‘Do you know how many teenagers run away from home every year, Mr Clark, and how many of them come running back in a couple of days with their tails between their legs?’
Clark jabbed a finger at Frosts ‘My daughter is not a bloody statistic. I want search parties out now, do you hear? Now!’
Frost unwound his scarf. It was sweltering in the lounge with the gas fire going at full blast. ‘Let me have a few facts first, sir, please. She went out yesterday evening on her bike, I understand. What time would that be?’
‘How many more bloody times? She had her evening meal and left about half past seven. Said she was going to see her friend Audrey and might stay the night. She’s done it before, so we didn’t worry.’
‘She often went there for sleepovers?’
‘Yes.’
‘Audrey used to come here for sleepovers,’ said the mother flatly, staring into space, ‘but not any more.’
‘Oh?’ asked Frost. ‘Why not?’
Clark shot a warning glance at his wife, then answered for her. ‘We’ve no idea. You know what kids are.’
‘I see,’ nodded Frost, who didn’t see at all. He’d have a word with Audrey himself. ‘And you’ve checked with this girl?’
‘Of course we’ve bloody checked. Do you think we’re stupid? Debbie hadn’t been there. She hadn’t even arranged to go there.’
‘Has Debbie got a boyfriend?’
‘She’s only thirteen! Of course she hasn’t got a boyfriend. There was some lout sniffing around some months ago, but I soon got shot of him.’
‘He was a nice boy,’ said his wife tonelessly. ‘I liked him.’
‘Oh yes?’ snarled Clark. ‘A nice boy! So what was he doing in her bloody bedroom with his hand down her blouse? I slung him out of the house and said if I ever caught him with my daughter again…’ He let the threat hang.
‘Have you contacted the boy to see if Debbie is with him?’
‘I phoned his house, but got no reply. She’d better not be there – I’ll break the dirty bastard’s neck.’
‘His name and address, please.’ He waited as the mother scribbled it down. ‘Has Debbie got a mobile phone?’
‘Yes. I’ve been ringing, but it’s switched off.’
‘Did she take any clothes – money – her bank book?’
The Clarks looked questioningly at each other. ‘I’ll check,’ said the wife, rising unsteadily from her chair, again shrugging off her husband’s helping hand.
There was a silent, uneasy wait as she went upstairs and Clark exuded his dislike of the shabbily dressed inspector. Frost was dying for a smoke but couldn’t see any ashtrays.
Mrs Clark returned, shaking her head. ‘All her clothes seem to be there – and her bank book.’
Frost stood up. ‘Could I take a look round her room?’
She led him back up the stairs to a room decorated with pop posters. A single bed with a light-blue coverlet stood against one wall, a cream-coloured wardrobe against the other. Everything was neat and tidy. By the window a wire-mesh waste-paper bin nestled under a desk housing a flat-screen computer and an inkjet printer.
‘Is she on the internet?’ asked Frost.
Mrs Clark nodded. ‘Always messaging her friends, even though she sees them every day at school.’
Frost jabbed a finger at the keyboard, pulling it away quickly as the computer bleeped. He nodded knowingly as if the noise meant something to him, but he was completely computer illiterate. One of the technicians would need to have a look at the machine to see what secrets it held if it turned out that Debbie really was missing and not just having it away with the boy whose hand had been discovered exploring the contents of her blouse. He took a look at the waste-paper bin. This was more his sort of thing. He bent and pulled out some crumpled gift-wrap. A stuck-on label read ‘Happy birthday, darling from Mum.’ He frowned. ‘I thought her birthday was today?’
Mrs Clark took the wrapping paper from him and stared at it in puzzlement. ‘She’s opened it. Before her birthday… she’s opened it!’
Her husband came in the room. ‘What’s the matter?’ he barked.
‘It seems that Debbie opened one of her presents from your wife before her birthday and took it with her,’ Frost told him.
Clark turned to his wife. ‘What present?’
She paused before replying. ‘That bikini she wanted.’
Her husband exploded. ‘You bought her that bloody bikini? A twelve-year-old school kid? Didn’t I specifically tell you – ’
‘All her friends had one,’ cut in his wife.
‘Most of her friends are sluts – jailbait. My daughter isn’t!’
Perhaps you could discuss this some other time,’ said Frost wearily. ‘She was obviously going somewhere on her bike last night. Could it have been the swimming baths, to show the new costume off to her friends?’
‘It’s possible,’ said her mother. ‘She often went swimming there.’
‘Right, we’ll check it out,’ said Frost, winding the scarf back round his neck, ready to leave. ‘Oh – do you have a recent photograph?’
Mrs Clark stared at her husband, who paused before mumbling, ‘Nothing recent, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh?’ said Frost. ‘A school photograph, perhaps?’
‘No,’ said Clark, not looking Frost in the eye. ‘There are no school photographs.’
‘Oh?’ repeated Frost, waiting for an explanation, but none came. ‘I see,’ he said eventually. But he didn’t see.
‘I take it you are going straight back to the station to organise a full-scale search for my daughter?’ demanded Clark.
‘As I said, it’s a bit too early for that at this stage,’ Frost told him.
‘Too early?’ echoed Clark angrily. ‘Too bloody early? She’s been missing since last night. How much longer are we expected to wait while you sit on your bloody arse, shuffling papers, while my daughter is out there, probably in the hands of some sexual pervert.’
‘I appreciate your concern – ’ began Frost.
‘Then bloody well do something about it.’
‘I’ve been involved in over a hundred missing teenager cases, Mr Clark. All the parents were worried sick, quite rightly, and in nearly every case the parents refused to accept the possibility that their child might have left home of their own accord. But in over 95 per cent of cases that is exactly what happened and their kids were only too glad to creep back home after a couple of days.’
‘You can quote your lousy statistics at me until you are blue in the face, but I want a full-scale search carried out now – this very minute…’
‘I’m sorry – ’ began Frost, but before he could continue, Clark moved towards him, his face contorted with rage.
‘You’re sorry? I’m the one who’s bloody sorry. I’ve been sent a useless, do-nothing idiot. Get out of my house. I’m having you taken off this case. I’ve got friends in very high places, as you will soon find out.’
With a nod to the weeping mother, Frost jerked his head for Jordan and Simms to follow him. They left the house.
Back in the car, Frost lit up a much-needed cigarette. ‘Friends in high places,’ he mused. ‘I bet they live on the top floor of a tower block.’
‘What do you reckon, Inspector?’ Jordan asked.
Frost exhaled smoke. ‘I don’t know. I still think she’s having it away with the boyfriend, but I’ve got a nagging suspicion that something nasty has happened to her. If we had more manpower down here instead of on loan to flaming County, courtesy of Superintendent bloody Mullett, I’d start searching – but we haven’t. Right, after you drop me off, go to the boyfriend’s house, check his hands for bra marks and check that Debbie isn’t there. Then go and see this girl Audrey, see if she knows more than she is telling – and find out why she stopped coming for sleepovers. Oh – and check the swimming baths. See if anyone remembers Debbie there last night. I still reckon she’ll be back in time for her birthday party, but we might as well pretend we’re thorough for a change.’
Superintendent Mullett, the Denton divisional commander, held the phone away from his ear. The shouting from the other end was overpowering.