First Frost by Henry James Page B

and there was drizzle in the air. Frost was niggled. Liz Fraser and her poor, bruised little girl had clouded his focus on Julie Hudson. He was missing something obvious, he was sure.
    Hanlon piped up, as if reading his thoughts, ‘Why didn’t Wendy Hudson report her daughter missing while she was at the store?’
    The fat detective constable was deftly and swiftly reversing the Cortina out of its tight parking space next to the loading bay at the back of Aster’s.
    ‘I don’t know, Arthur,’ Frost said. ‘Flaming hell! Why didn’t you ask her last night?’
    ‘She was in a right state.’
    ‘Obviously,’ Frost said. But he could see why she might not have immediately informed the authorities. Past experience had taught him how often kids that age stormed off in a huff. Any parent would give it a bit of time before ringing the cop shop, surely, not wanting to create a fuss. Hoping for the best.
    Frost wanted to try the hospital again, to see whether the mother had communicated anything yet. There was still no news of the father, despite numerous alerts having been put out, and all the relevant agencies and Controls having been informed.
    ‘Roger that,’ Hanlon said before replacing the handset, and bringing the car to a sudden stop, then indicating, as if to do a U-turn.
    ‘More bad news?’ Frost asked. He’d been miles away.
    ‘Disturbance on the Southern Housing Estate. Control want us to check it out.’
    ‘You are joking. It’s nearly five, and apart from everything else I’ve got to get that paperwork done – the crime clear-up stats? Where’s the bloody area car?’
    ‘Kids terrorizing some oldsters,’ continued Hanlon blithely.
    ‘Nothing new there, then.’ Frost sighed, relieved, and not for the first time in the day, that he wasn’t a proud dad. Mary, of course, was still hoping for a miracle. Perhaps it would stop her nagging him. He looked through the Cortina’s windscreen, slick with fine rain. ‘But where the bloody hell are uniform?’ he said, livid.
    ‘Shift changeover, apparently, and as we’re out and about, Control thought … it being a Sunday and everything …’
    ‘Sod Control,’ said Frost, sparking up. ‘We’re within spitting distance of Eagle Lane. I’m not trekking out to the Southern Housing Estate, even if there’s a flaming riot.’
    ‘There’s a good chippy out there,’ said Hanlon, licking his lips.
    ‘I’ve promised the missus a takeaway, from that new tandoori. Uniform will get there in the end. Here, hand me the radio, and I’ll tell Control where to stuff it.’
    *
    PC Derek Simms left his smaller and older colleague PC Baker, who was still pissed off because he hadn’t had time to finish his tea, inside the panda, and made his way over to the fish and chip shop.
    The rain had increased with the wind, which was blasting through the dismal, low-lying estate, and forcing Simms to squint as he dashed across the road. Outside the Codpiece was a small gang of teenagers, half a dozen or so boys, in jeans, tracksuit tops and Denton FC scarves, of various colour and slogan combinations. They appeared unfazed by the weather, or the sudden presence of the police, and were more than enjoying themselves as they heckled an old couple shuffling stiffly up the road. Chips were being lobbed at the pensioners’ backs.
    Attempting to make his presence felt, Simms brushed at the rain on his uniform jacket. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a crooked nose and a crew cut. He was twenty-four years old and felt invincible.
    He waited until the old couple were well out of harm’s way before he barged through the gang and entered the chippy. Ignoring the queue and passing straight to the counter, Simms said, to the diminutive spotty proprietor, ‘How long have your friends outside been hanging around?’
    ‘An hour or two,’ the man replied without looking up. Simms watched him slide golden battered fish into the hot display alongside an array of saveloys.
    ‘They