Free A Killing Frost by R. D. Wingfield Page B

me when you get the chance - I’m busting - and do one for yourself.’
       Hanlon grinned and hurried off to his car. As Frost slid into the driving seat of his own car, the flaming mobile rang yet again. It felt hot as he pressed it to his ear. It was an angry sounding DCI Skinner.
       ‘What’s this about the Incident Room being prepared?’ he barked.
       Frost told him about the discovery of the bike. ‘Then who gave you permission to turn it into a murder inquiry?’ hissed Skinner. ‘In future you make no decisions without checking with me first and obtaining my express permission. From now on, I do the murder cases. You’re off this one. I’m taking over. Comprende?
       ‘ Jawohl, mein herr, ’ said Frost, giving a Nazi salute as he clicked off the phone. One less case for him to sod up. He was thinking about the luxury of doing a wee and having something to eat when the flaming mobile rang again.
       ‘Billy King!’ said Wells as soon as Frost answered.
       ‘Billy King?’ echoed Frost, frowning. The name rang a distant bell. His brain riffled through its data bank and came up with scraps information. ‘Tubby little sod. Didn’t I nick him years ago? House-breaking, petty larceny . . .’
       ‘That’s him,’ said Wells.
       ‘Then what about him?’
       ‘You asked me to check with the building society about that account number. It belongs to Billy King.’
       ‘Bloody hell!’ exclaimed Frost happily. ‘We don’t often get luck like this. He’s used his own flaming card. The man’s a prat. I’ll put my wee on hold and pay him a visit right now.’
       ‘Before you do, Jack, DCI Skinner wants you to go round to the Clarks’ and break the news that we’ve found Debbie’s bike. He hasn’t got time to do it now.’
       ‘As long as he said “please”,’ said Frost sweetly, before ending the call and hurling obscenities into the air.

    Clark glowered at him. ‘What the hell do you want, Frost? I was told you were off this case.’
       ‘I’m no longer in charge,’ explained Frost, ‘but Detective Chief Inspector Skinner asked me to call with the latest developments.’
       ‘And they are?’
       ‘I think I’d better come in,’ said Frost.
       He followed Clark into the lounge, where Mrs Clark sat huddled in an armchair. She looked up in alarm as Frost entered. ‘It’s bad news, isn’t it?’
       ‘I don’t know,’ replied Frost. ‘It could mean nothing. I just don’t know. We’ve found Debbie’s bike.’ He gave them the details.
       ‘Why was her bike thrown in the lake?’ shrieked Mrs Clark. ‘Something’s happened to her. I just know it.’
       So do I , thought Frost, but he kept his face impassive. ‘There could be all sorts of reasons, Mrs Clark. She could have left the bike somewhere, someone stole it, rode off, then dumped it in the lake. That sort of thing often happens.’
       ‘She could be drowned in that lake.’
       ‘That’s the only thing we’re positive about at the moment. We’ve had the frogmen out. She isn’t in the lake, that I promise yow’
       ‘Then where the bloody hell is she?’ demanded Clark.
       ‘She could be holed up with the boy somewhere, too frightened to come home.’
       ‘If she is, I’ll wring that lad’s neck,’ snarled Clark.
       Mrs Clark had buried her head in her hands and was sobbing convulsively. ‘She’s dead. I just know it. My little Debbie . . . she’s dead.’
       ‘We’ll find her,’ said Frost, hoping he sounded convincing. ‘Try not to worry. We’ll find her.’
       Clark showed him out. ‘You’d better bloody find her,’ he snarled. ‘And if your procrastination has caused my daughter any harm, you’ll wish you’d never been born.’
       Thank God that’s over, thought Frost as he climbed into his car. If we do find her body, I hope bloody Skinner is the one to break the news. So now for Billy King.

    Billy King’s house