A Touch of Frost (Jack Frost series) by R.D. Wingfield

By R.D. Wingfield

The sleepy city of Denton hasn't ever identified whatever just like the crime wave which now threatens to submerge it. A theft happens on the town's infamous strip joint, the pampered son of a neighborhood MP is suspected of a hit-and-run offense and, to most sensible all of it, a a number of rapist is at the free. Detective Frost is reeling lower than the tension, yet he manages to guarantee his superiors that every one is below keep an eye on. Now he has basically to persuade himself.

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Extra resources for A Touch of Frost (Jack Frost series)

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He picked up his pen, ready to write down the details. A young girl .. ‘. The sergeant’s first thought was of the previous call he had logged. Karen Dawson, fifteen, missing from home since this afternoon. In Denton Woods. The caller had hung up. ” “Sounded a nutter to me,” called Ridley, hanging up the extension. They were always receiving bogus calls from cranks with a grudge against the law, who took delight in wasting police time and money. But you couldn’t take chances. It had to be assumed that all calls were genuine until proved otherwise.

He yawned. ” He turned his head and saw the photographs. Two of them on the bedside cabinet, propped up against a tiny Snoopy digital alarm clock. One showed Karen in the white ballet dress from the wardrobe, standing en pointe, hands outstretched, looking demure and sweet. The other was a beach scene, brilliant sky, silver sand. Two girls -one, young Debbie minus her glasses, flat-chested in a one-piece dark-blue bathing costume, looking as embarrassed as if she were stark naked; next to her, smiling with the sensuous mouth she had inherited from her mother, Karen Dawson, long-legged, well-developed, posing in a white two-piece swimsuit that caressed and stroked every curve of her young body.

He directed his torch beam into the sky like a beacon, then knelt beside her, shining his torch on her face. He shuddered. Her face was a swollen, bloody mess, the eyes puffy and blackened, the nose misshapen and broken. Blood from her nose had clotted, forming a sticky mask all over the lower part of her face and neck. The body was blood-streaked, scarcely an inch free of livid bruises. She looked dead. He touched her. Her body was icy. He bent his ear to the wreckage of her mouth, holding his breath as he tried to detect the slightest whisper of life.

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