First Frost Read Free Page B

hopefully.
    ‘Yes, I did.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘Hang about a moment. Yes, here it is: N16 UES.’
    ‘Wait a minute.’ Wells fumbled for his pen and the call-register log. ‘Can you repeat that, please? Hello? Hello?’
    The man had rung off, before Wells had had time to slide open the panel behind him and alert PC Ridley, the duty controller, to listen in. Bugger , he said to himself. All he could remember of the licence number was that it had an ‘N’ and an ‘S’ in it, and maybe an eight too.
    ‘Look who we’ve got here – it’s the Old Bill.’ Frost had appeared in the lobby, making for the exit.
    ‘Hello, Jack, off somewhere nice?’
    ‘You know me, Bill, and my love of the great outdoors. Talking of which, I don’t suppose Inspector Allen’s rung in from his hols? There’s some info missing from the crime clear-up stats I’m meant to be processing for County HQ. Maybe I’ll leave the lot on his desk for his return, and he can join up the dots.’
    ‘Jim Allen’s not going to like that. Nor is the super, Jack, if it’s late. Allen’s away for another week.’
    ‘They get paid more than us, Bill. Let’s not forget.’
    ‘I haven’t, Jack.’ As Frost was nearing the exit, Wells added, ‘Oh by the way, Jack, it probably isn’t anything, but a man just rang in to say he’d seen a white van being driven round and round Market Square.’
    ‘I don’t suppose he kindly supplied the licence number as well?’
    ‘No … not all of it. But he said it was a Transit.’
    ‘Did he now? Well, nothing to worry about then—’
    Wells watched in horror as a disgusting mound of rags and bones entered the station and collided with Frost.
    ‘Jesus,’ a winded Frost spluttered, immediately starting to brush his mac. ‘It’s Steptoe without his son.’
    ‘Sorry, Mr Frost, I didn’t see you,’ croaked Desmond Thorley.
    ‘Looks like times are treating you as well as ever, Des,’ said Frost. ‘Amazing what riches lurk in Denton Woods.’
    ‘You’d be surprised, Mr Frost.’
    ‘I’m sure I would. So what brings you back to the land of the living?’ Frost had paused by the exit.
    ‘I want to report an incident,’ said Thorley.
    ‘Don’t tell me. On a dark and stormy night,’ said Frost.
    ‘It was morning, actually. And very cold too.’
    ‘Is that right? Well, old Bill Wells over there is ready and waiting with pen and paper. Spin him a good one and he might even fetch you a cuppa.’
    ‘You’ll be lucky,’ muttered Wells.

Sunday (2)
    Detective Inspector Bert Williams made one final lunge for his radio. Having been knocked from its holder, it was hanging near the bloodied handbrake. It should have been easier to reach there, but Bert was never going to be able to grab it from where he was, half in, half out of the car. He could barely move. Besides, he had no idea whether the radio still worked.
    It had taken him the best part of he didn’t know how long just to shift his upper body closer by a few inches. Time had lost relevance. Life seemed to be slowing to a standstill. He knew he was shutting down for good.
    He wheezed, bracing himself for another wave of pain to spread tightly across his chest. Flaming arseholes, it hurt .
    Perhaps it would have been better if he’d been killed outright. Now he was left in the middle of nowhere to digest the fact that he’d fucked up. He was a better copper than that.
    His mind flashed to Betty, making him wince. The compensation coming to her would be pitiful. He should have saved more carefully, planned for his retirement. At least then she would have been sitting on a tidy sum. The things he should have done – all very well to think about that now. What a bloody idiot he’d been.
    And who would pick up the pieces? It was big, all right. He thought of Frost, his deputy. Was Frost up to it?
    One way or another it was all there in the mountain of paperwork on his desk, back at the station, a fat file crying out for attention. Lucky, in some