Fatal Frost Read Online Free PDF Page B

through his teeth. He reached up and removed the piece of cardboard. ‘Mind if I go outside a sec?’ he asked. Mrs Hartley-Jones unlocked the back door.
    Simms watched, impatient, as Waters stuck his arm through the splintered pane and reached for the nearest latch, at the bottom of the right-hand panel. It was a stretch, but he managed to open the window and stood facing them both from the garden.
    ‘What exactly was the point of that?’ Simms asked.
    ‘If I was going to break in, I’d probably have broken the pane right next to the latch, wouldn’t you?’ He tapped the unbroken section of the window. ‘Save reaching through and risk cutting yourself?’
    ‘Good point,’ Simms said, annoyed he’d not considered that. ‘But it
was
dark.’
    ‘A cat burglar without a torch? C’mon.’ Waters then turned to Mrs Hartley-Jones. ‘You reported the burglary very early this morning. Is that correct?’
    ‘Yes, correct. We’d been on the South Coast – caravan site – we keep a caravan there and go quite often … We didn’t get back until late last night.’
    ‘Who was feeding Mr Tibbs? One of the neighbours?’ DS Waters asked.
    ‘No, my niece, Samantha.’
    ‘When was the last time she fed him?’
    ‘Well, there’s the funny thing. She should have been the first to discover the break-in, on Sunday morning. But when I called my sister that morning, she said that Sam hadn’t come home on Saturday night. We rang again in the afternoon. Sam wasn’t back, so we decided to come home early, as we were worried about Mr Tibbs. That reminds me, I must call my sister.’
    Desk Sergeant Bill Wells glanced at the lobby clock. Only midday and he was starving already. During the refurbishments last year, when the canteen had been closed, the trolley service had been a real bonus. He could conveniently grab a bite whenever Grace trundled by. But the superintendent had not seen fit to redeploy meals-on-wheels while Eagle Lane recovered from bomb damage, and went mental if Wells so much as left his post for a pee.
    ‘Ah, Wells.’ Mullett appeared before his eyes, as if the mere thought of the super was enough to make him materialize. ‘What’s the matter, man, wake up – you’re in a daydream. Where’s DS Frost?’
    ‘Somewhere by the train line still, maybe – a body—’ The phone rang, cutting him off, and he looked at Mullett expectantly.
    ‘Well, answer it then, man,’ the super snapped angrily.
    Wells picked up the phone. ‘It’s for you – Mr Winslow.’
    Mullett’s face fell. ‘Give it here. Morning, sir. Yes … Yes, he’s here. Nice chap. Yes … Tall,
yes
…’
    Wells watched the super intently, guessing the subject of the conversation was DS Waters. There had never been a black officer at Eagle Lane before and the station was buzzing with gossip. Not that Denton was unique in its prejudices. When it came to attitudes towards ethnic minorities, the force’s record was dubious at best. Wells clearly remembered the scandal at Hendon when a bloke had been bound and gagged by a bunch of cadets dressed as Ku Klux Klan. Made the headlines. Nasty business.
    ‘Here … here!’ The super was waving the receiver at him, irritably pulling at his moustache with the other hand. ‘Now – where was I?’
    ‘On the way to the Gents, sir?’ Wells said hopefully.
    Mullett ignored him. ‘Get Frost to call me.’ He shot Wells a stern look and was gone.
    The phone rang again as if to remind Wells of its presence.
    ‘Is that the police?’ said a man in angry tones, barely pausing for a reply before firing off his grievance in a voice so shrill with emotion that Wells had no idea what he was saying.
    ‘Calm down, sir. I can barely understand you.’
    ‘My shop has been robbed! Are you deaf? Robbed! At gun point!’ The caller had a strong Indian accent.
    ‘Sir, please calm down. Now, can you describe the assailants? How many of them were there?’
    ‘Don’t patronize me, you … you desk jockey.