Fatal Frost by Henry James Page B

crumpled cigarette pack.
    ‘No, no.’ Mullett waved off the mention of the severely overdue figures. ‘Other than the dead girl, what’s your caseload like?’
    Frost paused.
    Mullett could tell he sensed danger. ‘In general, how’re things going?’ he said in a placatory manner. ‘What, shall we say, is rumbling along?’
    Frost relaxed, and exhaled smoke towards the ceiling. ‘There’s still the female bank robber on the loose – the driver, Louise Daley. We’ve had a couple of leads …’
    ‘Hang on a minute,’ Mullett snapped, the mask of pleasantry instantly dropping. ‘Surely you’re not wasting time on that? It’s hardly a priority.’
    ‘Closure, sir.’
    ‘Closure? That’s never been an issue in the past,’ Mullett huffed.
    Frost was about to object but Mullett raised a hand. ‘How many times have we been over this? We nailed three of them, all now inside, one of them in a wheelchair. Forget about it. There’s something else, something special you can do for me – for Eagle Lane. Look good on the record sheet.’
    Frost said nothing, but sat stoically opposite as though awaiting final judgement.
    Mullett steeled himself. ‘I want you to pair up with Waters, the chap on loan from the Met,’ he began, pausing before adding, ‘You know who I’m referring to? Nice chap, was out with Simms today.’
    ‘Heard his name come up on the squawk box. Isn’t he the same rank as me? Wouldn’t it be more beneficial if you teamed him up with a junior? He’s not much use to me; I’ve got a dead girl to deal with – more routine.’
    ‘I hear what you’re saying, Frost. But DS Waters is … different.’
    ‘Why, because he’s from the Met? We’ve had them before – bit cocky, but basically the same deal.’
    Mullett frowned. ‘If I have to spell it out to you, as it seems to have escaped your notice, DS Waters is a
black
officer.’
    ‘Really?’ Frost said indifferently. ‘I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him. Missed the briefing this morning. Why, is it a problem?’
    ‘Not for me, Sergeant,’ Mullett retorted forcefully, ‘but some officers are, perhaps, a little less forward-thinking.’ His mind went back to the heckling this morning.
    ‘Are you suggesting there’s racism in the police force, sir?’ Frost’s eyebrows shot up his forehead in mock surprise. ‘Here, in this day and age? Surely not.’
    ‘I’d like to think it’s only on the fringes,’ Mullett said, not meeting Frost’s eye. ‘Nevertheless, to be on the safe side, from here on you’re responsible for him.’
    ‘What, like a chaperon?’
    ‘You’re the most senior-ranking officer present, therefore it’s your duty.’ And, Mullett thought, the men respect you, although heaven knows why. ‘Besides, DI Allen’s away. Simms, Clarke, Myles – they’re all under your jurisdiction now. Use them and Waters any way you see fit. Just ensure that this burglary gets cleared up – it’s the third in as many weeks.’
    ‘Ah yes – one of your chums, so I gather. The cat in the fridge case, isn’t it?’ Frost said chirpily.
    Mullett got up from behind the desk and paced the office. He ran a finger inside his collar. Before Mrs M disappeared off to visit her sister, he’d been prompted to launder his own shirts as a test run, just in case the need arose while she was away. Too much starch, he now realized. It was irritating the hell out of him, and shortening his patience to a minimum.
    ‘The previous week a dog was also garrotted,’ Mullett said stiffly.
    ‘What sort of dog?’ Frost asked.
    ‘How the blazes should I know? Does it matter?’
    ‘But how did it fit in the fridge?’
    ‘It wasn’t found in the fridge! The dog was dumped on the compost heap. This is all irrelevant – just get on top of it, will you. I know you already have the dead girl by the railway line, but I can’t have Simms foul this up. Good lad though he is, he’s very green. No arguing – that’s an order.