Winter Frost by R.D. Wingfield

Author:R.D. Wingfield [Wingfield, R.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery
Publisher: Transworld
Published: 2011-11-30T05:00:00+00:00

There was something small and round inside. He ripped it open and pulled out a single folded sheet of cheap, lined notepaper. The message was in the same handwriting as the envelope:

You have made a mistake and arrested the wrong man. The body is in the shed at the back of the hospital. The button came from her dress.

He shook out a blue button which had a short length of black thread attached. A button was missing from Jenny’s dress when they found her. The postmark stated the envelope had been posted at the main Denton post office, 3.15 p.m. the previous afternoon. He showed the note to Arthur Hanlon who skimmed through it.

‘Whoever sent this, Jack, knew where the body was before we found it.’

‘I love people who state the flaming obvious,’ said Frost. ‘Send the button over to Forensic and let’s see if it matches the others – knowing my luck, it’s bound to.’ He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t make sense. If I’d done a murder I’d be over the bloody moon if the fuzz arrested someone else for it, I wouldn’t try to clear him.’

‘A murderer with a conscience?’ suggested Hanlon.

‘A murderer with a conscience doesn’t rape seven-year-olds,’ said Frost.

As Hanlon left, Bill Wells poked his head round the door. ‘You in the mood for a bloke with second sight, Jack?’

‘I’m in the mood for a sex-starved sixteen-year-old with a hundred fags to spare. I wouldn’t kick her out if she only had fifty.’

‘Then you’re out of luck. It’s Sandy Lane with that fortune-telling weirdo.’

‘Wheel them in,’ Frost told him. ‘He reckons he can find Vicky Stuart for us.’

The tweed-suited man with Sandy Lane was in his late fifties, gaunt, and sporting a goatee beard. Frost took an instant dislike to him.

‘You spurned my gifts in the past, Inspector,’ said Plummer, looking cock-a-hoop, ‘but at last you’ve come to your senses.’ He declined Frost’s offered cigarette. ‘Alcohol and cigarettes deaden the mental powers, as I’m sure you’ve found out.’ He produced a worn leather wallet from his jacket pocket and took out a newspaper cutting carrying a photograph of Vicky Stuart. ‘This is the little girl I keep seeing, calling out to me in my dreams. You don’t know where she is, do you, Inspector?’

‘No,’ grunted Frost, mentally adding, and neither do you, mate. This was going to be a complete and utter waste of time and he had so many other things to attend to. That bleeding skeleton for a start.

Plummer rubbed his hands briskly. ‘I’d like a full-scale map of Denton, if you please.’ Frost found him one and Plummer carefully unfolded it over the surface of Morgan’s desk. He sat in Morgan’s chair and took several deep breaths, slowly expelling air from his lungs. ‘To purify the system,’ he told the inspector.

Frost raised his eyebrows to Lane. He was getting fed up with this already. Plummer gave him a pitying smile. ‘Patience, Inspector. These things can’t be rushed.’ He addressed Lane, who he considered a more receptive audience.

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