First Frost (18 page)

‘Jack,’ said Hanlon. ‘Wait a minute, wait a minute. Where the hell are you? Everyone’s looking for you. Mullett’s frantic.’

‘I’m at the hospital; Wendy Hudson’s been nodding out some answers.’

‘Well, brace yourself. I have some bad news.’

‘A body’s been found? Not the girl? Oh shit. Armed robber or not, he was her bloody father.’

‘No, Jack.’

Frost could barely hear Hanlon. The line was terrible. ‘Speak up, Arthur,’ he said.

‘It’s Bert,’ said Hanlon.

Frost felt something give in his chest and his head immediately began to spin. ‘What do you mean, it’s Bert?’

‘He’s dead, Jack.’

Frost momentarily held the phone away from his head, looked out through the lobby doors, at the heavy grey sky on the near horizon. With his left hand he reached for his cigarettes. ‘Where, how?’ he asked calmly.

‘It was an accident, Jack. Rimmington way, a lane in the middle of nowhere.’

‘What the hell was Bert doing out there?’

‘That’s all I know, Jack. Look, I’m really sorry. I know what he meant to you, especially.’

Frost thought of Betty, their two grown-up children. ‘Does Betty know?’

‘No,’ said Hanlon. ‘A farmer called it in an hour or so ago. Charlie Alpha is at the scene. Mullett’s on his way.’

‘What about Scenes of Crime? Maltby?’

‘It was an accident, Jack.’

‘No, it bloody wasn’t!’ shouted Frost. ‘What’s the exact location, I’m on my way.’

‘Jack, hold on a minute. Dr Philips, the paediatric consultant, rang some time ago. About Becky Fraser. You should at least have a word with him before leaving the hospital – he wants to release her. Says the rabies business is getting out of hand.’

‘Rabies?’ Frost was for an instant confused, the thought of Williams dead had wiped everything else from his mind.

‘And that she has some burn marks on her body, on top of quite a catalogue of other injuries,’ said Hanlon hurriedly. ‘It’s abuse, all right. But we haven’t got any further with tracking down the father, Simon Trench …’ Hanlon paused, took a breath. ‘And that’s if it was him, and not the mother. We need to bring Liz Fraser in for formal questioning and let Social Services—’

‘Arthur, haven’t I already asked you to deal with this?’ said Frost, cutting him off. ‘Look, just give me the location. Where is Bert?’

Frost hung up and ran across to Clarke, who was flicking through a magazine by the newsstand. ‘I need the car – the keys – won’t be long,’ he said breathlessly, holding out his hand. Clarke passed them over, not bothering to question his motives.

‘Small task for you, while you’re here,’ he called over his shoulder, barging through a group of pregnant young women. ‘Tell that Dr Philips up in Paediatrics not to discharge the rabies child on any account, and don’t let the mother out of your sight. Hanlon will fill you in.’

Reaching the exit, Frost was accosted by a man who shoved a microphone in his face. Frost sent the microphone flying, and sprinted across the car park towards the Escort.

Tuesday (5)

Mullett climbed out of his Rover, checked his cap was straight and marched towards the cluster of officers. There were two panda cars and an ambulance on the scene. A tractor sat further up the wet lane. It was quickly getting dark, raining off and on. The superintendent shivered.

‘All right, Simms,’ he said, approaching, ‘anything been touched? Moved?’

‘No, sir,’ said PC Simms eagerly, holding a reel of police tape. ‘Well, not exactly. When we arrived and spotted the body, I did check for a pulse, though it was pretty obvious that he’d been dead for some time. I recognized him straight away, sir,’ he added.

‘Anything immediately suspicious?’ Mullett asked, scrutinizing the young PC. Could Simms be bent, leaking information? Seemed ludicrous. ‘Anything to suggest it wasn’t an accident?’ Mullett knew he had to go through the motions, at least show the right level of concern and gravitas, given they were dealing with a dead detective. It was by far and away his worst day as superintendent of the damned Denton Division.

‘No, not that I can see,’ said Simms.

Mullett walked over to the car, which was half in a ditch to the side of the lane; the front end was badly dented. Mullett moved round the vehicle, catching his first sight of Williams’s body slumped awkwardly against the opened driver’s door, his right arm and leg hanging out of the car.
Christ
, Mullett thought, it must have been quite a prang. Williams’s chest seemed to have taken the brunt of the impact, probably against the steering wheel.

