First Frost (23 page)

‘Come in!’ he barked. He was at least thirty minutes away from Denton, having only just left County headquarters.
Blasted rabies
, Mullett said to himself.
Blasted Frost
. If it hadn’t been for some half-baked scheme cooked up by the detective sergeant to avoid Social Services and get a little girl supposedly out of harm’s way, Mullett wouldn’t have been at County this morning, and could have been directing operations on the ground.

They had a proper life-threatening crisis, and not only was Mullett not on hand, but it didn’t seem like anyone else was either.

His brief telephone conversation with Sergeant Wells before he left County had filled him with dread. The Anti-Terrorist Branch had confirmed that the code word, though not the most recent on their books, was a recognized one. Wells had then told Mullett that while he’d already notified the bomb squad, he was unable to raise either Frost or Hanlon, who weren’t just out of the building, but out of radio contact.

It was against procedure, and now lives were at risk, while Station Sergeant Bill Wells – yes, the station sergeant – was temporarily in charge. The man couldn’t even organize the lobby.

Boiling with rage, Mullett glanced at a map of Denton spread across the front passenger seat. He was working out the best way to seal off Market Square, hoping Sergeant Wells was doing the same and directing uniform accordingly.

‘Hello, hello!’ he shouted into the handset, trying to keep his eye on the road, as the country lane was becoming increasingly winding. He could hear nothing but loud static. ‘Come in!’ he yelled, just as a small dark-brown car suddenly appeared on the rise of the hill, in the middle of the road.

Mullett threw the handset to one side and swerved the car violently to the left. There followed the muted thud of impact and the super’s Rover skidded on to the verge.

‘Come on down, Julie,’ Joan Dixon shouted for the fifth time. ‘The police just want to know that you’re all right.’

‘Should we go and get her?’ said Hanlon. They were still crowded in the narrow hallway, with Joan Dixon effectively guarding the stairs. The pop music had only got louder.

‘No, that’ll scare her,’ she said, looking at Hanlon, then Frost. ‘She’s a very sensitive girl.’

‘Deaf too, is she?’ said Frost.

Hanlon looked at his colleague, as if to say,
Keep your mouth shut
.

‘Come on, Julie,’ shouted Joan Dixon one more time, ‘there’s a good girl.’ Turning to Hanlon and Frost again, she added, ‘She’s been through a lot, these last few days.’

‘Suppose you don’t want to go and get her, do you?’ Frost suggested.

‘Ah, no need,’ Joan Dixon said, as a tall, very thin girl appeared on the landing and tentatively made her way downstairs.

Julie Hudson’s painfully angular face was heavily made up. Tatty pieces of cloth had been tied into her mousey hair, but the streak of red it had in the photo was still clearly visible.

‘Where’s Lee?’ the girl asked, suspiciously eyeing Hanlon and Frost. ‘He’s been ages.’ She was wearing a ripped vest top, held together with safety pins, a tiny white PVC miniskirt, stripy red-and-black tights and a pair of huge black Dr Martens boots.

As she reached the bottom stair Hanlon could see that her make-up was concealing a livid outburst of acne. He could also see the look of stark relief on Jack Frost’s face.

‘Who are you?’ she said, squaring up to Frost.

‘Hello, Julie. I’m Detective Sergeant Frost and this is DC Hanlon, Denton CID. We’ve been very worried about you.’

‘Why? I haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘We know that, love,’ said Frost.

‘Tea, coffee?’ Joan Dixon said, moving towards the end of the hallway, and presumably the kitchen.

‘We’re fine,’ said Frost.

Speak for yourself
, thought Hanlon. ‘Tea would be grand, thanks.’ Hanlon tried to smile at the girl, who was now leaning shyly against the wall. She immediately looked away.
That’s gratitude for you
.

‘Now, what we need to know,’ said Frost, ‘is how you ended up here in this house, who exactly brought you here.’

The girl looked towards the end of the hallway, as if for help, but Joan Dixon had disappeared to make tea.

‘He brought me here,’ she answered quietly.

‘Who’s he?’ said Hanlon.

‘My dad, I suppose.’

They moved towards the kitchen. ‘Was it against your will? Did he hurt you in any way?’ prompted Frost.

‘No,’ she said, huffing. ‘Why would he do that? He’s my dad, right. I wanted to come. I hate my mum.’

‘He wouldn’t hurt her – last thing he’d do,’ said Joan Dixon, as she filled the kettle.

‘Where is your son, Lee?’ Frost asked her.

‘He went out to get a few things, should have been back by now.’

