 
### Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Contents

Fancy another FREE read?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8
The Ice Maiden

by

Michael Saunders

# Copyright

The Ice Maiden

Copyright @ 2018 by Michael Saunders

Published on Amazon 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

# Contents

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8 

# Fancy another FREE read?

THE ICE MAIDEN is a prequel, when Detective Inspector Jack Gilbert was based at Peterborough, before the creation of the Mid-Anglia Constabulary and his move to the force's new HQ at The Manor at Brampton, near Huntingdon.

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# Chapter 1

"What a shit Christmas," he said to himself; little knowing that next year's Yuletide would be even worse.

Jack Gilbert gave a deep sigh as he made himself a cup of coffee. He had been up all night and didn't think he had had one minute's sleep; his mind was all over the place. He turned on the transistor radio to hear some group called the Beatles, caterwauling some mindless dirge. "Bloody pop groups," he complained. "They're all the same; here one minute, gone the next - and they call that music." Irritably he re-tuned the station to the Light Programme where real music could be heard. All alone in the house, he walked into the lounge, put his coffee down on the table and sunk back on the sofa. From somewhere, he knew not where, he suddenly began to cry. Not just a tear, but a full scale blubber. Gradually he got a grip and looked up at the ceiling, roughly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, wondering why, thinking grown men didn't cry. This wasn't him at all. He was a Detective Inspector for God sake, and in his position used to being in control. Now look at him. He shook his head, as if this would drive away the fears and doubts, but never the grief. He felt so alone and dejected after what had happened. He hadn't even bothered to cook for himself, which was unusual. He liked his food, but whatever he ate lately seemed to give him heart burn. He slumped back and thought of his wife. Viv was still in hospital, but at least she was being well looked after.

He took a deep breath and ran a hand over a face rough with stubble. This was not him. He looked at his watch and came to the conclusion it was useless just sitting around moping. Perhaps he should go into work? At least he could lose himself in reports rather than let his mind wallow in grief.

Fifteen minutes later he was on the A1 up to Peterborough. Turning his blue Austin A55 into the car park of the police station on Bridge Street, he got out and walked across to the main entrance of the Peterborough City Police force. He paused before climbing the four stone steps beneath the traditional blue lamp and took a breath, unsure of how he was supposed to behave.

Inside, the Desk Sergeant looked up and was about to smile, before he remembered what had happened and became covered with confusion, not sure how he was supposed to react. In the event Jack merely nodded, stretched his hand out and pushed open the swing door into the corridor beyond. Briskly he ran up the stairs to his first floor office, which didn't do wonders for his breathing. He made a mental note to cut down on the beer, or the making of his middle age paunch would be for keeps. Wiping his face with a hand; a weak attempt to reshape the growing jowls into some semblance of a pleasant disposition, he paused before the main office door to recover his breath and compose himself. He turned the handle and went inside. "Morning lads," he mumbled, not making eye contact with the two detective Constables sitting at their desks, and went directly to his office at the end of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Constable Street raised his eyebrows, a thumb jabbing towards the closed door, before giving a shrug at detective Constable Oakman. "He wasn't due to come in yet, was he?"

Oakman looked at the closed office. "No, I thought he was on compassionate leave for another two weeks yet. Mind you," and he looked his colleague in the eye. "We could do with his input on this bloody Trayhorn case."

In the haven of his office Detective Inspector Jack Gilbert was beginning to have doubts. He slumped down in a battered chair at his ancient desk, and glumly surveyed his world. You could hardly call it an office really; it was more of a glorified cupboard, shoe horned with three filing cabinets and two uncomfortable plastic chairs, nicked from the canteen, just in case he had visitors. A tiny window afforded a modicum of light and apart from three months in the summer a naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling was relied upon to add sufficient illumination in which to see. He sat there moodily contemplating what he should do. It was ridiculous coming in if everyone was walking around on egg shells, too embarrassed to act normally. Running a hand through greying, Brylcreemed hair he puffed out his cheeks as his steel grey eyes set upon the picture on his desk. It was of him and Viv on holiday. "We looked so happy then," he thought, gently tracing a finger over the image. "Who could have imagined the pile of shit destined to fall on us from such a great height?" Feeling his lip quiver, he snapped his head in a preventative jerk, attempting to clear his mind and dampen the emotion. Grabbing hold of the desk he knew he had no option. He had to get a grip. He needed to compartmentalise his mind. One part here at work - another part for home. Building a mental brick wall separating the two factions was the only way to function. He got up, let out a breath through pursed lips and opened the door. Both detectives looked up expectantly, not sure how to react, but both about to soon find out.

"Right, let's shoot the elephant in the room shall we? In case you don't know," and hesitated on seeing their sympathetic expressions. He looked up and rolled his eyes. "What am I saying? This is a police station for God sake. Even the most highly confidential of secrets get loaded onto the grapevine before you can say it wasn't me guv. Look, I'm back. I can see by the look on your face you've heard. I won't pretend, it's been a very difficult time, but my personal life remains what it is - personal. Let's just get on as normal, with what we're paid to do shall we? Now," and he threw a stern look at the two detectives; matter closed. "What do we have?"

"Well guv, we have the Trayhorn case, that doesn't seem to be going anywhere," said Stephan Oakman.

The Inspector walked across to the blackboard standing in the corner. It was his favourite bit of kit, derived from memories of his schooldays where the blackboard was a font of all knowledge. He used it here to break down cases into more easily absorbed sections and actions. "Right Steph, give me the details," he commanded.

"A seventeen year old girl went missing on October 30th, guv."

"Name?"

"Anne Trayhorn. Found dead on 7th January."

"Where?"

"In some bushes down a lane off the A1 near Wittering."

Jack wrote the details on the blackboard before turning back to catch Andy Street taking a giant mouthful out of a bacon roll. He raised an enquiring eyebrow. "I thought you were watching your weight?"

"I am guv. It's going up nicely," he grinned, patting a stomach that was as flat as a washboard. Jack shook his head. His two detectives were certainly a case of little and large with Andy Street devouring anything and everything that came his way, yet remaining as thin as a rake. Stephan Oakman on the other hand ate less than a fly and piled on the pounds. An overly tight shirt stretched across his ample stomach was criminally misplaced evidence of a man you would think devoured a full English everyday for breakfast and was no stranger to a multitude of fish and chip suppers.

"There was something strange that the pathologist came up with guv," continued Steph. "His report states there was no decomposition of the body which would have been expected. Her core temperature was ice cold. He suggests she was murdered by strangulation and placed in a deep freeze. After a couple of months she was removed and taken to the site where she was found by a Mr Banks out walking his dog."

***

Anne Trayhorn was a pupil at Peterborough Sixth Form College. She had been a bright student at the secondary modern school and her parents hoped she would go on to university, but in her early teens hormones had kicked in and academia had flown out the window to be replaced by boys and pop music. Despite bribes, inducements and threats from her parents to knuckle down and study, she had flunked her GCE's.

It was then she discovered that in the real world nothing was given to you on a plate. You had to work for it and work hard to achieve anything you wanted in life. Up until this epiphany moment she had taken her home for granted. She now began to appreciate the sacrifices her parents had made and how hard they worked to maintain the lifestyle she enjoyed. That was why she had succumbed to her parent's advice and for two years was studying hard to do her re-sits. She came from a loving family and her parents appreciated she did need some downtime, which was why she was allowed to go to the Peterborough Palais de Dance in Wentworth Street to see an unruly pop group called The Who, who were publicised in the papers as having a somewhat unsavoury reputation.

In an audience of primal screaming and deafening sound, Anne and her two friends had an absolutely 'groovy' time and it was nearly ten by the time they got to the bus stop to return home. Her friends, Jenny and Alma both lived at Dogsthorpe, and luckily they were in time to catch the ten fifteen, which was the last bus of the night. Anne lived at Longthorpe and her bus was not for another fifteen minutes. Giggling, laughing and waving, the young teens said their goodnights and Anne watched her friends disappear into the night. Standing in the chill Autumnal night, her mini skirt did little to keep her warm and she pulled her faux fur jacket tight.

"Enjoy them; The Who," enquired a voice behind her?

She jumped at being startled and tried to disguise the reaction by acting nonchalant when she saw the good looking young man standing there. "Did you see them," she asked? "Oh I just love Roger Daltrey; he's fab," and her pretty face grinned at him. "Are you a fan?"

"No not really. They're OK, but I prefer The Kinks. They're playing here in two weeks," said the smartly dressed lad with a dimpled alluring smile that reminded her of Paul Jones the lead vocalist in Manfred Mann. She felt a shiver of attraction on feeling his intense bright blue eyes rapidly scan over her. "Waiting for a bus?"

Anne pulled a face and crossed here eyes. "Doh!"

"Sorry," he laughed. "That was a bit obvious wasn't it? Where are you headed?"

"I'm waiting for the Longthorpe bus." She looked at her watch. "It should have been here by now. If it's been cancelled, I've got a bit of a walk."

"No worries. My car is just round the corner. I'll give you a lift if you like."

She didn't exactly relish the prospect of a long walk on such a chilly night, especially in her new high heels . "Would you? That would be great," she exclaimed, completely disregarding any thought of danger in accepting a lift from a stranger. It wasn't as if he was some grotty old pervert handing out sweets was it? And she wasn't exactly a child was she? She was smitten by that smile. He couldn't be more than five years older than her and he did look 'fab'. "You sure you don't mind," she asked?

"No probs. Longthorpe is only a few minutes out of my way," and he put his arm in the small of her back to guide her down the street.

Anne liked the look of him. "What's your name? Mine's Anne," she bubbled, attracted to the fair haired boy who she reckoned to be about mid-twenty.

"It's Eddie," he smiled, taking her hand and lightly kissing it. "How do you do Anne?" She giggled, thinking how nice he was and enjoying his company. He was handsome and had a car. He dressed well too, with that super killer jacket. Perhaps he might ask her out on a date, and felt a butterfly of hope, wrapped in a flutter of fancy somersaulting in her stomach at the prospect. This might be the start of something eminently enjoyable.

"There she is," he pointed at a sleek bright red MGB GT. Anne was suitably impressed.

He unlocked the car and held open the door, catching sight of underwear as her mini skirt rode up and her legs parted as they swung into the foot well. She sat back in the black leather sports seat, as he got into the driver's side. "Nice car," she enthused, impressed beyond words.

"You should see her go," he grinned, flooring the accelerator and shooting up the road, the rear end of the MG twitching with the speed. With eyes wide Anne was overwhelmed. "Wow," she exclaimed in raptures, carried away by the car and its gorgeous driver.

"Fancy going on the A1 and I can really open her up," he grinned at her. "Or will it matter if you're half an hour late?"

"No, let's do it. My parents will be in bed by now. They won't know."

He took hold of her hand and laid it on his thigh. "Hang on tight," and chanced a glance to see the smile on her face. As they reached a straight run he floored the pedal again and felt her fingers tighten on his thigh as the car accelerated up to seventy. They came up behind an old Triumph and he had to brake hard. Giving an aggressive blare on his horn he pulled out judging the vehicle coming towards them was sufficiently far away to overtake the slower car. Except the driver was annoyed at being hooted at and decided to accelerate, keeping the MG on the wrong side of the road. The lights were dazzling; the horn deafening. Anne covered her head with her arms, while her feet jammed into the floor as if she had some divine power to make the car brake. With adrenalin coursing through his veins, Eddie was more than excited at this near death experience and with a deft flick of the steering cut across in front of the Triumph at the last second as a large van thundered past. "Wohoo," he shouted, grinning across at Anne. "How was that for excitement?"

