probably couldn’t stand the embarrassment.’