Read Online DI Jack Frost 01 - Frost At Christmas by R. D. Wingfield - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R. D. Wingfield
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characters decorating the lampshade and the door of the white-painted cupboard. A row of dolls sat solemnly on a windowseat staring at the small bed which was neatly made. A small radiator heated the room, but it seemed cold . . . and empty.
Frost casually opened the cupboard door and an avalanche of toys cascaded to the floor at his feet. He found a Yo-Yo and demonstrated some tricky variations to his detective constable who tried not to show his contempt for Frost's childish behavior.
Frost unhooked the string from his finger and dropped the Yo-Yo back on the heap. "Tell you what, son, you do one of your thorough London searches in the bathroom while I poke this lot back in the cupboard."
The large bathroom, with its paneled tangerine bath, toilet, and washbasin, didn't take much searching, but Clive wasn't going to let the inspector show him what he'd missed. It was really too small, but he checked the bathroom cabinet. Just the usual toiletries, body cologne, talcum powder, bath foam, and an electric razor. He unscrewed the cap of the talc and sniffed the loin-stirring Joan Uphill perfume. He put the talc back and closed the cabinet. The only real possibility was the airing cupboard. He opened it up and looked inside. Most of its space was taken up by the hot-water tank and the wooden racks each side holding ironed linen. But they'd taught him to be thorough in London. Sliding out a couple of the wooden racks, he slid his hand around the back of the tank until it was wedged between hot, bare metal and the rough surface of the wall. Nothing hidden there. He could guarantee that. The space above the cylinder? More racks and more clothes. Brushing his new suit free of brickdust and cobwebs, he called across to the inspector that he'd finished.
Frost sauntered over, his mac unbuttoned and flapping. He surveyed the bathroom. "No bidet? She must chuck her fag-ends down the loo." He dropped his own cigarette end to a sizzling death, lowered the toilet seat, plonked himself down on it, and lit up a fresh one, his eyes flitting about the room.
"That was quick, son. Congratulations."
There was something in the way he said it that put Clive on his guard. Had he missed anything? Of course he hadn't, how could he? But he still felt uneasy.
Frost pumped out a mouthful of smoke.
"Did you have much trouble getting the bath panel off?"
Clive groaned inwardly. He could have kicked himself. The bath was boxed-in with plastic panels screwed to internal battens. A screamingly obvious hiding place, so obvious he'd missed it. But the scruffy old fool had spotted it.
Frost gave an understanding smile and handed Clive a screwdriver produced from the depths of the mac pocket.
After a token display of reluctance, the screws turned easily and he dropped them, one by one, into Frost's palm for safe-keeping, then off came the panel to be rested up against the other wall. The space revealed was large enough for two or three bodies but contained only dust, a heap of wood shavings, and a wet patch where the waste-pipe had been leaking.
"Nothing, sir."
Frost beamed. "I found the loot from six break-ins once, hidden behind bath panels. We knew it was in the bathroom. One brave lad even stuck his hand down the S-bend of the lav. I won't tell you what he found, but it wasn't the loot. Then I had one of my rare bright thoughts. We took out the bath panels and there it was, £12,000 worth. A good hiding place. I wish a few more crooks were clever enough to use it. It's the first place I look now and I haven't found a bloody thing since."
A light tread on the stair and a rattle of cups.
"In here, Mrs. Uphill," called Clive.
She stopped dead when she saw the removed panel and Clive on his knees by the bath.
She knew.
She knew they weren't looking for a live child. They were looking for a body.
Her hands shook. The cups rattled.
Frost gently took the tray from her and passed it to Clive.
"You think she's dead?" she whispered. Frost didn't
Frost casually opened the cupboard door and an avalanche of toys cascaded to the floor at his feet. He found a Yo-Yo and demonstrated some tricky variations to his detective constable who tried not to show his contempt for Frost's childish behavior.
Frost unhooked the string from his finger and dropped the Yo-Yo back on the heap. "Tell you what, son, you do one of your thorough London searches in the bathroom while I poke this lot back in the cupboard."
The large bathroom, with its paneled tangerine bath, toilet, and washbasin, didn't take much searching, but Clive wasn't going to let the inspector show him what he'd missed. It was really too small, but he checked the bathroom cabinet. Just the usual toiletries, body cologne, talcum powder, bath foam, and an electric razor. He unscrewed the cap of the talc and sniffed the loin-stirring Joan Uphill perfume. He put the talc back and closed the cabinet. The only real possibility was the airing cupboard. He opened it up and looked inside. Most of its space was taken up by the hot-water tank and the wooden racks each side holding ironed linen. But they'd taught him to be thorough in London. Sliding out a couple of the wooden racks, he slid his hand around the back of the tank until it was wedged between hot, bare metal and the rough surface of the wall. Nothing hidden there. He could guarantee that. The space above the cylinder? More racks and more clothes. Brushing his new suit free of brickdust and cobwebs, he called across to the inspector that he'd finished.
Frost sauntered over, his mac unbuttoned and flapping. He surveyed the bathroom. "No bidet? She must chuck her fag-ends down the loo." He dropped his own cigarette end to a sizzling death, lowered the toilet seat, plonked himself down on it, and lit up a fresh one, his eyes flitting about the room.
"That was quick, son. Congratulations."
There was something in the way he said it that put Clive on his guard. Had he missed anything? Of course he hadn't, how could he? But he still felt uneasy.
Frost pumped out a mouthful of smoke.
"Did you have much trouble getting the bath panel off?"
Clive groaned inwardly. He could have kicked himself. The bath was boxed-in with plastic panels screwed to internal battens. A screamingly obvious hiding place, so obvious he'd missed it. But the scruffy old fool had spotted it.
Frost gave an understanding smile and handed Clive a screwdriver produced from the depths of the mac pocket.
After a token display of reluctance, the screws turned easily and he dropped them, one by one, into Frost's palm for safe-keeping, then off came the panel to be rested up against the other wall. The space revealed was large enough for two or three bodies but contained only dust, a heap of wood shavings, and a wet patch where the waste-pipe had been leaking.
"Nothing, sir."
Frost beamed. "I found the loot from six break-ins once, hidden behind bath panels. We knew it was in the bathroom. One brave lad even stuck his hand down the S-bend of the lav. I won't tell you what he found, but it wasn't the loot. Then I had one of my rare bright thoughts. We took out the bath panels and there it was, £12,000 worth. A good hiding place. I wish a few more crooks were clever enough to use it. It's the first place I look now and I haven't found a bloody thing since."
A light tread on the stair and a rattle of cups.
"In here, Mrs. Uphill," called Clive.
She stopped dead when she saw the removed panel and Clive on his knees by the bath.
She knew.
She knew they weren't looking for a live child. They were looking for a body.
Her hands shook. The cups rattled.
Frost gently took the tray from her and passed it to Clive.
"You think she's dead?" she whispered. Frost didn't
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