‘What a lonely place to die,’ said Mullett to no one in particular, wondering whether the door had opened on impact, or whether Williams, having initially survived the accident, opened the door, but was then unable to climb all the way out.

Looking up he saw a fire engine making its way down the lane. Some distance behind the fire engine, but catching up fast, was an Escort, one of the station’s, with a flashing light slapped on the top.

‘The ambulance men want to know whether they can remove the body, sir,’ said Simms, ‘what with it getting dark.’

Mullett looked at the corpse again, and at the car, how it was positioned, or rather how it had ended up. He walked round once more and peered at the opened driver’s door, noticing that the radio handset was dangling out of its holder. The impact could easily have dislodged it, though Mullett wondered again whether Williams might have survived the accident, might have tried to reach for help. But what the hell was he doing down this dirty little lane? ‘Tell them they’ll have to wait,’ he said to Simms.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Where does this lane go?’ Mullett’s geography of Denton and its surroundings was not all that it should have been.

‘Back road to Rimmington, sir, not used much now.’

‘Right.’ Mullett paused. ‘Get on to Control. We’ll need arc lights, a tent. I want Scenes of Crime here and Doctor Maltby.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Simms again, this time sounding confused.

‘Accident or not, we owe it to Williams’s family to get to the bottom of what happened here,’ Mullett stated. If such an investigation showed, as Mullett expected it to, that Williams was drunk behind the wheel, and veered fatally off the track, then so be it. The division was heading in a new direction. There was going to be transparency all the way up to the top.

Hearing a screech of breaks, Mullett looked over to see the Escort skid to a stop behind the fire engine. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he muttered to himself as DS Frost hurriedly clambered out, wrapping his mac around him.

Without acknowledging his superior Frost headed straight for Williams’s Cortina.

Mullett kept his distance as Frost walked slowly around the car, peered through the windows and the opened door, and then crouched down by Bert Williams’s body. From where he was Mullett couldn’t see exactly what Frost was doing, but shortly puffs of cigarette smoke, caught in a spotlight now being angled from the fire engine, began drifting up into the freezing, damp early evening air.

Frost’s actions seemed to affect the other officers present, along with the ambulance and fire crews. Suddenly there was quiet and stillness and Mullett found himself solemnly removing his cap.

‘Bastards!’ Frost shouted, breaking the peace and emerging from his crouched position by the far side of the car, fag in the corner of his mouth, the glint of tears on his cheeks. ‘I’ll get the bastards who did this.’

‘Hang on a minute, Jack,’ Mullett said, walking towards his detective sergeant. ‘I understand you’re upset. We’re all upset. This is a tragic accident. Bert was …’ Mullett couldn’t think what to say next. ‘He was unique, in his way. One of our own. One of the family.’ Mullett coughed.

Frost wiped his face on the sleeve of his mac. ‘I don’t care what you thought of him,’ said Frost, ‘but this was no accident. Where are Scenes of Crime, Doc Maltby? Why aren’t uniform on their hands and knees, combing the area? Call themselves coppers? And what’s that ambulance doing there, bang behind the Cortina, destroying any tracks? And your Rover, sir, right in the sodding way too.’ Frost fumbled for another cigarette.

‘Jack, there’s no need for hysteria. All the proper measures are being taken. That’s why I’m here, to see to it all.’

‘Where are Scenes of Crime?’ Frost repeated.

‘Jack, calm down.’ Mullett was aware of uniform observing the altercation and the raised voices. ‘I promise you, this accident – this incident – will be investigated properly. I’ll personally be in charge, until DI Allen’s back.’ Despite what he had implied to Winslow earlier in the day, Mullett now realized he really had no option but to try to haul Allen back from his holiday. All leave would have to be cancelled.

‘You’ll get to play your part,’ Mullett said, ‘don’t worry. And for your information, Scenes of Crime and Maltby are on their way.’

‘Right,’ said Frost.

‘Believe me,’ Mullett continued, ‘we’ll get to the bottom of this.’

‘One thing, Super,’ said Frost, ‘I want to tell Betty.’

Mullett was only too keen to acquiesce. ‘Of course, Frost.’

‘Oh and another thing,’ Frost walked back over to the damaged Cortina, which, slick with rainwater, was glinting surreally under the spotlights. ‘I want a news blackout.’

‘A news blackout?’

Frost turned to face Mullett, his eyes filled with anguish. ‘Yes, a blackout. I don’t want whoever did this to know we’re on to them yet.’ Frost placed both hands on the damaged wing, head bowed, as if physical contact would reveal the cause of the tragedy.

