The pathologist emerged from the small temporary canvas tenting erected over the body which had the effect of containing the reek of decay, but Drysdale didn't appear to mind. 'Sexually assaulted and manually strangled, like the other girl,' he told Frost 'Killed elsewhere, of course, and brought here some time after death.'
'How long has she been here?' Frost asked, hoping it was well after the time the area was thoroughly searched.
'Difficult to tell without knowing the previous-storage conditions. At a guess I'd say some two to three weeks.'
'Storage conditions?'
'I suspect the body was kept in a deep freeze of some kind before being brought here.'
'A deep freeze?' echoed Frost. 'Bloody hell!' The freezer compartment to the fridge in Weaver's house was tiny and nowhere near big enough to store a body. He made a mental note to check Plummer's house and see what sort of a deep freeze he had.
'If she was killed shortly after she went missing,' continued Drysdale, 'then there would have been much more evidence of decay. I should be able to be more precise when I do the PM. I've a busy schedule, but I can fit it in today – two o'clock this afternoon, Denton Hospital mortuary.'
I'll be there, doc,' said Frost.
No matter how many times Frost said it, Drysdale always winced at the 'doc'. He couldn't stand the man's coarse familiarity. As he left, Harding and the Forensic team, who had been waiting patiently, went inside the canvas shelter.
Frost's mobile phone bleeped. Mullett calling from the station. 'You've found the girl?'
'Yes. Raped and strangled like Jenny.'
'By the same man?'
'I bloody hope so. It's hard enough finding one killer, let alone two.'
'I understand you've arrested this man Plummer. Can I take it you now accept that Weaver was innocent?'
'No. I reckon Weaver and Plummer acted together. Plummer could have hidden Jenny's body while we had Weaver in custody, then sent that letter with the button.'
'Hmm,' grunted Mullett, sounding unconvinced. 'Try and speed things up. The news has leaked out that we're holding a suspect and we're being inundated with phone calls from the press. And something else. I've had an irate Chief Inspector Preston from Belton Division on the phone. You haven't sent over the files on the prostitute killing he asked for.'
'Damn,' said Frost. 'Funny how you forget things when some bastard strings himself up in his cell. I'll see to it as soon as I get back.'
'Make sure you do,' Mullett snapped. 'These things reflect on the Division. Have you told the girl's parents yet?'
'No,' said Frost, fingering the plastic bracelet found on the body. He was going to ask them to identify it as Vicky's. He didn't want them to have to see the body in its present state. 'I've got that treat to come.'
'After weeks of uncertainty, it might even come as relief,' suggested Mullett.
'Yes,' said Frost bitterly. 'We might even have a few laughs about it.' He clicked off the phone and dropped it in his pocket. No point in putting it off any longer. He walked to his car and drove to the parents' house.
It was Vicky's mother who opened the door. She had seen his car pull up outside and couldn't wait to hear the good news that Vicky had been found and was alive and well. Then she stared and clutched her chest. His face told her everything. He looked at her and sadly shook his head. She forced herself to ask 'Vicky?'
Frost nodded.
'Dead?' She was already shaking her head, refusing to believe what he was going to tell her.
He nodded again. He always tried to be detached and not let these things affect him, but this time he found himself struggling to hold back the tears.
She put her arms round him and hugged him tight. 'You poor man,' she crooned, as if soothing a child. 'You tried so hard, you hoped for so much.' And she was comforting him.
In the living-room her husband sat with his arm around her, the tears they had both held back for so long now flowing freely. Over the mantelpiece, in the original of the police poster photograph, their dead daughter smiled down at them.
Frost took the green plastic bracelet from his pocket. 'Is this Vicky's?'
The mother took it, holding it in her open palm. 'Yes,' she nodded. 'It's…' She couldn't bring herself to say her daughter's name. She closed her hand tightly and pressed the bracelet against a tear-stained cheek.
'We need it back,' said Frost, gently. He had to prise open her palm to take it.
'Did she suffer?' asked the husband.
'No,' lied Frost, firmly. 'She didn't suffer.'
'And will you get the man who did it?'
