First Frost

by James, Henry

  ‘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 s
o. 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?’

  Butcher fidgeted uneasily in his chair. ‘There were two on duty, I believe. Keith Nelson, our full-time store detective (been with us for years), and Blake Richards, who’s on temporary loan from Security Guard. Good solid chap, though. I’d hire him if we had the funds.’

  Hanlon was incredulous. ‘Two . . . and one of those not even a full-time member of staff? This is a multi-storey department store, the biggest retail concern in Denton!’ The pride of Denton was how his mother, and practically everyone else for that matter, still referred to Aster’s.

  ‘Christmas might not be too far off,’ said Butcher stridently, ‘but we are in the middle of a recession. Maggie will pull us through, of that I’m in no doubt. Have a lot of respect for that woman. Give her time, that’s what I say, and she’ll transform this country.’ Butcher was becoming increasingly animated.

  Fortunately for Hanlon, who hated talking politics, Frost now walked straight into the room, saying, ‘You the boss, then?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Butcher, remaining seated behind his desk. ‘I’m the store manager of Aster’s.’

  Frost didn’t offer his hand. ‘We are seriously concerned about the safety of a twelve-year-old girl, last seen in this store.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Butcher, ‘but I’m still not sure what help we can give. If she’s run away, it’s hardly our fault, is it? Aster’s has numerous exits.’

  ‘Who said anything about running away?’ said Frost, now looking at Hanlon.

  ‘Well, I presumed . . .’

  ‘We want to know who might have seen Julie and her mother yesterday afternoon,’ said Hanlon, rising to his feet at last. He couldn’t remain in that stupid chair a second longer.

  ‘And we particularly want to know if anyone saw Julie on her own, or even with someone else,’ said Frost.

  ‘A man, say,’ said Hanlon. He looked at Frost. But Frost had turned towards the window and was lighting a cigarette.

  ‘Where would your store detectives have been positioned?’ said Frost, exhaling, and not bothering to face the room.

  ‘There would always have been one near the main front door on the ground floor, and frankly, the other one could have been anywhere – patrolling at random,’ explained Butcher.

  ‘Is it possible the man on the front door might have seen something if, say, a girl rushed out, distressed?’ Hanlon asked.

  ‘I suppose, yes, if she was making a big song and dance about it,’ said Butcher. ‘But my security staff are trained to capture shoplifters, not runaways. Sorry for saying this, gentlemen, but would your attention not be better directed at the girl’s friends and family?’

  ‘Do you think,’ said Frost crossly, ‘your security staff would have noticed a young girl being dragged out of the store, by a man?’

  ‘Against her will,’ Hanlon added, he knew, stupidly.

  ‘They are not imbeciles,’ Butcher said, getting up. ‘Now if that’s all, gentlemen? I’ll see the photograph is circulated tomorrow.’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Hanlon. ‘We obviously need contact details for’ – Hanlon flicked back through his notebook – ‘Nelson and Richards.’

  ‘And one more thing,’ added Frost, by the door, ‘any other way out, apart from the ground-floor doors?’

  ‘The fire exits, I suppose. Access to them is clearly marked on every floor.’ The store manager looked at his watch, a fancy gold piece with a crocodile strap. ‘I’ll show you, if you like,’ he offered, suddenly sounding helpful. He walked round from behind his desk.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Hanlon.

  ‘Let’s go straight to where the girl was last seen,’ said Frost.

  ‘Uniforms and lingerie,’ said Hanlon.

  ‘Yes,’ said Butcher, taking the lead.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Frost, as Butcher took them down the back stairs, ‘why are uniforms and knickers on the same floor?’

  ‘I’ll fill you in,’ said Hanlon.

  Butcher was soon pushing open the door to the third floor. He flicked a panel of light switches.

  ‘No stocktake going on here, then?’ Hanlon asked.

  ‘We’re doing one department at a time,’ Butcher said. ‘We’re working on the toy department today. Here you go, school uniforms. And there’ – he indicated to his left – ‘are the changing rooms.’

  Frost, Hanlon noticed, was looking intently across the shop floor, in quite the opposite direction.

  ‘At the back of that curtained-off area is the fire exit,’ Butcher continued. ‘See, it’s all properly marked as such there.’ He pointed to a small sign.

  Hanlon and Butcher made straight for the changing rooms, with Frost following a few yards behind. Butcher then pulled aside the curtain to reveal, at the end of a row of cubicles, a fire door. They paused for a moment before walking further forward.

  ‘Is the exit alarmed?’ Frost asked from behind Hanlon’s back.

  Butcher stopped still. ‘Yes,’ he said, sounding unsure.

  ‘Right, so anyone barging through these and you’d have known about it,’ said Frost, moving to the front. He began rattling the doors. ‘What’s the system? Mains or battery?’

  ‘Battery,’ said Butcher nervously.

  ‘How often do you check it’s all operating properly?’ said Hanlon.

  ‘Oh, very regularly,’ Butcher said.

  With a clang the doors sprang open. ‘Not regularly enough,’ said Frost, engulfed by a blast of icy fresh air. ‘I wonder what the fire department would have to say about this.’ He quickly pulled the doors shut.

  ‘And Julie Hudson’s parents,’ added Hanlon.

  ‘The battery must have just gone,’ said Butcher hurriedly. ‘But it wouldn’t have made any difference. Because there’s always a chan
ging-room attendant on duty – on Saturdays anyway. No one could have simply let themselves out and walked down the fire escape.’

  ‘OK, Arthur,’ said Frost, ‘I’ve seen enough. For the time being. Best leave Mr Butcher to get on with his stocktaking. We don’t want him ruining Christmas for everyone.’

  The light was beginning to fail and there was drizzle in the air. Frost was niggled. Liz Fraser and her poor, bruised little girl had clouded his focus on Julie Hudson. He was missing something obvious, he was sure.

  Hanlon piped up, as if reading his thoughts, ‘Why didn’t Wendy Hudson report her daughter missing while she was at the store?’

  The fat detective constable was deftly and swiftly reversing the Cortina out of its tight parking space next to the loading bay at the back of Aster’s.

  ‘I don’t know, Arthur,’ Frost said. ‘Flaming hell! Why didn’t you ask her last night?’

  ‘She was in a right state.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Frost said. But he could see why she might not have immediately informed the authorities. Past experience had taught him how often kids that age stormed off in a huff. Any parent would give it a bit of time before ringing the cop shop, surely, not wanting to create a fuss. Hoping for the best.

  Frost wanted to try the hospital again, to see whether the mother had communicated anything yet. There was still no news of the father, despite numerous alerts having been put out, and all the relevant agencies and Controls having been informed.

  ‘Roger that,’ Hanlon said before replacing the handset, and bringing the car to a sudden stop, then indicating, as if to do a U-turn.

  ‘More bad news?’ Frost asked. He’d been miles away.

  ‘Disturbance on the Southern Housing Estate. Control want us to check it out.’

  ‘You are joking. It’s nearly five, and apart from everything else I’ve got to get that paperwork done – the crime clear-up stats? Where’s the bloody area car?’

  ‘Kids terrorizing some oldsters,’ continued Hanlon blithely.

  ‘Nothing new there, then.’ Frost sighed, relieved, and not for the first time in the day, that he wasn’t a proud dad. Mary, of course, was still hoping for a miracle. Perhaps it would stop her nagging him. He looked through the Cortina’s windscreen, slick with fine rain. ‘But where the bloody hell are uniform?’ he said, livid.