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There were two.’
    ‘And can you describe them, sir?’
    ‘Short!’
    Wells waited, but nothing more was offered. ‘Any further description to go on? Do you know if they were black or white, for example?’
    ‘They was wearing bloody balaclavas – how the hell would I know? All I know is, they were short. Very short.’
    ‘The fridge?’ Frost’s voice sounded distant. The line was so dreadful you’d think he was calling from Timbuktu, not a phone box a couple of miles away. Mullett heard the pips go, followed by cursing as Frost struggled to find some change. Then the line went dead.
    Mullett drummed his fingers thoughtfully on his polished, spartan desk. ‘Yes, the fridge,’ he repeated to himself, and pivoted round on his chair.
    But his golfing chum’s cat was not the main thing on his mind. At the time of Frost’s call, Mullett had been reflecting on the morning briefing. If he’d had the presence of mind, he’d have done better to hold DS Waters back and quietly assign him to Frost, but the jeering had flustered him, and his ill-considered act of handing the DS to a rookie like Simms in front of the whole division was one he now regretted. The men had respect for Frost; partnering him with Waters would have reflected far better on the visiting policeman.
    The phone flashed again.
    ‘Sorry, sir, ran out of change.’
    ‘Where exactly are you?’ Mullett asked, exasperated.
    ‘On my way to the lab, to find out more about this dead girl, the one found this morning …’ The line crackled.
    ‘Yes, yes, I know which one.’ Mullett’s secretary, Miss Smith, appeared in his peripheral vision and he waved her away without looking up. ‘But what I want to know is, where exactly was the body found?’
    ‘Beg pardon, sir? By the train line.’
    ‘Wells told me it was more or less in Rimmington.’
    ‘Between the two.’
    ‘Well, can’t our Rimmington colleagues deal with it?’ Mullett was eager to offload the case. Dead girls were not the way he wanted a bank holiday weekend to finish up.
    ‘A Denton resident reported it,’ Frost said sharply. ‘There’s no ID – we’ll run the description through Missing Persons; might be local, might not.’
    ‘That’s a shame. So was it suicide?’ Mullett said hopefully.
    ‘Can’t rule it out. I’ll find out more when I get to the lab. Sir, while I’ve got you, about DI Williams’s paperwork. I appear to be continuing to handle it, while DI Allen—’
    ‘We can talk about that later,’ Mullett interjected quickly as he lit a cigarette. ‘You get what you can from Drysdale, then get back here pronto, there’s something special I …’
    The pips went once more, and Mullett was left talking to himself.
    No sooner had he replaced the receiver and taken a drag of his cigarette than the phone began flashing angrily at him again. Mullett was about to sound off at Frost for not carrying more than tuppence, but instead it was the doleful voice of Desk Sergeant Wells that greeted his ear.
    Clarke clutched Myles’s arm as she hobbled through to A&E. Her leg was numb, her hands sticky with congealed blood and she felt light-headed. She couldn’t have lost that much in, what, twenty minutes, could she? Her jeans were pretty damp …
    ‘Let’s stop here a sec.’ Myles propped her against a wall, the surface feeling cold against her cheek. Where is he? she thought. Surely Jack must’ve heard by now? Myles had whacked the blue light on the roof but it had still taken her a fair while to get across town through the bank holiday traffic.
    ‘Did you tell Eagle Lane what happened?’ Clarke asked again – meaning Jack Frost does know, doesn’t he?
    ‘Yeah, Control are notified. And uniform are all over central Denton. But you can bet those kids are dust by now. Here, flop into this.’ Myles pushed a wheelchair towards her. ‘We’ll get you seen to straightaway.’
    Clarke pulled tighter on a makeshift tourniquet – an old scarf they’d found in the