First Frost (6 page)

‘Hello, sweetheart,’ Frost said, bending towards her. The toddler look startled and began to whimper. Frost pulled back. ‘Nasty bruise, all right,’ he said, addressing the mother. ‘Shouldn’t you have taken her to the doctor?’

‘Try finding one on a Sunday.’

‘The hospital? Could have got an ambulance out.’

‘It wasn’t that serious; I used to be a nurse,’ Liz Fraser said. ‘And I have a first-aid kit on the premises. For my job … I’m a childminder.’

Frost studied the place with renewed interest, taking in the quantity of kiddies’ playthings, inside and out. It made sense.

‘Why the great emergency?’ said Hanlon. ‘Why haul us all the way out here?’

‘My little girl was attacked, in the garden,’ the woman said nervously. ‘Whatever sort of animal did this needs to be caught before another child is seriously hurt. Or worse.’

‘You told the station,’ said Hanlon, stepping over to the French doors, ‘that you thought it was a fox.’

‘Yes, that’s what I first thought.’ The woman followed him over to the doors. ‘But I now think it might have been bigger – a big cat sort of thing.’

‘A what?’ exclaimed Frost. He was surprised to see Hanlon easily open the French doors – so they weren’t locked, then. If the woman was genuinely afraid of something outside, she’d have at least secured the property.

Hanlon stepped into the yard, over the toys, walked round the sandpit and towards the high fence. Frost didn’t think it would have been that easy for a fox to leap over, but what did he know?

‘Yes,’ Liz Fraser continued, ‘a large cat. You know, perhaps one of those panthers.’

‘A panther?’ spluttered Frost.

‘There were those sightings not so far from here, weren’t there, near Wells last summer,’ Liz Fraser insisted.

Frost was sure she was blushing. Her pale, greasy skin was turning blotchy.

‘But I didn’t see much, of course,’ she added. ‘I was in the kitchen tidying up, and Becky was having her nap in the pushchair, out the back. But as soon as I heard her scream, I ran outside.’ She took a deep breath, and continued shakily, ‘There it was, dark and hairy, disappearing over the fence.’

‘Wasting police time is an offence, you know,’ said Frost dismissively. He’d had enough. ‘I suggest you get your story straight.’ He made for the hallway, then paused by the lounge door. ‘Who else lives here? The child’s dad?’

‘Chucked him out,’ Liz Fraser said quietly. ‘I live on my own now.’

‘When did this happen?’ said Frost. ‘When did he go?’

‘The other day,’ she almost whispered.

‘Where’s he live now?’ said Frost.

‘Don’t know and don’t care.’ Her bottom lip was quivering.

‘Does he have a name?’

‘Simon, Simon Trench.’

‘You weren’t married, then?’

‘No, thank God.’ Liz Fraser walked over to Becky, who’d begun crying in earnest, and picked her up, saying, ‘It’s all right, sweetheart.’

‘You want to tell me exactly when you last saw this Simon Trench?’

‘As I said, I chucked him out the other day. Haven’t seen him since.’

She seemed to be avoiding looking Frost in the eye. Frost didn’t see the point in pushing the woman on her relationship problems any further right now – he had an idea where it was heading. She was in all sorts of denial, and he was no shrink or social worker. What he suddenly wanted to do was to get the child into some type of proper care right away.

Hanlon was still in the backyard studying the fence and beyond. Frost thought the detective constable was being ridiculous, appearing to take the wild-animal nonsense seriously. But it gave him an idea, as he pictured in his mind the rabies warning poster Bill Wells had just stuck up in the lobby, back at the station. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘we better get your daughter checked out by the experts.’

‘But I was a nurse,’ Liz Fraser said, panic – or was it fear? – creeping into her voice. ‘I’m an experienced childminder.’

‘So you’ve said,’ said Frost.

‘She doesn’t need to see a doctor,’ Liz Fraser gabbled. ‘I’ve attended to her wounds. It’s what’s out there that I’m worried about. That’s why I called the police.’

‘It’s what’s out there that I’m worried about, too,’ said Frost, looking away. ‘We’ll give you a lift to Denton General.’

‘It’s really not necessary,’ Liz Fraser said, clutching her child tighter to her chest.

‘Yes, it is,’ countered Frost, as Hanlon stepped back into the lounge.

‘But why?’ Liz Fraser bleated.

‘There’s been an alert: rabies,’ Frost said gravely. ‘Young Becky will have to be tested and quarantined.’

‘Oh,’ was all Liz Fraser could say.