'Yes,' said Frost. "That I can promise you. We'll get him.'
Drysdale looked at the large clock on the tiled mortuary wall and frowned. Ten past two. He'd specifically told Frost two o'clock and couldn't start the autopsy until the inspector deigned to put in an appearance. There would be an official complaint about this.
A slamming of doors and the sound of raucous laughter. The pathologist's lips tightened. He didn't need to turn round when the mortuary doors opened and closed. 'You've kept me waiting, Inspector.'
'I've been breaking the news to the kid's parents,' said Frost, shuffling on one of the green autopsy gowns he always felt such a fool wearing. 'Not the sort of thing you can cut short.' DC Morgan, who had come in with Frost, had difficulty with his gown and smiled gratefully as Drysdale's secretary helped him find the sleeves.
'If you're ready, at last.' Drysdale pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and surveyed the body like a diner ready for his main course. Hovering at Drysdale's shoulder, the green-gowned SOCO man waited patiently, his camera at the ready. Overhead a large extractor fan whirled lazily, but didn't seem to be doing much to improve the fetid atmosphere.
Frost stared down at the tiled floor and let his mind wander. He'd give his flaming pension for a cigarette. He didn't want to watch the proceedings unless it was absolutely necessary. Morgan seemed to find it impossible to tear his eyes away from Drysdale's blonde secretary. Whenever she met his gaze, she flushed, bent her head and scribbled furiously in her shorthand notebook.
'Ah…!'
Frost looked up. Drysdale, who had been probing the girl's mouth, had extracted a sodden mess of something. 'Toilet tissue… like the other girl..; used as a gag.'
'The bugger was nothing if not consistent,' said Frost as the mess was dropped into a plastic jar held out by SOCO.
'And, like the other girl, she was raped before death but as before, he seems to have used a condom, so no chance of DNA identification.'
The pathologist reached for a scalpel to open up the stomach. Frost turned his head away. This was the part of post-mortems he really hated. Morgan, looking green, had lost interest in the secretary and was sitting in a chair at the back, dabbing his brow with a handkerchief.
'It would help if I had your attention, Inspector,' said Drysdale peevishly. Frost raised his head. The pathologist was dropping something into a sample jar. He held it up so Frost could see. Little lumps of something brown floating in a murky liquid. 'The last thing she ate very shortly before death… I think it is a sweet… a toffee or something.'
Frost nodded grimly. The bastard always gave them a sweet to suck while they were waiting to be raped and murdered.
Drysdale slashed, hacked and weighed as the extractor fan proved more and more ineffective, but nothing of further importance was found. At last he was finished and was washing his hands at the sink as the mortuary attendant did his best to sew the tiny body into something more presentable. 'About time they got some decent soap,' complained Drysdale, scrubbing away at his nails. 'My findings are as before, Inspector. Like the first girl, she was gagged, sexually abused, then manually strangled. The body then appears to have been stored in a sub-zero temperature, probably a domestic deep freeze. Date of death?' He shrugged. 'The unknown storage conditions mean I can only guess. I'd say nine, ten weeks.'
'Which is round about the time she disappeared,' said Frost. He sighed. 'Thanks, doc.' A jerk of his head to Morgan who had recovered enough to be chatting up the secretary. They discarded the green gowns and dropped them in the bin, then hurried out of the building to suck in lungfuls of clean, cold, untainted air before climbing into the car for a smoke.
'Post-mortems are part of the job I hate, guv,' said Morgan.
'It's not as much fun as frisking toms,' agreed Frost, sliding into the passenger seat.
Morgan switched on the ignition. 'That Drysdale's secretary, guv. I've got a thing about long-legged blondes. I wouldn't mind having her.'
'I reckon she's seen enough organs to last her a lifetime,' said Frost.
Back at the station he was barking out orders to the murder squad. 'I want Plummer's house searched. See if there's any porno pictures of kids, or anything at all that would tie him in with Weaver. And do Weaver's place over again, see if there's anything to tie him up with Plummer.' As he was leaving the incident room he remembered something else and spun round. 'Vicky had been eating toffees just before she was killed… so see if Plummer's got any bags of sweets.' No sooner out, than he was back again, telling the WPC who was manning the phones to photocopy the prostitute serial murder files and send them over to Belton Division right away. Then back yet again as he thought of something else. 'Bag up all the note-paper and envelopes you find at Plummer's place and send it over to Forensic. Let's see if they can match it with that anonymous letter with the button.'