She placed a hand on her chest and puffed out her cheeks. "You are an idiot," she laughed. "We could have both been killed," and looked at him, clearly attracted by what she saw. He returned it with a knowing smile, convinced she would be easy. He slowed down and towards Wittering took a left turn out into countryside, keeping to a steady thirty five. "This better," he asked?

Anne smiled. "Yes, much, I thought it was all over back there."

He placed his hand on her bare thigh, his little finger straining to reach a little further beneath the hem of her skirt. "Sorry. Promise I'll take it easy," he pledged, edging his hand slightly higher as if caused by the car jolting on a sudden bump in the road. "I'll just pull in up there and turn round. We don't want to be getting back too late do we?" Stopping just past the entry to a field he placed his hand over the back of her seat and reversed back into the open countryside.

She felt his fingertips on her shoulder as he reversed and their eyes locked. The second it took seemed forever as he leaned towards her. Anne closed her eyes and relished the taste of his lips as he slid the tip of his tongue into her mouth. Gently sucking it she was conscious of his other arm encircling her and she fell into his embrace. As their tongues probed to and fro she sighed on feeling his hand on her breast. Soon he had found his way inside her jacket and then under her blouse. Fingers caressed the cotton bra feeling the nipple stiffen beneath, before slipping inside to explore her bare flesh, squeezing and rubbing, causing her to sigh. He kissed her neck and gently nibbled her throat.

"No," she exclaimed as his hand went under her skirt and she tried to push him away. "No, I don't want to. Stop. Please."

This only served to increase his passion as he roughly reached right up inside to tear at her tights. "Go on; you know you want to," he rasped in her ear as he ferociously grabbed, forcing his hand between her legs.

"No!" She kicked and wriggled to escape his hands, trying to fend him off her. Suddenly he stopped. "Bitch! Prick teaser!" He threw open the door and got out of the car. She gasped for air, thankful he had stopped and did not go any further. Suddenly the passenger car door opened and a hand grabbed at her. "Come on, get out." Despite trying to fight, he was too strong and he virtually dragged her out of the car. Pushing her down to the ground, he straddled her. A hand roughly clamped her mouth as she fought to scream and shout. She kicked as his other hand delved where he shouldn't, pulling and tearing at her clothes. She felt the cold air flood over her naked flesh and the pain from his nails as fingers intimately tore at her. Her energy was almost spent. She could resist no more as he grunted and undid his trousers. Pushing himself inside he began to thrust. As he began to pant on top of her, she tried one last time raking her finger nails down the material of his woollen jacket as she attempted to push him off. Her wild kicking caused him to slide out. He slapped her face. When she began to shout his strong hands grabbed at her throat, squeezing as he continued to have his way. As he came she went limp. He withdrew and pushed himself up. "Come on bitch, get up," he hissed, staring down at her, doing up his trousers. "Get up, or you can find your own way home." She didn't move and he cruelly kicked her, but there was no movement. Realisation suddenly dawned on what he'd done. Being the man he was he did not panic. Looking down at the lifeless form his mind cruelly assessed every precise detail from when he had first spoken to her at the bus stop. She had been on her own. Nobody saw him talking to her. There were no witnesses to see them go off in the car. He smiled. The police had nothing to go on; especially if he delayed matters.

# Chapter 2

It had been just before midnight on October 30th when the station had received a worried call from Mr Trayhorn, saying he had been out combing the streets looking for his missing daughter. The call was duly logged but nothing was followed up until the following morning. Two uniformed constables called round to the Trayhorn's home, to interview the distraught parents. Their report contained a photograph of a pretty seventeen year old with a dazzling smile and blonde hair backcombed to within an inch of its life into the current Dusty Springfield style. All relevant enquiries were made and a search undertaken but nothing had been found. There had been no domestic arguments, she seemed a happy, well balanced girl; in fact a normal teenager. Uniform could find no reason as to why she would runaway and a detailed search of the girl's last known movements had produced nothing of interest. It had been presumed as she was nearly eighteen that she was probably involved in a romance kept hidden from her parents. Perhaps she had been pregnant and didn't want them to find out?

***

The file remained open with cursory and periodic attention being paid. That was until January 7th when an agitated 999 phone call was received from a Roger Willis. He was calling from a public telephone box on the back road into Wittering. "Hello, police? I've just found a dead body. The body of a young girl."

Uniforms were called out to the scene, followed half an hour later by detective Constables Oakman and Street. Andy drew up and parked his car half on the verge. A panoramic view of open countryside stretched before them. Caught by the morning sun shining weakly through a gossamer January sky, everywhere was dusted with a white frost covering the entire landscape. "Jesus it's cold," complained the slim detective who felt the cold far more than his chubby colleague Constable Oakman. Beyond the verge a shallow ditch formed a natural boundary between the lane and the fields which were further protected by intermittent patches of low shrubbery. Getting out of the car they could see no attempt had been made to hide the body. They could clearly see a female figure lying in the ditch, with legs together and arms stretched above her head. Andy Street shook his head sadly. "What a waste," he murmured.

"She's obviously been interfered with; you can see," said Stephan pointing at the body and the torn clothing as they walked towards her.

"Do you think she was killed here," asked Andy looking at the ground around. "There aren't any marks, nothing to be seen. The ground doesn't appear to have been disturbed."

"Hello dear boys!" The detectives turned towards the direction of the acknowledgement. A short portly man clutching a battered old case walked towards them, smiling with twinkling eyes from beneath bushy eyebrows. He paused beside them. "What do we have here then?" It was the Divisional Surgeon Dr. Ford. He winced at what he saw. "What is this world coming to," he muttered sadly as without further ado he gingerly stepped down into the ditch. As he tended the body the detectives were more intent on seeing whether there were any items of clothing or possessions which may have been dropped.

"Look, over there," exclaimed Andy, pointing to beneath a shrub beside the trench. There's a shoe. It looks a match to the navy blue stiletto one she's wearing. Someone has thrown it away. It's too far from the body just to have fallen off her foot." He stepped down into the gully to reach for the discarded shoe. "While you're down there Andy," said Stephan excitedly. "There's also something else I can see. I think there's a handbag chucked into that bush," and he pointed to where he could see a small dark shape. Carrying the shoe, Andy took three paces along and began to delve into the foliage. "You're right Steph; I can see it." Hooking an outstretched finger through a strap, he pulled out a fairly new navy blue leather bag. Inside he found a purse. In the wallet section he discovered a Student ID card. He looked at the dead girl. "Yes it's her bag for sure. Going from the photograph here, her name is Anne Trayhorn."

"Are you sure," asked Stephan and his colleague nodded.

Their attention was suddenly diverted by the Doctor who was kneeling beside the body. "The poor young lady was strangled," he confirmed. "However, there is something a little odd here. It seems as if she's been frozen."

"Well it was bloody cold last night," remarked Andy.

The Doctor threw him a resigned world weary look, as an intellectual might view an inadequate pupil before taking him to task. "I am fully aware of that Constable. What I am talking about here is her core temperature. I think you'll find while last night was extremely chilly, it was no way near minus fifteen was it," and he tilted his head derisively. "No, the poor child has been stored inside a freezer, making time of death somewhat difficult to ascertain." Huffing and puffing he struggled to get to his feet, stretching out a hand imploringly. "Well don't just stand there Constable. Give me a hand up will you. These old bones of mine are way past their sell by date." Grinning, Andy helped the Doctor get to his feet and assisted him in getting out of the ditch. "There's nothing I can really do here," he said, looking up at the wailing sounds of an ambulance approaching. "She'll be taken to The Peterborough and District. I have already liaised with the Home office Pathologist who has agreed to perform the autopsy tomorrow morning. If you would care to observe, I presume you would be made extremely welcome."

"Who's doing it," wondered Stephan?

"The redoubtable knight of the realm, Sir Ralph Hayes," smiled the good Doctor, knowing the man was an eminent pathologist, but formidably slightly right wing of Attalla the Hun in his domineering treatment of observers who he deigned were all ignorant with the intellect of a gnat.

The detectives looked at each other. "I think we'll give that one a miss Doc," said Andy pulling a face.

"Then I expect you will receive an extremely detailed autopsy report from the mighty knight twenty four hours thereafter."

***

"So, I presume the poor unfortunate parents have been informed," queried Jack?

"Yes guv," confirmed Andy. "It all happened yesterday. We were just waiting for Sir Ralph's autopsy report before going through a list of enquiries. The bag and shoe found discarded at the scene are being checked for fingerprints."

Just then the office door opened and in walked a surprised big cheese - Superintendent Kane, clutching a report. "Jack? What the devil are you doing here; I thought you were on compassionate leave?"

Jack looked a little sheepish. "You know how it is sir, I need to keep my mind active, otherwise...," and his voice trailed off hoping his boss would understand.

In the even the man merely nodded. "So you haven't just popped in then? Here," and without waiting for an answer held out the folder. "You had better go through this. It's the autopsy report on the murder of Anne Trayhorn. Brief your team and then come up and see me. I need to discuss something with you," and without further ado nodded at the detectives and was gone, leaving Jack wondering what on earth that was all about.

He opened the report and scanned the pages. "It confirms here that the body has been frozen and stored over a period of time," said Jack out loud to the two Constables. "Time of death is estimated about nine weeks ago. Cause of death was by strangulation and there were marks on her wrists, akin to hands being tied together. She was also raped. Apart from the normal medical details, there's nothing much else to relate, except ...." He pulled an inquisitive face. "Interesting. It says beneath the finger nails of one hand they found fine navy blue fibres of wool; similar to the composition of a man's jacket. Does that mean in the struggle she snared the killer's jacket?" He looked at his colleagues and shut the file. "If it did, then when we find the bastard, providing he still has the jacket, we can nail him. Right, I would like you both to complete a timeline from the night Miss Trayhorn went to the concert and a list of people she associated with, together with any background information we have, or need to find. I'll just go and see our beloved leader and when I get back we can go through what you've come up with."

He ran up the single flight of stairs, regretting it in an instant as he pushed through the swing doors into the corridor housing the higher echelons of Peterborough policing. He paused to gather his breath outside the door studded with the Superintendent's brass nameplate. Adjusting his tweed sports jacket and hitching up his corduroys he pushed open the door to be greeted by the great man's secretary busily typing away at her electric typewriter. Envy cut through his mind for a moment when he thought of the old fashioned clattering lumps of metal they had to pound away on to produce their reports.

"Morning Jack. The Superintendent said for you to go straight in."

"Morning Gloria. Right you are," and he gave the door next to her desk a light knock and went in.

"Ah Jack, sit down won't you?"

Jack did not feel very relaxed. He had no idea why he had been summoned and from past experience coming here hardly ever proved a positive encounter. Nevertheless he sat as requested and waited for the man sitting on the opposite side of the desk to finish doing whatever he was doing. It seemed like reading and signing, reading and signing. He signed the last piece of paper with a flourish, putting it with the rest of the pile and leaned forward. Resting his chins on fingers forming a temple he looked intently at his Detective Inspector. "Would you say you were happy here Jack," he asked, completely out of the blue?

Jack didn't really know how best to reply to that and in the end opted for simplicity. "Yes sir."

The Superintendent pursed his lips. "Well Jack we have to move with the times. Never let it be said that we, as a police force, never embrace the future and all that it entails."

Jack was lost. What did the man mean?

