DI Jack Frost 01 - Frost At Christmas

lodgings . . . The odds are he'd have blown it on bottles of cheap wine and drunk himself to death a few seconds before the cold got him. So you haven't really got his death on your conscience . . . only the fact that he died knowing a copper had stolen his money, and when he came to us to complain, we insulted him and sent him off with a flea in his ear. I hope you feel as rotten about it as I do."
    Stringer raised his head from his hands. "What are you going to do, sir?"
    Frost pinched out the butt and flicked it into his wastepaper basket. "That depends on you, son. You'd better tell me about it."
    The phone on his desk rang. He picked it up, said "Later", and dropped it back on the rest. The young man was staring at the floor, lips quivering, but no words came.
    "I'll give you a start to help you, son. Now I'm a rotten driver. When I drive, my eyes are anywhere but on the road. I see lots of things that don't make sense at the time, but I file them away in my mind for future reference. More than once I've seen you coming out of Sammy Jacobs' Betting Shop. Not that there's anything wrong with the odd bet, of course, providing you know when to stop - and providing you visit the shop during business hours. But I've seen you coming out when the shop has been closed."
    "I owe him nearly four hundred quid," said Stringer, his eyes still fixed on the floor.
    Frost whistled silently. "Four hundred quid! It's .going to take a hell of a time repaying that with the odd pennies from my drawer and the occasional quid from a drunken tramp."
    "I'm paying him back twenty pounds a week, sir. I have to give my mother money for my keep, then there's the hire purchase on my car. I'm only left with a couple of quid in my pocket."
    "I see. So any extra little pickings would be a Godsend. Pity you didn't come and tell me, son. I've got more than enough on Sammy Jacobs. But that's not all, is it?"
    "No." Stringer spoke to the ground. "He says a score a week isn't enough. He wants the lot repaid, otherwise he's going to the Divisional Commander. I haven't got that sort of money."
    Frost sniffed. "I suppose Sammy suggested a way out?"
    "Yes, sir. He wanted some information. If I get it to him, he'd let me off the debt."
    Frost felt the corner of the desk boring its way into his buttock. He stood up and rubbed himself. "What information?"
    "He wanted to know when we were going to pull the beat constable off his normal foot patrol to keep watch at Bennington's Bank. As you know, he's being pulled off tonight."
    "And you told him?"
    "Yes, sir."
    Frost clapped his hands together with delight, then dialed Detective Sergeant Hanlon on his internal phone. "Hello, Arthur - Jack Frost. Sad news. You're going to have to forgo your nightly connubials. I've had a tip-off-something big. This Bennington's Bank business, it's just a decoy to draw our chap from his usual beat so someone can pull off a job undisturbed. I've no details, so we'll have to play it clever. We pretend we don't know. The constable stays watching the bank, but you and a couple of your best men are lurking in the vicinity of where the beat copper usually is between, say, two and three in the morning . . . If I knew the exact address I'd have given it to you, Arthur - even I am not that bleeding dim. No--with the search for the kid we can't spare any more men. We keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best. I'll be in touch." He swung the phone by the cord and flicked it back into the cradle.
    Stringer was now sitting up straight. He seemed to have pulled himself together. "What happens now, sir?"
    Frost twitched his shoulders. "That's entirely up to you, son. I've got enough on my plate with missing kids, ransom demands, and talking spirits. I'll just say this. You've been a bloody fool and you've been found out by a dim old fool like me, so you haven't been very clever, have you? If you want to keep out of trouble never put yourself in a position where crooks like Sammy Jacobs can blackmail you. Do you want to stay in the Force?"
    "Yes, sir."
    "Then buzz off and behave yourself from now on. And from time to time you might repay the odd copper you've pinched from me. My top drawer's always available - all contributions gratefully received.''
    The phone gave an urgent ring. It was the station sergeant.
    "Frost. Oh - thanks. I'm coming now. What? Oh, just a private matter, nothing that concerns anyone but him and me. I'll tell him."
    He dropped the phone back and looked at the