DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

frog-marches me to a dirty old van, and when I try to protest, he yells at me to shut up.”
    “He’s a courtesy cop,” explained Frost, letting the smoke trickle slowly from his lungs. “Who dropped it?”
    “I don’t know. He bashed into me - nearly knocked me over.”
    “Start from the beginning,” said Frost.
    “Might I have a cigarette?”
    Frost puffed across a steam of smoke so Desmond could savour its quality second-hand. “These are really too good for you, Desmond, but tell me about tonight, and if you don’t leave anything out, you might get one.”
    “Well,” said Desmond, clasping his hands together,
    “I was out on my little nocturnal expedition, looking for courting couples, when I noticed this great big car parked very suspiciously. It was bouncing up and down on its springs and the most peculiar noises were coming from inside. I tiptoed over and peeped through the back window, and what do you think I saw?”
    “A disgustingly naked lady underneath a plump little man in red socks?” offered Frost.
    Desmond’s eyebrows soared in admiration. “Who’s a clever boy then? Anyway, while I was peeping, the man looks up from his endeavours and shakes his fist at me.”
    “You sure it was his fist he shook?” murmured Frost.
    “Anyway, I beat a hasty retreat. Good job I did, because a short while later there’s crashing and yelling and police whistles. I thought they might be after me, so I took one of my little shortcuts. Then this man suddenly looms up out of nowhere, carrying something bundled under his arm. He barges into me and sends me flying. When I pick myself up, there’s no sign of him, but the mac is lying on the ground. I picked it up, intending to hand it in at the police station . . .”
    “I bet you were,” scoffed Frost.
    “When,” continued Desmond, ‘this oaf of a policeman hurls himself at me. That is every word the gospel truth.”
    Frost chucked him a Three Castles and lit it for him, then prodded the mac. “Nothing in the pockets, I suppose?” he asked Burton.
    Burton looked embarrassed. “I don’t know, sir. I didn’t look.”
    “Well, look now,” said Frost.
    Picking up the mac, Burton went through the pockets. The left-hand pocket was empty, but in the other, something he first thought was the bottom of a pocket turned out to be a crumpled plastic bag. He pulled it out and, as he did so, he felt something else. Something the bag had wedged tight in the depths. A key. An old, worn Yale-type key. Not an original, but a copy, with no identification number.
    Collier was sent for some fingerprint powder just in case the rapist had forgotten to wipe it clean. He hadn’t!
    The screwed-up plastic bag was straightened out. Two holes had been cut from it. The inspector pulled it over Collier’s head. The holes matched his eyes. They had found the “Hooded Terror’s’ famous mask. Originally a waste-bin liner, it didn’t look at all impressive.
    Frost turned his attention to the key. He placed it in the centre of the table and stared at it.
    “It could be the key to the rapist’s house,” suggested Collier.
    “Yes,” agreed Frost. “All we’ve got to do is try it in every front door in the county. If it fits, we’ve got him.”
    “Rather like Cinderella’s slipper,” said Desmond.
    “Trust you to think of fairy stories,” said Frost, dropping the key into his pocket. “I’ll try it in Mullett’s front door tomorrow. You never know your luck.” He rose from the chair, all the tiredness and depression coming back.
    “Can I go now?” asked Thorley.
    “Take his statement, then chuck him out,” said Frost. “And get that mac over to Forensic’
    He left the interview room and drooped across the lobby, shoulders down, his scarf dragging behind him.
    “You all right, Jack?” asked Wells. “You don’t look too good.”
    “Just tired,” Frost told him. “I need some kip.”
    “Don’t forget you’ve got to see Mr. Mullett at nine o’clock sharp.”
    “I won’t,” said Frost, stepping out into the cold, dark, friendless night.

Friday day shift

    He took the key from the black plastic mac and tried it in the lock. It slid in easily. He turned it. The lock clicked and the door swung open on to a long, narrow passage. At the end of the passage was a woman, young, stark naked, her arms wide open, warm, welcoming. He ran to her, but there was Mullett barring his path. An angry, snarling Mullett.
    Frost woke with a jolt and opened his