Mullett paused for thought – he would have to be careful how he played this. ‘On to them? Yes, quite.’ He looked at his watch. ‘But Jack, let’s not get carried away with this. Wait and see what the autopsy throws up. What Forensics find. Besides, you know what the press are like: they’ll say what they want anyway. Too many people know about this already.’ He looked across at the fire crew, the ambulance men. ‘Try keeping that lot quiet.’

‘No mention or public statements from us about suspicious circumstances, then,’ Frost carried on. ‘This could be crucial.’

‘Fine chance gagging that lot from the
Echo
,’ said Mullett. ‘Just how the hell do you propose we do that?’

‘By giving them the real story about the Hudson girl.’ Frost turned and began trudging down the dark track towards the Escort.

‘And what’s that, Jack?’ Mullett called after him.

‘Twelve-year-old kidnapped by convicted armed robber, out on parole. That’ll get them excited. Doesn’t make the probation service look very competent, either.’

‘What? What are you talking about, Frost? Come back here. Come back here at once. That’s an order!’

Hanlon knocked again on the tatty front door. On the hunt for Lee Wright, he was chasing up the only address they had, which was over a decade out of date.

He was about to give up when the door opened to reveal a thin, bespectacled middle-aged man wearing a stained white shirt and a scruffy pair of old suit trousers. He was barefoot. ‘Yes,’ he said politely, scratching his wild hair, ‘can I help you?’

‘Denton CID, sorry to disturb you, sir.’

Looking bemused, but not remotely concerned, the man yawned and scratched his head again. ‘Yes?’

‘Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?’

‘Fire away,’ the man said. He had a clear, well-educated accent. Again something Hanlon hadn’t been expecting, not in this part of town, not with the man looking so unkempt.

‘How long have you lived here, sir?’

‘Now there’s a very good question,’ the man said. ‘You see, I first moved in, gosh, must be around ten years ago, but I’ve been away since, on secondment, in the United States twice, and once to Japan, and once to the Soviet Union. All for periods of no less than six months, but no more than three years. So you see, I haven’t actually lived here for anything like ten years.’

‘I see,’ said Hanlon. He’d needed to get out of the station, to clear his mind, to let his emotions about Bert Williams steady, and thought he might as well check out the only address he had for Lee Wright, second-guessing Frost’s orders. Now he was stuck talking to some bloody boffin, who obviously had plenty of time on his hands. ‘But you are the tenant?’

‘I do believe I’m now the owner. I’m rather embarrassed to admit that I’ve taken advantage of Denton Council’s Right-to-Buy scheme.’

‘Can I ask the nature of your business?’ Hanlon continued, unsure why he hadn’t just got to the point. Curiosity? Delaying tactics, so he didn’t have to rush back to the station, which would be in a state of shock?

‘Business is not quite the right word. Theoretician would be more accurate. I’m an academic, for the Open University.’

‘Right,’ said Hanlon. So he was a proper boffin.

‘Do you want to come in?’ the man said.

‘No need, unless you’re harbouring a man called Lee Wright.’

‘It’s only me here, I’m afraid, and the cats. Lee Wright, you said? Funny you should mention that name.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘A couple of people were here only yesterday evening, looking for a Mr Wright. A rather rough-looking chap, big, shaven head, lots of gold rings on his fingers – I’m sure you know the type. And a short, wiry, Irish fellow. There was someone else with them too … I think.’

‘You think?’ said Hanlon.

‘Well, there was a car parked close by, and its engine was running. You wouldn’t leave a car parked with the engine running, would you? So I assumed there was someone else, a driver—’

‘What sort of car was it?’

‘That I couldn’t tell you – cars aren’t my thing, I’m afraid,’ the man said.

‘I’m sure not,’ Hanlon said sarcastically; the fellow was getting on his nerves. ‘Colour, perhaps?’

‘Black, I think, or was it dark blue? Yes, could have been dark blue. It was quite a big, smart-looking car.’

‘That’s something, I suppose,’ Hanlon said. ‘What exactly did you tell these gentlemen?’

‘I have an aversion to intimidation, of any sort. I said I’d never heard of a Mr Wright. I could tell it was only going to lead to trouble.’ He smiled, weakly.

Hanlon glanced behind the man to see that the dimly lit hallway was lined on either side with stacks of books and papers. Higher up, garish paintings and posters hung on the walls.