Winter Frost

'You got back and Mary wasn't there?'

'Too right — and neither was my flaming car. I could have murdered the cow.' His face contorted as the import of the words hit him. 'God, what am I saying?'

'It's all right,' soothed Frost. 'Then what?'

'I flopped on the bed fully dressed and didn't wake up until about four in the afternoon with a splitting headache. Mary wasn't in bed with me.'

'So what did you do?'

'I still wasn't worried… I thought she'd sodded off somewhere to teach me a lesson. She knew I needed the car to take us both to work so I was sure she'd be back before then. I must have fallen asleep in the chair. I woke up just before ten. No Mary and no motor. I phoned the hospital, and they hadn't heard of her! And now I know why!'

'There was a threatening phone call while we were at her place in Clayton Street,' said Frost. 'Any idea who it might have been?'

'No, but there were a couple of queer phone calls at the flat. She'd been edgy for some time and jumped a mile each time the phone rang — always dashed to answer it before I did. I was beginning to suspect there was another bloke.'

'Who did she say it was?'

'She tried to pretend it was someone from work playing a joke, but she didn't sound as if she thought it was funny.'

'And you just let it go at that?'

'You didn't push things with Mary if she didn't want them pushed — not if you didn't want a screaming row.'

'She had a temper?'

'We both had, I suppose. The rows were awful, but it was fun making up.' He stared into space as if a specific memory had hit him then gave a brief, sad smile and shook his head. 'There were lots of good times.'

'I'm sure there were,' nodded Frost. There were even good times in his own marriage that the many bad days couldn't entirely wipe out. 'Just for the purpose of elimination, Mr Lewis, we'd like to have the clothes you were wearing last night.'

He frowned. 'My clothes?'

'The killer would have got blood on his clothes. I know you'd want us to be thorough.'

'They're at home. I'll bring them in.'

Frost stood up. 'I'll save you the trouble. Let's go and collect them.' Then he sat down with a thud. What a stupid sod he was. An important detail and he'd forgotten to ask. And there it was, staring up at him from the table. The form Lewis had filled in giving details of his missing car. A dark brown 1988 Toyota Corolla. The vandalized car with the slashed tyres outside the apartment building in Clayton Street was a Corolla. He quickly checked registration numbers. Lewis was shown as the registered owner. He berated himself. Stupid fool. Why hadn't he made the connection before? A tap at the door. Morgan beckoned him out.

'I've checked with the cab firms, guv. Denton Minis had a fairly regular pick-up from outside 1 °Clayton Street to Denton General Hospital… a woman. Sounds like our tom.'

'Yes,' agreed Frost dolefully, 'and it sounds like I'm losing my only bleeding suspect.'

A poky little bed-sit with a small bathroom and a kitchen. The black and orange studio couch which also served as a twin bed was rammed up tight against toe sash window and on shelves fixed to the opposite wall a cheap hi-fi unit sat next to a fourteen-inch remote control colour TV. Alongside the studio couch stood a small dark-wood cabinet on which there was a phone and a china ashtray overflowing with cigarette stubs, some only half smoked and mashed to hell. 'Do you both smoke?' Frost asked.

'Only me.' Lewis took the ashtray and emptied it into a bin, blowing the overspill from the cabinet top. 'Mary hated all the muck of fag ends — said the smell gave her a headache.' He lit up another cigarette and started filling up the ashtray again.

Frost went over to two pine effect single wardrobes, one on either side of the door leading to the bathroom. He opened the door to one. Woman's clothes: coats, dresses, shoes. A handbag dangled from one of the hooks. He clicked it open: make-up and tissues. He hooked it back and closed the door. 'Did she usually take a handbag with her when she went out?'

'Yes. A red one, keys, credit cards and things.'

There had been no sign of a handbag at the Clayton Street flat, thought Frost. So where was it? He cursed his stupidity. The car. It was probably in the car. As soon as he'd finished with Lewis he'd give the motor a going-over.

'If we could have the clothes you were wearing last night,' he reminded.

'Sure — won't be a tick.' As Lewis went into the kitchen and rummaged in the laundry basket, Frost poked around, opening and closing drawers, looking for inspiration that didn't come. Lewis gave him the clothes in a plastic bag. 'Thanks,' said Frost. 'If you think of anything that might help, you will let us know?'

Lewis nodded, then flopped down on the studio couch, sniffing back tears. 'I just can't believe she's not coming back.'

'I know, I know,' cooed Frost soothingly. To himself he said, You killed her, you bastard, you bleeding killed her. But how was he going to prove it?

'You still suspect him, guv?' asked Morgan as Frost climbed back in the car.

'When you've only got one suspect,' grunted Frost, 'you don't let little things like watertight alibis stand in the way. Check with the other people on that coach. Let's make certain he was with them when the girl was killed.'

The brown Toyota was in a sorry state: headlights smashed, tyres slashed, bodywork crumpled as if hit with a sledge hammer. The driver's window had been shattered. Frost squeezed his arm through and opened the door, then shone his torch inside. Even the seats had been slashed. Frost brushed away the crystals of glass and slid onto the driver's seat He dug down deep into the glove compartment. 'Hey presto!' He pulled out a purse containing loose change and some credit cards. Also, a Nationwide Building Society deposit account pass book. The account had been opened three months earlier and there were regular entries, almost daily. The balance stood at over Ј6,000. 'The wages of sin!' muttered Frost to Morgan. 'Check if she made a will and Lewis is the sole beneficiary.'

'Girls of her age don't make wills, guv,' said Morgan. 'They don't expect to die.'

'Check anyway.' He rapped his forehead with his knuckled hand. Something was worrying him. The car keys. Where the hell were the car keys? 'First thing tomorrow, Taffy, you turn that flat upside down. The car keys have got to be there somewhere — she didn't hot wire the bleeding thing.' He called the station to get the car collected for forensic examination and was just slipping the radio back in his pocket when it squawked his name. 'Control to Inspector Frost.'

'Yes?'

'Can you get over to Denton Hospital right away, Inspector, liase with DI Maud.'

'Why?'. badly beaten up.

'Young girl just been admitted She's a prostitute.'

'On my way,' said Frost.

Liz Maud was waiting for them by the entrance and led them up to the admission ward. 'Could be a tie-in with last night. She's been beaten up pretty badly — bruising, cracked ribs.'

'So what happened?'

'A lorry driver spotted her lying by the side of the road near Denton Woods. He thought she'd been the victim of a hit and run and phoned for an ambulance. The doctor says she's been punched and kicked.'

'Do we know who she is?'

'She won't say a blind word to me. Her handbag's full of condoms and the name on her credit card is Cherry Hall… In here.'

They followed her through a darkened ward and then into a side room where a heavily bandaged figure lay still on the bed. The bandaging covered most of the head and all that could be seen of her face was a pair of grey eyes stabbing them with hostility.

Frost flopped down in the chair by the bed. 'You look like Queen bleeding Nefertiti,' he told her. She didn't answer. He unhooked the chart from the foot of the bed and studied it, shaking his head in mock concern. 'It says, "Condition very serious, but cooperate with the police and you'll live." '