turned up.'
'Oh Gawd!' said Frost again.
The internal phone buzzed and Frost backed away as if it were a bomb. Stringer picked it up, listened, and then handed it to Sergeant Wells.
'Yes, sir, his car has just come in… this very minute. He's on his way, sir.' He dropped the phone and smiled sweetly. 'Our Divisional Commander wonders if you could spare him a few minutes of your valuable time?'
'I shall wear my medal,' said Frost. 'He's too much of a coward to sack a gallant hero.'
He darted up the corridor to Mullett's lair and bumped into three men coming the opposite way, two in uniform. The man in the middle wore a crumpled suit and peered with frightened eyes through thick steel-rimmed spectacles.
'Hello, hello, hello… and what have we here? A visitor gracing our presence?'
The trio stopped. 'This is our friendly neighborhood child molester, sir. You asked us to invite him in.'
It was Mickey Hoskins, missing from his digs since Sunday.
'Now what's this all about?' he squeaked, his eyes darting from side to side as if seeking a way of escape.
'We appreciate your co-operation, Mickey,' said Frost, opening the door of the interview room and bowing him in. 'Won't be a minute, make yourself at home.' He closed the door and turned to the two constables.
'Good work, lads. Where did you find him?'
'In the public library, sir.'
'The library?'
'Yes, sir. It's warm in there. I imagine he's been sleeping rough to keep out of our way. The snow's driven him out of cover.'
Frost nodded. Sleeping rough… like that poor old tramp. He wondered if the station sergeant knew old Sam was dead.
'Have you told him what it's all about?'
'No, sir.'
'That's right, let him sweat. Give him a cup of tea and leave him on his own. I've got to see the Divisional Commander to have my goolies chewed off, so I'll chat him up as soon as that treat's over.' A cheery wave and he ambled off to Mullett's room.
As dogs grow to look like their masters, so his secretary emulated Mullett's varying moods. Miss Smith's face was sour, with drawn-together eyebrows and tightly pursed lips. If only that coarse Inspector Frost would show some signs of contrition for the distress he caused the commander she could soften toward him. She understood he was very well liked in the station, but all she could say was they must see an entirely different side of the man.
Frost barged in cheerfully and asked if Santa was in his grotto.
'He's waiting for you, Inspector.' She spat out the words in a manner she felt would merit the full approval of her master and resumed her finger-blurring typing.
'You look beautiful when you're angry, Ida,' chirped Frost, sailing into the Divisional Commander's inner sanctum.
Mullett was furious. He was shaking with the anger and the humiliation of it all. The meeting had been a complete and utter shambles. They'd started late after waiting twenty minutes for Frost, and then the Chief Constable had turned up, unannounced and unexpected. 'Didn't want you to lay anything special on for me, Commander, just want to see the normal run of things.' Lots of forced laughter and increased perspiration levels as the fiasco blundered on. The various progress reports and detailed instructions for the search parties couldn't be found. Eventually Detective Sergeant Martin located them buried under other papers on Inspector Frost's desk. By then, the outside volunteers had decided that the weather would preclude searching for the day, and most of them had drifted off, while the Chief Constable's snorts were becoming more and more pointedly audible.
The meeting finally died horribly. The Chief Constable had taken Mullett quietly to one side and suggested that he ought to get a little more involved in detail instead of leaving everything to others. And as a parting shot he had made that ridiculous suggestion about the spiritualist woman. A shameful, degrading morning and all because of that untidy shuffling figure before him.
He fixed Frost with an icy stare. 'We started the meeting without you, Inspector-your meeting, your briefing meeting. I hope you didn't mind? We waited twenty minutes in case you decided to come, but had to go ahead. Everyone else was there on time, you'll be glad to know, including the Chief Constable.' He paused to compose himself as the bitter recollection of his humiliation fueled the flames of his fury.
Frost composed his face into what he hoped was an expression of penitent contrition and did his best to look attentive while switching off his ears. He could kick himself for missing the lousy meeting, but all the screaming and shouting in the world wouldn't put it right now. And look at Mullett, his mouth opening and shutting, his eyes popping, just like a bloody fish. Anyway, it was just as well he hadn't turned up if the Chief Constable had been there, with all the others toadying up to him, lighting his fags, fetching his tea, laughing at his jokes, and making polite conversation, while he, Frost, would have been stuck in the corner seat at the back, deeply conscious of the fact that his suit hadn't been pressed for a week.
Mullett droned on, his face getting redder and redder.
Blimey! thought Frost-the Bank! He'd nipped in there for some cash, but the sight of Mrs. Uphill with her two thousand in used bills had driven it clean from his mind. All he had on him was a few pence and he was meeting Sandy Lane in the pub at lunch time. He wondered if he could chance his arm and tap Mullett for a couple of quid until the afternoon, but felt that the moment was not opportune. Mullett was thumping his fist on his desk, reaching the climax of his tirade. Frost opened his ears slightly to let the sound slowly creep in.
'… just not good enough. And if it happens again I shall make a personal request to the Chief Constable for you to be transferred away from this division. Do I make myself clear?'
The inspector fought back a near irresistible urge to say 'Sorry, sir, what was that? — I wasn't listening', but didn't want to be the only one laughing so he nodded with as chastened and earnestly repentant a look as he could muster.
His hangdog expression was so good that even Mullett was touched, thinking, Poor devil, losing his wife like that must have a lot to do with it. Time to let him off the hook.
'What were you doing this morning?'
Frost told him about dragging the lake and searching the vicarage.
Mullett pressed his mustache into place. 'That's another thing, Inspector. Now you're in charge I don't expect you to be doing house searches yourself. I want you doing the paperwork, controlling the operation.'
'Yes, sir. Oh-something else. Mrs. Uphill withdrew PS2000 in five-pound notes from her bank this morning.'
'Did she?' exclaimed Mullett. 'A ransom demand do you think?'
'More than likely, sir. I've sent young Barnard down to her house to chat her up about it.'
'Barnard! His second day with the division and you sent him? You should have gone yourself.'
'Yes, sir, but on the basis of whatever I did was wrong, I decided to send him and obey your summons to see you. By the way, we've picked up Mickey Hoskins. He's in the interview room. I thought I'd question him-if that's all right with you, of course.'
'It's your case, Inspector,' said Mullett, ignoring the sarcasm. 'Er… there was one thing the Chief Constable suggested… might be worth following up. I said we would, as a matter of fact, even though it's a little unusual…' He seemed embarrassed and fiddled with his paperknife, looking anywhere but at Frost. 'It seems the Chief Constable is interested in spiritualism. Did you know that?'
'I heard he was a bit cranky, sir, but I didn't know in which direction.'
'Er… yes. His wife is a leading light in their local spiritualist church. It's quite a thing these days I understand. I must confess, I used to scoff in the past, but now…'
But now you know the Chief Constable's wife is interested, thought Frost.
'There's a woman called Martha Wendle. Do you know her?'
'I know of her, sir. A weird old cow-always writing to say she can get the spirits to solve our cases for us.'
Mullett smiled tolerantly. 'We shouldn't shut our eyes to things just because we can't understand them,
