Read Online Winter Frost by R. D. Wingfield - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R. D. Wingfield
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drunken football supporters at the station earlier.
"They've taken Mr. Redwood straight up to the theatre," the staff nurse told her. "That's his wife over there." She nodded towards an elderly woman in a thick grey woollen coat who was strangling a handkerchief to death with gloved hands. The old lady looked up anxiously as Liz went over, thinking it might be the nurse with news of her husband, Liz sat on the bench beside her.
"Can you tell me what happened?" The story came out a few disjointed words at a time. She had little to add to what she had already told the two policemen. "They shot him—in cold blood—they shot him . . ."
Liz nodded in sympathy. "Can you describe them?"
"It all happened so quickly . . . They were medium height ... in their mid-twenties, I think . . . dark clothes . . . zip-up jackets. The one with the gun had this black ski mask thing hiding his face and the other one wore a blue baseball cap, the peak pulled down. He had a wispy beard, and he wore an ear-ring, a silver stud thing in his right car. When the other one shot my husband, he laughed, he thought it was a great joke."
"When they spoke, what did they sound like?"
"Just ordinary. I think they were local . . . they didn't say much, just 'Give us the keys.' "
Liz persisted with her questioning, but got little more from the woman except that she doubted if she would recognize cither of them again. A tired-looking doctor, making a great effort to stifle his yawns, approached them. "We've sent your husband up to Nightingale Ward for the night, Mrs. Redwood. His injuries are minor, but he's in a state of shock. Hopefully he can go home tomorrow."
"His leg?"
"We've got all the pellets out and cleaned him up. No permanent damage." He pointed to the staff nurse. "The nurse will take you to the ward."
"Is he in a fit state to answer questions?" asked Liz.
The doctor shook his head. "He's still groggy from the anaesthetic . . . Best wait until the morning."
She smiled her thanks. This suited her. She wanted to get back to the more important murder inquiry. Frost could take over the questioning of Redwood in the morning. She radioed the description of the two men to Control, then made her way back to her car. She was almost at the exit doors when a red-faced and panting young nurse caught up with her. "Inspector. The old gentleman who was shot in the petrol station. He wants to speak to you. Says it's important."
Damn and double damn. Liz hesitated, trying to think of a reason to get out of seeing him. The longer she delayed getting back to the murder investigation, the more Frost would be getting his heels dug in too far to give it up. This was her case. A successful murder inquiry would give her chance of promotion the boost it needed.
"Inspector . . . ?" said the nurse, waiting for her reply.
Liz sighed and forced a smile. "Would you take me to him, please."
With the body and Liz Maud out of the way they were able to move furniture about and give the room a thorough search. This produced two major finds. A bloodstained flick-knife was found under the divan bed, probably kicked there during the struggle. "Get it checked for prints," said Frost, who then remembered the green business card in his pocket. He passed it over to Detective Sergeant Hanlon. "If we haven't found out who the poor cow is by the morning, Arthur, show this to the local print shops. They might come up with a name."
Hanlon wasn't too sure. "You can run these off on a home computer now, Jack. She probably printed it herself."
"Try anyway," said Frost.
And then Simms, who was dragging the wardrobe away from the wall, yelled with excitement. "Something here, Inspector." Wedged between the wardrobe and the wall was a wallet. Frost took it carefully by the edges and picked through the contents. Banknotes to the value
"They've taken Mr. Redwood straight up to the theatre," the staff nurse told her. "That's his wife over there." She nodded towards an elderly woman in a thick grey woollen coat who was strangling a handkerchief to death with gloved hands. The old lady looked up anxiously as Liz went over, thinking it might be the nurse with news of her husband, Liz sat on the bench beside her.
"Can you tell me what happened?" The story came out a few disjointed words at a time. She had little to add to what she had already told the two policemen. "They shot him—in cold blood—they shot him . . ."
Liz nodded in sympathy. "Can you describe them?"
"It all happened so quickly . . . They were medium height ... in their mid-twenties, I think . . . dark clothes . . . zip-up jackets. The one with the gun had this black ski mask thing hiding his face and the other one wore a blue baseball cap, the peak pulled down. He had a wispy beard, and he wore an ear-ring, a silver stud thing in his right car. When the other one shot my husband, he laughed, he thought it was a great joke."
"When they spoke, what did they sound like?"
"Just ordinary. I think they were local . . . they didn't say much, just 'Give us the keys.' "
Liz persisted with her questioning, but got little more from the woman except that she doubted if she would recognize cither of them again. A tired-looking doctor, making a great effort to stifle his yawns, approached them. "We've sent your husband up to Nightingale Ward for the night, Mrs. Redwood. His injuries are minor, but he's in a state of shock. Hopefully he can go home tomorrow."
"His leg?"
"We've got all the pellets out and cleaned him up. No permanent damage." He pointed to the staff nurse. "The nurse will take you to the ward."
"Is he in a fit state to answer questions?" asked Liz.
The doctor shook his head. "He's still groggy from the anaesthetic . . . Best wait until the morning."
She smiled her thanks. This suited her. She wanted to get back to the more important murder inquiry. Frost could take over the questioning of Redwood in the morning. She radioed the description of the two men to Control, then made her way back to her car. She was almost at the exit doors when a red-faced and panting young nurse caught up with her. "Inspector. The old gentleman who was shot in the petrol station. He wants to speak to you. Says it's important."
Damn and double damn. Liz hesitated, trying to think of a reason to get out of seeing him. The longer she delayed getting back to the murder investigation, the more Frost would be getting his heels dug in too far to give it up. This was her case. A successful murder inquiry would give her chance of promotion the boost it needed.
"Inspector . . . ?" said the nurse, waiting for her reply.
Liz sighed and forced a smile. "Would you take me to him, please."
With the body and Liz Maud out of the way they were able to move furniture about and give the room a thorough search. This produced two major finds. A bloodstained flick-knife was found under the divan bed, probably kicked there during the struggle. "Get it checked for prints," said Frost, who then remembered the green business card in his pocket. He passed it over to Detective Sergeant Hanlon. "If we haven't found out who the poor cow is by the morning, Arthur, show this to the local print shops. They might come up with a name."
Hanlon wasn't too sure. "You can run these off on a home computer now, Jack. She probably printed it herself."
"Try anyway," said Frost.
And then Simms, who was dragging the wardrobe away from the wall, yelled with excitement. "Something here, Inspector." Wedged between the wardrobe and the wall was a wallet. Frost took it carefully by the edges and picked through the contents. Banknotes to the value
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