DI Jack Frost 01 - Frost At Christmas

jobs.
    The wind hurled handfuls of snow at them as they trudged back to the car, where Hazel was waiting. There had been calls galore for the inspector, she reported. Would he report back?
    "Control here, Inspector. Can you return to the station at once, please? The Divisional Commander wishes to see you urgently."
    Frost groaned. Gawd, he thought, what have I done wrong now?

    Mullett was boiling with rage. He couldn't wait for Frost to close the door behind him before he started.
    "I found this on your desk, Inspector," and he held up the envelope containing the crime statistics. Frost looked at it with horror, then dropped wearily into a chair and swore to himself as vehemently as Mullett was shouting at him. The bloody crime statistics! In the ecstacy of getting the sodding things completed last night, he'd completely forgotten to post them off . . . nosey bastard had to find them on his desk . . .
    Mullett was beside himself. He, the Divisional Commander, had made a promise to County, had instructed Frost that the statistics must go off, and now.he had to bear the odious, stinging humiliation of being shown incapable of getting his own men to carry out a specific order.
    Frost half closed his eyes and let the scalding tirade wash over him. Didn't the bloody tailor's dummy have better things to do than poke his ugly nose in other people's desks? And if he was so bloody clever, how come he didn't know who had smashed the rear of his car?
    A timid tap at the door halted the lashing tongue in mid invective, and Miss Smith looked in to wish the commander goodnight. No need to look at the clock - the hands would be quivering at 6:10 exactly. Mullett snatched up the envelope and handed it to her. "As Inspector Frost is incapable of obeying the simplest order, perhaps you would kindly drop this in the County postbag on your way out." Frost blew her a kiss behind the commander's back and she scuttled out with a brick-red face.
    Mullett returned to the attack. "I also happened to notice, Inspector, that the file for the electronics theft case was still on your desk. As far as I can see, you've made no progress on it."
    You had a bloody good look round, thought Frost. Aloud he said, "I'll get around to it when I find time, Super."
    "Make time, Inspector, it's urgent. Now what happened at Dead Man's Hollow? I promised to ring the Chief Constable." His face darkened with annoyance as he was told about the skeleton. "We could have done without this," he snapped, as if it was all Frost's fault.
    "If you like I could stick it back again and we can dig it up when things get slack," said Frost, adding, "do you want me any more?" He pre-empted Mullett's reply by pushing up out of his chair.
    "Anything further from the kidnapper?"
    "I haven't looked in on Search Control yet. I came straight here when I got your message - at the time I thought it was urgent."
    And he was gone before Mullett could think of a suitable rebuke.
    All was peace, calm, and orderliness in Search Control. The odd telephone rang apologetically and a few routine messages purred from the loudspeaker. Frost wandered over to George Martin who was rearranging schedules for the following day in case the weather worsened.
    "All quiet, Jack. We had a couple of teams searching the uncompleted section of the new Burghley Estate, but they found nothing."
    "Then they had more luck than I had," said Frost. "What about the phone tap?"
    "Dead quiet."
    "Are we still watching that phone box?"
    "Yes."
    "Heard about my bloody skeleton?"
    Martin laughed. He had heard. Then he turned his head away as if he was embarrassed about something. "Have you had a word with Johnnie Johnson?"
    "No, why?"
    "He - er - wanted to see you."
    And Frost knew there was more trouble.
    He was queuing for tea in the canteen when he spotted the handlebar mustache at a table in the far corner. He took his cup and ambled over.
    "Hello, Johnnie."
    "Hello, Jack - sit down." Yes, definitely trouble. The sergeant wasn't meeting his eye. Johnnie stirred his tea deliberately, then, "What was that business this afternoon with young Stringer?"
    "Oh . . . a private chat, Johnnie, nothing that would interest you. Is that what you wanted to talk about?"
    "No, Jack." He pushed his tea to one side. "Did the C.I.D. overtime return go off to County last night?" Frost froze, the cup an inch from his lips. "Oh God!" "For Heaven's sake, Jack, it's the second month running. I phoned County this evening to check. It hadn't