DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

strangers loitering? Has anyone going through the woods during the past week or so seen a man lurking, acting strangely? Has any woman been assaulted and not told us? A thorough investigation, ladies and gentlemen. I’m sure I don’t need to spell out the questions you should ask. All witnesses, even those who only think they might have seen something, are to be brought to the station so I can question them personally. Understood?”
    A few grunts of confirmation.
    “I’m splitting you up into teams. Sergeant Ingram will give you details as you leave. Team A will be knocking at doors, asking questions, Team B will be doing an inch-by-inch search of the area of last night’s attack, and Team C will be locating, and bringing in for questioning, all known sexual offenders in the area - even those who were completely eliminated from our previous inquiries. Any questions?”
    He looked around expectantly, but no-one had anything to ask. “Right. Off you go.”
    They were shuffling through the door, passing Ingram, who handed them their duty allocation briefing sheets, when Allen suddenly barked, “Hold it, everyone.” They all stopped and turned, except for Frost, who ha red it off to his own office. Allen had completely forgotten Mr. Mullett, seated in solitary state in the back row. “Did you want to address the teams, sir?”
    Mullett stood and showed his whiter-than-white teeth. “Only to say “Good luck everyone”, he boomed, just like a vicar starting off the whist drive.
    They all clattered out, clutching their roneoed briefing notes and duty schedules. Methodically, Allen replaced his notes back into the folder and waited as Ingram unpinned the photographs from the wall board. Mullett glided over. “An excellent briefing, Inspector. A model for us all.”
    “Thank you, sir,” said Allen, suspicious of the Superintendent’s motives. He took the photographs from Ingram and dismissed the sergeant with a curt nod, then made great play of consulting his watch. “Did you want to see me, sir? I’ve got rather a tight schedule. The press will be screaming blue murder when they hear about last night’s little shindig in the woods - “Hooded Terror Strikes Again . . . Police have no clues".”
    Mullett nodded sympathetically as if distancing himself from any criticism that might be levelled against the police. “Don’t talk to me about the press, Inspector. My phone’s been ringing nonstop about this wretched hit-and-run business . . . the press, the Chief Constable . . . even Sir Charles Miller himself.” He looked at Allen, hoping that the recital of this all-star cast would impress him.
    Allen again looked pointedly at his watch. “What was it you wanted to see me about, sir?”
    The Superintendent adjusted his gaze to a spot a few inches above the inspector’s head. “What cases are you working on at the moment?”
    Allen’s eyes narrowed. “I hope you don’t intend dumping anything else on my plate, sir. I’ll be working all the hours God sends on this rape investigation and there’s going to be no time for anything else.”
    “I fully appreciate that,” said Mullett, twisting his neck to look at the large-scale wall map, avoiding having to look the detective inspector in the eye. “I want you to hand the rape case over to Frost.”
    Allen stared at Mullett as if he were mad. “Over my dead body!”
    “Only for a few days, Inspector.”
    “Not even for a few minutes - and that’s just how long it would take Frost to sod everything up.” In his agitation he began to stride up and down, pounding his palm with his fist. “Why, sir? Please tell me why!”
    Mullett raised a placating hand. “I’ve got another case for you - one that requires all your skill, tact, and expertise.”
    “Oh yes?” said Allen warily, knowing that it would be a real stinker.
    “Do you know anything about this hit-and-run?”
    “Only that Roger Miller was involved.”
    “That isn’t certain. He claims he wasn’t driving, that his car had been stolen.”
    Allen straightened the papers inside the folder and tucked it under his arm. “Balls!” he said bluntly.
    Mullett, who could never stomach crudity, winced. “His father, Sir Charles Miller, is convinced of his son’s innocence.”
    “I hardly think Sir Charles is that stupid, sir.”
    Pulling a chair forward, Mullett sat down after hitching his trousers legs to preserve the lethal edge of their creases. “This is all top-level stuff, Allen.