please?'
Frost sighed. 'No wonder I get bloody nightmares. What have I done wrong now?'
WEDNESDAY-4
Superintendent Mullett's knuckles drummed his desk top in a gesture of impatient irritation. How much longer was he expected to wait? Other officers treated a summons from their Divisional Commander as tantamount to an Imperial Decree, dropping everything in their eagerness to obey it, but Frost…
A rap at the door. At last! Even the knock was slovenly.
A pause as the blotter was moved fractionally to dead center and the silver-buttoned tunic pulled down to pristine smoothness.
'Come in.'
And in he slouched, trailing that matted woolen scarf, disintegrating at one end. His shoes made damp marks on the carpet.
Mullen flicked a disdainful hand to a chair. Frost sat on the edge, apprehensively.
'I've just spoken to the head of Forensic,' snapped Mullett.
'Oh?' asked Frost innocently, yet knowing what was coming. That slimey sod in Forensic, trust him to waste no time in whining direct to Mullett.
'Do you know how much it costs to send out a full, experienced team like that?'
If I don't, I'm sure you're going to tell me, thought Frost, adopting an attitude of interested concern while slipping his hand into his trouser pocket to play the game of counting his small change by touch alone. It gave him something to occupy his mind while waiting for the superintendent to finish his moan.
'… You panicked and you blundered. Even the newest member of the force would have checked first before calling out a complete forensic team to look at a dead cat.'
Fifty-three pence, thought Frost. Now let's see if I can stack them with heads on one side and tails on the other.
'It wouldn't be so bad if we could keep the shame of your incompetence within the division, but now the press have got hold of the story. I've already had a reporter from the Echo asking for details. We'll be a complete laughing stock. It'll be all over County tomorrow, and if the Chief Constable reads it…'
… bang goes your promotion, thought Frost, but aloud he said, 'Sandy Lane's a pal of mine, Super. If it worries you so much I might be able to get him to drop the story.'
Mullett was so delighted he forgot to wince at the 'Super.' 'Excellent. And I can handle the head of Forensic-we belong to the same Lodge.' He beamed and stood to indicate that the interview was over. 'We all make mistakes, but the secret is the ability to put them right, eh?'
Frost dragged himself up. He was tired and his››
'Oh,' said Mullett as if it was an afterthought. 'There's some more good news… er… Jack.'
Frost waited warily.
'Inspector Allen will definitely be returning to duty tomorrow, so you'll be able to hand all your cases over to him. It… er… might be a good idea if you slowed down. now and concentrated on getting the paperwork up to date. I happened to look in your office earlier and quite frankly… the state of your desk… I was appalled. You might have to put a spot of overtime in, but it isn't often. and I know Inspector Allen would appreciate receiving things in apple-pie order.' His candid smile turned to a perplexed frown as Frost swept out without a word, deliberately slamming the door behind him.
A deep sigh. So uncouth! There must be some way of getting him transferred.
Frost stamped down the corridor and poked his head into Search Control. 'Any advance on one sheep?'
Martin smiled. 'A couple of other false alarms, Jack, but we seem to be running out of steam. If the weather holds, we'll start on the outlying areas tomorrow, but I can see all Christmas leave being stopped.'
'It'll be all over tomorrow,' said Frost, cynically. 'Tomorrow Inspector Allen will be back, which means the girl will be miraculously found, alive and well, the murderer of Garwood, the dog, and the skeleton will walk into the station and confess, bringing the stolen PS20,000 with him, the snow will melt, poverty will vanish, and peace will break out all over the world. But until then, the usual diabolical balls-up from your friendly bemedaled hero.'
Back in his office he shrugged off his overcoat and hurled it to miss the hat stand. He kicked it into a corner, then sat on the hot radiator, baking steam from his damp trousers and trying to work up enthusiasm to tackle his desk which had received a fresh delivery of bumf since he was last in. He was getting Inspector Allen's work as well as his own and was neglecting to do either. He groaned. Where the hell was Barnard? Never to hand when Frost felt like bawling someone out. He hopped off the radiator. Nothing for it, he'd been eased off his cases so he might as well steel himself and get down to the reams of nitty-gritty.
He was trying to decipher something he had written on the back of a petty-cash voucher when the door was kicked open and Clive entered, a steaming cup of tea in each hand.
Frost took his gratefully. 'Bless you, my son. You're my spirit of Christmas, my star on the tree. Seen anything of that policewoman, Hazel what's-her-name, in your travels?'
'She was in the canteen,' said Clive, guardedly. He'd just fixed up another liaison for tonight. 'Why?'
Frost stirred vigorously, slopping tea down his jacket. 'Just wanted to know how Mrs. Uphill was.'
'Oh-sorry, sir-she did mention it. Hazel took her home from the hospital. She's still shaken, but otherwise all right. She wouldn't let Hazel stay with her.'
'Not enough business for the two of them, I imagine.' dive's cup banged angrily in his saucer. 'I don't think that's very funny, sir.'
Frost looked contrite. 'Sorry, son, I'm a bit low this evening. I've been pulled off the case. Inspector Allen returns from the dead tomorrow and I'm to hand everything over to him.'
It took an effort, but Clive managed to look as if he thought this terribly unfair. Frost continued. 'Our superintendent has kindly suggested I might stay late and slog my guts out on the paperwork. If I thought it would upset anyone, I'd resign, but he's not getting that as a Christmas present.' He plucked at the skin round his scar, then realized he was feeling sorry for himself and the dark mood slid instantly away. 'Sod it, it's Christmas, why should I feel miserable? If Allen had died I'd have had to subscribe five pence toward his wreath, and in any case, he's not due back until tomorrow so all I've got to do is solve the two cases tonight and present them to him with a two-fingered salute of respect in the morning. Drag up a chair, son, we'll go through the Bennington's Bank file again.'
They shared the file between them and smoked and the only sound to emerge through the thick blue haze was the rustle of turned pages, until…
'Sir!' Clive jumped up with excitement and pushed some papers across to Frost. It was a wad of photostats taken from the Bank's 1951 staff records. On top was a copy of a medical report on the caretaker, Albert Barrow. who went missing shortly after the robbery. The doctor had stated that although Barrow had broken his left arm some nineteen months previously, there was no reason now why it should interfere with the efficient performance of his caretaking duties Frost read it through twice, then turned a puzzled face to Clive. who explained. 'His left arm, sir-the same as the skeleton. Don't you see, it may not be Fawcus's skeleton-it could be Barrow's!'
Frost let this sink in. then folded his arms on the desk and buried his head in them After a few seconds he straightened up and smoothed back his fluffed-up hair. 'I've given your theory my careful consideration, son, but as Inspector Allen comes back tomorrow, I'm afraid we just haven't got time for it to be anyone else but Fawcus.'
'But it's a possibility, sir.'
'A possibility we can well do without. If it's not Fawcus's then we might as well pack up and go home and let Mastermind solve it in a couple of seconds tomorrow.' He stood up, pushing his chair against the wall 'Let's go for a little car ride '
Clive groaned inwardly. Couldn't the bloody man stick to one thing for at least five minutes? 'We haven't finished looking through the file yet, sir.'
Frost retrieved his overcoat from the floor. ''It took months to compile that file, son, so we're not going to assimilate it in one night, are we? I want to chat up this retired bank manager-Powell-you've got his address. He
