DI Jack Frost 01 - Frost At Christmas

one hundred per cent, Super - all the way - they're the salt of the earth," murmured Frost, blandly. Mullett was convinced Frost was being sarcastic, but before he could think of a suitable rebuke, bearing in mind that there were others present, Control buzzed through on the internal phone. Charlie Alpha two was reporting in.
    Frost signaled for Clive to switch on the monitor speaker.
    "Hello, Control. Charlie Alpha two. We're at the phone box at the junction of Beehive Lane and Eastern Highway. We've had a good look round. No one in the vicinity."
    Frost spoke over the internal phone to the controller and asked if there was any way Charlie Alpha could keep the phone box under observation without being seen. Control relayed the message and the reply came over the monitor speaker.
    "Yes - there are some trees a little way up the road. We can tuck the car behind them. It's some distance from the phone box, but we'll have a clear view."
    "Right, they can wait there until he comes back," ordered Frost.
    "Bloody heck!" acknowledged the voice over the speaker before Control cut it off.
    Frost stripped the cellophane from his second packet of twenty that day and offered them around. "We can't do much until he phones again."
    Martin shook his head gloomily. "The odds are he'll use another phone box."
    Frost tapped his cheek and expelled a salvo of smoke-rings. "You don't have to be so bloody pessimistic, George, just because I'm in charge. Count your blessings. We've had a lovely spate of phone-box vandalism recently over sixteen cases in the last couple of days. He'll have a job finding another box that works, so, as long as Charlie Alpha doesn't do anything daft like leaving its blue light flashing, we might nab him yet." Then remembering, he turned to Mullett. "Sorry, Super - I'm neglecting you."
    Mullett flashed perfect teeth. "That's all right, Inspector, only I'm expecting the Chief Constable to ring and I rather wanted to know how you got on with this Wendle woman."
    "Oh - it was quite interesting, actually. We had a stance. According to her spiritual snouts, the kid's buried in Dead Man's Hollow."
    "Dead Man's Hollow?" breathed Mullett in eye-blazing excitement. "Did you take a look?"
    "Well, we looked at the four feet of snow covering it and it looked pretty much like the snow covering everywhere else."
    "Organize a digging party," called Mullett over his shoulder as he made for the door. "I'll phone the Chief Constable right away."
    As the door clicked shut, Frost exploded. "A bloody digging party! As if we didn't have enough to do. I'm throwing a little digging party, just a few friends - do come. Informal dress, just boots and shovels."
    "Shall I put it in hand?" asked Martin.
    "No, I'll see to it, George." He tugged his steaming scarf from the radiator. "Done to a turn!" Then he called across to Clive. "Important job for you, son. Nip up to the canteen and bring a couple of cups of tea to the office. I'll be along as soon as I've seen the station sergeant." He clattered out and along the corridor.
    "How much longer has the stupid bugger got to go?" asked Clive.
    The room went silent.
    "What did you say, Constable?" the detective sergeant's eyes were cold.
    "He wouldn't last five minutes in London."
    "I can understand how you got your nose broken, Barnard. Go and fetch his bloody tea and see if you can do that without bitching."

    The station sergeant could only spare two men to help with the digging until he learned that Mullett and the Chief Constable were taking a great interest in the outcome, then he managed to rake up two more and the four "volunteers" were sent to wrap up warm and collect their shovels from the stores.
    Frost returned to his office to see if anyone had taken pity on him and had removed some of his paperwork, but another pile had been added, held down by a cup of tea. He took the cup of tea and two personal letters with local postmarks and leaned against the radiator where the hot pipes baked steam from his sodden trouser legs. He raised the cup to his lips, then shuddered. The tea was stone cold.
    A fumbling at the door handle, then two steaming cups poked through followed by Clive Barnard who kicked the door shut behind him.
    "Sorry I've been so long, sir. I had to wait for the digging party to be served first."
    Frost returned to his desk and accepted the hot tea gratefully. "Thought you'd already been, son." He stirred up the thick mud of sugar at the bottom of the cup, then he suddenly