perspiring Frost appeared in the lobby, Waters in his wake. ‘Bleedin’ hot one out there today!’
‘Ah, Jack, about time. The super—’
‘Spare me, Bill,’ Frost interrupted. ‘I know he’s anxious to see me, it must be at least an hour since we last spoke.’ He smiled broadly at Jordan and Baker. ‘We’re very close, you know.’ The pair looked blankly at each other.
Suddenly, Moore made a break for it and charged off down the corridor.
‘Blimey, must be caught short,’ Frost said.
‘Think so?’ said Baker, unsure what to do.
‘No, not really.’ Frost rolled his eyes. ‘I think he’s probably about as keen to see me as I am to see the super.’
Wells watched the blank expressions on Baker’s and Jordan’s faces, who after a moment’s hesitation pelted after Moore. Fortunately for them, the hapless felon had quickly been confused by the warren of similar-looking corridors and re-emerged through the swing doors at just that point, running straight into the arms of his would-be captors.
‘Think you’re right, it’s the sight of you, Mr Frost, that’s put him on edge,’ PC Baker said.
Frost grabbed Wells’s glass of water and took a huge gulp. ‘I have that effect on people, I’m afraid, son. But Mr Moore here is used to being on edge. In his day, Stevie-boy was on the edge of every roof on the Southern Housing Estate. But now he’s found religion, haven’t you, mate?’
Moore looked ready to burst with pent-up hatred. ‘I dunno what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes, you do. I’ve had the vicar on the horn about his bleeding roof,’ Frost said. ‘Been nicking his lead, haven’t you, you naughty boy.’
Simms sat in Frost’s office waiting for the DS to put in an appearance. The office was dreadfully cluttered, with paper spilling everywhere. Instead of clearing Williams’s yellowing paperwork, of which there was plenty, Frost had simply plonked his own mess on top of the existing piles.
Whilst he’d been in uniform, Simms had loathed the grubby detective, not least because of Sue Clarke’s adoration and her subsequent affair. Now he’d been promoted, he recognized the need to tolerate Frost as a necessary evil in order to get on, and at least give the impression of having some regard for him. But in reality, he still disliked him. It astonished Simms how Frost would wilfully rub Mullett up the wrong way – not that Simms had any great love for Mullett, but he
was
the gaffer, and Simms respected him as such. He couldn’t summon up such respect for Frost, but with DI Allen absent and Frost in charge of CID, he’d have to put up with him for now, at least.
Like a bad penny, the man himself appeared in the doorway. ‘Right, what you got? Anything?’
‘The taxi driver, Feltham, I finally caught up with him down by the station. He remembered dropping both girls off in the Two Bridges area. He gave me rough addresses.’
‘So, posh, were they?’ Frost asked. Two Bridges was a hamlet towards Rimmington. Simms, though unfamiliar with it, knew it to be well-heeled.
‘He didn’t say.’
‘Age?’
‘Teens. He wasn’t specific. It was dark, I guess.’
‘The other driver I spoke to reckoned they were drunk. Did your guy confirm this?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘What was he, a mute?’ Frost stared at Simms directly.
‘Sorry.’ The DC fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. With barely any effort the old git had made him feel inadequate. ‘I did run out to Two Bridges and I tried some houses, but there was nobody home.’
‘Late or early teens?’
‘He didn’t …’ A glare from Frost prevented him finishing the sentence.
‘Well, if they’re early teens, then they’re probably still at school. My guess would be St Mary’s, the private place out that way. If they’re late teens, then where they are is anybody’s guess – St Tropez, perhaps?’ Frost rolled up his sleeves, perspiration patches visible under his arms. His forehead was beaded with
‘Ah, Jack, about time. The super—’
‘Spare me, Bill,’ Frost interrupted. ‘I know he’s anxious to see me, it must be at least an hour since we last spoke.’ He smiled broadly at Jordan and Baker. ‘We’re very close, you know.’ The pair looked blankly at each other.
Suddenly, Moore made a break for it and charged off down the corridor.
‘Blimey, must be caught short,’ Frost said.
‘Think so?’ said Baker, unsure what to do.
‘No, not really.’ Frost rolled his eyes. ‘I think he’s probably about as keen to see me as I am to see the super.’
Wells watched the blank expressions on Baker’s and Jordan’s faces, who after a moment’s hesitation pelted after Moore. Fortunately for them, the hapless felon had quickly been confused by the warren of similar-looking corridors and re-emerged through the swing doors at just that point, running straight into the arms of his would-be captors.
‘Think you’re right, it’s the sight of you, Mr Frost, that’s put him on edge,’ PC Baker said.
Frost grabbed Wells’s glass of water and took a huge gulp. ‘I have that effect on people, I’m afraid, son. But Mr Moore here is used to being on edge. In his day, Stevie-boy was on the edge of every roof on the Southern Housing Estate. But now he’s found religion, haven’t you, mate?’
Moore looked ready to burst with pent-up hatred. ‘I dunno what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes, you do. I’ve had the vicar on the horn about his bleeding roof,’ Frost said. ‘Been nicking his lead, haven’t you, you naughty boy.’
Simms sat in Frost’s office waiting for the DS to put in an appearance. The office was dreadfully cluttered, with paper spilling everywhere. Instead of clearing Williams’s yellowing paperwork, of which there was plenty, Frost had simply plonked his own mess on top of the existing piles.
Whilst he’d been in uniform, Simms had loathed the grubby detective, not least because of Sue Clarke’s adoration and her subsequent affair. Now he’d been promoted, he recognized the need to tolerate Frost as a necessary evil in order to get on, and at least give the impression of having some regard for him. But in reality, he still disliked him. It astonished Simms how Frost would wilfully rub Mullett up the wrong way – not that Simms had any great love for Mullett, but he
was
the gaffer, and Simms respected him as such. He couldn’t summon up such respect for Frost, but with DI Allen absent and Frost in charge of CID, he’d have to put up with him for now, at least.
Like a bad penny, the man himself appeared in the doorway. ‘Right, what you got? Anything?’
‘The taxi driver, Feltham, I finally caught up with him down by the station. He remembered dropping both girls off in the Two Bridges area. He gave me rough addresses.’
‘So, posh, were they?’ Frost asked. Two Bridges was a hamlet towards Rimmington. Simms, though unfamiliar with it, knew it to be well-heeled.
‘He didn’t say.’
‘Age?’
‘Teens. He wasn’t specific. It was dark, I guess.’
‘The other driver I spoke to reckoned they were drunk. Did your guy confirm this?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘What was he, a mute?’ Frost stared at Simms directly.
‘Sorry.’ The DC fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. With barely any effort the old git had made him feel inadequate. ‘I did run out to Two Bridges and I tried some houses, but there was nobody home.’
‘Late or early teens?’
‘He didn’t …’ A glare from Frost prevented him finishing the sentence.
‘Well, if they’re early teens, then they’re probably still at school. My guess would be St Mary’s, the private place out that way. If they’re late teens, then where they are is anybody’s guess – St Tropez, perhaps?’ Frost rolled up his sleeves, perspiration patches visible under his arms. His forehead was beaded with
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