First Frost by Henry James Page A

Frost, exhaling, and not bothering to face the room.
    ‘There would always have been one near the main front door on the ground floor, and frankly, the other one could have been anywhere – patrolling at random,’ explained Butcher.
    ‘Is it possible the man on the front door might have seen something if, say, a girl rushed out, distressed?’ Hanlon asked.
    ‘I suppose, yes, if she was making a big song and dance about it,’ said Butcher. ‘But my security staff are trained to capture shoplifters, not runaways. Sorry for saying this, gentlemen, but would your attention not be better directed at the girl’s friends and family?’
    ‘Do you think,’ said Frost crossly, ‘your security staff would have noticed a young girl being dragged out of the store, by a man?’
    ‘Against her will,’ Hanlon added, he knew, stupidly.
    ‘They are not imbeciles,’ Butcher said, getting up. ‘Now if that’s all, gentlemen? I’ll see the photograph is circulated tomorrow.’
    ‘Not quite,’ said Hanlon. ‘We obviously need contact details for’ – Hanlon flicked back through his notebook – ‘Nelson and Richards.’
    ‘And one more thing,’ added Frost, by the door, ‘any other way out, apart from the ground-floor doors?’
    ‘The fire exits, I suppose. Access to them is clearly marked on every floor.’ The store manager looked at his watch, a fancy gold piece with a crocodile strap. ‘I’ll show you, if you like,’ he offered, suddenly sounding helpful. He walked round from behind his desk.
    ‘Thanks,’ said Hanlon.
    ‘Let’s go straight to where the girl was last seen,’ said Frost.
    ‘Uniforms and lingerie,’ said Hanlon.
    ‘Yes,’ said Butcher, taking the lead.
    ‘Tell me,’ said Frost, as Butcher took them down the back stairs, ‘why are uniforms and knickers on the same floor?’
    ‘I’ll fill you in,’ said Hanlon.
    Butcher was soon pushing open the door to the third floor. He flicked a panel of light switches.
    ‘No stocktake going on here, then?’ Hanlon asked.
    ‘We’re doing one department at a time,’ Butcher said. ‘We’re working on the toy department today. Here you go, school uniforms. And there’ – he indicated to his left – ‘are the changing rooms.’
    Frost, Hanlon noticed, was looking intently across the shop floor, in quite the opposite direction.
    ‘At the back of that curtained-off area is the fire exit,’ Butcher continued. ‘See, it’s all properly marked as such there.’ He pointed to a small sign.
    Hanlon and Butcher made straight for the changing rooms, with Frost following a few yards behind. Butcher then pulled aside the curtain to reveal, at the end of a row of cubicles, a fire door. They paused for a moment before walking further forward.
    ‘Is the exit alarmed?’ Frost asked from behind Hanlon’s back.
    Butcher stopped still. ‘Yes,’ he said, sounding unsure.
    ‘Right, so anyone barging through these and you’d have known about it,’ said Frost, moving to the front. He began rattling the doors. ‘What’s the system? Mains or battery?’
    ‘Battery,’ said Butcher nervously.
    ‘How often do you check it’s all operating properly?’ said Hanlon.
    ‘Oh, very regularly,’ Butcher said.
    With a clang the doors sprang open. ‘Not regularly enough,’ said Frost, engulfed by a blast of icy fresh air. ‘I wonder what the fire department would have to say about this.’ He quickly pulled the doors shut.
    ‘And Julie Hudson’s parents,’ added Hanlon.
    ‘The battery must have just gone,’ said Butcher hurriedly. ‘But it wouldn’t have made any difference. Because there’s always a changing-room attendant on duty – on Saturdays anyway. No one could have simply let themselves out and walked down the fire escape.’
    ‘OK, Arthur,’ said Frost, ‘I’ve seen enough. For the time being. Best leave Mr Butcher to get on with his stocktaking. We don’t want him ruining Christmas for everyone.’
    The light was beginning to fail