A Killing Frost Part 3

Chapter 2.

The letter, handwritten in block capitals on cheap A4 paper, read:

I HAVE POISONED A BOTTLE OF SUPERSAVES OWN BRAND EXTRA STRONG MOUTHWASH, A BOTTLE OF SUPERSAVES 'VINTNERS CHOICE' WINE AND AN ECONOMY SIZE TIN OF SUPERSAVES HAPPYBABE MILK POWDER. TO IDENTIFY THEM, I HAVE MARKED THEM WITH A BLUE CROSS. YOU WILL NOT FIND THEM IN THE PROPER AISLE. I HAVE HIDDEN THEM AROUND THE STORE. GET TO THEM BEFORE YOUR CUSTOMERS DO OR YOU'LL HAVE DEATHS ON YOUR HANDS. INSTRUCTIONS TO PREVENT A RECURRENCE WILL BE SENT TO THAT s.h.i.+T BEAZLEY.

Henry Martin, the store manager, a man in his late forties, looked underpaid and overworked. His desk overflowed with papers and his in-tray spilled over. It reminded Frost of his own office. Skilled at reading typescripts upside-down, he squinted at a charming, red-inked, underlined memo to the manager from the store owner, Mr Beazley, which was headed 'a.r.s.e-KICKING TIME' and began: 'If that stupid useless prat who thinks himself a greengrocery manager . . .' Frost nodded to himself. Typical Beazley. A bullying b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He had met him before and knew what an a.r.s.ehole the man was.

Martin was pacing up and down the office in agitation, sucking nervously at a cigarette.

'What do we do?' he pleaded. 'What the h.e.l.l do we do? There's no way we can shut the store down. The boss would do his nut.'

Frost gave a non-committal grunt and returned his attention to the blackmail letter. Beazley, the owner of the store, would do a lot more than his nut. 'Do you have the envelope?'

Martin shook his head. 'Why should we keep them? When the post is opened, envelopes are shredded.'

'Great,' said Frost. 'Saves us the bother of finding out where it was posted.'

'Of course it might be a hoax, but we can't take the chance,' said Martin, plonking down in his chair.

'Then shut the store down until you find the marked items,' said Frost.

'If I shut it and it's a hoax, I'll be queuing up at the Job Centre before lunch.'

'If it's not a hoax,' said Frost, 'I'll invite you and Mr Beazley to the post-mortems.' He took a sip of coffee and shuddered. It tasted foul. Probably Supersaves own economy brand. He pushed the cup away and read the letter again.

'. . .GET TO THEM BEFORE YOUR CUSTOMERS DO OR YOU'LL HAVE DEATHS ON YOUR HANDS.' 'My feeling is that this isn't a hoax. But if you're prepared to take a chance . . .'

'I've got the staff out now, checking the aisles,' said Martin, 'and the check-out girls are keeping their eyes open just in case a customer has put one in their trolley.'

'You should close the store down until you find the lot,' Frost told him.

Martin looked horrified. 'Mr Beazley would never allow that. We're trying to contact him, but he hasn't reached his office yet. If we shut down without his consent, he'll be furious.'

'It won't make him happy if customers come in with dead babies as proof of purchase, asking for their money back,' said Frost. 'Kick everyone out and shut the flaming place down.'

'But if it turns out to be a hoax . . .'

'Flaming heck,' said Frost. 'Is that your theme tune?' He moved to the window and looked down at the store, its aisles thronged with customers, mingled with hordes of red-overalled Supersaves employees searching the shelves.

There was a tap at the door and a thin, be spectacled man sporting a lapel badge reading a.s.sISTANT MANAGER came in, followed by a young, red-overalled a.s.sistant clutching two bottles to her chest. 'We've found these so far, Mr Martin. One wine, one mouthwash.' He took the items from the girl and handed them to the manager.

Frost groaned. 'Why don't you pa.s.s them round the store so everyone can have a turn mauling them about? I'd hate the blackmailer's fingerprints to be nice and clear so we can find out who he is.'

'Sorry' flushed the a.s.sistant manager. 'I didn't think.'

Slipping a polythene bag over his hand to avoid adding any more fingerprints, Frost carefully took the items from Martin and placed them on the desk. 'Where were they?'

'We found the wine in the Grocery Warehouse, on a shelf by the door. The mouth wash was in the Household aisle.'

