A Killing Frost

A Killing Frost

R. D. Wingfield

Language: English

Pages: 315

ISBN: B00722Y1YA

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


A gripping new investigation for the inimitable Detective Inspector Jack Frost.

The discovery of the bodies of two young girls leaves D.I. Jack Frost in a race to hunt down the killer before he, or she, can strike again. At the same time, he faces a crisis at Denton police station which could result in his being sacked.

Jack Frost, brought to magnificent life by David Jason in the TV series, staggers from crisis to crisis, his bumbling modus operandus disguising his extraordinary powers of detection.

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of a girl being strangled and he’s putty in your hands.’ He screwed up his eyes and shook his head in an attempt to erase the images he had just witnessed. ‘Hanlon, get the video copied and send the original straight over to Forensic. And let’s go back to my office. I’ve got some whisky.’ Frost sat in his office with Hanlon and Wells, all moodily drinking Sandy Lane’s Scotch out of mugs. They were still shaken. Frost spat out a tea leaf. ‘Right. Why did they send us the tape?’ Blank faces.

outside the bedroom door. ‘Guv . . . Where are you? It’s me - Morgan!’ Frost sighed with relief. Taffy bloody Morgan! ‘You frightened the shit out of me, you Welsh sod. What are you doing here?’ ‘Get out quick, Guv. They left early. They’ll be here any minute.’ ‘So why didn’t you phone me?’ ‘Your phone is switched off. Come on, Guv.’ He tugged at Frost’s sleeve to hurry him up. A car drew up outside. Frost twitched back the curtains and took a quick peek at the street below. Flaming arse

doing a fingertip search of the surrounding area and coming up with masses of junk . . . spent matches, scraps of paper, rusty tin cans, plastic. carrier bags. All absolutely useless, but all would have to be logged and grid-referenced. All a complete waste of bleeding time. ‘Jack!’ Dr Mackenzie, the duty police surgeon, was making his way down the slope with much difficulty. Frost steadied him as he slid to a halt outside the marquee. ‘What have you got for me?’ ‘I’ve got a body with no nose,’

him before. It didn’t fail him this time. She stayed in the car. The first thing that hit him when he pushed open the door of the autopsy room was the thudding sound of pop music. Bending over the autopsy table, a green-gowned, plump bottom was jiggling in time to the music. Flaming hell! thought Frost. A bit of a change from misery-guts Drysdale. The second thing that hit him was the stench of putrefying flesh, a sickly smell that lingered for days and clung to your clothing and hair, no

he had to repeat each question several times before he got an answer. No, they knew of no reason why their son would have gone to the office block. Yes, Mr Harris would come down to the station to identify the bike. There were long moments of silence. Eventually, Frost mumbled his goodbyes and let himself out. Then he headed to Jan O’Brien’s house. He didn’t have to ask if they had heard from the girl. As soon as his car pulled up outside, the mother came running out to ask if there was any

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