"The powers that be have decided to adopt a thrust for efficiency and economy of scale Jack and that involves you," and he raised his eyebrows as if expecting to hear Jack's comments. There was a deathly silence. Jack hadn't got a clue and didn't know what on earth he needed to say in reply. His boss reformed and reconsidered an alternative approach. This time more directly. "A decision has been made to combine the five local police forces into a single, far more efficient entity. The Constabularies of Cambridge, the Isle of Ely and Huntingdon, the Peterborough Combined Police and Peterborough City Police from the beginning of April will henceforth be known as the Mid-Anglian Constabulary."

"I don't understand sir."

Superintendent Kane rolled his eyes, exasperated at the sheer lack of political perception his Inspector was demonstrating. "Jack, you have been appointed as a Detective Inspector to head one of the teams at the new HQ in Huntingdon - The Manor at Brampton," and he smiled, expecting Jack to at least show some modicum of enthusiasm. "It will mean you heading a bigger team, handling larger, more comprehensive cases."

He was met by a blank expression. Jack had understood the words, but not the meaning exactly. "You mean I'm being transferred," he tentatively asked?

The Super sighed. "Yes Jack. You will be working at the new HQ as of 1st April."

Jack grinned, tilted his head and closed one eye. "This is a joke isn't it? April Fools Day?"

Kane was now beginning to get a little irritable. "I want you to bring this current Trayhorn case to a speedy conclusion. Thereafter complete your compassionate leave and mop up all other outstanding cases by the end of March. You will not be taking on any new cases - no matter what - and during the month of March you will be spending more time at Huntingdon setting up your office and recruiting your new team ready for the April start date." He allowed himself a management motivational smile. "Exciting times Jack, exciting times. That will be all," and he stood, extending his hand. "The best of luck in your new position but in the meantime press on hard and solve this murder case."

"Sir," replied Jack, his mind in somewhat of a daze as he returned the handshake, not sure whether he had any option to disagree. He hesitated. "So what becomes of this place and my two Constables?"

Kane flapped his hand as if swatting a bothersome fly. "This place will continue with the same staff but operate as a faction within the Mid-Anglia Constabulary Force."

When he returned to the office he was met by two pairs of enquiring eyes, who were wondering why he'd been called into the Super's office. Andy had thought it was to do with Jack being ordered to return home and continue with his compassionate leave. Stephan thought it had something more to do with the current murder. Jack caught the looks. "I think a cuppa is called for."

Andy boiled the kettle threw two tea bags into mugs and for Jack two spoonfuls of Maxwell House into his. They all went to sit in Jack's shoe box of an office. When Jack opened up his secret cache of chocolate digestives, the two Constables knew this was something serious. Jack pursed his lips. "There appears to be a reformation taking place. The Super has just told me that the five local forces are being combined and as of 1st April we shall all be recognised as the Mid-Anglia Constabulary. It apparently also means I'm being transferred to the new HQ, The Manor at Brampton. As far as I know you both carry on just doing the same job. The only difference is you won't have an Inspector to report to."

"Well who do we answer to then," asked Andy?

Jack was fast coming to the conclusion that he had been caught in a whirlwind of muddled administration. "Look; this has all been news to me too," he explained, believing the two men were entitled to a better explanation, but knowing the system left a lot to be desired when it came to keeping minions informed. "Have a think about it and tomorrow come in with all your queries. I promise I'll go and see the Super and get definitive answers. Now, let's get back to to the murdered girl."

# Chapter 3

Jack arrived home to a dark house, after visiting Viv in hospital. She didn't seem much better. If truth be known she was almost comatose and any conversation was pretty much one sided. It had been really difficult. He had spent the time trying to make small talk, but knew this was a skill he most definitely did not possess and the thirty minutes spent on the ward seemed like hours. She'd been so sedated there had hardly been any coherent response, although he was cheered by the little squeeze she gave his hand showing she knew he was there. After half an hour his patience exhausted, he had kissed her goodbye and set off to find someone able to update him on her condition. Finding the Ward Sister he was told there was some hope she could maybe leave in a week or so, after Doctors had finished monitoring her response to the different drugs they were trying.

Getting home he made himself a cup of strong, black, Maxwell House and slumped onto the settee. He chided himself for allowing his mind to venture towards work rather than thinking of his poor wife lying in a hospital bed, but it was always the same; demands of work always prevented him from giving Viv the time she really needed. And then in a moment of stark realism he came face to face with the real reason. There was nobody else to blame except himself. He loved and cared for his wife, he really did, but for some strange reason he always put the job ahead of her. He hated himself for not being there when it had happened at Christmas. It wasn't as if he didn't know. Why wasn't he there? Reality slapped him across the face again. He had been too frightened and had hidden behind his job.

He reflected on these sorry home truths and used his detective mind to evaluate objectively what he should do. He rationalised he couldn't do anything for Viv at the moment; that was down to the medics, but he could do his job and offer closure for the parents of Anne Trayhorn.

He was in a more positive frame of mind when he parked his car the following morning. The sky was heavily grey, swollen with a potential downpour and even at eight in the morning there was a darkness reaching into the shadows, gloomily determined to hang on for the whole day. The first one in, he knew the other two would be in in a few minutes, and, as was his want he filled the kettle to make drinks for everybody. It was a small token of man management that always went down well.

Within the hour, after having first batted away their personal employment queries with a promise he would find out answers for them by the end of the day, they hammered out a strategy for pursuing the murder.

Andy was going to the local college to interview Anne's two friends and then check out the Peterborough Palais de Dance as well as seeing if there were witnesses living in the houses near the bus stop where she would have caught the bus home. Stephan was detailed to make a list and visit all those local companies who would have a commercial freezer. It was felt the new domestic freezers being sold for the home were too small; the only way a body could fit into such a space would be by arranging it in a foetal position. However, the body was found lying straight out, with arms raised above the head which was the position in which it had been frozen. Jack was going to visit the parents and gain more information about their daughter.

***

Jack pulled up outside a well kept pre-war semi, enclosed by a six feet high beautifully cut privet hedge and a wooden gate across a concrete driveway on which stood a fairly new green Triumph Herald. He opened the gate and walked up the path. Almost as he reached the front door with its stained glass central port-hole window, it was thrown open to reveal a petite dark haired woman, devoid of make-up, her eyes puffed from crying. "It's a bit late you coming here now isn't it," she demanded, even before Jack could hold up his ID.

"Mrs Trayhorn? May I come in?"

The distressed woman was about to slam the door in his face when a kind voice called out. "No dear; let the man in. He's only trying to help."

"Help? It's too late for any damned help he could offer," she shouted, but reluctantly stood aside to allow him in. He instinctively flexed his back, unsure whether she would attack him from behind. Mr Trayhorn stood at the end of the hall. He was quite tall, with thinning hair; wore a knitted cardigan and a pair of baggy trousers so crumpled you would have thought he'd slept in them. He gave Jack a tentative stare. "You'd better come in here," he said, opening a door off the hall into a dining room, indicating he should sit down at the table. "Do you want my wife as well, only she is extremely distressed as you can imagine."

"Sorry sir, I am afraid I would like to speak to both of you," he said firmly, ensuring there was no room for negotiation, offering her a smile despite the sneer she gave him on being forced to sit down. As it appeared no offer of tea or coffee was likely to be forthcoming Jack got straight down to business. "Thank you for seeing me. My name is Detective Inspector Jack Gilbert and I am the officer heading the case concerning your daughter."

"You mean murder don't you," she spat, but a gentle hand on her arm prevented any continuing hostility.

"I know this is a stressful time for you both, but I cannot emphasise enough that we do need your help. Can you tell me a little bit about your daughter, what she was like, the friends she had? Perhaps there were boyfriends," he ventured, setting them on a pathway of information.

Mr Trayhorn looked at his wife and smiled weakly, taking her hand in his. "Anne was a perfect daughter, our only child. She always seemed happy enough and we never had any worries, until she was about fourteen or so."

"No Bob."

"Sorry sweetheart, we do need to explain to the Inspector," and after patting her hand looked directly at Jack. "You know what today's youngsters are like - what the newspapers call them - teenagers. Perhaps you have one of your own?" Jack swallowed, attempting to suppress his emotion and not daring to speak for fear of his voice trembling, and just shook his head. Trayhorn didn't appear to notice and carried on. "She began to struggle in her lessons, not caring, not doing her homework. You know the sort of thing. We tried everything to get her to knuckle down and when she failed her GCE's she sort of saw the light and asked whether she could go to Sixth Form College and re-sit her exams."

"She's a good girl," said his wife, before catching herself speaking in the present and pulling out her handkerchief to have a quiet sob.

"She was doing so well and her tutors were all saying she could get enough good passes to consider university," he said proudly.

"Did she have any boyfriends," asked Jack.

The couple looked at each other and shook their heads. "She never mentioned anybody, although I don't doubt boys figured in her group of friends at college," replied Mr Trayhorn. "Since going there she really knuckled down with work. We even told her off, didn't we sweetheart," and he looked at his wife. "You know, to go out with her friends and have some sort of social life. All work and no play sort of thing. She was only seventeen. It was no life was it," he asked, his lip trembling with emotion.

Jack pulled a sympathetic face and shook his head in sad agreement. "So she went to the concert on Saturday with your blessing then?"

"Oh yes she had been looking forward to it for ages, going with two of her friends, Jenny Foxton and Alma Pryor. It was only a short bus ride into town. After the concert finished she was due to catch the bus back and she would have been indoors before eleven."

"We checked with the bus company," said Jack quietly. "The 10.30 bus to Longthorpe broke down on route and had to be towed back to the station. It would have meant Anne either walking home, or getting a lift from someone. Couldn't she have taken a taxi?"

"Our Anne is a sensible girl," retorted her mother angrily as if Jack was casting an aspersion on her daughter. "She was wearing high heels; she wouldn't have walked that far, they were too new and would have given her blisters. As far as taking a lift is concerned; we drummed into her from when she was young; she knew it was dangerous getting into a car driven by a stranger."

"Did she have enough money for a taxi," asked Jack?

"I think so," replied Mr Trayhorn. "In any case she was level-headed enough to take a taxi knowing we were at home and could pay. I agree with my wife she was too sensible to hitch a lift. Maybe she met someone she knew from college? You know, a friend who had a car able to give her a lift home?" He suddenly realised how foolish that sounded and shook his head, looking down at the table a defeated man.

Jack didn't wish to intrude on the couple's grief any further and thanked them for their time. "Don't worry I'll see myself out," he said quietly.

***

He couldn't wait to buy the Peterborough Evening Telegraph to see if he was in it. Yes, there it was; right slap bang on the front page - ICE MAIDEN MURDERED. He grinned to himself. It had been over two months since her disappearance. Although he had given them back her frozen body they didn't have a clue. There were no witnesses and nothing for them to go on. They would never know it was him. "Perfect," he gloated and then began to wonder. It had been so easy and all the more surprising since it hadn't been planned. Perhaps he should do it again, just to prove it wasn't luck? He smirked, relishing the memory, and the climatic thrill that shuddered through him. He giggled as the words comings and goings popped into his head. He had had sex before, but that had now palled into insignificance after what had happened. He thought back over the last couple of months, when he had paid her an occasional visit, each time touching, caressing and feeling her, but it wasn't the same. She was dead to his desire, his wants and needs. Now he knew; usual sex could never compete with that intense pleasure she had given him. It had been an almost out of body experience. He wanted it again, and again.

