DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

fascinating!”
    Mullett pushed forward a hard chair. “You’d better sit here, Inspector,” he intervened hastily, determined to stop Frost from enlarging on the unpleasant details. Then he pointedly placed a large glass ashtray within easy reach on the corner of his desk. No use telling Frost not to smoke. He’d do it anyway, and if there was nowhere to put his cigarette ends he was quite likely to drop them on the blue Wilton and crush them under his heel.
    “It might be better if I explained to the inspector what this is all about,” said the MP, determined that things be run his way. Mullett nodded weakly.
    Miller sucked hard on his cigar. “I’ll be brief, Inspector. Through no fault of his own, my son, Roger, has been involved in this nasty hit-and-run business. Roger wasn’t driving; he wasn’t even in the car, but, as you can imagine, my political opponents are sharpening their knives. You can picture the headlines: “Son of Law-and-Order MP Butchers Old-Age Pensioner in Hit and Run.” Now, I’m not asking for special treatment just because I happen to be an MP. All I want is a fair and unbiased investigation.”
    “You’d have got that anyway,” said Frost.
    “I don’t doubt that for one minute,” went on Miller in his sincere voice. “Your Chief Constable, who happens to be a personal and very good friend of mine, has already assured me of that. My son, of his own free will, has come here to assist you in any way he can. The important thing is to prove his innocence so conclusively that we can scotch rumours before they have a chance to spread.”
    There was the rasp of a match as Frost lit his fourteenth cigarette of the day. Mullett edged the ashtray forward to receive the spent match, but was too late. Frost’s foot ground the carpet, and the smell of burning wool joined the other aromas.
    The cigarette waggled in Frost’s mouth as he spoke. “If your son’s innocent, I’ll prove it, Sir Charles, but if he’s guilty I’ll prove that as well.”
    “That’s all I ask,” said the MP. “Do your duty, Inspector.” A pause, then, slowly and significantly, he added, “Clear my son and you won’t find me lacking in gratitude.” Frost’s eyes narrowed as the implication registered, but Mullett was up, steering him by the arm, and pushing him through the door before he could snap back.
    “Roger Miller is in the interview room with his solicitor, Inspector. I want you to see him right away and let me know the outcome.”

    Police Sergeant Johnny Johnson stilled his rumbling stomach as the wall clock told him he had another forty-nine minutes to go before he could take his lunch break. A breeze from the lobby doors as Jack Frost clattered through on his way to the interview room. The very man! He flagged him down.
    “Mr. Frost!”
    Frost ambled over. “I’m very busy, Johnny.”
    “Too busy to notice the smell?”
    Frost tested the air, then smiled. “You’ve got Wally Peters for me?”
    “He’s down in the cells awaiting your pleasure.”
    “I’ll see him now,” said Frost forgetting all about Roger Miller. He turned toward the cells.
    “Hold it. I’ve got stacks of messages for you.” He scooped up some notes. “First, from Mr. Baskin of The Coconut Grove. Wants to know what’s the latest on his robbery.”
    Frost took the note and, without reading it, screwed it into a ball and tossed it in the rubbish bin. “If he phones again, tell him we’re vigorously pursuing our inquiries. Next.”
    The second note was passed over. “A Mr. Max Dawson asking if we’d found his daughter. He wants to see you.”
    This note Frost put in his pocket. “I’ll fit it in as soon as Webster gets back. Any more?”
    “Yes. Message from the hospital. Tommy Croll discharged himself this morning.”
    Frost whistled softly.” Did he leave a forwarding address - Las Vegas or the Bahamas?”
    Johnny lowered his voice. “You reckon Tommy nicked that money, then?”
    “I sincerely hope he did,” replied Frost, scratching the back of his head. “He’s the only suspect I’ve got. Send a car round to his house and bring him in. Is that the lot?” Hopefully, he turned to go, but the sergeant had one last bullet to fire.
    “Mr. Gordon of County buzzed through. It seems that the absence of Denton Division’s crime statistics is holding up the computer return for the entire county.”
    Hell, thought Frost. When am I ever going to get the chance to do them? He went down the stairs