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

thought her birthday was today?’
       Mrs Clark took the wrapping paper from him and stared at it in puzzlement. ‘She’s opened it. Before her birthday . . . she’s opened it!’
       Her husband came in the room. ‘What’s the matter?’ he barked.
       ‘It seems that Debbie opened one of her presents from your wife before her birthday and took it with her,’ Frost told him.
       Clark turned to his wife. ‘What present?’
       She paused before replying. ‘That bikini she wanted.’
       Her husband exploded. ‘You bought her that bloody bikini? A twelve-year-old school kid? Didn’t I specifically tell you - ’
       ‘All her friends had one,’ cut in his wife.
       ‘Most of her friends are sluts - jailbait. My daughter isn’t!’
       Perhaps you could discuss this some other time,’ said Frost wearily. ‘She was obviously going somewhere on her bike last night. Could it have been the swimming baths, to show the new costume off to her friends?’
       ‘It’s possible,’ said her mother. ‘She often went swimming there.’
       ‘Right, we’ll check it out,’ said Frost, winding the scarf back round his neck, ready to leave. ‘Oh - do you have a recent photograph?’
       Mrs Clark stared at her husband, who paused before mumbling, ‘Nothing recent, I’m afraid.’
       ‘Oh?’ said Frost. ‘A school photograph, perhaps?’
       ‘No,’ said Clark, not looking Frost in the eye. ‘There are no school photographs.’
       ‘Oh?’ repeated Frost, waiting for an explanation, but none came. ‘I see,’ he said eventually. But he didn’t see.
       ‘I take it you are going straight back to the station to organise a full-scale search for my daughter?’ demanded Clark.
       ‘As I said, it’s a bit too early for that at this stage,’ Frost told him.
       ‘Too early?’ echoed Clark angrily. ‘Too bloody early? She’s been missing since last night. How much longer are we expected to wait while you sit on your bloody arse, shuffling papers, while my daughter is out there, probably in the hands of some sexual pervert.’
       ‘I appreciate your concern - ’ began Frost.
       ‘Then bloody well do something about it.’
       ‘I’ve been involved in over a hundred missing teenager cases, Mr Clark. All the parents were worried sick, quite rightly, and in nearly every case the parents refused to accept the possibility that their child might have left home of their own accord. But in over 95 per cent of cases that is exactly what happened and their kids were only too glad to creep back home after a couple of days.’
       ‘You can quote your lousy statistics at me until you are blue in the face, but I want a full-scale search carried out now - this very minute . . .’
       ‘I’m sorry - ’ began Frost, but before he could continue, Clark moved towards him, his face contorted with rage.
       ‘You’re sorry? I’m the one who’s bloody sorry. I’ve been sent a useless, do-nothing idiot. Get out of my house. I’m having you taken off this case. I’ve got friends in very high places, as you will soon find out.’
       With a nod to the weeping mother, Frost jerked his head for Jordan and Simms to follow him. They left the house.
       Back in the car, Frost lit up a much-needed cigarette. ‘Friends in high places,’ he mused. ‘I bet they live on the top floor of a tower block.’
       ‘What do you reckon, Inspector?’ Jordan asked. 
       Frost exhaled smoke. ‘I don’t know. I still think she’s having it away with the boyfriend, but I’ve got a nagging suspicion that something nasty has happened to her. If we had more manpower down here instead of on loan to flaming County, courtesy of Superintendent bloody Mullett, I’d start searching - but we haven’t. Right, after you drop me off, go to the boyfriend’s house, check his hands for bra marks and check that Debbie isn’t there. Then go and see this girl Audrey, see if she