Frost unscrewed the cap of the mouthwash and sniffed. The smell was unmistakable. 'Bleach,' he said. 'Well, one thing's for sure - we can stop deluding ourselves it's a hoax. This b.a.s.t.a.r.d means business.' He turned to the a.s.sistant manager. 'What about the baby milk powder?'

'We're still looking.'

'Find it,' ordered Frost, 'and quick.' He turned to Martin. 'Shut the bleeding place down.'

'Yes,' agreed Martin. He turned to the a.s.sistant manager. 'Close the store. Say there's an electrical fault or something - we can tell Mr Beazley it was on police orders.'

Frost waited until the a.s.sistant manager and the girl had left. 'They found the wine in the warehouse area. Who's allowed in there?'

'The warehouse staff and staff from the shop floor who help to unload and stack.'

'Members of the public?'

'Oh no. Staff only.'

'Then it's odds on it being an inside job. Can you think of any member of staff who would have a grudge against Supersaves?'

'Every bleeding one of them,' said Martin bitterly. 'Me included. Mr Beazley is not the nicest person to work for.'

'I've met him,' sympathised Frost. 'I wouldn't work here for a thousand quid a day. Let me have a list of all employees - include those who have been sacked or left within the last month or so. We'll run them through the computer.' He read the letter through again. 'It's not dated. It came today, did it?'

'I think so,' said Martin.

Frost stared at him. 'You think think so? Don't you flaming well know?' so? Don't you flaming well know?'

'It could have come on Sat.u.r.day. We have limited clerical staff on duty at weekends. Head Office correspondence gets priority; other stuff is left unopened until Monday.'

'b.l.o.o.d.y brilliant,' muttered Frost. 'He says instructions to stop his actions will follow. I take it you would have told me if you had received a blackmail demand.'

'We haven't received it, and of course I'll let you know when we do.' Martin looked through the office window down to a store now devoid of customers. 'I wish they'd hurry up and find that missing jar. Mr Beazley will be furious. He's not renowned for his tolerance.'

Frost's stomach rumbled to remind him he hadn't eaten yet. 'Do you serve breakfasts here?' Before Martin could answer there was a tap at the door. His eyes brightened as the a.s.sistant manager came in.

'You've found it?'

The man shook his head. 'We've exhausted all possibilities, but we're going over everything again.'

'It could have been sold to a customer,' said Frost. 'We'll have to get the media on to it to warn the public.' He reached for the phone.

'Hold it!' said the a.s.sistant manager. 'It might not be necessary.' He pulled a computer printout from his overall pocket. 'That baby powder is a brand-new line. We didn't put it on the shelves until all stock of the old line had gone. It went on display late on Sunday, just before closing time. A box of twenty-four. I've checked and there are twenty-three left - only one has been sold, and that must be the adulterated one.'

'So how does that help us?' asked Frost.

Martin took over. He could see what the a.s.sistant manager was getting at. 'We can check the printed receipts. When it goes through the check-out, the product is registered. If the customer paid by credit card we can easily get their name and address from the credit-card company.'

'That could take flaming ages,' said Frost. '"If you have lost your credit card, press 8; if you want to trace a customer with contaminated baby milk, press 9." Get on to it right away.'

'We're checking late-night-Sunday tillreceipts now,' the a.s.sistant manager told him. 'If our luck's in we'll get to the customer before the tin is opened.'

'And if your luck's out, they could have paid with cash. Make it quick. If you haven't turned anything up in a quarter of an hour, I'm going to local radio and the rest of the media.' His stomach rumbled again. 'Do you do breakfasts at the restaurant here?' he asked the manager again.

'We do an excellent full English - it's on special this week.'

'How do I pay for it?' asked Frost.

'Oh - we take credit cards.'

s.h.i.+t, thought Frost, who was hoping the stingy sod would let him have it on the house. 'Right, I'll nip over and get something to eat. Tell your a.s.sistant where I am.'

As he crossed the shop floor he could see the staff were doing a thorough job with the search. Everything was being taken off the shelves, examined and put back again.

In the restaurant, he was just dipping his fried bread in his egg when Taffy Morgan burst in and came running towards him.

'Ah - there you are, Guv.'

'Yes,' said Frost. 'I know where I am.' He took a swig of tea.

'I tried to get you on your mobile, Guv.'

