A Touch Of Frost Read Online Free PDF Page B

Silence.
    It seemed safe, so he inched forward until he could touch her. The flesh was cold. Ice cold. He lowered his ear to her bloodied mouth but could detect no sound of breathing. Slowly his eyes travelled down the bruised and bleeding body to her thighs, then her legs. She was wearing thick black stockings which made the flesh of her thighs appear even whiter by contrast. The pieces of clothing strewn around the body seemed to be a school uniform of some kind. The girl’s black-stockinged legs fascinated him, the stockings’ tops circled by wide red garters, garters that were meant to be seen, not hidden. He would have thought school wear was far less sexy. This one must have been a right little teaser, deserving everything she’d got.
    How marvellous it must be, he thought, to have a partner of one’s own as quiet and submissive as this one. He had never touched a naked girl before. He had sweated and groaned in vicarious excitement as he watched other men caress, fondle, and make love to them. But he had never touched one himself. Not properly. Kneeling beside her, he gently stroked the flat stomach.
    A twig snapped. He whirled around. Nothing. But this wouldn’t do. Suppose someone saw him touching the body. Saw him and told the police. The police would think he had done this. He stood up and backed away from her, then turned abruptly, crashing through the bushes to the path that would take him to home and safety.
    As he neared the phone box he knew he would have to call the police. Tell them about her. He wouldn’t say who he was, but if anything went wrong . . . if they suspected him, he’d say, “But I was the one who phoned you. Would I have done that if I’d killed her?” Yes, that would be clever. That would be smart. His hand dug deep into his pocket to caress the lacy softness of the black bra.
     
    Police Sergeant Wells nudged Collier and nodded toward the lobby doors, which were opening very slowly. Jack Frost tiptoed in, obviously hoping to sneak upstairs to the party with out being noticed. Unaware he had an audience, he furtively crossed the lobby and pushed open the door leading to the canteen, letting a warm burst of happy sound roll down the stairs on an air current of alcohol.
    With perfect timing, Wells lobbed his grenade. “You can forget the party, Mr Frost. Mullett’s up there.”
    “Eh?” Frost paused in midstride and nearly stumbled before spinning around, looking as guilty as a choirboy caught with Penthouse inside his hymnbook. “You frightened the bloody life out of me, Bill,” he began, then the import of the sergeant’s words hit him with a clout. Mullett had made it clear to everyone that the party was for off-duty personnel only. “Mullett? Upstairs?” He studied the sergeant’s face in the hope that his leg was being pulled.
    “I’m afraid so, Jack. He’s up there boozing and licking the Chief Constable’s boots while you and I have got to stay down here and work.”
    “Flaming ear holes,” muttered Frost bitterly.
    PC Ridley slid back the panel and called out from the control room, “Mr Frost. Dave Shelby has radioed through. Your body’s been taken to the mortuary. The postmortem will be at ten o’clock sharp.”
    “Great,” replied Frost. “There’s nothing like a bowlful of stomach contents to give you an appetite for dinner.” He then gave his attention to young PC Collier, who was waving two burglary report forms at him.
    “Two more breakins, Inspector.”
    “Shove them on my desk, son. I’ll stick them in the Unsolved Robberies file if I can find room, and in the wastepaper basket if I can’t.” Denton was being plagued with an epidemic of minor breakins and burglaries. They all seemed to be quick in-and-out, spur-of-the-moment jobs—no clues, no prints, no-one seeing anything. Only money was taken, small amounts usually, so, short of catching the villains in the act, there was little the police could do. With more than eighty reported