DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

found her and jumped her. Then he drove home and pretended he’d been in bed since eleven.”
    Frost sniffed and thought this over. “I doubt it, young Jordan, but far be it from me to dampen the enthusiasm of young coppers. Take Duggan back to the station - say it’s for a statement - and then get the clothes off him and send them over to Forensic for examination. And tell the police surgeon to give him a going over. I want to know if he’s had sex recently.”
    They walked back to the others. Frost tried to light a cigarette but the wind kept blowing out his matches, so he gave up in disgust. “I want you to go down the station with these officers to make a statement, Terry. We’ll get the doctor to have a look at those scratches while you’re there - they might turn septic’
    He waited until they were out of earshot, then he filled Webster in. Webster listened intently. “So Jordan reckons Terry raped her?”
    “That’s the suggestion, son,” said Frost, crouching to windward of a large oak and managing this time to light up. “It’s possible, but I’m not really sold on the idea. I can’t see Terry going to the trouble of stripping her off. I see him as a tights down, skirt up, unzip the old Levis and crash, bang, wallop sort of man. I could be wrong, though. He might be the romantic type and like to strangle and strip them first.” He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and frowned at it. The wind was making it burn unevenly down one side, charring the paper. It tasted terrible. “My money’s still on the old Denton rapist.”
    “Then hadn’t we better make a search of the area?”suggested Webster.
    “A search,” said Frost. “No thanks, son. It’s too bloody cold. We’ll let Forensic have a sniff round if they want to, but I’m for going back to the station and getting warm.”
    “If I were in charge of the case,” said Webster stiffly, “I wouldn’t hesitate to organize a search, just as Mr. Allen did last night.”
    “And a fat lot of good it did him,” Frost pointed out. “But if you feel like organizing one, be my guest, so long as you don’t expect me to take part.”
    Someone’s call and the wave of a torch let them know that the experts from Forensic had arrived. Two of them. A miserable man and a little fat jolly man. Frost took them to the clearing where the jolly little one surveyed the scene with delight.
    “Plenty of footprints here,” he said.
    “Yes,” replied Frost. “Two ambulance men, two policemen, my detective constable, a suspect, me, and the girl. If you find anything else, let me know.”

    Webster’s mood showed itself in his driving. He was furious at Frost’s refusal to arrange a search. Frost was always looking for shortcuts but there were cases that didn’t lend themselves to the inspector’s slipshod methods. This was one of them.
    “So how exactly do you intend to proceed?” he asked, savagely twisting the wheel as they turned into Market Square.
    “We’ll get Terry out of the way first, then we’ll think about it,” answered Frost. He looked up, startled, as the car bumped the kerb after too wide a turn. “Careful, son, you’re driving like I do.”
    The station lobby looked as tired as they did. “Susan Harvey is waiting for you in your office, Jack,” called Wells. Suddenly Webster felt a lot less tired.
    Susan was in Webster’s chair, hugging a mug of instant coffee. She had returned from the hospital, where she had managed to talk to seventeen-year-old Wendy Raynor.
    “Fractured jaw and a few bruises,” she told them. “And she’s in a state of severe shock. She’s been sexually assaulted. Before the assault she was a virgin.”
    Frost sat in his chair and began to swivel from side to side. “And who does she say raped her?”
    Susan put the mug down on the desk. “Terry Duggan. He tried it on in the car. She ran off, but he followed and raped her.”
    Webster’s eyes flashed. “The bastard!”
    “He looks lovely when he’s angry, doesn’t he, Sue?” murmured Frost. He thought for a while, tapping his cigarette on his thumb. “My money wasn’t on the boyfriend.”
    “Then you were wrong, weren’t you?” said Webster with an ill-concealed sneer.
    “I’m always wrong,” admitted Frost. He studied his cigarette, decided he had tapped it enough, and popped it in his mouth. “She’s positive it was Terry?”
    “She’s confused, but she swears it was him. I don’t think she actually saw him. He jumped,