As he scuttled back to his office, Bill Wells yelled that Plummer was demanding to know why he was being held.
'He's supposed to have bloody second sight, let him find out for himself. I'll talk to him in a minute.'
His in-tray was overflowing again – more statements taken from prostitutes about weirdo clients. Nothing that looked promising. The internal phone rang. Harding from Forensic.
'Vicky Stuart, Inspector. Did she have a pet dog?'
'No.' He shouldered the phone to his ear as he lit up a cigarette.
'Did Weaver?'
'No – why?'
'We've found hairs from a black dog on Vicky's clothing. Find the dog and we can match them.'
'I'll do some checking.' He hung up and wiggled the cigarette up and down as he thought. His hopes were raised, but the dog hairs could have come from anywhere. He buzzed for Arthur Hanlon.
'Arthur, you questioned Vicky's school friends when she first went missing. She used to visit their houses. Did any of them have a dog with black fur?'
Hanlon thought for a moment. 'Two of them, Jack… a black and white spaniel and a black mongrel.'
Frost showed his disappointment, but at least it would eliminate the animal hairs as a possible clue to the killer.
'Go to the houses, get samples of the dogs' hairs and send them over to Forensic for testing.'
He took another long drag at the cigarette before pinching it out and yelling for Morgan to accompany him to the interview room for a cosy little chat with Plummer.
Plummer's beard was bristling with anger. 'I hope you are prepared for a substantial claim for false arrest. This is absolutely intolerable.'
Frost looked hurt. 'A few questions, Mr Plummer. I naturally assumed you'd be more than anxious to help us. After all, if it wasn't for you we might never have found her.'
Slightly mollified, Plummer sat down. 'If I can help you further…'
Frost smiled his gratitude and dragged the other chair to the table. He jerked a thumb at Morgan. 'My colleague, here, sir, doesn't understand one or two things about what has happened. He's a bit slow on the uptake, I'm afraid, on account of being Welsh. Perhaps you could enlighten him?'
'Of course,' Plummer turned enquiringly to Morgan who looked blank, not knowing what was expected of him.
'My colleague was puzzled how you could make a mistake with the map, Mr Plummer. You told us your psychic powers would enable you to pinpoint the body, but you were over a mile out.'
Plummer tugged at his beard and smiled. 'I'm afraid I don't know the answer to that, Inspector. I have no control over my gifts.'
'Quite, sir,' nodded Frost, 'the way some people have no control over their bladder.' He leant over as if sharing a confidence. 'You see, sir, my colleague tends to think the worst of people. He reckons the only way you could know where the body was, would be because you dumped it there in the first place.'
Plummer's eyes blazed. 'That is both insulting and ridiculous!'
Frost wagged a reproving finger at Morgan. 'See, you've upset the gentleman. I knew you would.'
'Sorry,' mumbled Morgan, playing up to the inspector.
Another smile at Plummer. 'I told him, sir, that if you had killed the kid and dumped her body, you would know where it was and wouldn't have to rely on the map.'
'Quite!' snapped Plummer.
'But do you know what he had the damn cheek to come back with?' asked Frost. 'He said you were probably a damn good body dumper, but a bloody poor map reader.'
Plummer's face reddened. 'Are you making an accusation, Inspector?'
Frost's air of friendliness switched off abruptly. 'You knew the body was there, didn't you? A bit hazy about directions because you probably dumped the kid when it was dark.'
'How dare you!' Plummer's fist crashed down on the table. 'I come here to help and you make these wild accusations-'
'If you didn't put her there, how did you know where to find her?'
'I have the gift of second sight.' He stood, eyes glazed, pointing a quivering finger as if he was receiving a divine revelation. 'You have recently suffered the loss of a loved one.'
