DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

1897 to commemorate the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria.
    The sound of a car approaching. Headlights flared as a mud-splattered, dark blue Ford Cortina rumbled over the cobbles, coming to an uncertain halt behind Shelby’s patrol car. The door opened and a scruffy-looking individual wearing a dirty mac draped with an equally dirty maroon scarf, clambered out., In his late forties, he had a weather-beaten face flecked with freckles, his balding head fringed with light-brown fluffy hair. Shelby smiled, relieved that the station had sent the easygoing Detective Inspector Frost and not that sarcastic swine Allen, who treated the uniformed branch with contempt and who was bound to ask some probing questions. It would be a lot easier with Jack Frost.
    The wind found the lager can again and dribbled it across to the inspector, who gave a mighty kick and sent it flying through the air, past Shelby’s ear, to rattle and bounce down the toilet steps.
    ‘Goal!’ yelled Frost, ambling over.
    Shelby grinned and swung his torch beam toward the depths. ‘Shall we go down, sir?’ He was anxious to get this over, but Frost was in no hurry.
    ‘What’s the rush, son? If he’s dead, he’ll wait for us. Be sides, I’ve got my best suit on and I don’t want to mess it up sooner than I have to.’ He opened his mac to reveal a newish looking, blue pinstriped suit with a fairly respectable crease to the trousers. It was the retirement party tonight. Police Inspector George Harrison was leaving the force after twenty-eight years in Denton, and the division was throwing a big farewell thrash for him in the station canteen. Although officially on duty, Frost had set his heart on attending and was going to take the first presented opportunity to sneak up there. Which was why his old blue-striped wedding suit had been paroled from its moth-balled prison. He could have done without Shelby’s newfound efficiency in finding this lousy dead body.
    Frost fished a battered packet from his mac pocket and worried out a cigarette. ‘You’d better fill me in with some facts. How did you find him, and why the hell didn’t you pretend you hadn’t seen anything and leave him for the morning shift?’
    ‘Well, sir, I was driving past on watch when I noticed the metal grille across the stairs had been forced back . . .’
    ‘Hold on,’ said Frost. ‘You know what a slow old sod I am. What were you doing driving down this bloody back street at this time of night?’
    ‘It’s part of my beat, sir,’ protested the constable, looking hurt. ‘It has to be covered.’
    ‘Highly commendable,’ sniffed Frost, spitting out a shred of tobacco, ‘but next time there’s a party, stick to the main roads. And speed it up, son. The beer’s going to run out before you reach the punchline.’
    ‘Well, sir, I stopped the car, got out, and checked the grille.’ He directed his torch toward the sagging grille and they both moved forward to examine it. ‘As you can see, the padlock has been forced.’ Frost gave the padlock the briefest of glances and stared pointedly at his wristwatch. Taking the hint, Shelby speeded up his narrative. ‘As you know, sir, these toilets are locked up at eight o’clock.’
    ‘I didn’t know,’ grunted Frost. ‘I always pee in shop door ways.’
    ‘Anyway, sir,’ continued Shelby doggedly, ‘I thought I’d better investigate.’
    Frost snorted. ‘Investigate what? Illicit peeing after hours?’
    ‘There’s plenty of copper and lead piping down there, Inspector,’ Shelby pointed out. ‘They could have been after that.’
    ‘Sorry, son,’ Frost apologized, ‘you’re quite right. Carry on. I’ll try and keep my big mouth shut.’
    ‘Not much more to tell, sir. I went down and found this tramp sprawled on the floor. As far as I could tell, he was dead. Dr Cadman only lives round the corner, so I nipped round and brought him back.’
    The inspector dragged on his cigarette. ‘Pity you didn’t just call an ambulance and let the hospital take over.’
    ‘He might not have been dead, sir. The doctor would have been quicker.’
    Frost nodded gloomily and said, ‘You’re right again, son. Pity you have to be so bloody right on the night of the big booze-up. What did the quack say?’
    ‘Doctor Cadman found damage and bleeding at the base of the skull. He reckoned death was caused by a blow to the head.’
    Frost stared moodily into the darkness. He knew Dr Cadman. Knew him well. Cadman had been his