Frost tossed the withdrawal form over to Bill Wells. 'She's dropped the charges.'
Wells gawped at the form. 'How the hell did you get her to do that?'
Frost gave a modest smile. 'I told her he couldn't have raped her as he got his dick shot off in the Gulf War — friendly fire.' 'And she believed you?'
'Not at first, but I offered to show her the bit that was left and she gave me the benefit of the doubt.' He switched off the grin. 'Why didn't you tell Liz Maud the old biddy was in the Guinness Book of Records for multiple virgin rapes?'
Wells sniffed disdainfully. 'Not my place to tell my superior officer what to do.'
Running footsteps from the stairs to the canteen and Frost's temporary assistant, DC 'Taffy' Morgan, burst through die doors into the lobby. Morgan, a stocky, dark, curly-haired little Welshman in his late thirties, had sorrowful eyes and a heart-melting whipped puppy expression he could turn on at the drop of a hat which Frost found irritating, but women seemed to find irresistible. Morgan started when he saw Frost glowering at him. 'Just popped up for a quick cup of tea, guv,' he said in his 'oozing with sincerity', sing-song Welsh voice. 'I've nearly finished those figures.' Morgan was the only officer in the station who called Frost 'guv'. Frost reckoned he'd picked it up from the police series on the telly.
'Nearly finished?' said Brest, 'You haven't touched the bloody things since I went out. Let's get one thing straight, Taffy. There's only room for one lazy bastard in this station and that's going to be me. Understand?'
Morgan hung his head sheepishly. 'Sorry, guv. I'll get on to it right away, guv.'
The desk phone rang. Morgan paused while Wells answered it. Like Frost he hated figure work and hoped this might be a call that would take him away from it.
'I'll get someone over there right away,' said Wells, scribbling an address down on his pad as he hung up.
'Another pillow case burglary, Jack. Shall I give it to Morgan?'
'No. He's got his heart set on doing the crime figures. I'll take it.' He jerked a thumb to Taffy. 'On your way, Lloyd George.'
'Yes, guv,' said Morgan, making his disappointment very apparent.
Wells watched him go and sniffed disdainfully. 'How the hell do we get all the rubbish foisted on us? First Wonder Woman, now him.'
'I've known worse,' grunted Frost. 'What's the address of this burglary?' He had a quick look at his watch. If it didn't take too long he would have plenty of time to fiddle his expenses and see the videoed title fight with the rest of the shift. Life was a joy when your Divisional Commander was away.
Police Superintendent Mullett tapped his fingers happily on the steering wheel of his Rover as he drove back from County Headquarters. An excellent meeting under the chairmanship of the Chief Constable in which Denton Division came out very well, he thought. It was a meeting for all Divisional Commanders to discuss ways of maintaining an efficient force in the face of the draconian budget cuts that had been forced upon them. The Chief Constable — quite brilliantly, thought toadying Mullett — had suggested that more work with less manpower could be achieved by increased inter-Divisional co-operation with men being seconded from Division to Division as and when required. Some of the other officers had expressed their disquiet feeling this could only reduce the efficiency of the supplying Divisions, but Mullett, not quite understanding what was involved, although sensing that nods of approval and not constructive criticism were required, had nodded until his head ached and had committed ten of his own officers to a joint drugs operation. He was now basking in the euphoria of the Chief Constable's comments: 'It is the Denton spirit that's wanted throughout the County, gentlemen — an example to you all.' The sour glances fired at him by the rest of the meeting made it clear he was in a minority, but it was not the rest of the meeting he wanted to impress.
He pulled back the sleeve of his grey pin-stripe jacket to consult his Rolex. 9.58. The others would still be in the pub, drinking, drowning their sorrows, shaking their heads doubtfully over their beers and telling each other that it might look good on paper, but it just wouldn't work in practice. However, thought Mullett, if it did fail, it would be the Doubting Thomases who got the blame, not the wholeheartedly approving Denton Divisional Commander, determined to make a go of it.
As he spun the wheel to turn into the main road he had to brake sharply to avoid a mud-splattered Ford Sierra which had anticipated the traffic lights and roared across his path. He frowned. No mistaking the car or the driver. Frost! He'd have a word with him about careless driving when he got back to the office. As the Chief Constable had so rightly said at the meeting, supported by Mullett's unstinting noddings of approval, the police should always be setting an example, not bending the rules.
He took the short cut through the red light district as he wanted to check the current position. A deputation of some of the local residents, led by the vicar, had called on him demanding that the police clean up the streets. He had delegated the task to Frost who had insolently pretended that cleaning up the streets involved picking up empty crisp packets and cleaning away dogs' mess. Mullett's lips tightened. Frost might think that funny, but he wouldn't be laughing when Mullett got back to him.
The 'girls' were out in force, grinning, wiggling and beckoning as he drove past. They had disappeared from their beats in a panic some two months ago when one of their number had been found beaten up and murdered, but had gradually drifted back.
He clicked on his radio for the local news. '… Denton police have released without charge a man they had been questioning in connection with the disappearance some nine weeks ago of schoolgirl Vicky Stuart…' Another frown. Frost hadn't had the common courtesy to contact him at County and tell him they had arrested a suspect. He had felt a proper fool at the meeting when the Chief questioned him about it and he had to phone the station to find out what it was about. He slowed down and stopped at the traffic lights. Someone tapped on the driver's window. A woman with dyed blond hair and a ridiculously low-cut dress. 'Want to be naughty, mister?'
'No I do not, madam,' he snapped, hastily jumping the lights and narrowly missing a collision to get away from her. Ignoring the angry hootings from other drivers, he turned into the Market Square. As he did so his mobile phone rang. Superintendent Harry Conley from Fenwick Division… probably still in the pub with the others, judging from the raucous laughter he could hear in the background.
'A spot of inter-Divisional co-operation wanted, Stan,' said Conley. 'Hope you can help?'
Mullett smirked happily. A chance to show what Demon could do. 'Certainly, Harry… fire away…'
A police car was parked outside the entrance to the apartment building and Frost slid his Sierra behind it. The burglary was at Flat 305 on the third floor. He thumbed the lift button, but nothing happened. A couple of swift kicks to the door hurt his foot, but failed to produce the lift, so it was the damn, stairs, when he reached the third floor he saw that the lift doors had been wedged open with a piece of wood, preventing the lift from operating. On to Flat 305 where an angry-looking woman opened the door to his ring and beckoned him in. 'The more the bloody merrier,' she said bitterly. 'No-one here when he robs us, can't move for bleeding police when it's all over.' Frost grunted his sympathy. Two uniformed men, Jordan and Simms, were already in the flat, Simms questioning an irate man who was slumped in an armchair. 'First bleeding night we go out together for ages,' he was moaning, 'and this flaming well happens.'
PC Jordan briefed Frost. 'Mr and Mrs Plummer. Went out just before eight o'clock to see the film at the Premier, got back quarter of an hour ago to find they'd been burgled.'