Winter Frost

'Never saw a thing,' lied Frost. 'A couple of questions I should have asked earlier. Where were you Friday night from the time Miss Stokes left the surgery?'

'I locked up and went straight home. I was dead tired. Then a meal, some television, and early bed.'

'Could this be confirmed, sir? Just routine, of course.'

'My wife will confirm it.'

Frost couldn't be sure, but he thought the dentist was looking a little uneasy. 'And where were you last night, from around midnight onwards?'

The dentist frowned. 'Last night?'

'That was when the body was dumped. As I say, just routine.'

'We had some friends in for dinner. They stayed quite late.'

'How late, sir?'

'It was gone midnight by the time they left. I then went to bed.'

'Your friends' names sir?' Frost scribbled details on the back of his cigarette packet. If the alibis checked he could wipe the dentist off his list of suspects. His list! That was a joke. The dentist was the only name on it. Please, he silently pleaded, please don't let his alibi check out otherwise I'm right up the creek. 'That's all for the moment, sir,' he nodded. I'll leave you to enjoy what's left of your lunch before it gets too cold.'

'Having it away in the dentist's chair?' croaked Morgan, spooning up his soup. 'Flaming heck!' They were in the canteen for a late lunch.

'He not only does extractions, he does insertions as well,' said Frost.

'I've done it in some strange places,' said Morgan in wonderment, 'but never in a dentist's chair.' He wrinkled his nose. 'A bit off-putting though, guv. All those pliers and drills and the spit suction machine gurgling away. Not very romantic.'

'Those spit pumps frighten the life out of me,' said Frost with a shudder. 'I'm terrified they're suddenly going to go in reverse and pump the last hundred patients' spit back into me.' He took another bite at his ham sandwich. 'Which reminds me, did I ever tell you the joke about the bloke who drunk the spittoon for a bet?'

Morgan's face went the colour of the spoonful of pea soup he was about to sip. He pushed the plate hurriedly away. 'Yes, you did, guv.' He had been warned to tell Frost he had heard it if ever he was asked, but curiosity had got the better of him and both he, and his stomach, had regretted it ever since.

'Right,' said Frost, disappointed. 'Go and see the dentist's wife and his friends, check his alibis, and run his name through the computer in case he's got form for murdering his receptionists.' As he washed down the ham sandwich with tea, the tannoy called him to the phone. The Scenes of Crime Officer, Ron Rawlings, was anxious to show Frost what he had learnt from Helen Stokes's car. Frost beckoned for Arthur Hanlon to join him and they both went downstairs to the car-park.

The grey Mini, doors wide open, was in the covered area to the side of the station car-park. Rawlings beaming all over his face, came forward to greet them. 'Found a few things that might interest you, Inspector.'

'Dirty postcards?' asked Frost hopefully.

Rawlings grinned. 'Not as interesting as that. We checked it for prints. She must have cleaned and polished it every day. The only dabs on it were hers.'

Frost yawned. 'I hope it gets better?'

With a 'wait and see' smile, Rawlings continued. 'The car was locked and the alarm was set.'

'Wow!' said Frost. 'You'd have thought she would have left the doors open and the engine running in case anyone wanted to pinch it.'

Rawlings gave a patronizing smirk as he produced his trump card. 'We found this in the dash compartment.' He handed Frost a sheet of duplicated typescript which he had enclosed in a polythene cover. It was Helen Stokes's next week's duty rota for the Samaritans. Frost stared at it. 'This was locked inside the car?' he asked incredulously.

Rawlings nodded.

'But she wasn't given this until just before she left the place Friday night.'

'Precisely,' said Rawlings.

Arthur Hanlon, looking from one to the other, was puzzled. 'I don't see the significance, Jack.'

'We've been assuming she was waylaid before she reached her car, Arthur,' explained Frost. 'But we were wrong. She goes to her car, unlocks it, puts the rota inside, then locks it and sets the alarm. So why the hell didn't she just get in and drive off?' He noticed that Rawlings was grinning all over his face. 'You've got something up your sleeve, you smug bastard, haven't you?'

Still grinning, Rawlings nodded. 'I checked the engine, inspector. The fan belt had snapped. The battery was as flat as arse-holes.'

'And you can't get much flatter than that,' said Frost. He shivered. It was cold out in the open and he only had his jacket on. He thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets and walked round the car, kicking the tyres from time to time for inspiration. 'Half-past one in the morning. Freezing cold, the bloody car won't start, no buses. So what do you do?'

'You go back to the Samaritans to see if anyone knows anything about cars and can fix it, or can give you a lift back home?' offered Hanlon.

'That's what I would have done, Arthur, but she never reached there. So either some bastard forces her into his car, or she gets in willingly. You'd have to know someone bloody well to accept a lift from them at half-past one in the morning, especially if you were a nervous cow like poor Helen Stokes. So let's say she was forced into her killer's car. Why her? What was he doing there at that godforsaken hour? Those roads lead nowhere, so he'd have to be lurking for a specific purpose. Was he waiting for anyone, or just for her?'

'If he was waiting for her,' asked Hanlon, 'why did he let her get to her car in the first place? How was he to know her battery would be flat?'

'Don't start getting logical with me, Arthur,' snapped Frost. 'You're sodding up my theories.' He scratched his chin thoughtfully. 'We're back to our dentist. He phones the Samaritans boasting about how he killed those toms… Helen Stokes takes the call and he is terrified she could have recognized his voice, so drives round pronto and waits for her to come out.'

'Possible,' said Hanlon doubtfully.

'Come up with something better, Arthur, and I'll give you a jelly baby.' Back to Rawlings. 'Anything else you haven't told us about, like a set of false choppers that could have fallen from the dentist's pocket?'

'That's the lot,' Rawlings told him.

'You're bleeding useless,' said Frost. He jerked his head to Hanlon. 'Come on, Arthur, back to the office. Let's see what Morgan's found out about our prime suspect's alibi.'

They didn't have to wait long. 'Wow,' exclaimed Morgan, bounding in and warming his hands on the radiator. 'You should see his wife, a real cracker boobs like melons…'

'I hope she didn't waggle it under your nose,' said Frost.

'No such luck, guv.' Morgan sat himself at his desk and went into a reverie of recollection.

'Well, now we know about his wife's bra size, perhaps you'd tell us if she confirms his alibi — assuming you tore your eyes away from her dugs long enough to ask?'

Morgan leant back in his chair. 'I think you're going to like this, guv. He never went out Friday night — they watched telly and went up to bed. Last night they had friends round, like he said, and they stayed until gone midnight, then up to bed.'

'I'm not liking it much up to now, said Frost.

Morgan wagged a finger. 'Because I haven't told you the good bit. Some nights he can't get off to sleep, so he gets out of bed and goes out for a drive to make himself tired.'

'If his wife's the cracker you say, surely there were other ways of making him tired?'

'I think he does that as well, guv. But the point is, he got up and went out on both those nights.'