Winter Frost

'Wells calling Inspector Frost.'

'Yes?'

'That drunk — Harry Hughes. I sent a car round to the address he gave us. They've never heard of him.'

Frost hissed annoyance. 'The bastard! Get ownership details for his motor.'

'I've already checked. The registered owner sold it for cash last week… never took the buyer's name and the car hasn't been re-registered.'

'Shit!' hissed Frost. 'Let's hope we can pick him up before he makes it home.' He dropped the radio back in his pocket and revised his good opinion of Taffy bloody Morgan.

The phone on the bedside cabinet suddenly rang. No-one moved, then Harding reached out for it, but was stopped by Frost who crooked a finger to Liz. 'You answer it. You're Lolita. If it's a client, get him round here. He might know her name.'

Liz picked up the phone. 'Lolita,' she announced in what she hoped was a sexy voice. 'Yes, I'm free at the moment. Why not come over… we could take our time… Good, I'll be waiting.' She replaced the receiver and nodded. 'He's a regular. He'll be here in five minutes.'

Frost ordered all police cars to be moved from the street in case they scared the man off. They waited. Frost, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, lolled against the bedside cabinet, looking down at the dead girl on the bed. 'How old do you reckon she is?' he mused. 'Twenty — twenty-one? Three hundred quid in her handbag for one night's work and I've been slogging my guts out for three hours trying to fiddle a fiver on my car expenses. I'm in the wrong profession.'

Liz Maud, at the window, was staring down into the windswept street. The punter should have been here by now. 'I'm not sure that I fooled him.'

'You fooled him,' Frost assured her. 'After hearing that sexy voice he won't be able to get his dick out fast enough — it made me feel the same.'

She twitched a polite smile. A room with a blooded corpse on the bed wasn't the place for tasteless jokes. The street was silent and deserted. No sound of footsteps or a car. Then she stiffened. A shadow crept from around the corner. A man, walking briskly, making for the door of the flats. 'It's him!' Frost joined her at the window. 'What did I tell you… Look at the dirty sod, he's nearly running. Blimey, it's Mullett! Everyone hide!'

Only Collier took him seriously. The rest were too well versed in the inspector's dubious sense of humour to do anything but grin.

Footsteps tripping up the stairs. Liz stood by the bed, blocking the body from view. Simms and Jordan were on either side of the door, ready to grab. A tentative knock.

'Come in,' husked Liz.

The door creaked open and a man smartly dressed in a dark suit and matching overcoat bounded eagerly into the room, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Liz. 'You're not…' he began, spinning round in alarm as the door slammed shut behind him and Jordan and Simms barred the way out. 'What the hell…?'

Frost stepped forward and flashed his dog-eared warrant card. 'Police, sir. I'm afraid it's not going to be the erotic experience you were anticipating.' But the man, the blood draining from his face, wasn't listening. He was staring over Frost's shoulder. He could see the girl. 'Oh my God…!'

There was now no room to move so Frost took the man's arm to lead him outside to the landing. The man backed out, unable to tear his eyes away from the body. 'Is she…?' He couldn't bring himself to say 'dead'.

Frost nodded. I'm afraid so. How well did you know her?'

'Know her?' The man waved his hands in protest. 'I don't know her. This is all a mistake, officer. I was looking for somewhere else. I've come to the wrong place.' He tried to move to the stairs, but Frost's grip on his arm tightened almost to the point of pain.

'Don't sod us about, sir. You phoned — you're a regular. What was her name?'

'Name? They don't tell you their real name any more than I tell them mine.' He fumbled in his pocket. 'She gave me this.'

A cheaply printed business card, green ink on grey cardboard. 'Lolita for Discreet and Lingering Naughty Fun — Denton 224435.'

Frost took the card. 'Lingering naughty fun? What's that — sado-masochism?'

The man flushed brick red. 'No, it damn well isn't, just…' He fluttered his hands vaguely, '… fun.'

'The poor cow didn't have much fun tonight,' said Frost. 'Any idea who killed her?'

'Of course not,' spluttered the man. 'Why on earth are you asking me?'

'Because at the moment, sir, you're all we've got. Did she mention any punters she was worried about?'

'I didn't visit her to discuss her life history, officer. I'm sorry. I can't help you. I want to go.'

Frost's grip on his arm remained firm. 'We can't always have what we want, sir. Fill me in on some background. How did you first get to know her?'

'I happened to be driving past King Street and saw her plying for hire with the other girls. She was a new face and didn't look quite so raddled as most of the others so I thought I'd give her a go. We came back here and afterwards she gave me her card: said I should phone her the next time.'

'How many next times were there?'

'Five… six… I didn't keep count.'

Frost squeezed some life into his scar with his free hand. It was bitterly cold on the landing with the front door wide open. He gave the man his hard stare and noticed that he seemed to be avoiding his gaze. 'I think you know something you're not telling us, sir.'

'This is ridiculous. I don't know anything.'

'Tell you what, sir, let's go back to the station. If we wait long enough you might remember something important.'

'Look, officer… I can't get involved… I'm married. If my wife found out…'

Frost gave him a broad grin. 'That's a good idea, sir. What about if I drive" you home, we wake up your wife and I question you in front of her. It might jog your memory.'

The man looked both frightened and angry. 'You bastard!'

Frost beamed happily back. 'Funny — people often say that to me, sir. I don't know why. So you have something to tell me?'

'I'm not making a statement. I'm just telling you something. I was here two nights ago. As I was getting dressed the phone rang. She answered it, all sort of sexy at first, then her face went white. Whoever was phoning had frightened the shit out of her. She was shaking like a leaf. She said, "Why don't you leave me alone?" — or something like that — then banged the phone down. I asked what it was about and she said it was nothing.'

'And you've no idea who the call was from?'

'No. Please can I go now?'

There was little point in detaining him further. Frost took the man's name and address then let him go. As he bolted thankfully down the stairs and out into the street, a gleaming black Rolls-Royce pulled up outside. The Home Office pathologist, Drysdale, a thin, austere figure, in a long black overcoat, looking like an undertaker. He was followed by his female secretary, a fading blonde who was always at his elbow taking notes, seemingly unfazed by the horrors he would delve into, but nervous of the winks and leers she all too often got from that awful Inspector Frost. She remembered the time she was bending to pick something up when a finger was jabbed in her rear and a raucous voice cackled, 'How's that for centre?' She blushed at the memory of it as she scudded up the stairs behind her master. 'What have you got for me this time?' sniffed Drysdale.

'A nice warm dead tom,' Frost told him, opening the door and ushering them both into the packed hothouse of a room.

Drysdale's nose wrinkled. 'I can't work in these conditions. Get everyone outside, please.'

Frost ordered everyone, except Liz, who looked as if she intended staying put anyway, to wait outside. Drysdale, staring fixedly at the figure on the bed, removed his overcoat and, without looking, held it out and let it go in the secure knowledge that his secretary would leap forward to catch it and fold it neatly before it had a chance to hit the floor.

His initial examination was brief. He bent over, his nose almost touching the blooded stomach as he examined the knife wounds. He then transferred his attention to the face and neck. 'She was on the bed when you found her?'