DI Jack Frost 01 - Frost At Christmas

black. He couldn't understand his counterparts in other divisions who boasted of the meanness of their own offices, thereby degrading their positions. Senior men in industry had the trappings to go with the job, so why not the police?
    He opened the clothes cupboard cleverly concealed behind the paneling and hung up his London-tailored overcoat. His reflection in the full-length door mirror restored his good humor. The image before him was indeed something to be regarded with unrestrained approval: a tall, straight-backed figure, glossy black hair with a chiseled parting, commanding eyes, a neatly clipped military mustache, and a complexion glowing with health and good living. And to set .it off, the immaculate fit of the police uniform, its buttons winking and gleaming, the creases lethal, and the shoes, black mirrors. At forty-two years old he looked more like a successful stockbroker than a superintendent of police controlling an area of some thirty-eight square miles and 100,000 inhabitants.
    The cupboard door closed and became once again part of the wall paneling. Something caught his eye. On his desk, tucked into the corner of the blotting pad, an envelope. The typing, in red capitals, said "Strictly Private and Confidential". He slit it open with his stainless-steel paper knife, slipped on his horn-rimmed glasses, and read it. His eyes hardened. He dropped down into his chair and read it again.
    It was trouble. A complaint against one of his officers, Detective Inspector Frost.
    He thudded the satin mahogany with a clenched fist. Damn the man; nothing but trouble from the start. He'd have him out of the division tomorrow if he could. He looked at his watch. Nearly time for the briefing meeting; Frost would have to wait. The letter was refolded along its original creases, replaced in the envelope, and locked in the top right-hand drawer of his desk.
    He rang for Miss Smith, his secretary, but of course she wasn't in yet. Mullett's usual hours were from 10:00 a.m. until 6:30 p.m. Today was different, with the briefing meeting at 8:15 and the Chief Constable's nephew reporting for duty at 9:00. The Chief Constable's nephew . . . Mullett permitted himself a smug smile of satisfaction. With his future promotion in the balance it would do him no harm to have the division under the old man's careful eye. His musings were interrupted by a polite tap at the door. Bill Wells, station sergeant for the morning shift, entered.
    "Ah, Sergeant Wells. Come in. Sit down."
    Wells perched himself on the edge of a chair. He found Mullett's wood-lined office overpowering. A sad-faced, balding man of thirty-eight, he'd been in the force for seventeen years and had been a sergeant for the past six. He despaired of ever making inspector.
    Mullet leaned forward. "Nothing on the girl, I suppose?"
    The sergeant's sad face went even sadder. "No, sir."
    "It's been sixteen hours, Sergeant. Too long, far too long."
    "Sixteen hours of darkness, sir; we need the daylight."
    Mullett nodded grudgingly and consulted his window. It was just about light enough now, and by four o'clock it would be too dark again. But with luck they would find the kid long before then. He dealt with one or two minor problems raised by the sergeant, then reached for his briefcase to go to the meeting. He remembered the letter of complaint festering in his drawer.
    "Is Detective Inspector Frost in the briefing room, Sergeant?"
    "No, sir," said Wells, putting his chair back against the wall. "He hasn't arrived yet."
    Typical, thought Mullett. Everyone else gets here on time, but Frost. . . . Masking his anger with a tight smile, he sighed audibly. "Ah well, we'll just have to start without him, won't we?" As he moved to the door, Wells cleared his throat.
    "You won't be needing me at the meeting then, sir?" It was a rhetorical question. He'd already been told he wasn't wanted. Woundingly hurtful, but it didn't surprise him. He had no doubt at all that it was Mullett who'd been blocking his promotions from going through, and excluding him from the meeting was clearly the commander's way of keeping him in his place.
    Sensing the man's resentment, Mullett was lavish with reassurances. "I wish I could spare you, Sergeant, but I can't. I must have someone I can trust to keep the station running. Which reminds me, I've got an important job for you."
    Sergeant Wells looked up expectantly.
    "You might pass the word to our army friends that they are not to use my parking space.