'That's right,' snapped Frost. 'My hamster died yesterday. Now sit down and stop sodding us about.' He waited for the man to sit. 'My personal life, Mr Plummer, is an open book, you've only got to look through the newspapers.'
'I don't need to,' the man answered. 'My information comes from inside.'
'And that's where you'll flaming well end up,' fired back Frost. 'You killed Vicky Stuart and then hid her body.'
Plummer shoved his face close to Frost. 'How dare you,' he hissed. 'You've already harried one innocent man to his death, you are not doing the same with me. The first time I saw that poor child's body was when I led you there. I am answering no more questions without the presence of a solicitor.'
'Your privilege, sir.' Frost stood and patted his papers together. 'One last question – do you have a dog?'
Plummer's brow puckered. 'Yes – why?'
'Would my second sight be correct in saying that it is a black dog?'
'Yes'
Frost smiled sweetly. 'We found dog hairs on the child's body. They can't be from your dog because you've told us you haven't been near the body before, but just to prove your innocence, I'm arranging for samples to be collected so that we can be sure they don't match.' He looked at Plummer with concern. The man's face had suddenly drained of colour. 'Are you all right, sir?'
Plummer flapped a limp hand. 'Perfectly all right, thank you.' But he didn't look it.
'Good,' said Frost. 'Let's see about getting you a solicitor.'
'Well?' asked Sergeant Wells as Frost swaggered across the lobby.
Frost smirked with satisfaction. 'As guilty as hell. Sluice out Weaver's old cell and check Plummer's pockets for rope.'
'What progress?' asked Mullett.Frost had been dashing in and out of the station, finding bodies, attending post-mortems, interviewing suspects, but didn't bother to keep his Divisional Commander informed. 'I can't hold the press off much longer.'
'I expect to charge Plummer this afternoon,' Frost told him. 'Just waiting for Forensic to report on the dog hairs.' He quickly brought the superintendent up todate.
'Good,' beamed Mullett. 'This case has taken up too many man-hours already. All of this will be in your today's progress report, of course?'
'Of course,' lied Frost emphatically. He hadn't the time to waste on this stupid paperwork.
'And I'm still waiting for your report for yesterday.'
'I was working on it when you called me in, Super,' plied Frost. 'All these flaming interruptions, I won't have time to do it now.' But Mullett knew when not to listen. 'On my desk half an hour please,' he said, clapping the phone to his ear and punching out the number for County. Frost retrieved the progress report from the depths of his in-tray and gave it a cursory glance. It demanded full details of daily progress: man-hours, 'overtime, expenses… A footnote stated, 'If not enough room, use a second sheet.' 'There's plenty ' room,' muttered Frost, scrawling 'Some progress made' right across the sheet and chucking it in his in-tray.
The phone rang. Forensic. 'We've got a positive latch on those animal hair samples, Inspector.'
'And people say you're bloody useless,' said Frost, terrific.' He gave the thumbs-up sign to Morgan as he reached for his pen. 'Shoot!'
"The dog hairs from the girl's clothing definitely match sample number three.'
Frost glanced at the Forensic Test Request form, left by Hanlon. He frowned. 'Wait a minute. You mean sample two – sample three came from one of Vicky's school friends' dogs.'
'That's right. That's the one that matched.'
'But what about sample two?'
'Nothing like it, entirely different.'
'You're not looking properly – I want a second flaming opinion.'
'We've checked and double-checked, Inspector, as we always do. The confirmation report is on its way.'
'I can hardly bleeding wait.' He banged the phone down with a snort of rage. 'They're useless,' he wailed. 'Never tell you what you want to know… only things that sod up your case.' '
So it's not Plummer's dog?' asked Morgan.
'You've got a rapier-sharp mind, Taffy. No, it came from the dog of one of her school friends.' He rammed a cigarette in his mouth with such force it bent double. 'Damn.'
'Never mind, guv. It may not be Plummer's dog, but it still doesn't let him off the hook.'
'We've found nothing in his house to tie him in with Weaver. No sweets, no photographs of nude kids, not a flaming thing we can use. We're going to have to let him go.'
