DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

“That stripper you’ve been bedding, Harry - her name is Karen Dawson. She’s a schoolgirl, and she’s fifteen years old.”
    Baskin jabbed a finger at the photograph, then snatched it back as if it had come into contact with something red-hot. He looked pleadingly at Frost for some indication that it was all a mistake. “Fifteen? I don’t believe it.”
    “A week ago today she was only fourteen, Harry. I reckon you’re good for at least seven years. The courts hate child molesters. But from what I saw this afternoon, I’ve no doubt she was worth it.”
    Harry found a clean section of his handkerchief and used it to mop the sweat from his forehead. Refilling his glass, he downed the contents in one gulp. “You’ve got to believe me Mr. Frost, I had no idea. Blimey, who could tell by looking at her? I’ve seen twenty-eight-year-old women with smaller knockers than she’s got.”
    “You don’t tell a lady’s age by the size of her knockers, Harry. That’s a fundamental principle of English criminal law.” As the whisky bottle was handy, Frost topped up his own glass. “Cheers.”
    “Look,” said Baskin, ‘this is all a silly misunderstanding. I’m sure there’s some way of clearing it all up.” As he spoke, he brought out a fat, bulging wallet and riffled his thumb significantly through a hefty chunk of fifty-pound notes.
    Frost stiffened. “Aren’t you in enough bloody trouble, Harry?”
    The wallet was hastily replaced. “You’ve got to get me off the hook, Mr. Frost.”
    Head on one side, lips pursed, Frost pretended to give it some thought. “There’s the question of this assault charge you’re going to make against my constable.”
    “What assault charge?” asked Baskin, sounding sincerely puzzled. “I tripped and banged my nose on the wall.”
    “No more taking the law into your own hands with your security men? We want Tommy Croll in one usable piece.”
    His palms spread upward, Baskin said, “On my word of honour.”
    “And lastly,” said Frost, ‘that poor slag of a stripper who got herself beaten up in the woods. It would be a noble gesture if you kept her on your payroll until she was well enough to work again.”
    “Now hold hard,” Baskin protested. “That could take ages . . . months.”
    "But nowhere near as long as seven years,” Frost pointed out.
    A deep sigh of total surrender. “All right. I’ll pay her.”
    Frost drained his glass, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood up. “I can’t make any promises, Harry. I shall simply tell the girl’s parents that she applied for an audition here as a dancer and that’s where we picked her up. I’ve got a pretty shrewd idea the girl will keep her mouth shut, but there’s no way I can force her.”
    “I owe you one,” said Baskin.
    “Where do I find the girl?” asked Frost.
    “In her dressing room, first left, the end of the corridor.”

    Webster was waiting outside, still glowering but inwardly feeling sick in the knowledge that this was the end of his career in the force. Why, oh why, couldn’t he learn to control his temper? As Frost approached he glared at him with all the bitter resentment of a man who knows he is completely in the wrong. Let him say one word, just one bloody word, he thought.
    With a curt jerk of his head, Frost ordered the constable to follow him. When at last he spoke, the rebuke was fairly mild. “That was bloody stupid, son.”
    “Thank you, I’ve worked that out for myself,” snarled Webster. “I suppose you can’t wait to report me to Mullett?”
    “Report what to Mullett?” asked Frost. “I saw nothing. Baskin tells me he tripped and banged his nose against the wall. From the size of his hooter I’m inclined to believe that’s more than possible.”
    At first he couldn’t take in what the inspector was saying. In that one punch he was sure he had thrown everything away, but suddenly, with his feet on the gallows trap, the last-minute reprieve. Relief made sweat trickle coldly down his back. He wanted to thank Frost but couldn’t bring himself to do it. “How did you get Baskin to agree to that?”
    "By telling him we wouldn’t bring any charges in respect of the girl.”
    Webster stopped dead in his tracks. “No charges? After what he’s done? He’s corrupted a juvenile.”
    “Corrupted?” repeated Frost. “Do you really think Baskin was the first? Your sweet, innocent fifteen-year-old virgin has been on the pill for God knows how long