A Killing Frost by R. D. Wingfield Read Free Book Online Page A

‘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