The internal phone buzzed. Frost signalled for Morgan to answer it.
The DC listened, then quickly slapped a hand over the mouthpiece. 'Mr Mullett, guv. Wants to know if we've got the lab report on the dog hairs.'
'That flaming git always senses when things are going wrong,' moaned Frost. 'Tell him no – they're not in yet.' He repaired his cigarette with a bit of stamp edging and lit up. The other phone rang. Bill Wells to tell him that Plummer's solicitor had spent some time with him and they now wanted to see the inspector.
'Knickers!' moaned Frost. 'This is where I get sued for wrongful arrest. A policeman's lot is not a happy one.'
Plummer's solicitor was a thin, sour-looking individual, who looked even sourer when Frost and Morgan came into the interview room. As they sat down, he unzipped his briefcase, took out a sheet of paper covered in neat handwriting and passed it across to Plummer who read it through then addressed the inspector. 'I imagine you now have the laboratory results on the dog's hairs?'
Frost nodded. He was about to take the test result from the folder when Plummer suddenly buried his head in his hands and began sobbing. The solicitor looked embarrassed and stared at the wall. Frost looked puzzled, but remained silent and waited. It was usually a good sign when they started blubbing.
At last Plummer sniffed back the tears and shook his head in self-reproach. 'I lied to you, Inspector. I had no idea my dog had gone anywhere near that poor child's body.'
Frost kept his face impassive. What the hell was the man babbling on about? 'Oh.'
'To my eternal shame, I was not telling the truth when I said I had never seen that poor child's body before today. On the advice of my solicitor I have prepared a written statement.' He slid the sheet of paper across the table to Frost. 'I knew the body was there. I saw it yesterday when I was out with my dog. The dog found it and started barking. When I saw her…' He shook his head to try and erase the memory. 'I was going to report my discovery right away, then I recalled how you had mocked and scorned my gifts in the past and decided to prove you wrong.'
'And to get five thousand quid from the papers for your exclusive story?'
The solicitor looked surprised. Plummer hadn't told him about this.
Plummer hung his head. 'I wouldn't have kept it, Inspector. My conscience wouldn't have let me.'
'Neither would the judge in the fraud case,' said Frost. He glanced down at Plummer's statement. 'So you found the body yesterday and you wasted twenty-four hours before you decided to tell the police?'
The solicitor thought this a good moment to intervene. 'Naturally my client withdraws any claims he may have against you for wrongful arrest.'
'Very generous of him,' sniffed Frost, basking in the unfamiliar role of the aggrieved party.
'My client further realizes that he could be accused of wasting police time and hampering an inquiry, but in view of his frankness, we hope you will take a more lenient view.'
'He was only frank because we found out he was a bleeding liar,' said Frost. 'But he's fortunate that we're too busy to sod about with minor crimes. We might need to question him further, but for the moment, he can go.'
Mullett was smouldering with rage at being let down yet again by Frost after he had told County that an arrest was imminent. 'So not a single thing to tie him in with Weaver: no pornographic pictures, nothing to suggest he is a paedophile and no matching notepad or envelopes?'
'You forgot the sweets,' said Frost. 'We didn't find them either.'
Mullett's lips tightened. 'So where exactly do we stand with the child killings now?'
'Nowhere.'
'Precisely.' Mullett took off his glasses and polished them carefully. 'It isn't good enough, Frost, it just isn't good enough.' He waved a sheet of figures. 'All the overtime, all the man-hours, and for what?'
I think "for sod all" are the words you're searching for,' said Frost. Why must the man rant on and on about the bleeding obvious? 'I know it's cost us a lot of money to get nowhere. We didn't find the bodies earlier because they weren't there. One was stored with the fish fingers somewhere and God knows where the other one has been. We've checked and double-checked, followed up all leads-'
He was stopped in mid-flow as the phone rang and Mullett held up a hand for silence. 'It might be County,' he murmured, adjusting his tie in case it was. It wasn't County.