‘Seeing as he’s on parole, as far as I understand it,’ said Frost, ‘he shouldn’t be anywhere near here anyway. He should be in Bristol.’

‘But he was desperate,’ said Joan Dixon. ‘I know it’s all been a bit of a shock for Julie, but Lee’s been doing everything he can for her. Spoiling her rotten, he is: new record player, portable TV, clothes, jewellery, you name it. I don’t think she was very happy at home with her mum, and that man, as it was.’

‘I’d still like to know how the hell Lee Wright got her out of Aster’s, in broad daylight?’ Frost persisted.

‘You’d have to ask him that,’ Joan Dixon said, suddenly less sure of herself. ‘But he didn’t hurt her, in any way.’

Hanlon and Frost both looked at Julie who, saying nothing, merely looked away.

‘No, I’m sure not,’ muttered Frost, eyeing the bare kitchen counter. Joan Dixon clearly kept a tidy, clean house.

‘He’d waited a long time to see her,’ she continued.

‘Well, that wasn’t anyone’s fault apart from his own,’ said Hanlon. The woman was beginning to annoy him – didn’t she realize the trouble her son had caused? ‘A conviction for armed robbery is not something you can easily forget.’

‘Julie won’t be taken away, will she?’ Joan Dixon asked, her voice now beginning to quaver.

‘She’s still a minor,’ said Frost, who Hanlon could tell was also running out of patience. ‘It’s not up to us. But if it was, I’d drive her straight round to her mum’s. That’s if her mum wasn’t in hospital.’

Joan Dixon gasped. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What’s happened to Mum?’ said Julie, her face, despite the make-up, going very white. ‘Is she all right?’

‘Seems like someone wasn’t too happy about Lee and Wendy’s big secret getting out,’ said Frost.

‘Not Lee,’ said the woman. ‘He wouldn’t do such a thing.’

‘Anyone capable of shoving a loaded shotgun in someone’s face could do anything,’ said Hanlon. Julie, he noticed, was standing completely still. He regretted what he’d just said, having no idea what Julie already knew about her real father.

‘That was a long time ago,’ Joan Dixon said, a note of resignation in her voice.

‘No, it wasn’t Lee who put Wendy Hudson in hospital,’ said Frost. ‘But that doesn’t mean he’s off the hook. Kidnapping is a serious enough charge. Not the sort of behaviour you’d expect from someone who is still on parole. Looks like he’ll be going straight back to the slammer.’

Julie gasped now.

‘But Julie needs him,’ Joan Dixon said urgently.

‘Julie needs her mum,’ said Frost. ‘Her own home. Don’t you, Julie?’

Julie said nothing, now looking at the floor.

‘What on earth has happened to Wendy?’ said Joan Dixon.

‘What’s happened to Mum?’ repeated Julie. ‘What’s happened to her?’

‘She was badly beaten – by her husband,’ said Frost. ‘Who, thankfully, we’ve now got in custody.’

‘I hate that man!’ Julie suddenly shrieked. She rushed out of the kitchen, and clumped up the stairs.

‘Wendy’ll recover,’ Frost continued, addressing Joan Dixon, ‘but Lee should have thought a little harder before turning up out of the blue. He went round there last week, didn’t he?’

‘I don’t know,’ Joan Dixon said. ‘I suppose it’s possible.’

‘Couldn’t he have come to a more civil arrangement with the mother of his child?’ Hanlon said.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘none of this was my idea. When he turned up here with Julie, on Saturday afternoon, I was shocked. But what could I do? I tried to make her feel at home.’

‘Well, it’s all over now,’ said Hanlon. ‘You and the girl will be accompanying us back to the station, I’m afraid. Many more questions need to be answered.’ Hanlon was keen to exert some authority, given that it was his painstaking work that had located the missing girl.

‘Now where’s this bloody son of yours again?’ said Frost, lighting a cigarette.

‘I don’t know, honest,’ she said. ‘He went out first thing this morning. Said he was just going to the shops.’

‘To pick up another teenager?’

Hanlon looked at Frost sternly – yet another inappropriate remark – and said, embarrassed, ‘The whistle gone on your kettle, love?’

Joan Dixon reached round and turned off the gas. The kitchen was fast filling with steam.

‘Has he got other friends in town?’ Frost asked. ‘He can’t have been back long.’

‘Look, he’s done his time. He’s straight now,’ she insisted. ‘He doesn’t want any more trouble.’

‘That’s not what my colleague asked,’ said Hanlon.

‘He’s in enough trouble as it is,’ warned Frost, who was looking out of the window. A row of conifers closely shielded the back garden.