'I keep it switched off,' said Frost, 'in case some Welsh git tries, to ring me. Sit down and watch me eat.' He forked a piece of bacon and surveyed it gloomily. 'This pig was solid fat.' Morgan dragged out a chair and sat opposite him. 'That rape case, Guv, I've run through the CCTV tapes from the multi-storey car park. Got a shot of a car roaring off at about the time the girl said. A Ford Focus. It's got to be our rapist.'

Frost pushed his unfinished breakfast away and lit up a cigarette. 'Well done, Taff. About time our flaming luck changed. You got the registration and checked it out?'

Morgan nodded. 'Graham Fielding, 29 Castle Road, Denton.'

'Any previous? Has his d.i.c.k got him into trouble before?'

'No, Guv. Shall I pick him up?'

Frost dribbled smoke from his nose as he chewed this over, then shook his head. 'No. Don't let's jump the gun. We've got nothing on him other than the fact that his car was in the vicinity at the time of the rape. Call on him, Taff, use your Welsh charm, and if that doesn't put him off, ask if he will give us a DNA sample - Forensic will tell you what to get. Take a paper bag in case they want poo. If it matches, we've got the b.a.s.t.a.r.d; if not, we can forget him.'

'Supposing he won't give a DNA sample, Guv?'

'Then reason with him - punch him in the stomach. If that doesn't work, bring him in. If he's innocent there's no reason why he should refuse.'

As Morgan left, Frost noticed Henry Martin hovering. He didn't look at all happy. 'What'sup?' asked Frost. 'Have you eaten one of these breakfasts?'

The manager forced a smile and slid into the chair vacated by Morgan. 'Mr Beazley doesn't like people smoking in here.'

'It does less harm than eating the food,' said Frost, making no attempt to put the cigarette out. 'So what's the news?'

'We've been over the shelves thoroughly three times. No sign of the missing jar. We've been through the till receipts - it hasn't been checked out. I don't know what we can do. We can't open the store until we find it. I dread to think what Mr Beazley will say.'

'If no one's bought it and it's not still in the store, then it's gone out without being paid for. So either a member of your staff has helped him self or . . .' His eyes widened and the hand holding his cigarette paused in mid air. A light dawned and he grinned. '. . . or it could have been nicked by a shoplifter.'

'Speculation,' moaned Martin. 'We could never prove it.'

'This might be your lucky day said Frost. He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and dialled a number. 'Jordan? Inspector Frost here. That milk powder you picked up from Sadie's house - did it have a blue cross on the bottom?

Well check it out now.' He drummed his fingers on the table as he waited. 'Yes . . . What? Brilliant. No, don't send it to Forensic yet. Hang on to it until I get there.' He dropped the phone back in his pocket. 'We've traced it,' he told Martin. 'You can open up again. But let me know the minute you get another letter demanding money - and make certain as few people as possible smear their fingerprints on it.'

'I can go, can I?' shrilled Sadie. 'Oh, bleeding nice! Locked up, falsely imprisoned, insulted and then kicked out. What about compensation?'

'Your compensation is that we're not nicking you for shoplifting,' said Frost. 'Now push off before I change my mind.'

'What about my kiddy?'

'Sort that out with Social Services, Sadie, and next time you nick something, make sure it isn't contaminated.'

'You wouldn't treat me like this if I was an asylum-seeker.'

'Then go and seek bleeding asylum and come back and see, but for now, push off.' He held the door wide open for her to leave. 'Another dissatisfied customer,' he told Bill Wells and mooched back to his office.

Frost looked up from the crime-statistics report where a column of figures was dancing before his eyes. A tap at the office door heralded the arrival of Simms and Jordan.

'Whatever it is, the answer's no,' he told them. 'I've got my sums to do.'

Jordan grinned. 'We've just been out on a call, Inspector. Teenage girl missing from home.'

'She's not here,' said Frost, 'and I wouldn't tellyou if she was.' He put his pen down and sighed. 'All right. Tell me about it.'

'She's Debbie Clark. Told her parents she was going -to a sleepover with her schoolfriend Audrey Glisson - she's done this many times before. Went off on her bike about half seven yesterday evening. When she didn't come home this morning, the parents phoned Audrey's house. Debbie hadn't been there and hadn't arranged to go there.'

'So she's been missing overnight? Probably having a sleepover under her boyfriend. I bet she's now at his place having a f.a.g,' said Frost dismissively, picking up his pen again. 'Fill in a missing-persons report.'