Free First Frost by Henry James Page B

if to go. ‘But the situation was critical – a woman was dying on the kitchen floor. Our priority was to save her life.’
    ‘Which is why you smashed your way through the back door,’ sighed Mullett.
    ‘There was no other way, sir.’
    ‘No, there never is.’ Mullett suddenly felt weary. ‘Before you go, Frost, could you please explain why you’re not properly dressed today?’ Mullett thought he looked like a New York hoodlum. ‘I wasn’t aware of any undercover operations this morning.’
    ‘Still in the planning, sir.’
    ‘What do you mean, “still in the planning”?’
    ‘Thought I’d check out Steve Hudson’s second-hand sports-car place. I was going to pose as a customer.’
    ‘And you couldn’t do that in a suit?’
    ‘This garb seemed more in keeping. Didn’t want them to have any idea I was a copper.’
    ‘Don’t think they would have,’ Mullett said drily. ‘Well, try not to bother anyone too respectable.’
    As Frost was disappearing from the room, Mullett suddenly called after him, ‘By the way, you haven’t heard anything from your chum Williams, have you? I gather he still hasn’t reported in for duty.’
    But Frost either hadn’t heard Mullett, or chose not to stop and answer.
    Bright and early Monday morning and the gloom had already poured in. What a mountain to climb to get this place in order . Mullett stifled a yawn, knowing it would be pointless issuing Williams with a written warning. He was retiring in just a matter of weeks, and frankly his presence usually only confused operations. It was probably better that he was out of the way. Not that that was the point.
    Mullett stood up, cracked his knuckles. ‘I wonder whether he realizes his pension could be at stake,’ he said aloud to himself.
    Frost ambled out to reception. Must get over to Bert’s, he thought, but he needed something to eat first.
    ‘All right, Bill, when does this trolley service kick into action? I’m starving.’ He glanced at the desk, but there was no one in sight. ‘Hello, hello?’ he shouted. ‘Jesus!’
    Ghost-like PC Pooley had popped up from behind the counter, his stare as vacant as ever.
    ‘What’s this, the Hammer House of Horrors?’
    Pooley said nothing, but grinned crookedly.
    ‘Where’s Bill?’ Frost asked, patting his tight jeans pockets for his fags, to no avail. He must have left them in his office.
    ‘Sick,’ said Pooley.
    ‘I wasn’t asking about you,’ Frost replied. ‘Where’s the Old Bill?’
    ‘Very funny, Mr Frost. Like I said, he’s off sick.’
    ‘Nothing catching, I hope.’ Frost’s attention was drawn to two men barging through the main door and depositing large metal tins underneath the notice board.
    ‘Mr Mullett’s paint,’ Pooley explained. ‘Gallons of the stuff.’
    ‘Oh yes, the new decor. What’s he gone for? Battleship grey?’
    ‘Magnolia, I believe.’
    ‘Magnolia? Bleeding hell.’
    ‘Apparently it wasn’t him that chose it,’ Pooley said mournfully. ‘It was his secretary, Miss Smith. She picked the new chairs as well. Thinks she’s some kind of interior designer.’
    ‘I’ve heard enough already,’ said Frost, turning and making his way back into the interior of the building, and to his and Hanlon’s office to fetch his coat.
    Hanlon was at his desk, reading the Mirror . More stories about paedophiles.
    Frost glanced towards the door to Bert Williams’s office, which was not really much more than a cubicle in the corner of CID. He was half wondering whether he should have a quick rustle around the inspector’s desk, see if Bert had left any indication as to where he might be. But knowing the mess in there Frost wasn’t sure there was any point. Besides, there was a quicker and easier option he hadn’t yet explored.
    ‘I’m off,’ Frost declared, grabbing his mac. ‘Before I get refurbished.’
    ‘Hey, wait a minute, Jack,’ Hanlon said, shutting the newspaper and looking up. ‘You can’t just—’
    ‘I’m