DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

shake. “If the bastards want a fight, I’ll give them one. They framed me. I never touched that copper.”

    The waiting and the hanging about was making Mullett impatient. “What’s going on, Allen?”
    Allen wished Mullett would get back to the office and stop being a pain. All this standing behind him and fidgeting and expecting things to happen just because the great Chief Constable was there was getting on his nerves. He radioed Ingram. “What’s happening, Sergeant?”
    “Mr. Frost is by the window, sir, Eustace well back, the gun trained on the inspector. No chance of a shot at the moment, sir, I might hit Mr. Frost. Hold on, sir - something’s happening . . .”

    “As God is my witness,” said Eustace, the finger on the trigger shaking dangerously, “I never touched that copper. I never even saw him that day. You’ve got to believe me.”
    “Stanley,” said Frost uneasily, ‘with a gun rammed in my gut I’m prepared to believe anything.”
    Stanley laughed. An overwrought laugh. “It’s not even bloody loaded, Mr. Frost.”
    “What?”
    “I fired my last cartridge half an hour ago. It’s empty - look.” His finger tightened on the trigger to demonstrate.
    Frost’s arm swung out to knock the gun away, just in case Stan was mistaken, but even as he moved the explosive blast hammered at his ears. Stanley stared, open-mouthed, in horror, pointed an accusing finger at Frost and pitched forward, vomiting blood, the red stain on his chest spreading, spreading . . .
    “Get an ambulance!” shouted Frost as armed police charged into the room. He cradled Stanley’s head in his arms. Outside a woman was screaming uncontrollably - Sadie Eustace.
    “You silly sods!” yelled Frost. “The gun wasn’t loaded. You silly sods . . .”
    Ingram had fired the shot.
    They carried Stanley’s body out on a stretcher, the red blanket pulled up to cover his face. As Frost emerged Sadie lunged at him. “You bastard - you let them kill him.” Webster and a woman police officer held her back. Frost walked on. There was nothing he could say to her.
    Back in the room, the post-mortem.
    “It wasn’t even loaded,” said Frost.
    “I didn’t know,” said Ingram. “I saw him pulling the trigger. I didn’t know.”
    “You’re not expected to know, Sergeant,” snapped Allen. “If a killer points a gun at a police officer and then pulls the trigger, you are entitled to assume the gun is loaded.”
    “I quite agree,” said Mullett. “The person reproaching himself should be you, Frost. You placed this entire operation in jeopardy because of your cheap tactics. We’ll talk about this further in my office, first thing tomorrow morning.”
    “Yes, sir,” said Frost. Stan dead. Sadie widowed. That was all that mattered. He sat in a chair and lit a cigarette.
    “We’d better see the press now,” said Mullett to Allen. He sighed. “Pity that damn shotgun wasn’t loaded. It would have made a splendid story.” They went out together.
    Frost dribbled smoke and peered at Ingram through the haze. The sergeant looked shattered.
    “I thought he was going to kill you. I saw him pulling the trigger. I didn’t know the gun was empty.”
    “Sit down,” said Frost. “I think we ought to have a talk.”
    Ingram sat.
    “It’s a mess, isn’t it son?” said Frost.
    “Yes,” muttered Ingram.
    “I was hoping a bloke called Dawson had done it,” said Frost. “Dave Shelby had been knocking off his wife. But Dawson had an alibi. He was in some shooting contest until late evening.”
    “Oh,” said Ingram.
    Frost lit a second cigarette from the first. “He belongs to the same shooting club as you do. In fact you were both down for the clay pigeon shooting contest that afternoon, but you left early didn’t even go in for your heat. The club secretary told me. He said you left just before five with your shotgun tucked under your arm.”
    “I wasn’t feeling well enough to shoot,” said Ingram.
    “So the secretary said,” agreed Frost. He reached in his pocket for the packet of photographs and put them on the small table in front of him. “Shelby was knocking your wife off as well, wasn’t he?”
    The sergeant sprung up. “How dare you, you swine . . . !”
    “You don’t have to put on an act for me, son’ said Frost wearily, “I’m an unworthy audience.” He sorted through the photographs and pulled one out. “This is Shelby with Dawson’s wife. It was taken on Tuesday afternoon. If you