DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

effects of the previous night’s party. Empty glasses and overflowing ashtrays were everywhere - on chairs, on window ledges, and dotted around the floor. In one corner a waste-paper bin had been knocked over, spilling its contents - screwed-up crisp packets, half-eaten sandwiches, and assorted rubbish - into a sticky, spreading puddle of lager.
    There were a dozen or so police officers present, both uniform and plain clothed some looking decidedly fragile.Most were sipping coffee from plastic cups, and the subdued burble of conversation was mainly about hangovers, upset stomachs, and the party.
    Detective Inspector Allen stood outside in the corridor watching the second hand of his watch inching its way toward zero hour. Punctuality was his keyword, and he would not enter the briefing room until 9 o’clock on the dot. Thirty seconds to go. He was annoyed to note that Frost hadn’t shown up yet, although that bearded ex-inspector was there, sitting by himself in the corner and trying to look superior to everyone else.
    Allen reached for the door handle. The minute hand of the wall clock quivered, then clunked up the hour. He flung open the door and swept in.
    “All right, ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please.”
    He climbed up on to the raised dais where Detective Sergeant Ingram was in attendance with all the various files and roneoed orders laid out on the table. Behind the table was the wall map, and pinned on the blackboard next to it were photographs of the five previous rape victims, exactly as the inspector had requested .
    The room went quiet. Allen paused, surveying the green-tinged faces, then his nose wrinkled. The room reeked of flat beer and stale cigar smoke. The inspector didn’t smoke and wouldn’t tolerate any of his subordinates indulging the habit in his presence. “This room stinks,” he snapped. “Someone open a window.”
    Collier scrambled up from his chair and eased open one of the windows a fraction.
    “I said open it!” bellowed Allen. “Fresh air won’t kill you.”
    Collier flung the window open to its fullest extent, and the cold air came roaring in. The assembly shivered, which made Allen smirk with satisfaction. He had noticed a few barely stifled yawns as he entered. That should keep the bastards alert, he thought. A final scan of the room for the dirty mac and the maroon scarf. “Mr. Frost not graced us with his presence? Then we’ll start without him.”
    He rocked gently on the balls of his feet, his eyes travelling from face to face, making certain he had everyone’s full attention. “Those of you who were at Mr. Harrison’s farewell party will know that our old friend, the so-called “Hooded Terror”, struck again last night. As we hadn’t heard from him for six months, I’m sure we were all hoping that he’d retired or had some dreadful accident with a carving knife that would put an end to his raping career, but it seems he was just biding his time. Last night he attacked his sixth victim, a woman by the name of Paula Grey who works at The Coconut Grove where she does a striptease act under the billing of Paula the Naughty Schoolgirl.”
    Someone sniggered. Allen’s cold eyes searched the room for the offender. “Have I said something funny?” He waited in case someone dared to answer, then went on. “I said her name is Paula Grey, but she is also known as Nellie Drake, Sadie Kendal, and Molly Partick, and under each of these has had the odd conviction for soliciting for - offering gentlemen the use of her body in exchange for a small fee. That, however, is by the way. She was not soliciting last night. She was proceeding in a lawful manner from her home to her place of employment."
    "Like Mr. Frost, it would seem that punctuality is not her strongest point. On several previous occasions she had been late for her spot, and her boss, nature’s own gentleman, Harry Baskin, had warned her that if she was late one more time she would be for the chop. Last night she overslept, waking up at 10.35. She was due to go on at The Coconut Grove at 11.15. In order to save time, she slapped on her stage make-up, put on her stage clothes, which were those of a schoolgirl, and took the shortcut through Denton Woods. As I have so often pointed out to you, ladies and gentlemen, the shortest way is not always the quickest.”
    He took a pointer from the table and turned to the wall map. “She departed from her flat in Forest View at approximately 10.50. She