A Killing Frost Part 4

'The parents claim she isn't that sort of a girl,' said Jordan.

Frost snorted. 'As I've told you a million times, lads, every time a teenage girl goes missing from home, the parents swear blind she's a pure, sweet, home-loving girl training to be a nun, and nine times out of ten they turn out to be little scrubbers, on the game, pumping them selves full of c.o.ke, who've run away for the umpteenth time.'

'She's only just thirteen, Inspector. Today is her birthday . . . they were throwing her a party tonight.'

'If I had the choice between jelly and ice cream or a bit of the other, jelly wouldn't stand a chance,' said Frost.

'We've a feeling about this one, Inspector,' said Simms. 'I really think you should see the parents.'

Frost dribbled smoke through his nose. He, too, often had feelings that weren't borne out by the evidence, feelings that sometimes proved correct. 'All right, lads. Book her in as a missing person and when I get the chance I'll see them, but I'm tied up right now.' He reached out for his internal phone as it rang.

'Frost!' It was Bill Wells. 'Superintendent Mullett says he wants the crime-statistics report right now, Jack.'

Frost looked down at the untidy mess of scribbled figures and crossings-out in front of him. He got up and s.n.a.t.c.hed his scarf from the hook on the wall. 'Tell him I'm out interviewing the parents of a missing thirteen-year-old girl.'

The Clarks lived in a large four-bedroomed house situated on the outskirts of Denton, overlooking Denton Woods. As the area car scrunched down a long driveway flanked by miniature conifers, Frost admired the extensive lawn. Studded with flower beds, it encircled a large fish pond with a statue of a naked woman pouring water from a jug.

'Very tasteful,' he nodded. 'I'm glad she's not doing a pee like that boy in Brussels.'

A gleaming black E-cla.s.s Mercedes-Benz estate was parked outside a double garage. 'They're not short of a few bob, are they?' muttered Frost, climbing out of the car.

They had hardly reached the front door when it was flung open by the missing girl's father, Harold Clark, an angry man in his mid-forties,with slicked-down dark hair and a neatly clipped moustache like Mullett's, which turned Frost off him right away.

'About b.l.o.o.d.y time,' snapped Clark, jerking a thumb towards the hall. 'In here.'

They followed him into a large, thickly carpeted lounge. One wall was dominated by a huge fire, with gas flames licking at artificial logs, the other by an enormous plasma television screen. Clark's wife, some ten years younger than him, sat huddled by the fire in one of the cream leather armchairs. Behind her, wall-to-wall patio doors gave a panoramic view of Denton Woods, which at this time of year, with black clouds hovering, seemed to have a sinister aura. Mrs Clark would have been pretty if her hair had been combed and she had put make-up on. She didn't look well, staring blankly into s.p.a.ce and twisting a damp handkerchief in her hands.

'The police,' announced her husband curtly. She looked up through tear-swollen eyes at the men. 'Have you found her? She's dead, isn't she? I know she is.' She dissolved into tears. Her husband put an arm round her. She abruptly twitched her shoulder to shake him off, then shrank back into the armchair.

Clark gave a 'you can see she's upset' shrug and moved away.

'We haven't found her yet,' said Jordan. He indicated the inspector. 'This is Detective Inspector Frost.'

Clark scowled at the shabby figure of Frost, who tended to look even shabbier against luxurious backgrounds. He was clearly not impressed. 'Have you got a search party out yet?'

Frost shook his head. 'Not yet, Mr Clark.'

Clark's face darkened. 'What do you mean, "Not yet"? My daughter's gone missing.'

'It's early days,' explained Frost. 'Young girls go missing all the time. They run away from home, they come back.'

Clark was spluttering with rage. 'Run away from home?' he shrieked. 'You stupid, b.l.o.o.d.y fool. I told these two officers earlier, there is no way my daughter would run away from home. It's her thirteenth birthday today.' He flapped a hand towards the mantelpiece where a stack of unopened birthday cards were piled. 'She's having a party. She was looking forward to it. There is no b.l.o.o.d.y way she would run away.'

'Do you know how many teenagers run away from home every year, Mr Clark, and how many of them come running back in a couple of days with their tails between their legs?'

Clark jabbed a finger at Frosts 'My daughter is not a b.l.o.o.d.y statistic. I want search parties out now, do you hear? Now!'