***

Jack stood before the blackboard. "I've spoken to the Trayhorns about their daughter. After early teenage problems and flunking her exams she settled down and was doing very well academically at Sixth Form College. She seems to have been a bright, bubbly young lady, but I suspect a little on the conservative side rather than always being out for a good time. How did you get on Andy?"

Andy Street opened his notebook. "I went to the College and interviewed the two friends separately, and as they are minors they were accompanied by their teacher. Both Jenny Foxton and Alma Pryor corroborated each other's account. They met Anne outside the Peterborough Palais de Dance as they had all originally agreed. They had a great time watching the support acts and then The Who. Apparently they were fantastic, and the drummer," he paused as if this was important. "The drummer's name was Keith Moon who kicked over all his drums at the end, while the guitarist, Pete Townshend smashed his instrument up on stage. Alma remembers Anne saying she thought it was such a waste."

"OK, you are not a music critic and I use the word music lightly as far as these groups are concerned," Jack sniffed. "Anything you think relevant from when they left the concert?"

"All three left together and walked the two hundred yards to the bus stop. Jenny thought there were several other girls and two couples waiting with them. The two couples and maybe two of the girls got on the bus to Yaxley. Everybody then got onto the Dogthorpe bus when it arrived five minutes later. Both girls agreed they said their goodbyes to Anne and saw she was the only person left at the bus stop. As far as they could tell there was nobody else there. Three houses overlook the bus stop. I checked to see whether anyone had chanced looking out. One elderly couple said they went to bed at half nine, the couple living next door were in their lounge at the back of the house watching television and at the third property the two living there were away for that weekend."

"We already know Anne's bus had broken down and out of service. Apparently she was wearing new shoes and therefore would not have attempted the walk home. Her other option would have been a taxi, either by hailing one, or walking to the telephone kiosk twenty yards away and calling for a mini-cab." He looked at Andy. "I don't hold out much hope but can you go through the motions and contact all local taxi services, just to rule out this option?"

Andy scribbled a reminder in his notebook. "Would she have thumbed a lift," he wondered?

Jack shook his head. "Her parents had drummed into her from an early age she should never accept a lift from strangers. If that was the case, then the only option is that she knew the killer and accepted a lift from him - but not home," surmised Jack. He then turned to Stephan. "How have you got on with freezers Steph."

The constable puffed out his cheeks. "We are talking about walk-in freezers here. The way the girl was found, with hands stretched above her head means she measured seventy five inches from the top of her fingers to her toes. There is no domestic chest freezer manufactured able to fit that length. That means we can only be talking about an industrial unit. I originally thought about butchers, but their units are only for chilling and don't drop down to freezing. In fact there is only a surprisingly small number of commercial blast chiller units I could find in use around the local area. I have identified eight and visited five so far. They tend to be companies dealing in the production of food, be it finished products or butchery of meat joints, which are then blast frozen. Of the companies I've visited the freezer units are about the size of your office guv," and he grinned at the reference to Jack's sumptuous work space.

"You know what they say Stephan, size is not important," Jack mocked, wearing a stern face which soon cracked.

Stephan took a sip of tea and continued. "You would first have to lay the body on a shelf or hang it from the ceiling of the unit. Apparently if you had to blast freeze a body in one of these contraptions it would take about six hours to go rock solid." He stopped and looked at Jack. "The marks on her wrist guv; these could have come from being tied and suspended."

Andy interjected. "Yes, that's all very well, but we are talking about a two month time period between the girl disappearing and being found. Surely in a work environment somebody would have noticed a body hanging around in their blast freezer wouldn't they?"

# Chapter 4

He could feel the urgent need for release in his groin as he gunned the MG. The Kinks were playing live tonight and there was no need to question why he couldn't repeat the same situation as with the Ice Maiden. He had been very good in not succumbing to his desires. Instead he had been living on his thoughts, purely relishing the memory, but now was too long. He could no longer prevent himself from doing it again. Now was the perfect scenario. Waiting until it was past ten he cruised the main streets until he saw numbers of people leaving the concert and beginning to queue for a bus home. He understood it was like Russian roulette. The one detail left to chance was the bus. It was pure luck that one had been cancelled before. This time he would not approach on foot he would remain in the car. It would be a waiting game. He had probably a thirty or forty minute window of opportunity.

It was ten thirty and the numbers of people waiting for a bus had dwindled.

Fifteen minutes later he saw her, a pretty little thing. Her high heels stamped on the pavement. She was obviously cold. Silly girl, she was not wearing gloves and kept blowing into her hands to keep them warm. Unfortunately he could not see her figure as she was wearing a long coat that fashionably almost reached to her ankles, but going by her face she was of slim build and the cut of the coat showed she was not flat chested. Nobody else was around. He pulled alongside her, reached over and wound down the passenger window. "Excuse me," he smiled. "I'm trying to get to Wittering. Is this the right road?"

The girl smiled at the attractive man and waved her hand out as she gave him directions, pointing along the road.

"Sorry, I can't hear you."

She stepped forward and bent down into the window, seduced by the man's friendly smile and relishing the welcome warmth of the interior. He seemed a bit of alright and she felt perfectly safe and quite comfortable speaking to him. "You go up this road to the roundabout and turn right. That takes you out onto the A1 towards Wittering," and she gave him a warm seductive smile.

He looked into her eyes. "Thank you so much." Giving her his twinkling attractive smile which he knew turned the ladies on he asked disarmingly, "I know you aren't supposed to take sweets from strangers, but you look so cold. If I promise not to offer you any chocolate, could I give you a lift somewhere?"

She played it all coy, but they both knew it was a game. "How do I know you aren't some kind of pervert," she laughed easily?

"Ah, that's for me to know and you to wonder," and he grinned amiably. "Look, it was just a thought. If you would prefer not to, no hard feelings, I won't be upset. Well perhaps just a little," and he pulled a sad face.

Won over by his easy charm and good looks she felt no qualms of apprehension and decided to get out of the cold, opening the passenger door. As she got in, her long coat parted and he won a glance of shapely legs and the top of a very short skirt as she swung her feet into the foot well. "My name's Eddie, what's yours," he asked.

"It's Pat," she replied with a smile.

"Well Pat I am your chauffeur for this evening, so where are we bound?"

She giggled, totally relaxed, her mind favourably appraising the man sitting beside her. She hoped he was local and idly contemplated the possibility of perhaps meeting him again; especially after just having dumped that boring David she had been seeing for the last month. "I live at Stilton," she said.

"Right madam, Stilton it is. Hang on tight," and he gunned the accelerator, which forced her back into the seat in a fit of giggles, with hands flailing the air and one hand inadvertently falling onto the top of his thigh. They exchanged glances, aware there was a fatal attraction in the air and he was conscious she had not removed her hand from his thigh. "How come a lovely girl like you is out on her own," he asked? "Don't you have a boy friend in tow?"

"No, I've just dumped him."

He stole a glance at the hint of an alluring smile playing on her full lips. Pushing the gear stick into top he let his hand fall to rest on her leg. "Someone's loss could be somebody else's gain."

They drove out of town towards the country. He gently, almost imperceptibly squeezed her leg. She reciprocated, softly caressing his thigh. "Fancy stopping for a few minutes - just to get to know each other a little better," he murmured? "It'll be quite safe I promise. You can trust me. I'm not the sort of bloke that takes advantage, especially when we've only just met." He threw her a glance, seeing an accepting nod in return. From her reaction she was no shrinking violet that's for sure. He continued driving for a few more minutes before pulling off into an industrial estate, with many units up for sale. He drove to the end and pulled into the rear of Forget-me-not Catering where they parked up. He leant over and gently kissed her, feeling her hands go round the back of his neck, as he slid a hand round her waist. Within a few moments their kisses had become more passionate. "Do you want to," he whispered huskily, surprised to hear her sigh into his ear. "There's no need for a Johnny; I'm on the pill."

He pulled back, shocked. "You aren't married are you?"

She giggled. "No, of course not; my mum gets them for me."

He did not wish to go into the whys and wherefores of that particular scenario, preferring to get on with the matter in hand as she was obviously up for it. It was moments like this that he wished he'd opted for an estate car, where with the seats down you could lie out in the back with some degree of comfort. Even with the seats tilted back the sloping roof of the MG was tantamount to trial by claustrophobia when it came to any sexual shenanigans, and hitting the stubby little gear stick at an inappropriate time could at best make your eyes water, or worse cock up the whole caboodle.

They rearranged their bodies into a more comfortable position and with Pat half lying across him, his hands began to explore, delving, caressing, and fondling. There was no doubt Pat was an experienced modern woman who had burned her bra. There wasn't one, which both surprised and delighted him, even more so by discovering her hands were also not inhibited in places where they foraged.

Their ardour knew no bounds and just like a football match of two halves, they paused to remove articles of clothing and swapped positions, with Pat taking the high ground. Caught up in the moment, her eyes closed, her buttocks thrusting, she began to pant and groan. He relished the moment as he drove himself in and out of her. As she climaxed and cried out in abandon it was then that his fingers touched around her throat, squeezing, squeezing and his thumbs pressing. Her eyes opened wide in shock at the realisation, the groan become a cry and then nothing more than a spasmodic gurgle. He came as her eyes rolled up into white, her body slackened on top of him, and they lay there both bodies spent.

It had been perfect timing. He relished that sublime instant seeing her life force spent in orgiastic ecstasy. Such a wonderful moment to climax and stare death in the face. Even now he wanted more, but knew that was just being greedy. Hurriedly he struggled from beneath her, pushed the seat back and got out of the car. "Jeez," he exclaimed standing there half naked in the freezing cold January night. He grabbed inside for his clothes. Pulling them on, he fumbled in his trousers for the keys and walked to the rear entrance of the industrial unit. He let himself in to a small kitchen area. This opened out to a large empty work space and three offices. It had been empty for several months now. The business had closed and the place had the distinct fusty smell and atmosphere of a dead company with a haphazard pile of unopened mail lying beneath the locked front door. At the other end of the building stood a gun metal grey cold store, with a refrigeration unit housed on its roof.

He returned to the car and with some difficulty pulled the half naked dead girl out of the car. Going to the boot he opened it up and found an old sack which he used to fill with the girl's discarded garments which he gathered up from the foot well and draped across seat. He threw the filled sack into the boot and then began to pay attention to the girl. Rather than drag her; she was only slight, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, disappearing inside the small factory.

Without any respect he let the body fall to the floor outside the large metal cabinet. He unlocked it and pulled the lever to open the heavy door. Inside, on the metal floor he saw the wire he'd used to tie the other girl and reaching down he picked it up. Outside the freezer he looked down, and for a moment relished the naked body lying between his feet. He bent down and straightened her legs, before roughly pulling the girl's arms above her head and tightly winding the wire around her wrists, binding them to make a loop. Dragging the body inside the freezer he stood the girl up, lifting the body so the loop on her wrists caught on a hook hanging from the ceiling. Cruelly he slapped her naked bottom as she slowly swayed in the air, her bare feet just inches above the ground. Slamming the door shut he went to the instrument panel on the side of the unit setting it to blast freeze. He estimated it would take six hours. He looked at his watch. That would be half past five in the morning and way before anyone arrived on the estate. As it was, the whole bank of four units this side of the road was empty and only two were occupied opposite. Being careful he would park a safe distance away and come here on foot through the fields at the back. Nobody would see him.

Going back to the car he removed the sack and went across to a rubbish skip set before the unit opposite and threw it in with the other rubbish. Driving only on side lights he drove the car out of the industrial site, extremely pleased with himself; in fact not just pleased, ecstatic.