‘I’m sure everything will be fine, but better to be safe than sorry,’ said Frost. ‘Come along, James Hunt here’ – Frost nodded in Hanlon’s direction – ‘will drive us.’

Sunday (6)

Above the dreadful squeaking sound their shoes made as they all walked down the hospital corridor, Hanlon said in Frost’s ear, ‘I know what you’re thinking, Jack, I got the measure of that woman too, but I’m not convinced an animal didn’t do something. There were some strange marks on that fence.’

‘We can’t put the whole of Denton on alert for a rampaging black panther, with or without rabies, just because a mother’s having a few personal problems,’ said Frost loudly, not bothering who else heard. ‘There’d be panic on the streets. Besides, it would play havoc with Mullett’s golf. They’d have to shut the course. Come to think of it …’

‘But even a hint of a rabies scare … what if that gets out to the public?’ said Hanlon.

‘Let’s leave it in the hands of our good friend Doctor Philips here, for now.’

The consultant paediatrician, a white coat over his shirt and tie, had followed them to the end of the corridor. ‘To be sure we’ll need to isolate her for forty-eight hours,’ Dr Philips said, smiling. ‘We’ll, of course, be able to accommodate the mother for that time as well.’

‘As long as you keep a good eye on them both,’ said Frost, ‘and make sure those bruises are thoroughly looked at.’

‘I think I know where we stand,’ said Dr Philips. ‘For the good of the child.’

‘Good man,’ said Frost, as he and Hanlon left Dr Philips, pushed through double swing-doors, out of the children’s ward and into another corridor.

It took Frost and Hanlon less than three minutes to find the Lister Ward, where a young, fresh-faced WPC was keeping Wendy Hudson company. But it was a one-way street. Wendy Hudson, smothered in tubes and bandages, and surrounded by a phalanx of drips and monitors, had yet to regain consciousness.

According to the duty nurse, Mrs Hudson’s condition, though very serious, was improving and she was able to breathe unaided. She had a fractured skull, a broken jaw and three cracked ribs.

‘Been doing your nails?’ said Frost to the freckled WPC; he couldn’t remember her name. She had a pen in one hand and a notepad open and ready in the other.

The WPC flushed. ‘No, sir, of course not.’ She paused, then added, ‘She hasn’t moved an inch.’

‘Well, don’t you move, in case she does stir and decides to say something,’ said Frost.

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Good girl. If you need a tinkle, ask the nurse for one of those bedpans, and squat behind that curtain.’

The WPC flushed again, then stammered, ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Come on, Hanlon, let’s hit the safari park,’ Frost said. ‘We’ve got a couple more calls to make before we get back to the safety of the station.’

‘What about lunch, Jack?’ said Hanlon anxiously. ‘It’s nearly three and I haven’t had anything to eat since … well, I can’t remember when. It might suit you to keep running around on empty, but it’s not good for me to miss a meal.’

‘We don’t want that.’ Frost playfully elbowed Hanlon in the stomach. ‘Must take some filling.’

‘I’ve got a healthy appetite, is all.’

‘Some might say unhealthy,’ mused Frost, thinking back to a couple of nights earlier and Mary having a go at him about his own diet. How he never had time for proper meals.

‘Better than chain-smoking,’ said Hanlon. ‘I’m surprised you can still breathe.’

‘That reminds me, there’s another call we’ll have to make. I’m out of fags. For some stupid reason they don’t sell them here.’

Sunday (7)

Superintendent Stanley Mullett was sipping tea in his warm, cosy study, looking out over the sodden garden, when the phone went. He let it ring four times before picking it up. ‘Yes?’

‘Super, sir, it’s Sergeant Wells, at the station.’

‘Yes, Wells?’ prompted Mullett.

‘Sorry to bother you at home,’ continued Wells.

‘This had better be good,’ said Mullett. He hated the autumn, the dampness, the dark – the fairways were in a terrible state today. And he hated being disturbed at home, when he was off duty, even more.

‘It’s just that, well …’

‘Spit it out, man.’

‘I still can’t get hold of DI Williams. To be honest, his wife hasn’t seen him since yesterday morning. His car’s missing as well.’

‘I imagine that’s something of a relief for her.’

‘Oh no, sir. She’s sick with worry. She wouldn’t want me to be saying any of this, not to you – the last thing she wants is to create a fuss. Or get Bert into trouble. Apparently he’s been off the booze for some time now.’

‘Why are you even telling me all this?’

‘I thought perhaps we should put out an alert to all units.’