Frost unwound his scarf. It was sweltering in the lounge with the gas fire going at full blast. 'Let me have a few facts first, sir, please. She went out yesterday evening on her bike, I understand. What time would that be?'

'How many more b.l.o.o.d.y times? She had her evening meal and left about half past seven. Said she was going to see her friend Audrey andmight stay the night. She's done it before, so we didn't worry.'

'She often went there for sleepovers?'

'Yes.'

'Audrey used to come here for sleepovers,' said the mother flatly, staring into s.p.a.ce, 'but not any more.'

'Oh?' asked Frost. 'Why not?'

Clark shot a warning glance at his wife, then answered for her. 'We've no idea. You know what kids are.'

'I see,' nodded Frost, who didn't see at all. He'd have a word with Audrey himself. 'And you've checked with this girl?'

'Of course we've b.l.o.o.d.y checked. Do you think we're stupid? Debbie hadn't been there. She hadn't even arranged to go there.'

'Has Debbie got a boyfriend?'

'She's only thirteen! Of course she hasn't got a boyfriend. There was some lout sniffing around some months ago, but I soon got shot of him.'

'He was a nice boy,' said his wife tonelessly. 'I liked him.'

'Oh yes?' snarled Clark. 'A nice boy! So what was he doing in her b.l.o.o.d.y bedroom with his hand down her blouse? I slung him out of the house and said if I ever caught him with my daughter again . . .' He let the threat hang.

'Have you contacted the boy to see if Debbie is with him?'

'I phoned his house, but got no reply. She'd better not be there - I'll break the dirty b.a.s.t.a.r.d's neck.'

'His name and address, please.' He waited as the mother scribbled it down. 'Has Debbie got a mobile phone?'

'Yes. I've been ringing, but it's switched off.'

'Did she take any clothes - money - her bank book?'

The Clarks looked questioningly at each other. 'I'll check,' said the wife, rising unsteadily from her chair, again shrugging off her husband's helping hand.

There was a silent, uneasy wait as she went upstairs and Clark exuded his dislike of the shabbily dressed inspector. Frost was dying for a smoke but couldn't see any ashtrays.

Mrs Clark returned, shaking her head. 'All her clothes seem to be there - and her bank book.'

Frost stood up. 'Could I take a look round her room?'

She led him back up the stairs to a room decorated with pop posters. A single bed with a light-blue coverlet stood against one wall, a cream-coloured wardrobe against the other. Everything was neat and tidy. By the window a wire-mesh waste-paper bin nestled under a desk housing a flat-screen computer and an inkjet printer.

'Is she on the internet?' asked Frost.

Mrs Clark nodded. 'Always messaging her friends, even though she sees them every day at school.'

Frost jabbed a finger at the keyboard, pulling it away quickly as the computer bleeped. He nodded knowingly as if the noise meantsomething to him, but he was completely computer illiterate. One of the technicians would need to have a look at the machine to see what secrets it held if it turned out that Debbie really was missing and not just having it away with the boy whose hand had been discovered exploring the contents of her blouse. He took a look at the waste-paper bin. This was more his sort of thing. He bent and pulled out some crumpled gift-wrap. A stuck-on label read 'Happy birthday, darling from Mum.' 'Happy birthday, darling from Mum.' He frowned. 'I thought her birthday was today?' He frowned. 'I thought her birthday was today?'

Mrs Clark took the wrapping paper from him and stared at it in puzzlement. 'She's opened it. Before her birthday . . . she's opened it!'

Her husband came in the room. 'What's the matter?' he barked.

'It seems that Debbie opened one of her presents from your wife before her birthday and took it with her,' Frost told him.

Clark turned to his wife. 'What present?'

She paused before replying. 'That bikini she wanted.'

Her husband exploded. 'You bought her that b.l.o.o.d.y bikini? A twelve-year-old school kid? Didn't I specifically tell you - '

'All her friends had one,' cut in his wife.

'Most of her friends are s.l.u.ts - jailbait. My daughter isn't!'

Perhaps you could discuss this some other time,' said Frost wearily. 'She was obviously going somewhere on her bike last night. Could it have been the swimming baths, to show the new costume off to her friends?'

'It's possible,' said her mother. 'She often went swimming there.'

'Right, we'll check it out,' said Frost, winding the scarf back round his neck, ready to leave. 'Oh - do you have a recent photograph?'