Just gone five he parked the MG in a local car park and walked along the path which bordered the open countryside. Within five minutes he had arrived at the rear of the industrial units. Everywhere was quiet and not a sound cut through the chilled air. There were no cars parked, no lights on depicting early birds in their office. Using his key he let himself in and walked over to the freezer unit. Opening the door he immediately felt his nose hair harden, it was that cold. Covered in a thin slither of what seemed like hoar frost she hung there, frozen solid, with tiny icicles on her eye brows and lashes. Feeling her intimately, just to check, he was satisfied that she was 'cooked' as it were, and she would now be left, preserved, hanging there while the police ran around like headless chickens having no idea where she was. And then after several weeks, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat she would no doubt be found by some nosy parker.

# Chapter 5

The hospital had called on the Sunday to say his wife could leave. The Doctors had evaluated the meds and prescribed the pills best able to help Viv cope with clinical depression and allow her to lead a relatively normal life. However, Jack had been warned, mentally she would react slower than before and her stress levels needed to be managed to prevent her from sinking into an abyss of depression. It was advised she should be an out-patient at the hospital seeing her consultant once every two weeks. Jack had taken all this on board not exactly sure how he was going to cope. Certainly going on past performance he had hardly got a gold star in the annals of patient care.

He looked around the lounge. There was no other word for it, it was a pigsty. A bloke living on his own without a woman to look after the house would always end in disaster. He didn't do dusting and most definitely wouldn't know where to start in a bathroom. Perhaps a whizz round with the hoover would do and a general tidy. He wondered about the bed. It had been changed three weeks ago, but would probably do another week. Within ten minutes the whole job was done and dusted - well not quite dusted. He wondered what all the fuss was about when women complained about all the housework they had to do.

There was a soft tap on the front door. "Hello," Jack exclaimed, wondering why his next door neighbour had called round. Her name was Sue Hammond, an attractive widow about the same age as Jack; her husband had been killed during the Korean War. "I just wondered how Viv was getting on," she enquired and could see behind Jack that a man had done some tidying up. In her mind men tidied by placing things in neat piles rather than putting them away in their rightful, designated places. "Been doing housework, I see," she grinned.

Jack looked behind him. To his eyes the lounge was all tickety-boo. He turned back towards Sue. "How did you know I'd been doing housework?"

"Not much of a detective are you," she laughed. "No woman would arrange things like that," she pointed dismissively at a pile of magazines and newspapers. "Would you like me to do it for you?"

Jack was a little miffed. It seemed alright to him. "I was just about to go and get Viv," he explained. "I thought I ought to make the effort."

"Well you didn't make much of one did you," she laughed. "Go on away with you. Go and get Viv and I'll finish up any bits that don't past muster here."

***

He looked fondly down at Viv's tousled head on the pillow, deep in the land of nod. He was glad she was home; the place had seemed so empty without her, but he was a little concerned about how she would cope with life in general. It was a worry. He had to admit when they had arrived back home yesterday, the whole house looked as clean and as bright as a new pin. He almost took all the credit, but knew from past experience that truth will always out in the end and decided to come clean and tell Viv that Sue had done it. In fact Sue had promised she would call round to spend some time with Viv that morning. That was a good excuse to go into work.

He went into the bathroom, plugged in the rubber suckers of the shower onto the taps and stepped into the bath, pulling the curtain across. He never learned, his mind was always somewhere else and he never tested the water before stepping under the shower. Well at least the cold water washed away all vestige of sleep. He shuddered beneath the spray for half a minute, before feeling the gush of heated water coming through. By the time he had downed a cup of Maxwell House and a slice of toast, he was good to go. Quietly creeping upstairs he gave Viv a peck goodbye. She hardly stirred which was a good thing, thinking the more rest she got, the better.

He arrived at Peterborough at just past eight and was hard at work when he heard his two colleagues arrive. Over tea and coffee they discussed where they were at in the case of Anne Trayhorn. Stephan had visited the five companies he had identified with walk-in freezers. He had inspected each one. "You could probably freeze a body in one overnight, but keep it hidden there for several weeks was an impossibility. With all the comings and goings someone would have discovered it. These units are large, but not that big you could keep a body hidden," he said.

Jack's phone rang. He answered it with a pensive look on his face. "Yes, could you bring me up a file with all the latest details?" Replacing the receiver he looked thoughtfully at the other two. "I don't believe in coincidences. Another young girl has gone missing off the Eldon Estate."

Andy rolled his eyes. "I'm surprised we were notified. That's a really rough part of town. Park your car there for ten minutes and you come back and find everything on it nicked.

"Apparently a nineteen year old, Patricia Griggs went out on Saturday evening and she didn't come home." Just then a uniform came in, carrying a folder. "The Desk Sergeant told me to bring this up to you sir," he said handing the file to Jack, who nodded his thanks. Jack took a couple of minutes to scan through the report. "It seems as if the young lady met a girl friend to see one of these long haired, so called groups at the Palais de Dance." He looked down at the report. "It says here they were called The Kinks - never heard of them." Andy threw Steph a sly smirk at how Jack could be so out of touch. "Her friend caught a bus and left Patricia waiting at the stop. That was the last time she was seen at just gone ten on Saturday night. The parents or at least her mother was interviewed. The girl lives at home and is the eldest of five children. The mother says if her daughter was having a good time she would often stay out all night on a Saturday, but never failed to come back for her Sunday dinner." Jack looked at the others. I think we had first better speak with the parents and then Patricia's friend, Shirley Tiley. Probably she'll know more about what's going on than her mother, who doesn't exactly appear to be the epitome of good parenting. Can you come with me Andy? Steph can you continue checking and see whether you can find anymore companies with a commercial freezer. Try contacting manufacturers of these units and follow up on the companies they have supplied and carried out installations."

***

Jack and Andy drove through town in the Inspector's blue Austin A55I before taking the road leading into the Eldon Estate. It was a huge post-war development of nearly two thousand homes built especially for the London over spill, to house those who had lost their homes during the war. The estate seemed to be a war zone, with broken down and burnt out cars left abandoned, rusty fridges and freezers, their doors wide open lying higgledy piggledy in dozens of gardens. "Nice place," mused Andy.

"Which number," asked Jack?

"Nine Harvest Place," replied Andy wondering how the middle class rural street names appealed to a population with hardly a pot to piss in. "There it is, over there," and pointed to an end terrace with discoloured cream nets stretched tightly across the windows. Kids' toys, broken and bent lay in the dirt front garden devoid of any grass or greenery. Jack parked outside, looking around for any potential felons or mischief makers likely to remove the wheels or cause damage to his car. They walked past the front gate hanging off its hinges and up the short path to the front door. There was no knocker and so Jack gave it a hefty bang. They could hear scuffling and noises inside before the door was opened by a slight woman with peroxide blonde hair fast losing its battle with a ghost of dark grey roots; a roll up clung on her lip, and she was dressed in a pinafore apron. "Yes," and she looked them up and down with a sneer on her hard, lived in face. Whatever conclusion she came to in her mind was the wrong answer, but she was quick to bark a command nevertheless. "Whatever it is you're selling I don't want none of it," and she went to slam the door, but not before it was jammed by Jack's size ten as he introduced himself. "I'm Detective Inspector Jack Gilbert, this is my colleague Detective Constable Andy Street," and they held up their ID, resulting in the woman giving a loud sniff of contempt.

"Is this about our Pat," she asked?

"Yes, can we come in do you think?"

"What for," she rasped crossing her arms over a bony chest.

"To help us find your daughter," he said begrudgingly, much preferring to rather conduct the interview on the doorstep where he could keep an eye on his car.

Mrs Griggs sniffed disdainfully. "Come on then, in there," and she pointed to the first door off the hallway. Jack was relieved as the grimy window looked across to where he was parked. The room was laid with linoleum and furnished with a dilapidated sunken sofa inviting any unsuspecting person to sit there, but once entrapped with your backside almost on the floor it was very nearly impossible to escape its clutches. Opposite there was an armchair, three hard back chairs and innumerable broken toys scattered everywhere. An old sideboard heralded several family photographs.

"So Mrs Griggs," began Jack perched on one of the hard chairs, looking at the skinny woman sitting there in the armchair.

"It's Miss if you don't mind. My old man did a runner two years ago with her down at number seventeen." She sniffed. "Good riddance I say; I was glad to see the back of him," and she gave another sniff, before lighting up. "I found another bloke didn't I? My Ron; he's the salt of the earth."

"That's as may be, but can you tell us a little about Patricia - Pat. What is she like, who her friends are, boyfriends, that sort of thing," enquired Jack.

There was silence as she busied herself rolling a fag which was more paper than tobacco. As if she was somewhere sophisticated she looked expectantly at Jack, who just returned a blank stare. "Light," she commanded.

"I don't smoke."

"I do; here," said Andy pulling a lighter out of his pocket, and attempting to extricate himself from the killer sofa, but failing dismally, before throwing her the lighter. She lit the touch paper, chucked the lighter back and inhaled deeply.

"Our Pat is a good girl; she always helps me, you know, with the odd ten bob."

"What about her friends?"

She took another drag. "Our Pat is very popular; always out with her friends; always going to the pub, to dances and that."

"Does she have a boy friend," asked Jack? "Perhaps you could give us his name?"

The woman cackled. "She's nineteen; she has different ones on the go all the time, sometimes two or three at the same time." She drew on her cigarette. "Mind you she's a lovely girl. You know; a nice little figure. It's not surprising all the boys sniff after her."

"Does she often stay out all night," asked Andy?

"When she meets someone nice, sometimes she stays over," and looked defensively at the detectives. "Well you know what these youngsters are like these days. They think nothing of it. That's why she's on the pill," and sniffed. "Mind you, she knows I worry, so it's always the one night and then she comes back home."

Jack couldn't contain his irritation. "What do you mean she's on the pill? You need a prescription for that and have to be married."

The woman grimaced. "It's better to be safe than sorry. I didn't want her to end up like me, so I get them for her," and then immediately became aggressive. "It's not a crime is it?"

Jack didn't actually know. Probably it was, but he merely shook his head and battled on regardless. "When she went to the concert did she go with anyone? Perhaps a boyfriend?"

"No, she went with a girl from work. Thick as thieves they are."

"And her name is...?" Jack paused, waiting to hear if the name from the uniformed Constable's notes would be the same.

"Shirley Tiley."

"Do you know where she lives," asked Andy?

"Haven't a clue. I suppose you could ask at Ashtons. She and Pat both work together in the packing department."

When they returned to the car there were a gang of young boys hovering. "Oi, don't even think about it. Go on do one or you'll get nicked," shouted Jack.

"Alright granddad keep your hair on," shouted one as they all scattered.

"What a place," remarked Jack as he got into the car. "What did you make of Pat's mum?"

"I don't think she was much help. Perhaps we can get some names from her mate Shirley."

"Ashtons is only a few minutes away. Let's try our luck," said Jack starting the car and slamming the column gear change into first.

***

Having shown their ID at reception at the factory where they made nuts and bolts, they were shown into a small office and waited. A few minutes later the door was thrown open and a girl with overly dark black backcombed hair with matching eye make up, stomped into the room, her thighs slapping beneath a short mini-skirt. "What do you want? I haven't done nothing," she announced through bright scarlet lips; the remark made with such aggression it made her chins wobble.

"Miss Tiley," smiled Jack. "Please sit down. We just want to ask you about your friend Pat, Pat Griggs."

"What about her? She's done nothing either."