‘He did bump into someone in Denton, not that he was too happy about it,’ Joan Dixon volunteered. ‘Someone he’d met in prison. Not sure why I’m telling you this – to keep him on the straight and narrow, I suppose. But Lee’s changed. He’s got a good heart. He needs to rebuild his life, his relationship with his daughter. He’s potty about her.’

‘Who was this person, this fellow ex-con he bumped into?’ said Frost.

‘I don’t remember the name, even if Lee told me,’ she answered. ‘He was Irish, though, Northern Irish, that I do remember. Because Lee said the man used to be in the IRA, he used to brag about it. That’s what really worried me. Lee was scared too, I could tell.’

Frost sighed, scratched his chin. The woman looked genuinely worried – not without cause, these guys were in a different league. ‘Which prison was this?’

‘The last one Lee was in: Dartmoor.’

Pop music – or was it punk? – could be heard from upstairs once again. ‘Why don’t you get Julie to gather her things,’ said Hanlon, ‘and let’s get down to the station.’ He knew Lee Wright wasn’t going to walk in the front door with a Cortina screaming CID parked right outside. He’d see if he could get the house put under surveillance, while hoping Lee Wright had the sense to turn himself in.

He doubted it, somehow.

Wednesday (3)

‘The north side cleared and blocked off, Sue?’ asked a red-faced Bill Wells, relishing the drama of his new outdoor role.

‘Yes,’ replied DC Sue Clarke anxiously, out of breath, beside him. ‘Everyone is well behind the tape. Not many people about, though, thank God.’

Wells, who was positioned on the corner of Queen Street and Market Square, peered into the gloomy distance. Couldn’t see a living soul. The threat of another heavy downpour must have helped. Also Wednesday was never very busy, what with the half-day closing. ‘Where’s Constable Miller?’

‘Securing Foundling Street,’ Clarke replied.

‘And Simms?’

‘He’s checking the west side, London Street.’

‘So who’s over by Gentlemen’s Walk?’

‘Not sure, Bill. PC Baker? I saw a uniform down by Aster’s.’

‘But that’s the other corner. Bugger,’ Wells muttered, thinking Baker was two streets away, checking the multi-storey. London Street had to be less of a priority than the pedestrianized Gentlemen’s Walk, where shoppers on foot would be even more vulnerable.

However, with such a paucity of uniform, not to mention of higher ranks, Wells thought they were covering a lot of ground, given how light on officers Denton Division was at the best of times. Despite the circumstances, he was feeling almost proud.

The radio in Clarke’s Escort car crackled into life through the open door. Wells swiftly stepped over, leant in and lifted the handset. ‘Wells,’ he said.

‘Wells? At last. I’m still ten minutes away,’ squawked Mullett, across a very bad connection. ‘Should have been there by now but some twit crashed into me, sending me off the road. Is the area completely sealed off yet?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Wells shouted, looking quickly over his shoulder, as if to reassure himself. ‘You’ve had an accident, sir?’

‘Yes – but let’s not bother about that now.’ Mullett’s voice wasn’t just being muffled by the static; Wells thought there was a distinctly shaky faintness to it. ‘Suspect vehicle?’ the super asked.

‘A white van is parked bang outside Bennington’s, sir,’ Wells answered. ‘The bank has been evacuated. Bomb squad is not here yet. They’re having to come from Windsor.’

‘
Windsor
?’

‘They’ve been rehearsing for a royal pageant,’ shouted Wells into the mouthpiece.

‘Royal pageant? With the country on a state of alert and the IRA on the rampage?’ shouted Mullett. ‘Whatever next!’

Wells looked at his watch. The bomb was set to detonate in fourteen minutes. ‘Joke, isn’t it?’

‘No, it’s most definitely not,’ said Mullett. ‘Sweep the area once more, then get well back. Nothing else you can do.’

Wells replaced the handset. ‘Sue, you stay here and chase up the fire brigade, they should bloody well be here by now. I’ll run round the square once more.’

He dashed towards the square, clutching his hat and the megaphone, quietly surprised he had it in him to move so fast.

‘You can’t drive down there,’ said Hanlon.

‘Oh yes I can,’ said Frost, swinging the Cortina into the recently pedestrianized Gentlemen’s Walk. He’d show his passengers what advanced police driving was all about. ‘Plenty of space – no old codgers in the way, either.’

‘Mind your language,’ said Joan Dixon in the back.

‘Mind that bin, Jack,’ said Hanlon.

‘Who put that there?’ It was narrower than Frost had thought.

‘Didn’t think this was much of a short cut to Eagle Lane, anyway,’ said Hanlon.