Mrs Clark stared at her husband, who paused before mumbling, 'Nothing recent, I'm afraid.'

'Oh?' said Frost. 'A school photograph, perhaps?'

'No,' said Clark, not looking Frost in the eye. 'There are no school photographs.'

'Oh?' repeated Frost, waiting for an explanation, but none came. 'I see,' he said eventually. But he didn't see.

'I take it you are going straight back to the station to organise a full-scale search for my daughter?' demanded Clark.

'As I said, it's a bit too early for that at this stage,' Frost told him.

'Too early?' echoed Clark angrily. 'Too b.l.o.o.d.y early? She's been missing since last night. How much longer are we expected to wait while you sit on your b.l.o.o.d.y a.r.s.e, shuffling papers, while my daughter is out there, probably in the hands of some s.e.xual pervert.'

'I appreciate your concern - ' began Frost.

'Then b.l.o.o.d.y well do something about it.'

'I've been involved in over a hundred missing teenager cases, Mr Clark. All the parents were worried sick, quite rightly, and in nearly every case the parents refused to accept the possibility that their child might have left home of theirown accord. But in over 95 per cent of cases that is exactly what happened and their kids were only too glad to creep back home after a couple of days.'

'You can quote your lousy statistics at me until you are blue in the face, but I want a full-scale search carried out now - this very minute . . .'

'I'm sorry - ' began Frost, but before he could continue, Clark moved towards him, his face contorted with rage.

'You're sorry? I'm the one who's b.l.o.o.d.y sorry. I've been sent a useless, do-nothing idiot. Get out of my house. I'm having you taken off this case. I've got friends in very high places, as you will soon find out.'

With a nod to the weeping mother, Frost jerked his head for Jordan and Simms to follow him. They left the house.

Back in the car, Frost lit up a much-needed cigarette. 'Friends in high places,' he mused. 'I bet they live on the top floor of a tower block.'

'What do you reckon, Inspector?' Jordan asked.

Frost exhaled smoke. 'I don't know. I still think she's having it away with the boyfriend, but I've got a nagging suspicion that something nasty has happened to her. If we had more manpower down here instead of on loan to flaming County, courtesy of Superintendent b.l.o.o.d.y Mullett, I'd start searching - but we haven't. Right, after you drop me off, go to the boyfriend's house, check his hands for bra marks and check that Debbie isn't there. Then go and see this girl Audrey, see if she knows more than she is telling - and find out why she stopped coming for sleepovers. Oh - and check the swimming baths. See if anyone remembers Debbie there last night. I still reckon she'll be back in time for her birthday party, but we might as well pretend we're thorough for a change.'

Superintendent Mullett, the Denton divisional commander, held the phone away from his ear. The shouting from the other end was overpowering.

'. . . And I want a proper detective on the case, not that scruffy, rude, ignorant individual you saw fit to send to me this morning.'

'Inspector Frost is a very capable officer,' said Mullett, trying to sound as if he believed it.

'Inspector Frost is an incompetent, ignorant oaf. A disgrace to the force. Are you going to organise a search party to look for my daughter, or do I have to go direct to my friend, the Chief Constable.'

Mullett straightened up in his chair at the mention of the Chief Constable.

'He's Debbie's G.o.dfather - did you know that?'

Her G.o.dfather! Mullett's heart skipped a beat. 'Leave it to me, Mr Clark. I'll get a search party organised right away.'

'Is that a promise?'

'You have my word,' floundered Mullett, nodding furiously to emphasise the fact.

'Good, because I have recorded this conversation.'

A click and the dialling tone.

Mullett carefully replaced the receiver, mopped his brow and picked up the internal phone to summon Frost.

Frost's radio gave an attention-s.n.a.t.c.hing cough as he coasted into his place in the station car park. It was PC Jordan reporting.

'Inspector, we checked the swimming baths. Yesterday was senior citizens' night. A twelve- year-old girl in a bikini would have stuck out like a sore thumb.'

'Lots of other things would have stuck out as well,' said Frost.

'Next, we went round to the boyfriend's house. No reply. I checked with the neighbours. His parents are away for a couple of days and he is looking after himself. They saw him cycle off around seven yesterday evening, but didn't see him come back and didn't see any lights come on. There's milk on the doorstep, the paper's in the letter box, and no answer to our knocks.'