"We understand you both went to the Palais de Dance last Saturday?"

She looked at Jack suspiciously. "Yeah; so what? It's not illegal is it? We saw The Kinks. Fab they were. I tell you, I wouldn't kick that Ray Davies out of bed," she smirked knowingly.

Jack pretended not to hear. Being behind the times he didn't agree with how today's young girls could be so vulgar. "And after it finished what did you do?"

Puffing out her cheeks, intimating he was a bit slow on the uptake she rolled her eyes scornfully. "We went home didn't we?"

"Together," queried Andy?

"As far as the bus stop. The one by Cross Street. I caught mine; Pat's bus was due five minutes later."

"Was there anyone else waiting?"

"No, why?" She began to look a little worried. "Why are you here? Has anything happened to her?"

"We don't know. Her mother has reported her missing. Would she have gone to stay with a boyfriend, do you know," asked Jack?

All the hostility burst like a balloon and she slumped down into a chair, dismay and concern written all over her face.

"Do you know where she might have gone?"

She looked at Jack blankly. "No; she was catching a bus to go home."

"Is there a regular boyfriend?"

She turned to answer Andy and gave him a weak smirk. "No, Pat's a real looker. Blokes are always all over her. There's no one serious. She'll go back to theirs if she reckons someone is a bit tasty, but only for the night. She always says there's plenty more fish in the sea. She didn't want to be tied down with just one; she liked to have a good time."

"Do you have any names you can give us?"

"You must be joking," she laughed. "I might be able to remember a few first names, but that's all. You know what they say?"

"What do they say," queried Jack, falling right into it.

"You don't look at the mantelpiece when you're stoking the fire," and she dissolved into a loud guffaw.

***

They left the factory without gaining any usable information, apart from the fact that Pat Griggs liked to put herself about a bit. In Jack's old fashioned mind she was little more than a lady of the night, although it seemed to be the pleasure she enjoyed rather than any financial reward. "I don't know Andy," he sighed. "She could be anywhere and with anyone."

"The only fact I can see is that by not working she loses money. In her circumstances I would have thought she couldn't afford to do that. I reckon something has happened to her guv. That's just my intuition."

Jack nodded as he drove. "I think I agree with you. Let's get back and see whether Stephan has managed to dig up anything useful."

***

He lay on his bed and looked at his watch. His eyes widened. "Show time," he exclaimed seeing it was 9.30 on a Saturday night. He couldn't wait and swung his legs onto the floor. The desire was growing. He took comfort from knowing the police did not have a clue - nor would they ever. He knew he was too intelligent for any copper. He had no record. His fingerprints weren't on file. Who would ever know? Putting on his killer of a jacket he laughed at the thought and stepped outside. It was beautifully crisp and cold, a clear starry night without a hint of rain. With a smile of anticipation he got into the MG ready to go hunting. Once a week wasn't enough he thought.

He drove into town, cruising the streets before parking up with a satisfactory bus stop in view. He waited patiently looking at the comings and goings. And then there was one, but she didn't fit the bill. Some fat old bird probably going home to a fat old husband lounging on the settee with a can of lager in his hand. A bus came and the woman got on. There was no one left. The desire was almost becoming too much. He needed a release. He needed it now! Suddenly his prayers were answered. A slim, brunette walked up to the stop. Lovely long hair and very attractive, she would fit the bill perfectly. This time he would pretend to catch the bus rather than try to get her in the car straight away.

She didn't turn as he approached behind her. "Excuse me," he asked as she turned round to look at him. He saw immediate caution and concern melt away at his trusting smile. "Do you know when the bus is due?"

She looked at her watch. "It should be now. As usual it's late," she smiled.

"Thanks, I thought I'd missed it. Been waiting long?"

"No not really, just a few minutes. I wish it would hurry up though, I'm freezing."

"Been anywhere nice," he asked?

The girl appeared to be relaxed and didn't seem threatened. "Yes, home," she smiled. "I'm on my way to work now."

"Work? At this time of night? What do you do?"

"For my sins, I'm a copper," and gave a reluctant sigh on seeing the change on his face as he assimilated what she did for a living. "That's everybody's first reaction," she smiled.

He suddenly appeared very nervous, which seemed a little odd. She thought it even stranger when he said, "I don't think I'll bother to wait for the bus. I'll walk. I hope you don't have to hang around too long." She watched him hurriedly walk away, wondering why he was disappearing in a different direction from where the bus was going, but shrugged, knowing there was nowt queer as folk, a fact she had quickly discovered from the people she met in her job. It was eleven fifteen. The road was quiet and no sign of any bus. Something caught her eye and she noticed a bright red MGB GT doing a three point turn in the road, about fifty yards away, before disappearing into the distance. She also noted her strange companion was nowhere to be seen. Was that him in the car she wondered?

# Chapter 6

It was a Monday morning and pouring down with rain. Jack parked up, opened the door and made a run for it. His mind had already covered ten paces before his legs decided to catch up. Splashing stiffly through puddles he made it to the station reception, a whole lot wetter than he would have liked. Stepping inside he brushed water off his Brylcreemed hair and tweed jacket.

"Morning Jack. Another nice one," called out the Desk Sergeant, grinning at the dishevelled and soaked Inspector with a less than happy face.

"Bloody weather."

"How's that case going. The one with the frozen girl," enquired the Sergeant?

"You aren't normally interested in what we detectives get up to, Norm. What's changed?"

He looked a little awkward, wondering whether he should put his oar in, but decided Jack wouldn't mind. "It's probably something and nothing, but I was chatting with WPC Stock when she came off shift early yesterday."

"I don't want to know about your love life Norm," grinned Jack.

The Sergeant rolled his eyes and pulled a face. "Chance would be a fine thing, and then of course I'd have to run it by the missus first," he laughed. "No, Linda told me she was waiting for a bus on her way to work Saturday night when a bloke came up to her; you know started chatting her up. All of a sudden after she told him she was a copper he seemed to panic and did one."

"It's a sad reflection on life," mused Jack, knowing many people didn't feel relaxed in the presence of a policeman.

"No it was more than that. She thought he drove away in a car. Bit strange that, when he seemed to be waiting for a bus."

"What was the car; did she get a number plate?"

"It was an MG, in that bright red colour. Why anyone buys a car like that must be colour blind. You can't beat a nice black," he mused. "Unfortunately he was too far away for her to get the registration."

"Thanks for that Norm. I'll have a word with her. As you say it may be something and nothing, but you never know."

The Desk Sergeant looked down at his file. "It was her day off yesterday. She should be in a little later."

This news lifted Jack's spirits. He went into the office and waited for his two Constables to arrive.

"Morning guv," said Andy, appreciating his boss handing him a cup of strong tea immediately he got in. Moments later Stephan arrived. "Morning. Oh I could do with that," he exclaimed gratefully on being handed a cup of builder's.

"Anything to report on freezer manufacturers Steph," queried Jack eager to get on.

Steph put down his cup and flicked through the notes he had made. "There are three main manufacturers of walk in blast freezers in the UK. Two have got back to me with a list of companies they have supplied and installed in Cambridgeshire and Lincolnshire." He paused to look down the list. "In the local area they only refer to companies I've already spoken with. Unless the third manufacturer comes up with an installation I haven't yet discovered, we are no further forward."

Just at that moment Jack's phone rang. "Yes please send her up." He turned to the others. "Regarding the bus stop victims; one of our own was approached last Saturday." There was a knock and WPC Linda Stock came into the office. "You wanted to see me sir?"

"Yes Linda, sit down, fancy a brew?" She was a little overwhelmed at all the attention and nodded, sitting down while Andy boiled the kettle.

"Linda, I understand someone spoke to you last Saturday night, while you were waiting for a bus," asked Jack. "Could you tell us about it? We think it sounds similar to what must have happened to Anne Trayhorn."

"Well sir, I didn't think much of it at the time. It wasn't as if someone stopped to offer me a lift or anything. I was just standing there, on my own, when someone - a man - came up behind me. We chatted away about this and that. I had no reason to feel agitated. He was extremely pleasant. That was until he asked whether I was going home. When I told him I was going out to work and I was a copper, he literally froze and became agitated. That's when I began to feel uncomfortable. He said he wasn't going to wait for the bus and would walk, and off he went."

"And that was it? Can you describe him," asked Jack?

"What really made me think he was strange, sir, was when he walked off in the opposite direction to the bus. I thought he's walking the wrong way. The next thing I knew was seeing a gorgeous red MGB GT doing a three point turn in the middle of the road."

"Did you get the number plate," asked Andy excitedly?

Linda shook her head. "No, it was too far away."

"Can you describe the man?"

She frowned, concentrating. "He was about mid-end twenties. Not particularly tall, fair hair and blue eyes. He was dressed smartly in a navy blue jacket, which now I remember was a little odd. It was quite cold. If you were out and about you would normally wear an overcoat or something wouldn't you? Just a jacket would mean you were only likely to be out in the cold for a short while."

"Would you recognise this man again, Linda?"

"Oh definitely sir."

***

He had driven round, in a furious temper. Not a betting man, he wondered what the odds were on picking up a copper like that. The urge was almost too much to bear now. He had to find a release; it was not an option. It had to be now. A small voice spoke inside his head, telling him not to give in to the urges. Without a careful plan to follow; just acting without premeditated thought would be a foolish thing to do. There was a danger he might get caught. He heard the voice, but didn't listen.

"There's one," he thought to himself, on seeing a pretty teenager walking all alone. It had begun to rain and she seemed far from happy. He pulled up along side her and wound down the window. "Excuse me, sorry to bother you, but could you tell me the road to Yaxley," he enquired, smiling shyly.

She smiled back in return. Obviously first impressions of him had made her feel comfortable. He had passed the acid test.

She pointed her hand forward. "Yes, carry on for quarter of a mile and when you come to the roundabout take the third exit to Yaxley. It's dead easy."

"Dead easy about sums it up," he thought to himself. "Thank you so much. Look, you're getting all wet; why don't I run you home?"

She hesitated for a moment, but then thought he seemed very nice and only a little older than her. There was no danger. She was good at judging people's character. Not only that, she didn't exactly fancy walking back home in the rain. "Thanks, I am getting pretty wet," and opened the door to get in.

"How come you're out in this weather?"

She bit her lip as her mind went back to earlier. "Oh it was my boyfriend. Well he's not my boyfriend now," and she glanced across to see a look of sympathy on his face. "We had an argument; I dumped him, got out of the car and stomped off." She giggled on remembering the look of rejection on his face.

"That wasn't a good move on a night like this," he grinned and they both laughed, chatting away as he drove.

"I live just up there on the right," and she peered into the darkness. "God it's chucking it down. If you hadn't stopped I would be as wet as a drowned rat by now."

He turned into the road of detached houses. "There, on the left, number twenty."

He pulled up just past the drive to save being seen by a worried parent. "You stay there; I've got an umbrella in the boot."

"What a nice bloke," she thought and waited until he opened her door. As she looked up at him with a grateful smile, he punched her in the face. She fell back into her seat, stunned. Blinking furiously and shaking her head she tried to make sense of what had just happened. That was before the wheel brace slammed into her head and there was nothing but blackness.

