DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

and send them off like that.”
    “But it will still take hours,” protested Webster wearily.
    “Not if we split it three ways,” said Frost. “You’ll help, won’t you, Sue?” And he dealt out three heaps of returns from the file as if dealing hands of cards.
    So they pulled up their chairs and filled in page after page of figures copied from the men’s claim forms, allocating them to various categories of crime. Frost did a lot of groaning and smoking and seemed to be tearing up more forms than he filled in. Time hobbled along. Webster was finding that the figures had a tendency to blur into indistinctness. He staggered out and made some instant coffee, which helped a little. Then he realized he had been staring at the same column of figures for five minutes. He reached for another claim form. There were none. He had finished. Within another couple of minutes Susan, too, had finished her stint.
    “Marvellous,” beamed Frost, dealing them out some more from his own pile. But in ten minutes the return, folded in its official envelope marked “Overtime Figures - Urgent,” was all ready for transmission to County for inclusion in the next batch of salary cheques.
    “We all deserve a pat on the back for that,” said Frost, looking at the envelope as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
    “Yes,” grunted Webster, slipping on his overcoat, all ready for the off before Frost remembered the crime statistics.
    Frost clicked his fingers. “Flaming hell, son . . . we forgot something!”
    “What’s that?” grunted the constable, taking Susan by the arm and steering her to the door.
    “The anonymous telephone caller who phoned about the girl in the woods last night. Dave Shelby said he knew who he was.”
    Freedom only half a turn of the door handle away, Webster said, “But Shelby’s dead.”
    “My memory’s not that flaming bad,” retorted the inspector. “Shelby said he’d seen the bloke. In which case he would have made an entry about it in his notebook.” He moved Webster’s hand, opened the door, and yelled, “Sergeant Wells!”
    Wells approached and gave a mocking bow. “You rang, my lord?”
    “Don’t ponce about when addressed by a senior officer,” rebuked Frost sternly. “Where’s Dave Shelby’s notebook?”
    “I thought you knew,” said Wells. “It’s missing.”
    Thank God for that, thought Webster. Now we can all go home.
    Frost frowned. “Missing?”
    “It wasn’t on the body, Jack, and it wasn’t in the car. Mr. Allen’s made a search, but no trace of it. He reckons it might have fallen from Shelby’s pocket when he was in the getaway car.”
    “So what news on the getaway car? Someone should have spotted the Vauxhall by now.”
    “Stan Eustace was always good at finding places to dump his stolen motors, Jack.”
    “About the only thing he is good at.” He took the brown envelope from his desk and handed it to Wells. “I’m off home. Here’s your lousy overtime returns. Stick them in the post bag.”
    Wells looked at the envelope, his eyebrows arched. “It’s gone three o’clock in the morning, Jack. The County collection was ages ago. If this doesn’t reach them first thing today it’ll miss the salary cheques and we’ll have a bloody mutiny on our hands.”
    Frost waved an airy hand. “Don’t get excited. Webster can drop them in the County letter box.”
    Webster’s beard bristled. “I can do what? It’s an hour’s drive each way.”
    Another airy wave from Frost. “Fifty minutes at the outside - a lot less if you’re not too fussy about obeying traffic lights. Use my car. You can take Sue with you and drop her off on the way back.”

    As he crawled into the car, Webster realized that he wasn't going to be able to do it. He was too tired. He’d fall asleep at the wheel. Susan got out and moved around to the driving seat. “Slide over,” she said. “I’ll drive. You’d better spend what’s left of the night at my place - you’re in no fit state to drive back.”
    Webster did a mental inventory of Susan’s tiny flat - no sofa and only one bed. He felt his tiredness slipping away but didn’t make it obvious. He stuffed the envelope into the dash compartment. “I didn’t bring my pyjamas,” he said.
    “And I haven’t got a nightdress,” murmured Sue, turning the ignition. Webster leaned back in his seat and purred. The night wasn’t going to be a total disaster after all.
    On the way back from County Headquarters he could fight