DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

vomit. I have no intention of soiling my clothes by wading through that filth just to confirm what is self-evident. Isn’t there any way of getting rid of this dirty water?’
    ‘Only by moving the body,’ explained Frost. ‘It’s bunging up the drain.’
    ‘Then move the damn thing! Surely you’ve enough gumption to do that without having to be told. And while you’re moving it you might as well bring it over here to me.’
    And this is the bastard who insists on everything being done by the book, thought Frost. Aloud, he said, ‘You take his arms, Constable. I’ll grab his legs.’ As they raised the body, the water began gurgling and swirling down the cleared drain. ‘Reminds me of the time,’ said Frost, grunting as he took the weight, ‘when I was a bobby on the beat and I had to pull this stiff out of the canal. He’d been dead a bloody long time but had only just popped up to the surface. I grabbed his arms to pull him out . . . and his bloody arms came off. I was left holding the damn things while he sank to the bottom again.’ Both Shelby and Slomon winced at this choice tidbit of reminiscence.
    ‘Will this do, Doc?’ asked Frost, dumping the body at the foot of the stairs and shaking his sleeves where water had run up his arm.
    Nodding curtly, Slomon bent forward, looked at the face with disgust, then moved the head forward so he could examine the base of the skull with probing fingers. It was a brief examination. ‘As I thought,’ he said, treating the inspector to a self-satisfied smirk, ‘the head injury was not the cause of death and was not the result of a blow. The damage probably resulted from his head colliding with the stone flooring when he fell.’ He looked around, then pointed to something glinting on the floor, by the wall. ‘Something you missed, Inspector. Fortunately I keep my eyes open whenever I do an examination.’
    Frost swore softly as Shelby retrieved a broken wine bottle from the gully. There was no way they could have seen it earlier, as the dirty water had completely covered it.
    Stretching out a hand, Slomon received the bottle from the constable and cautiously raised it to his nose. A delicate sniff, followed by a smug nod of satisfaction at his own cleverness. ‘Wine laced with industrial alcohol, a potent combination.’ He handed the bottle to Frost for confirmation. Frost took his word for it and passed it to the constable. ‘He drank himself senseless, then fell,’ continued Slomon dogmatically. ‘Then he choked on his own vomit. I’ll arrange for the hospital to carry out a post-mortem first thing tomorrow, but they will only confirm my diagnosis.’ He consulted his watch. ‘The party calls. I’ll leave the tidying up to you.’ With a curt nod he was up the steps and out into the clean night air.
    ‘I wish they were doing a post-mortem on you, you bastard,’ Frost muttered. He again looked around his unsavoury surroundings. Why was something nagging away? Why was that little bell at the back of his head ringing insistently, warning him something was wrong? He looked around again, slowly this time. But it was no good - whatever it was, it wasn’t going to show itself. And why was he worrying? Death was from natural causes, and he had the party to go to.
    ‘Do we know his next of kin, sir?’ asked Shelby, his notebook open.
    ‘His mother and brother live in Denton,’ Frost told him. ‘The station will have their address.’
    ‘Someone’s going to have to break the news to them, sir.’ Shelby paused and looked hopefully at the inspector. ‘I’m not very good at it.’
    Frost sighed. Why did he always fall for the nasty jobs? How do you tell a mother her eldest son had choked to death on his own vomit down a public convenience? He took one last look at the dripping heap of death sprawled at his feet and shook his head reproachfully. ‘Ben Cornish, you stupid bastard!’ The open eyes of the corpse looked right through him.
    ‘All right, Shelby. I’ll break the news to his old lady. You arrange for the meat wagon to take him to the morgue, and wait here until it arrives. I don’t want any late-night revellers peeing all over the body.’
    He trotted up the steps to the street, Shelby, who wasn’t going to be left alone with the body, following hard on his heels. At ground level the wind was still prowling the streets. Frost took a deep breath. ‘Doesn’t fresh air have a funny smell?’ He looked up and down the empty street. Or