reports from the pathologist, beautifully typed by his loyal secretary on expensive paper. Frost flipped open the first and skipped through it. It was for the suicide, the kid in the Mickey Mouse night-shirt, Susan Bicknell. Drysdale’s usual thorough job. He hadn’t missed the marks of the beating, but reported them without comment. His sole concern was the cause of death which was confirmed as barbiturate poisoning, probably self-inflicted. Signs of recent intercourse, but she was not pregnant.
He gave the file to Gilmore who studied it grimly. ‘She didn’t kill herself because she was up the spout, son.’
‘Then why did she?’
‘We’ll probably never know.’ Frost opened up the other folder. ‘I hope everyone’s had their lunch – because it’sstomach contents time.’ He quickly read the typed sheet. ‘Isn’t science wonderful? She’s been dead two months, yet they can tell us she died within half an hour of knocking back chicken and mushroom pie, chips and peas and – wait for it – a dollop of brown sauce.’
The plump blonde WPC pulled a face. ‘I had that for dinner yesterday.’
‘If you get raped and strangled, we’ll know there’s a connection.’ He studied the report again. ‘Paula must have had another meal. She’d never have eaten all that for breakfast.’
‘She was a growing girl,’ suggested Burton. ‘You’d be surprised what kids eat these days.’
‘She died within half an hour of eating,’ Frost reminded him. ‘The meal wasn’t fully digested. I saw it. I can show it to you if you don’t believe me.’ At Burton’s shuddering refusal, he continued. ‘If she had eaten it at home, she would have to be dead by half-past seven.’
‘We’ve got a witness who saw her at 8.15,’ said Burton.
‘Either the witness is lying, or mistaken, or Paula had another meal. A hot, cooked meal.’ He opened up the package. ‘I hope this isn’t the bloody stomach contents.’ They backed away as he plunged his hand inside but it was a polythene bag he pulled out. Inside were the shoes found on the body. He gave them to the blonde WPC and asked her to send them to Forensic. And that reminded him. ‘Bloody hell – I forgot to ask Forensic to send Drysdale the knife from last night’s stabbing.’
‘Already done,’ said Gilmore. What an inefficient lout the man was.
Frost nodded his thanks. Naked, but wearing shoes. Ate a hot meal. You couldn’t force a kid to eat. She must have gone willingly with her killer and that tended to rule the bald plumber out. But Mullett said they shouldn’t spend time on this case. Leave it for whizz-kid Allen. Sod Mullett. He’d do things his way. ‘Come on, the pair of you,’ he told Gilmore and Burton. ‘Let’s drive over the route she took for her paper round.’
There were a number of strange cars in the car-park. Of course. Mullett’s press conference must be in full swing. Mullett would be telling them all about the suspected rape and he hadn’t broken the news to Paula’s parents yet. ‘We’ll call on them first,’ he said. ‘Let’s get it bloody over.’
Burton waited in the car and watched Gilmore and the inspector make the short dash through the rain to the Bartletts’ house. The girl’s father, who answered their knock, was stooped and grey-faced and seemed to have aged some ten years since the previous night. He showed them into the living-room where his wife sat staring into empty space. She forced a ghost-smile of greeting. Frost stood uneasily by the door, not knowing how to begin.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Mr Bartlett asked them.
‘We’d love one,’ Frost replied, hoping the mother would leave the room to make it. He wanted her out of the way while he broke the news of the sexual assault to her husband. But she sat, staring, unseeing, and didn’t move.
Her husband touched her shoulder. ‘Tea for you, love?’ She shook her head.
Frost left Gilmore to keep the woman silent company and followed the man into the kitchen. Bartlett filled an electric kettle from the tap. ‘She’s been like this ever since we heard.’
‘There’s something I must tell you,’ said Frost. He steeled himself to deliver the blow. The father steeled himself to receive it. ‘Your daughter was sexually assaulted before she died.’
The hand holding the kettle shook violently, splashing water all over the tiled floor. Gently, Frost took it from him and guided him towards a chair. Sobs racked the father’s body.
His face sharing the man’s pain, Frost could only watch