Winter Frost

'Get on to his staff. He might be on a flaming round the world cruise for all we know. Tell them it's urgent. I need to find out what Weaver's done with the other kid.'

'All in hand,' Wells assured him. He paused at the door. 'Is it true Taffy Morgan was supposed to have searched that shed where the kid's body was found?'

Frost nodded.

'He should be chucked out of the force… He's rubbish.'

'So am I,' grunted Frost, 'but I'm still here.' He pretended to busy himself with papers until the sergeant had left. He didn't want to talk about Taffy until the man had had a chance to defend himself.

The phone gave a little cough. He snatched it up on the first ring. Harding from Forensic. 'Preliminary findings on the shed and the girl, Inspector.'

Frost cradled the phone on his shoulder as he reached for a pen. 'Let's have it.'

'Still more tests to carry out, but things don't look too hopeful. Fibres and odds and ends on the kid's clothing and hair. I expect we can prove some of these came from Weaver's house, but I understand he admits she's been there?'

'She was raped. The DNA should put the finger on him.'

'It looks as if he used a condom, Inspector.'

Frost sighed a stream of smoke. 'Safe bleeding sex has got a lot to answer for. It can't be all bad, you must have some good news?'

'We might have. Does your suspect smoke?'

'No — he's a paragon of bleeding virtues: doesn't drink, doesn't smoke and always uses a condom when he rapes seven-year-old kids.'

'Then forget the good news — we found a fairly fresh cigarette end near the body.'

'Send it down. I'll smoke it later. Anything else to brighten up my day?'

'No, but we'll keep trying.'

Frost banged down the phone. If Forensic couldn't help, he'd have to try to wring a confession out of Weaver. He rang Wells. 'Found that solicitor yet?'

'Give us a chance, Jack. It's only a couple of minutes since we last spoke.'

As he put the phone down, the outside line rang. The pathologist's secretary. 'Mr Drysdale could do the autopsy on the girl now, Inspector, if you could get over here.'

'On my way,' said Frost.

Frost stood well back from the pool of light that splashed down on to the autopsy table. He didn't want to see what Drysdale was doing to the poor kid, he just wanted to know the result, hoping the pathologist would find something that would link the crime positively to Weaver. Every now and then Drysdale would move back so the man from Forensic could take photographs.

'Extensive tearing and bruising around the vaginal area,' Drysdale intoned flatly. He lifted one of the child's arms and examined the wrist. 'Traces of adhesive… probably from sticky tape of some kind.'

Frost nodded. That was one of the first things he had spotted. The wrists would have been bound together to stop the kid struggling during the assault. He felt a surge of despair. This bloody mortuary was becoming a second home — so many nasty murder cases, so many days and nights watching Drysdale methodically cutting and slicing.

'Fading bruises on the arms, legs and buttocks,' continued Drysdale. 'Made at least a week before death.'

'Yes,' Frost told him. 'When the poor cow wasn't being raped, the mother's boyfriend used to hit her.' Drysdale grunted. That sort of background was of no interest to him. 'More signs of adhesive around the mouth… Hello!' Frost's head snapped up. Drysdale was teasing something from the child's mouth, something sodden and grey, which he dropped into a kidney bowl, then prodded with the tweezers. 'Bathroom tissue of some kind. Looks as if he used a ball of it as a gag.'

Frost joined him to examine the mess in the stainless steel bowl. 'Toilet paper! He used toilet paper!' He tugged out his mobile phone and, watched by a frowning Drysdale, got through to Control. 'Send someone over to Weaver's house right away. I want the toilet roll from his bog bagged and sent over to Forensic… and search the place for condoms. If they find any, let me know right away.' He turned back to Drysdale who was again teasing away at the mouth, extracting more tissue. 'Get it all out, doc — every piece. Try not to tear it.'

Drysdale glowered. 'I don't need you to tell me how to do my job, Inspector.' He dumped another sodden wad into the kidney bowl. 'She could have choked on this.'

'Did she?' asked Frost.

'No. She died of manual strangulation.'

'She was a feisty little kid, doc. She'd have put up one hell of a fight. Could she have scratched him? Anything under her nails?'

In answer Drysdale lifted a waxen arm and pointed to the fingers. The nails were bitten down to the quick. 'She couldn't have scratched him if she wanted to.'

'I bet the poor little cow wanted to,' said Frost bitterly. Nothing at all yet to link Weaver to the crime. 'I need something, doc, I really do.' He turned his head away as Drysdale's scalpel slashed across the tiny stomach.

'She ate two boiled sweets about half an hour before she died.' The pathologist held up a small glass jar in which little bits of green floated. 'Lime drops, or something.'

'He admits to giving her sweets,' Frost told him.

'Nevertheless, it might be an entirely different brand. Someone else might have abducted her after she left your suspect's house.'

'She left his house in a bloody bin liner,' said Frost. 'I'm not out to prove the bastard innocent. I want proof of his guilt.'

'Dead some forty-eight to sixty hours,' said Drysdale.

'Last seen alive two days ago, doc.'

'Nearer forty-eight hours, then. Ample evidence of sexual penetration, but no trace of semen, suggesting a condom was used or ejaculation did not take place.'

Frost switched off. He didn't want to hear this part. Poor little cow, mouth stuffed with toilet tissue to stifle her pleading screams, hands taped behind her back so she couldn't fight off dear old Uncle Charlie who had given her the nice green sweets. He tore himself away from his thoughts and found himself staring at the pale face. 'She was a pretty little kid,' he said.

Drysdale looked up from his cutting and gave the face a quick glance. 'Yes. I suppose she was…'

As soon as the autopsy was over, Frost hurried out to his car and radioed through to the station to fine out if Weaver's solicitor had been traced yet. 'He's on his way, Inspector. Be about an hour.'

'And Morgan?'

'Hasn't turned up yet. By the way, toilet paper from Weaver's house has been sent over to Forensic. No sign of any condoms.'

'Right.' He clicked off. An hour to kill. He didn't feel like going back to the station with Mullett lurking about so he detoured to the Forensic lab to find out if they had any joy matching up the toilet paper.

'It will be another twenty-four hours,' protested Harding, who was overseeing the work of one of his white-coated assistants.

'I haven't got twenty-four hours. I want to know now.' He knew he was being unreasonable.

Harding showed him the toilet roll taken from Weaver's bathroom. 'All we can say at the moment is that this, and the substance taken from the girl's mouth, appear to be of the same type and colour and from the same manufacturer.'

Frost sighed with relief. 'Well, that's something. I'd be up the flaming creek if they were different.'

'The trouble is, Inspector, this is one of the top-selling brands… millions are sold every week. You've probably got the same type in your bathroom.'

Frost shook his head. 'I use Mullett's memos… they give me more satisfaction.'

A technician, who was squinting down a microscope in the far corner, beckoned Harding over. They held a murmured conversation and, from the look on Harding's face when he returned, Frost knew he wasn't going to like this.

I'm afraid the probability is that the samples are from two entirely different rolls.'

'It doesn't take twenty-four hours when it's bad bleeding news, does it?' moaned Frost bitterly. 'How can you be so sure?'