DI Jack Frost 01 - Frost At Christmas

alternatives.
    A heart-thudding pause while the superintendent seemed to be rehearsing what he was going to say, then he produced a packet of untipped Senior Service from his pocket. "Cigarette . . . er . . . Jack?"
    Frost felt the ominous tell-tale prickling at the back of his neck. The cigarette was offered in the way a prison governor would behave when he had to break the news to the condemned man - "The-news-on-your-reprieve-is-not-all-that-good-I'm-afraid" sort of thing.
    Frost took the cigarette and waited for the blade of the guillotine to come crashing down.
    "This murder case . . . er . . . Jack. I think we should call in the Yard."
    "Sod that," snapped Frost, choking with indignation. "We do the work and the Yard gets the credit - no thanks!" He puffed savagely and stared at the far wall.
    "Right," said Mullett, giving in surprisingly quickly, "I shall tell the Chief Constable you are violently opposed to that course. But, can you cope - I mean, with the missing girl as well?"
    "Providing I can call on extra men, if necessary."
    "You have but to ask, Joe . . . er, Jack. Good, that's settled. It'll only be for a couple of days."
    Frost's head jerked up. "A couple of days?" he said warily.
    "Er . . . yes. Inspector Allen should be fit by then and he'll take the cases over from you."
    You crafty sod! thought Frost, so that's what the "Jack" stuff and the free fag was about! Mullett didn't want the Yard in either, he wanted Denton Division to get all the glory, but had managed to slant it; should things go wrong, then Frost would get the blame for insisting the Yard be kept out. But if it all went right, Allen and Mullett would cop all the praise. At least he had the decency not to meet Frost's gaze.
    Frost took Mullett's gift cigarette from his mouth, coughed, and regarded it suspiciously. "Are these cheaper than Weights, sir?" he asked innocently, but Mullett was already on his way back to his paneled snuggery.
    Clive returned to the kitchen after showing the superintendent out. The man had what Frost lacked, dignity and authority.
    "What now, sir?"
    "Ask Control to send some men down to question the neighbors in case they heard something last night. There's a slim chance nothing good was on the telly." Then he stopped dead in his tracks and clouted his forehead with his palm. "Excreta!"
    "What's up, sir?"
    "Did you spot my deliberate mistake, son? The bloody body! I never had it identified. It could be any Tom, Dick, or Harry tarted up in gray pyjamas. We'd look bloody fools if it wasn't Garwood, wouldn't we? Never mind, we'll get Hudson the bank manager to do it. We'll break the sad news about his staff vacancy then slyly slip into the conversation that we want him to identify the corpse in the morgue."

    At first Hudson couldn't take it in. He stared at Frost as if the inspector had said something disgusting, then he collapsed in his chair and pulled off his glasses.
    "Dead? Rupert Garwood, dead?"
    "I'm afraid so, sir."
    Hudson blew his nose loudly, then dabbed the corner of his eyes. "Garwood was very good to me. His help, when I took over this branch, was unstinting and he must have hoped he would have got the managership himself." He blew his nose again.
    Good job I didn't tell him about the dog, thought Frost, he'd have cried his bloody eyes out. He put forward Clive's theory that an intruder was after keys to the vaults, but Hudson's headshake emphatically nailed the possibility.
    "Garwood didn't have the keys, Inspector. Two sets are required to open our vaults. I hold one and the other is held by senior staff on a rota basis. Mr. Garwood won't have the keys for another--" the lip quivered, "--he won't ever have them again."
    "So that's your theory booted up the arse, I'm afraid, son," murmured Frost. Clive tightened his lips. Was it necessary to be so childishly crude?
    Hudson pulled himself together. "Those files you wanted, Inspector. Our head office is sending them by Red Star passenger train and we'll be picking them up from the station at 2:30."
    "That's what I call real co-operation, Mr. Hudson. It's much appreciated."
    A brave smile. "If there's anything more I can do to help . . . anything . . ."
    Smack into the trap, thought Frost. "As a matter of fact, sir, there is . . ."
    "Oh," said Hudson, his face all eagerness to assist.
    "Just a formality, sir, won't take long. We'd like you to identify the body."
    The color drained from Hudson's dismayed face and he shrank visibly. "Oh . . . Is this