‘For God’s sake, DI Williams is a grown man. OK, he should have reported for duty this morning, and I’ll take issue with him about that when he does turn up, but it’s not as if, by all accounts, he hasn’t gone AWOL before. We’ve got enough trouble trying to locate a missing girl, and now these new developments, as it is.’

‘Fair enough, sir,’ said Wells. ‘I just thought I’d pass it by you. And there’s something else. A couple of things, actually …’

‘This is all highly irregular, Wells.’ Mullett was beginning to fume. ‘Where’s Frost right now? I thought I’d left him in charge.’

‘Last time I saw him he was off to Forest View. A nipper’s been attacked.’

‘Attacked? What the hell do you mean, attacked? By whom?’

‘A fox.’

‘A fox? And this is a matter for CID?’

‘Sunday staffing, sir. A lot of doubling-up is going on. We’re all rushed off our feet.’

‘Is that so, Sergeant. Well, keep up the good work.’ Mullett slammed down the receiver, and quickly took another sip of his tea, but it had gone cold.

DC Arthur Hanlon followed directions up to the manager’s office. He didn’t quite understand what Frost was playing at, leaving the little girl at the hospital – seemed a risky ploy. Rabies. Still, he was the boss, for now at least. He felt on safer ground quizzing the Aster’s store manager about the missing girl.

‘Ken Butcher?’ said Hanlon, walking into the manager’s office and extending his hand.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Butcher, a smartly dressed, bearded man in his early forties. ‘Found your way up OK?’

‘A lad showed me, thanks. A lot of staff about for a Sunday, considering the store’s closed.’

‘We’re stocktaking.’

‘Oh yes, your wife said so on the phone,’ said Hanlon. Frost had detailed Hanlon to make arrangements for them to interview Butcher as soon as possible.

‘We’re getting ready for Christmas. Now, if you wouldn’t mind getting to the point. We’ve still got a lot to do before the end of the day.’

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Hanlon.

But Butcher didn’t seem too frantic – there was an open copy of a Sunday paper on his desk. ‘It’s just you, is it?’ he said, leaning forward, and trying to cover the paper with his arm. ‘Only, I was told a couple of detectives were on their way.’

‘My colleague DS Frost is still downstairs, talking to some of the staff.’

‘Hope he learns something useful. Not sure what help I can be. This is about a missing girl?’

‘Yes, last seen on these premises, yesterday afternoon.’

‘Do sit down, Detective.’

‘Thanks,’ said Hanlon, squeezing into a small plastic chair. He immediately regretted doing so. Aside from the discomfort, he was now having to look up at the bearded store manager. ‘I’ll need a list of all staff present yesterday,’ he said firmly.

‘Oh, really?’

‘And perhaps you can outline to me your security arrangements, and which store detectives were on duty. We believe the girl, Julie Hudson – she’s twelve, nearly thirteen, tall for her age, skinny, shoulder-length fair hair, with a dyed red streak – disappeared from the school-uniform floor.’

‘And lingerie,’ interjected Butcher.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Uniforms and women’s underwear are on the same floor.’

‘Yes,’ said Hanlon, ‘of course. Interesting arrangement, by the way.’

‘We thought it would help mums who were sorting out uniforms for their kids,’ Butcher explained, stroking his beard. ‘This way they’d be able to get the boring stuff done and dusted, and then treat themselves to a little luxury or two.’

‘Underwear is viewed as a luxury?’

‘We’re talking fine, top-of-the-range lingerie. This is not Woolies. The initiative has already paid dividends: the lingerie takings have almost doubled in the last month.’

‘I can give you some photos of Julie Hudson to circulate to all those who were working yesterday,’ Hanlon said, eager to get the discussion back to Julie.

‘On Saturdays we employ a lot of casuals and part-timers,’ continued Butcher. ‘In the current market it makes sense. Full-time staff are a huge burden for a company our size. That list you want might take a while.’

‘Not too long, I hope,’ said Hanlon. ‘Everyone will need to see the picture. And that includes all cleaners, canteen staff, loading-bay attendants, you name it. Might jog someone’s memory.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘What about your security arrangements, then?’ pressed Hanlon. The chair was killing him, worse than the new orange seats at the station. He half wondered whether it was a faulty item from the children’s department. ‘Store detectives?’

‘Not in today. Obviously no point on a Sunday, with the store being closed to the public.’

Hanlon was finding Butcher increasingly obtuse. ‘Yesterday is when I’m talking about. How many – names and levels of experience?’