First Frost by Henry James Page B

gentlemen?’
    Frost said, exhaling smoke, ‘Hope you don’t mind us dropping in. I’m Detective Sergeant Frost and this is Detective Constable Hanlon.’
    ‘Yes, yes, I’ve been told who you are – though your dress, Sergeant, did throw me. Are you, as they say, “undercover”?’
    ‘We’re detectives,’ Hanlon said weakly.
    ‘How can I help? Is it about this spate of armed robberies hitting the county?’ Michael Hudson suggested, suddenly animated.
    ‘Not unless you know something I don’t, Mr Hudson,’ Frost said. ‘We’ve come about your nephew, Steven.’
    ‘Steven? Haven’t seen or spoken to him in …’ He paused, rubbed his prominent chin, and continued, ‘Quite a while. Truth is, we fell out. I thought that was common knowledge in Denton. Though I suppose there’s no reason why you should know.’
    ‘No,’ said Hanlon.
    ‘So when were you last in contact with him?’ Frost asked, wandering over to the window.
    ‘A year or so ago. Why on earth do you ask? Is there a problem?’
    ‘You could say that,’ said Frost, moving closer. ‘His daughter, Julie, has disappeared, his wife, Wendy, has been beaten to within an inch of her life, and now there’s no sign of your nephew – or of his silly yellow car.’
    ‘Oh God, dear me,’ said Michael Hudson, slumping into his seat. ‘You mean he’s taken Julie?’
    ‘No,’ said Hanlon, who had pulled out his notebook. ‘We don’t think so. Julie went missing on Saturday afternoon. I interviewed your nephew and his wife about her disappearance that evening, and then yesterday morning Wendy Hudson was found in a pool of blood on her kitchen floor, and Steven had also vanished.’
    ‘How is Wendy now?’ said Michael Hudson quietly, obviously shaken.
    ‘Last time I looked she was still unconscious,’ said Frost. ‘Her face has been completely smashed in. But she’ll live.’
    ‘God help her – the poor woman.’
    ‘Which is why,’ said Frost, ‘it’s imperative we find her husband as soon as possible. When exactly was the last time you had any contact with Steven?’
    ‘As I said,’ replied Mr Hudson, still quietly, ‘a year or so ago. There might have been one or two business communiqués since, but nothing personal.’
    ‘Your wife, what about her?’ said Hanlon. ‘Has she had any contact?’
    ‘Not as far as I know. I’d be very surprised if she had: they’ve never exactly seen eye to eye.’
    ‘I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the seriousness of the situation,’ Frost chipped in.
    ‘No, no,’ protested Michael Hudson, ‘of course not.’
    ‘What sparked this falling-out between you and your nephew?’ Frost moved back to the window, peering through the Venetian blinds and out on to Market Square. He was just in time to see a buxom young woman in a very tight Bennington’s Bank uniform wiggle across the street and into the main entrance two storeys below.
    ‘I’m not sure I can remember exactly,’ said the bank manager.
    ‘You haven’t seen or spoken to your nephew for a year and you can’t remember why ?’ Frost scoffed.
    ‘Not to do with money, then?’ added Hanlon.
    ‘Well,’ Michael Hudson started, ‘there is a business arrangement between Bennington’s Bank and Hudson’s Classic Cars.’
    ‘There’s a surprise,’ said Frost, still with his back to them.
    ‘There’s no need to adopt that threatening tone, Sergeant.’ Hudson leant forward in his chair. ‘Everything’s above board here – I can absolutely assure you of that.’ He removed a crisp white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit jacket and dabbed at his forehead. ‘The bank’s dealings with my nephew’s car business are under strictly normal commercial terms.’
    ‘Normal terms, hey?’ Frost said, finally turning to face the room. ‘The same as you treat every customer, I’m sure.’ He fired up another cigarette. ‘What I’m still not getting, then, is why you two have fallen out – and yet you still