As he sped away he smiled. "Who needs planning," he laughed. "That was as easy as pie." Careful to keep his speed within the limit he drove to the outskirts of town, to his favourite place, and pulled up behind the old industrial unit. She was still out cold and he was surprised there was not really any blood to speak of. Using his key he half carried half dragged her inside. It was not the most salubrious of places but anywhere was good if he was going to have his way. He laid her on the filthy floor and began pushing and pulling her, removing her coat and clothes. He looked down at the naked figure lying there and let his eyes wonder over her beautiful body, revealing every intimate detail. She almost appeared to be sleeping, but that was no good. He wanted to see her die as he came inside her. The thought aroused him, almost causing a pain, his stiffness so constrained. He undid the zip to provide freedom and knelt down, roughly spreading her legs wide. Straddling the prone body, he began to gently slap her face. "Come on, wakey, wakey," he whispered. "Wake up bitch; you wanna see me come and I'll see you go?"

Gradually her eyes flickered. A dull look suddenly changed into one of panic as her brain assimilated she was in some sort of danger. Her memory flooded back to when she was nearly home, and then she was aware of him roughly forcing himself inside and beginning to thrust on top of her. She tried to move, but his weight was too much. Her head was held rigid by his hands pressing, thumbs digging and she couldn't breathe. No air, no air. Vaguely; it seemed a long way away she was conscious of an ever increasing panting and as he climaxed she slipped away as he slipped out of her, spent.

He lay there. It had felt so good; the feeling so intense; the sensation so intoxicating. Her eyes so alive, knowing, feeling, and then the exciting climax as he came, seeing those eyes suddenly dull, her life force spent. He had achieved everything he wanted - and more - without any planning. He was invincible.

Dragging the girl's body towards the blast freezer he opened the door and pulled her inside. Pat Griggs hung there covered in a dusting of hoar frost, her sightless eyes seeing nothing. It took only moments to leave his latest conquest - whatever her name was - hanging there in the dark, gently swinging as tentacles of freezing cold wrapped around her naked flesh.

He looked at both girls and touched Pat's breast and giggled. It was rock hard, frozen solid, while the other girl's was soft and warm. They hung closely together like carcasses of meat and he squeezed between them, fondling and probing, enjoying the exquisite contrast between ice cold and flaccid warmth. Both had given him so much pleasure. It was a pity they could only please him the once. He looked into Pat's eyes. She stared back at him, soulless and not judgmental in anyway. He looked at the other girl. She looked surprised. He touched her softness and her expression did not change, she was frozen in time.

Locking up, he drove home feeling satiated, but knowing the sense of desire would return - soon, very soon.

# Chapter 7

Jack had gradually come to rely on his neighbour more and more. Sue came in every day to keep Viv company and the pair got on famously together. He banished any thoughts of being selfish and exploitive to the back of his mind, as it allowed him to concentrate on his work.

He sat at his desk going through files yet again, but they were no further forward in the Anne Trayhorn murder investigation nor the disappearance of Pat Griggs. The telephone rang. He picked up the receiver. "Gilbert?" With furrowed brow he listened intently and scribbled down some notes on his pad. "Many thanks, that's a great help," he said, hurriedly replacing the telephone and going outside to speak with Andy and Stephan.

"We have another missing person," he informed them. "A young nineteen year old named Daphne Clemp. It seems that she went out on Saturday evening and never came home. Apparently her parents reported it in the early hours of Sunday morning. Uniform went to see them and was referred to a neighbour who had seen who she thought was Daphne sitting in the front seat of a car," and he paused for affect. "A red sporty looking car. It was pouring with rain and the driver got out, went to the boot and picked something up. He then opened the car door and struck the passenger in the head, before getting back in and driving off, with the passenger still in it."

"Number plate," asked Stephan hopefully?

Jack sighed. "If only life could be that simple. No, it was raining the neighbour is elderly and she didn't think to note it down. She doesn't know the make of car either, which doesn't exactly help, but she did say it had a sloping back to it, not like a normal boot and agreed it looked like a sports car and nothing like her son's Rover."

"Well if we take this mysterious car as being the same MGB GT that the WPC saw, it is obviously local. A check with The Cambridge Licensing Authority should show up all local drivers owning such a car," said Andy. "I'll set the wheels in motion."

"I've called in Travis Arnold," announced Jack.

"Travis who," exclaimed Steph? "That's some name isn't it? Who's he when he's at home?"

"Head reporter on the Telegraph. I want him to run a piece on the murder and missing girls. It might also help flush out this bloody car that seems to float around."

***

That night Jack returned home almost enthusiastically. He felt in his water they were at last getting somewhere after continually having hit a brick wall. As he locked the car and walked into the house, his brain walked through the wall dividing his work and home life - and never the twain shall meet. "Hiya Viv, I'm home," he called as he walked through the kitchen, ducking his head to miss a beam as he stepped down into the lounge. He smiled on seeing his dear wife fast asleep on the settee. Walking over he stooped to kiss the top of her head. "Sweetheart I'm home," he whispered with a loving smile.

Viv shifted and smiled dreamily. "Hello darling," she said, still not opening her eyes as she slowly woke up.

"How do you feel? Had a good day?"

She considered the question. "Not bad. Sue's been in and we had a bit of a chat and then she helped me cook something for tonight."

"I've been so busy at work I only had a sandwich. I could eat a horse. What are we having?"

"You fucking bastard!"

Jack was staggered at how his wife had suddenly flipped; concerned as she lunged at him with flailing arms. "What's the matter?"

"It's always work, work, work with you. You never think of anything else. What about me," and she beat her chest. "You were supposed to be here this afternoon."

"Why?"

"The fucking hospital. You were supposed to take me to the hospital. I had my first out-patient appointment at three. I told you!"

Jack gulped. She was right. He had completely forgotten. "Did you go," he ventured?

"Yes, I got a taxi. Sue came with me," she hissed. "Go on get out of my sight," and she turned away, withdrawing into herself.

***

After an uncomfortable night in the spare room Jack got into work early. He felt extremely down. If only Viv had called to remind him, he thought, but then any husband worth his salt shouldn't need reminding. He parked his car and as usual let his mind walk through the wall into work mode.

Stephan arrived, clutching a copy of the local rag. "The Telegraph has done us proud," he exclaimed. "Hopefully it should generate some telephone calls. Unfortunately it didn't make the front page," he grinned, passing the paper to Jack who scanned it, nodding his head.

"Page six isn't too bad," he replied placing the newspaper down on the desk. "So where do we go from here, guv," asked Andy putting his mug down and slopping tea over the paper. "Ah shit," he exclaimed, lifting the mug, but immediately frowned as something caught his eye. He looked up in surprise. "Has anyone noticed this?" The other two shook their heads as Andy picked up the newspaper and began reading.

"It says here there are four units for sale at the Burrough's Industrial Estate and lists the size, prices etc."

"So what," asked Stephan?

"There's a six hundred square yard unit, with offices and work area, which used to be owned by Forget-me-not Catering. Have you checked this out Steph?

His colleague referred to his notebook. "No, but then I probably wouldn't have if it had shut down."

"Well what do you know," Andy grinned? "It's only got a commercial walk-in blast freezer."

"Whose advert is it," demanded Jack urgently?

"Bradshaw Estate Agents."

"We need to tread carefully on this," thought Jack out loud. "I don't know about you, but somehow my gut instinct is telling me this could be the one. Do we have anything back from the local authority in Cambridge yet?"

"I'll give them a call straight away," said Stephan getting to his feet and making the call. Moments later he got a result. "They're telexing a list of local red MGB GT owners with their names and addresses. It should come through within the next half hour."

"Call down to the desk Steph, and tell them immediately the telex comes through to bring it up straight away. Tell them it's urgent," ordered Jack.

The next thirty minutes seemed to drag and then when the uniform arrived with the flimsy sheet of paper in his hand he was almost mobbed. Jack checked the telex. "It seems there are eleven owners in the local area," he exclaimed, wondering whether they should attend every address, but hoping they wouldn't have to. He suddenly stopped in amazement. "Well what do you know? A 1964 MGB GT, red, registered from new to a Mr Stephen Bradshaw, address down as Bradshaw Estate Agents. I think he deserves a visit don't you? We'll just show up at his office unannounced and see what we can flush out. Andy come with me. Steph you hold the fort."

Much to Jack's chagrin he could not get anywhere near Bradshaw's to park his car and they had to walk quarter of a mile, with Jack complaining every step of the way. Thankfully it wasn't raining, although the pavement was still wet from the storm they'd had earlier.

Bradshaw's was a small family run estate agent in premises which had previously been a tobacconist shop. Through a window full of property photographs viewed from the outside in the street, it was easy to look through and see two young women and a man working in an open plan office. Once inside Jack could see the obvious head honcho sitting at a desk with a glass window overlooking his minions.

One of the women came off the phone wearing a plastic smile reserved for all potential clients. "Good morning how may I help you," she asked with all the sincerity of a recorded message. Jack held up his ID and in a tone not to be argued with demanded to speak to the owner - presumably Mr Bradshaw sitting in his private goldfish bowl. She reached for her telephone. They saw him pick his receiver up. "Sorry to bother you sir," and she lowered her voice as if to prevent being overheard. "The police are here and want to speak to you. Shall I show them in?" They saw him nodding and looking at them through the glass. "Mr Bradshaw will see you now," the girl informed them, getting up from her desk and smoothing down her skirt before sashaying towards the waiting boss man.

"Gentlemen, what can I do for you? Please," and he indicated they should sit.

The two detectives sat down. "I see from the local that you are advertising an industrial unit which contains a built in blast freezer," queried Jack, straight to the point, taking in the smug supercilious expression on the man's fat face.

"Oh I thought it was police business; are you after a property purchase," he smiled benignly?

"We are investigating a murder, sir," and let the ensuing silence hang like a sword of Damocles over Bradshaw's head.

"Murder?" His eyes widened in shock. "But what does that have to do with coming here. Surely you can't think...," and his voice trailed off, leaving his face with a distinct look of concern.

"When was the last time you inspected this property you are advertising," asked Andy?

The man looked concerned. "I believe it was about three months ago. Just for a survey and to calculate a valuation for marketing."

"And you hold the keys here for any potential viewings?"

He glanced a look at Jack. "Well of course the keys are kept here. Although there have not been any viewings for the property." He pulled a face. "The owners are far from realistic. There are several units available on the site, but the owners want top dollar and that does not reflect the current market I'm afraid."

"What car do you drive?" The question from Jack came like a bolt from the blue and Bradshaw looked confused. "I have an MGB GT, why?"

"Colour?"

"Red. What do you want to know for?"

That was enough for Jack, who promptly got to his feet and officially cautioned the man. Bradshaw was almost crying as the prospect of what was happening began to sink in. All he could think of was what people would think, the effect it would have on his reputation, the damage it would do to his business, and the fear of being taken to a police station and put in a cell. Told to get his coat and instruct staff to close the estate agency, Andy remained with Bradshaw while Jack went to get the car.

Moments later Bradshaw was forced to do the walk of shame past shocked and confused employees and through curious shoppers wondering why a car was in the middle of the road blocking traffic. Andy pushed Bradshaw's head down guiding him into the back seat before sliding in beside him.

***

While Bradshaw was being booked in Jack and Andy went up to the office for a welcome drink. "We'll let him stew for an hour or two. That gives us time to arrange a search warrant of the empty industrial unit and prepare our questioning strategy for the eminent Mr Bradshaw." Jack rubbed his hands together. "My intuition tells me we have our man. I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him; all that bluster and full of self importance."

"You should have seen him Steph; arrogant prick," grinned Andy. "I thought he was about to shit himself when he knew we were bringing him here."

Jack swallowed the last dregs of coffee, and made a call down to the front desk. "Right, come on Andy let's go and see what Mr Bradshaw has to say for himself shall we?"

