DI Jack Frost 01 - Frost At Christmas

incredibly young, almost a child. She didn't look much older than Audrey Harding.

TUESDAY (2)

    Clive slammed the brakes on hard and spun the wheel to control the skid as a little red Mini shot out of a side-turning smack in the path of the inspector's Morris, then did a sharp right turn to disappear into the swirling curtain of snow ahead.
    "Bloody woman driver," he croaked, gripping the wheel hard to stop his hands shaking.
    Frost smirked. "And I thought she could do no wrong in your eyes. Didn't you recognize her, son? Your girlfriend, Mrs. Uphill. I wonder why she's in such a hurry? Some poor devil needs her services urgently, I suppose."
    On to the Market Square where decorated shop windows appealed in vain to stay-at-home shoppers. Frost remembered he wanted to cash a check and asked Clive to stop at Bennington's Bank. Clive eased the car to the curb, and found he was parked alongside an empty red Mini. Frost dashed across the pavement to the bank where the fat detective sergeant from the previous morning was again examining the splintered door. He spun round rapidly at Frost's approach and guarded his rear with his hand. "I had enough of you yesterday, Jack," he protested.
    "You know you like it, Arthur," replied Frost. "What's this then - another attempted break-in?"
    The fat detective gave his head a puzzled scratch.
    "Looks like it. Two nights running now and roughly at the same time. I think I'll get the duty chap to rearrange his beat so he's waiting for him."
    "Good idea, Arthur - you don't have to be thin to have brains, do you? . . ." Frost's voice trailed off. He was looking over Hanlon's shoulder into the bank where Mrs. Uphill was having a wad of notes counted out to her by the cashier. Excusing himself, he slid inside, pressed himself into a corner and pretended to study the astronomical figures, with infinite noughts, contained in the bank's Annual Balance Sheet, framed on the wall. The click of heel across the tiled floor was Mrs. Uphill leaving. He sped over to the cashier and flashed his warrant card. The cashier looked to left and to right, then leaned across and spoke in a low voice. Frost nodded his thanks.
    Back to the car where Clive was fighting with sleep.
    "The station, son."
    Clive reversed and the car bounced over the cobbles.
    "What do you think, son," said Frost. "Your girlfriend has just drawn out two thousand quid in fivers."
    "Two thousand?" Clive whistled softly. "What do you think, sir? Blackmail?"
    Frost gave him an old-fashioned look. "At the risk of soiling your lady's good name, she's more likely to be the one doing the blackmailing. No, son, I don't think so. But what about ransom money?"

    The station sergeant's internal phone buzzed. He raised his eyes to the ceiling. He knew who it was. Mullett had buzzed five minutes earlier and five minutes before that.
    "Wells. No, sir, I'm afraid Inspector Frost still hasn't arrived."
    Mullett droned and crackled in the earpiece. The sergeant held the phone away from his ear until the sound had finished. "Yes, sir, of course, sir, the minute he arrives." He'd heard it all before. But where the hell had Frost got to?
    P.C. Stringer, looking out of the window to the snow-covered car park, reported the prodigal's return.
    "Inspector Frost's car pulling into the car park, Sarge."
    Wells swiveled his chair to confirm this sighting and saw the car door open and a single figure, scarf streaming behind him, streak over to the rear entrance of the station. Then the car backed up, turned, and drove off.
    "After him - don't let him escape," roared the sergeant, and Stringer darted up the corridor to head off the inspector. He returned with Frost at his heels, the pride of capture on his face.
    "What's all the fuss about?" asked Frost, taking off his coat and shaking snow all over the newly swept floor,
    "The briefing meeting," said the sergeant in a voice charged with significance.
    Frost sagged and his eyes widened in horror. "Blimey! Oh Gawd, I forgot it again."
    "You were supposed to be running it - in Inspector Allen's absence," said Wells.
    "Yes, I know," sighed Frost. He got out his cigarette packet. "Mr. Mullet reminded me last night. I suppose he's upset."
    "Upset," cried Wells, "he's spitting blood. It was a shambles. And to make matters worse, the Chief Constable turned up."
    "Oh Gawd!" said Frost again.
    The internal phone buzzed and Frost backed away as if it were a bomb. Stringer picked it up, listened, and then handed it to