Morning Frost by Henry James Read Free Book Online Page B

sulkily. ‘I’m gutted. Didn’t you tell him I was handling Baskin? That I’d been to the Coconut Grove?’
    ‘Don’t shoot the messenger,’ Johnson rebuked him from behind the reception desk. ‘I said you were on it. But Waters and Frost have already been to the General. And that’s as much as I know.’
    Simms shook his head in despair. ‘You’d think he’d take the bleeding day off. I mean, he has just buried his wife.’
    ‘Not our Jack; he’s back already – just been chatting with our friends the press.’
    ‘I heard.’ Simms sighed. ‘Not sure Mullett will appreciate him announcing that some bugger has been mown down by a combine harvester …’
    He strolled over to the noticeboard, and scanned the missing-persons list. Two children, a teenage girl and a seven-year-old boy. Very few adults, especially men, were ever reported as missing. ‘Balls,’ he muttered to himself. The owner of the severed limbs was hardly going to fall into his lap; he knew he’d have to cast the net wider, around the county for a start. It was only five; he could make a few calls before calling it a day …
    Johnson was talking behind him. ‘Sorry, Sarge,’ said Simms. ‘Didn’t catch that.’
    ‘I’ve got instructions to pin these up on the board, if you wouldn’t mind moving aside.’
    The blue of a five-pound note caught Simms’s eye.
    ‘What, giving money away now, are we?’
    ‘Fakes,’ said Johnson. ‘Been a few found circulating in the county. I’m sure Mr Mullett will brief everyone in due course.’ He handed one to Simms and fixed the other to the board, queen side up.
    ‘They look all right to me.’ Simms pulled the note taut and regarded the Duke of Wellington. ‘Not that I see that many, at least not for long.’
    ‘It’s the texture. Feel.’
    Simms found Johnson was right. Although the note looked sound, the paper quality was different; it didn’t have the crisp, durable feel of a normal fiver.
    ‘We’ve got to dish out a bunch. Must leave a note before I change shift.’
    ‘What do you mean, “dish out”?’
    ‘Give them out to shopkeepers, banks and so forth, so they know what they’re looking for.’ Johnson returned to reception and pulled out a Jiffy bag from underneath the desk. ‘From Scotland Yard, no less. Here, you can sign for a dozen now.’
    Simms took an envelope and slipped it inside his leather jacket.
    ‘They were supposed to go out this morning,’ Johnson continued. ‘But what with the funeral and all … I must remind Bill,’ he repeated.
    ‘Well, I certainly won’t forget sixty quid in my pocket. Cheers.’
    DS John Waters wondered if he had the right woman; Rachel Rayner was certainly not ‘getting on’, to use Baskin’s phrase. Sitting opposite him with her back to the breakfast bar of the smart, pristine kitchen was a remarkably attractive young woman.
    ‘So,’ drawled Rayner, ‘someone finally got fed up and tried to plug the old bastard.’ She took a languid drag of her cigarette, her eyes fixed firmly on Waters. Now she was facing him directly, he noticed a bruise over her right eye.
    ‘Seems so,’ he replied, sipping his coffee. ‘Why would anyone feel that way, do you think?’
    Her expression changed to one of suspicion. ‘You’re new around here, right?’
    ‘Been in Denton six months.’
    Rain began to patter on the window.
    ‘Have you met Harry?’
    ‘Once or twice. You’re implying that it’s no surprise Harry got shot. He’s not exactly a Boy Scout, but we haven’t discovered anything that would warrant—’
    ‘ We? What, Frost and the Keystone Cops?’ She laughed, throwing her head back and running her fingers through short, raven-black hair. This boyish feature was offset by a pair of large pale blue eyes, the right one slightly bloodshot, and a plum-coloured pout. ‘No, you’re right. Big, cuddly Harry, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
    The tinge of bitterness in her voice intrigued Waters. ‘How long have you worked