DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

to see if her toothbrush and stuff have gone?’ he asked. ‘No girl would run away without her toothbrush.’
    ‘Good idea,’ said Frost, ‘I’m dying for a pee.’
    The first door they tried led to the Dawsons’ bedroom, a vast room with a canopied bed, the walls covered in some kind of padded velvet. The next door opened on to the bathroom, fully tiled in red Italian marble. It contained a large circular sunken bath that could have doubled as a swimming pool. The bath had taps made of gold, as did the matching sink basin. A red carpet matched the tiles, and all the towels matched the carpet.
    Frost surveyed the bath in awe. ‘If I had a bath like that, son, I’d definitely have to get out if I wanted a pee.’
    The bathroom cabinet was concealed behind a mirror over the sink. Webster opened it and was searching through its contents when the door burst open and Dawson charged in.
    He reacted angrily when he saw what Webster was doing.
    ‘Who gave you permission to go through our private possessions?’
    ‘We’re checking to see if your daughter’s toothbrush is still here, sir,’ said Webster patiently. He had found two tooth brushes in a beaker, one red, the other green. He showed them to Dawson. ‘Do either of these belong to Karen? It is important, sir.’
    ‘Karen’s brush is orange.’ He pushed Webster out of the way and rummaged impatiently through the cabinet. ‘It should be here somewhere.’ He yelled for his wife to come up. ‘Karen’s toothbrush - ’ he snapped as she entered the bathroom, ‘where is it?’ He moved so she could get to the cabinet.
    Standing on tiptoe, she peered inside, moving things out of the way. ‘It should be here,’ she said.
    ‘I didn’t ask where it should be,’ Dawson told her sarcastically, ‘I asked where it was. Apparently, it’s important.’
    ‘It isn’t here,’ Clare said eventually. ‘None of Karen’s stuff is here - her toilet bag, flannel, toothpaste . . .’
    Webster leaned against the wall and folded his arms. Annoyingly, it looked as if Frost’s theory was correct. The girl had run away.
    ‘If Karen took her toilet things with her,’ Frost told the parents, ‘it does rather suggest she went of her own free will.’
    Dawson’s face reddened to match the Italian tiles. ‘Are you suggesting Karen has run away from home? You’re an idiot, man. A bloody idiot. You don’t know my daughter. She loved her home. She wouldn’t do such a thing.’
    ‘Lots of teenagers do it, Mr Dawson,’ said Webster. ‘Not necessarily because of anything to do with home. There could be trouble at school . . . or an upset with a boy friend.’
    Dawson regarded the detective constable as if he were an imbecile. ‘A boyfriend? My Karen? She’s only fifteen, for God’s sake, a mere child! And what about that man Debbie saw? ‘What is he supposed to be, a mirage . . . a teenage sex fantasy?’
    ‘I’m not convinced she saw anyone, sir,’ Frost said. ‘She had doubts herself.’ He buttoned up his mac to show he was ready to leave.
    ‘So you intend doing nothing?’
    ‘Not a lot we can do,’ said Frost. ‘We’ll issue her description, circulate her photograph, ask everyone to keep an eye open for her. I don’t think she’ll be away for long.’
    They heard a phone ringing. Dawson snapped his fingers for his wife to answer, but when Frost suggested the caller might be Karen, he dashed out to answer it himself.
    Frost sat down on the toilet seat and lit up his thirty-eighth cigarette of the day. He gave the woman a friendly smile. ‘Anything you want to tell us while your husband isn’t here, Mrs Dawson?’
    Her face went white, then she pretended to be puzzled. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
    Frost shrugged. ‘Then it’s my mistake, Mrs Dawson.’ He stood up as her husband returned. ‘It’s for you, Inspector - Denton Police Station. You can use the phone in Karen’s room.’
    The caller was Bill Wells. To Frost’s delight, he could hear the noise of the party in the background. There was still a chance he would make it.
    ‘Hello Jack,’ Wells intoned in his usual gloomy voice, ‘Can you talk freely?’
    ‘Yes,’ confirmed Frost.
    'What’s the score with Karen Dawson?’
    ‘Zero. Her old man thinks she’s been kidnapped, but my bet is she’s done a bunk.’
    ‘Don’t be too sure she’s all right, Jack. We might have found her.’
    Frost caught his breath. Suddenly he felt cold and apprehensive. Might?