Bradshaw had been taken from his cell into interview room one. He sat there dejectedly, a beaten man with elbows on the table and hands over his face. He looked up despondently as the two detectives entered the room and visibly flinched as the metal door clanged shut.

"Why am I here," he whispered almost on the verge of tears. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Mr Bradshaw can you account for your movements over the last five Saturdays - specifically between the hours of nine and midnight," asked Jack sternly, not allowing the man to relax for a moment.

He screwed up his face in thought. "I was at home, oh, except for last week when I went out for a meal at Luigi's, in town."

"How did you get there?"

"I booked a cab."

"Why didn't you go in your car," wondered Jack.

Bradshaw shook his head. "I don't use the car at the moment," he almost whispered.

Both detectives looked at each other; both wondered why. "You own a virtually new sports car and you don't drive it," exclaimed Jack?

Bradshaw looked down at the table. "I was banned for six months."

That was a surprise. Jack hadn't seen that coming. "Why was that?"

"I took a bend too fast and hit another car. It should have only been a straight forward insurance claim, without any fuss," he blustered, obviously feeling extremely hard done by in what had happened. "Police were called by some nosey parker and I was prosecuted under this new bloody Road Safety Bill. I ask you; all because I'd had a few drinks. I was perfectly safe. I'd only had a couple of brandies and a few glasses of wine which didn't affect my driving in the slightest. I was perfectly sober. Anyway the upshot of it was I was banned for six months," and he slumped back in his chair very much aggrieved and still feeling the innocent party.

"If your car is off the road, where do you keep it?"

Bradshaw sighed. "It's complicated. We have three cars at home; the MG, my wife has a Corsair and my son has a Mini. With all the manoeuvring required; there is not enough room to park all the cars on the drive, I rented a garage nearby for the MG as it wasn't going to be used for a while."

"And it hasn't been driven at all?"

"Occasionally I get someone to give it a run; you know just to keep the battery charged." He suddenly became animated. "It's perfectly legal; it is fully insured," he exclaimed anxiously.

"I don't doubt that it is. You say you have a son - how old is he," wondered Jack?

"He's twenty seven; why?"

"And does he live at home? Where does he work?"

"Yes, he lives at home," and he smirked, trying to ingratiate himself. "Youngsters these days want the easy life don't they Inspector. Free board and lodging and all his laundry done for him by his mother. You know the sort of thing; they don't know they're born do they?"

Jack did not return the attempt at a chummy smile. "And what does your son do for a living?"

"He works in the business"

"Tell us more about the industrial unit," asked Andy wrong footing Bradshaw.

He pursed his lips. "There's not much to tell you. It's a white elephant really, as far as we're concerned. The owners want far too much for it. Other units on the site are much cheaper. Until the price is dropped nobody will be interested."

"Can we take a look at the unit," asked Jack, thinking a simple 'yes' would save a mountain of paperwork and umpteen hoops to climb through to get a search warrant issued.

"I don't see why not, although there's nothing to see except an empty shell."

"What about the built in freezer unit; is it still working," asked Jack?

"Well it is in working order, but switched off. There is still power to the property, but it would be foolish to run an empty blast freezer." Bradshaw hesitated. "I am afraid the keys are at the office, and I had to close the place down earlier, before I was dragged here."

"Well," said Jack, "I'm sure, rather than call a member of staff out it would be simpler all round if you give me the keys to your office and I'll have someone go and retrieve the keys to the empty unit."

"If it means I can get out of here quicker, then by all means be my guest Inspector. My keys have been bagged up with my bits and pieces by your Desk Sergeant. You will find the industrial unit key hanging in my office. It's marked Forget-me-not UNIT."

"Thank you for your help Mr Bradshaw. We shall endeavour to be as quick as possible. In the meantime I'll arrange a cup of tea for you."

"Thank you Inspector, that's most generous of you and much appreciated." It was said with a tone of voice which Jack felt was patronising and did little to warm him towards the bumptious little prick.

Leaving the interview room Jack was beginning to get the bit between his teeth. "Come on Andy, let's do this ourselves rather than worrying anyone downstairs."

***

The two detectives let themselves into the Estate Agent's but the keys to the industrial unit appeared to be missing. Angrily Jack picked up the telephone and called the office. "Hi Norm, it's me Jack, can you get Mr Bradshaw to the phone, sharpish...yes, I'll hang on." Andy carried on searching, but it was evident the board was where all keys were kept and the one marked Forget-me-not was definitely not there.

"Mr Bradshaw, we are at your office. The keys are not here," he paused on listening to what the man was saying. "We have looked everywhere. If they are not here, who's taken them?" He listened intently and put the phone down, waving Andy into the outer office. He walked across to the tidy desk in the corner. "Apparently this is where Mr Bradshaw Junior works; although I get the impression he is not much of a grafter."

They looked on the desk and all around, before pulling open the drawers. "I would have thought they'd have been locked," exclaimed Andy. "So much for security. Yes," and he held up a labelled bunch of keys. "We're in business."

Ten minutes later they pulled up to the rear of the industrial unit. "Grim looking place isn't it? No wonder it's not been sold," said Andy looking at the unkempt and almost dilapidated unit. "And this used to be where they produced catering food for functions," and he shuddered at what he considered to be a far from satisfactory hygienic production centre.

They got out out of the car and Jack unlocked the factory door. Inside they heard the sound of a faint whirring, and they looked at each other. "That's an electrical unit. I thought Bradshaw said it wasn't on," said Jack beckoning Andy to follow him towards the end of the unit. "It's the blast chiller and it's working," and he pulled at the lever to open the door. "Shit, It's locked."

"Are there any other keys on the ring?"

Jack pulled the bunch of keys out of his pocket and checked. "Yes, there seems to be spares for the rear, a couple of steel ones," and he looked up and pointed. "Presumably for those two offices and a Yale key, probably for the front door, but no others." Andy walked around the side of the unit to the control panel. "Hey, we're in luck. There's a key here."

"Try it and see."

"It's our lucky day," exclaimed Andy as the key turned in the lock and he pulled the lever on the heavy insulated door. It swung open easily. "Fuck!"

Inside, suspended by hooks on the ceiling were two frosted bodies, one without hardly any clothes on, the other completely naked.

"I can't see their faces, there's too much ice. Pound to a penny one is Pat Griggs."

"And the other?"

"I reckon it's the missing Daphne Clemp," sighed Jack.

They stood for a moment looking at the two dead women. "Do you think it was Bradshaw guv?"

"No, it has to be the son. Come on let's lock up and get back to the station."

# Chapter 8

Having got back to the station Jack telephoned the Divisional Surgeon asking him to call into the station for the keys and then go on to check out the two bodies. He then put out a call for uniforms to pick up the son, Edward Bradshaw. "I think we'll keep the father here until we get confirmation that the son has been detained," he said to Andy and Stephan. "Meanwhile gentlemen, can I make you a delightful cup of tea?"

In the event, Eddie Bradshaw was not at home, but that evening at around ten, traffic police on the A1, outside of Peterborough detained a red MGB GT being driven by a fair haired young man. Brazenly he had informed the officers he was driving his father's car and was extremely angry that he had been stopped. He had not been speeding and had not done anything wrong. Furthermore, he was going to the airport and now there was every chance he would miss his flight. "Mark my words the police authority will be made to pay for my ticket plus compensation if I do not get to Heathrow in time," he threatened. When nobody took any notice of his ranting it only served to make him even angrier.

The arrogance was still there when Jack and Andy came into the interview room.

"Mr Edward Bradshaw," stated Jack? "I am Detective Inspector Gilbert and my colleague here is Detective Constable Street."

"I don't give a fuck who you are," he countered angrily. "I have a plane to catch and I demand to be released - now!"

Jack smiled deprecatingly at the arrogant bluster."Well, in that case let's get this over and done with quickly shall we?"

Bradshaw crossed his arms. "At last, some degree of sense."

"Do you know a young lady called Anne Trayhorn sir," enquired Jack?

Bradshaw appeared to ponder the question. "No, I've never heard of her."

"Are you absolutely sure," queried Jack again, sliding across a photograph of her.

Bradshaw gave it a cursory glance. "No, I definitely haven't seen her before."

"That's a nice jacket Mr Bradshaw," commented Andy, catching Jack's light handed approach. "Oh dear," he pointed. "You've snared the material there, on your arm."

Bradshaw frowned and inspected his sleeve to check where the cloth had been caught. "Oh it's nothing. I must have caught it on something."

"We know what that something was," said Jack, stony faced, and he leaned forward aggressively. "Anne Trayhorn was no more than a school girl, barely seventeen. We know from her autopsy that she caught someone's jacket with her finger nails. The pathologist found fibres beneath a broken nail. Now, if I was a betting man, I feel sure those fibres will provide an exact match to that jacket you're wearing," and he sat back, a satisfied smile on his face.

Bradshaw visibly blanched, his mind working furiously to concoct some sort of defence, but he could do nothing but bluster. "I want to call my lawyer. I am not saying another word."

"That's you prerogative Mr Bradshaw," said Jack with a thin smile. "Now do you have anyone in mind or would the duty solicitor be acceptable," and raised a questioning eyebrow. "In the meantime I would ask you to remove your jacket and allow us to run some tests."

Two hours later the three detectives were in the office having a cuppa with a celebratory plate of Jack's chocolate digestives. Broken by indisputable forensics Bradshaw had come to the conclusion he had only one option open to him and that was to plead guilty. However, he did not admit to committing murder, but cited manslaughter, acting while the balance of his mind was sexually disturbed. Either way that was for the court to decide.

Amidst all the satisfactory back slapping, Jack's telephone rang. He answered it and pulled a face. "Yes sir. Right away," and replaced the receiver. "Good news travels fast. The Super sends his congratulations and has asked me to go up to his office immediately." He counted the biscuits before he left. "There are eight left. I expect to see no less than six on that plate for when I get back," he lectured.

"Come," barked the voice of Superintendent Kane on hearing the knock on his door.

"You wanted to see me sir?"

"Yes Jack, come in, sit down," and he pointed to the chair in front of desk. "Well there's nothing like going out on a high is there," he smiled. "Very good news on catching Bradshaw." At once, the benign smile disappeared to be replaced by a more serious expression. "As you have been informed, you are being transferred to the new regional HQ at Brampton. I'm sorry to see you go Jack, but policing today is always looking to the future and who are we to stand in its way?"

Five minutes later Jack emerged from the Superintendent's office feeling a little shell shocked. Slowly he went down the stairs and back to his incident room.

"Everything alright guv," asked Stephan? He felt a little concerned on seeing Jack's sour face.

Without further ado, Jack told them. "The Super has just told me, as from tomorrow I will be based at The Manor - that's the new HQ just outside Huntingdon. It seems the powers that be have decided to amalgamate all the local forces into one with the grand title of the Mid-Anglian Constabulary." He looked at his watch. "That means I have two hours to clear my stuff. Mind you that also means two hours and five minutes for a farewell pint," and he managed a weak smile at his two colleagues.

As he threw his bits and pieces into a cardboard box, he looked around his dilapidated shoe box of an office. He had enjoyed his time here and was sad to see it all end. However, the picture of the new HQ drawn for him by his boss sounded exciting and he looked forward to the challenge of gelling together a larger team and handling more important cases. There was the added bonus too of having less to travel. His home at Little Stukeley was only a ten minutes drive away.

Little did he know he would hit the ground running.

THE END

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