'Charles! Hello… Long time no speak…'
As Mullett listened, he frowned and reached for his Parker fountain pen. 'Who…?' He scribbled a name down on his notepad and carefully ringed it round. 'As a matter of fact, Charles, we were just about to send for it, but you've beaten us to the punch. We look forward to receiving the file. How's Mildred? Good…' He hung up and stared grimly at Frost, -drumming his fingers on the desk top. 'You say you've followed up every lead?'
'Yes,' said Frost guardedly, sensing that the sod knew something he didn't.
'That phone call, Frost, was my opposite number in Greyford Division – Superintendent Hilton.'
'Good old Charlie,' said Frost. 'Mildred all right?'
Mullett ignored this. 'He says he is sending us their file on Dennis Hadleigh – he was surprised we hadn't asked for it earlier.'
'Dennis Hadleigh?' asked Frost, his mind racing. Who the hell was Dennis Hadleigh? The name rang a bell, but… Then he remembered. Hadleigh was Mary Brewer's live-in boyfriend, the man who was supposed to have knocked Jenny about. 'What file? I never even knew he had a record.'
'You didn't know, Frost, because you didn't damn well check. I had to lie and pretend we knew all about it. For your information, Hadleigh used to live in Greyford. He was arrested two years ago for sexually abusing an under-aged girl, the eleven-year-old daughter of the woman he was then living with.'
'Oh!' said Frost weakly.
'You didn't check on the boyfriend?'
'I was going to, but as soon as Weaver entered the frame we didn't look any further.'
'A typically blinkered approach,' sniffed Mullett. 'You concentrate all your resources on the wrong man and let the real killer go free. Pick him up now. With luck we could clear this up by tonight.'
Luck, thought Frost, what's happened to my bleeding luck? He pushed himself wearily out of the chair. Mullett had got him this time. The flaming boyfriend. He'd never given him another thought. 'When should the file get here?'
'Later this evening, but don't wait for it. The arrest of the right person would make a welcome change.'
Frost grunted his agreement. He was so disheartened, he closed the door quietly, leaving Mullett, teeth gritted, waiting for the slam that never came.
Dennis Hadleigh was in his mid-twenties. He rippled with muscles and as he folded his arms to stare disdainfully at Frost, the sleeves of his jacket shot back to reveal a mass of tattoos. He scowled. 'Are you going to tell me what this is all about?'
'I think you know what this is about,' snapped Frost, poking a cigarette in his mouth and scratching a match across the table top.
'Pretend I don't,' said Hadleigh. 'Tell me.'
'You are kindly helping us with our inquiries into the death of Jenny Brewer.' do
'You didn't have to drag me down here to get me to • that. I'm as anxious to catch the toe-rag who did it as you are. I take it he isn't the bloke who topped himself?'
Frost took a deep drag and balanced the cigarette on the matchbox. 'We thought we'd try looking a lot nearer home!' He flickered a smile. 'Why did you do it?'
Hadleigh gaped. 'You think I did it? You think I killed and raped a seven-year-old kid?'
'Why not? You like them young, don't you… young, choice, unsullied?'
Hadleigh bent across the table. 'Yes, as it happens I do like them young, choice and unsullied, but not that bloody young.'
'You've done it before, though, haven't you?' asked Frost.
The suspect leant back in his chair and nodded wryly. 'You mean Samantha – young, choice, unsullied Samantha?'
'Yes,' agreed Frost, trying to sound as if he had all the facts. He wished he had the bloody file in front of him. He hadn't the faintest idea what the girl's name was. 'Samantha, your girlfriend's daughter, just Jenny.'
'Nothing like Jenny. Jenny was seven years old, for Pete's sake!'
'And Samantha was eleven.'
'A couple of weeks short of her twelfth birthday.
'And one more candle on the cake made all the difference?'
Hadleigh gave a sour smile. 'You don't know the facts, do you?'.
'We've got that treat to come,' Frost told him file's on the way over. Suppose you fill us in with all the hot, intimate details. Did you welt her the way you welted Jenny?'
The smile vanished. Hadleigh reached inside his jacket and pulled out a worn leather wallet which he thumbed through until he found a small coloured photograph. He flicked it across the table. "That is Jenny. Her mother didn't give a toss about her. Jenny was no bleeding angel, but you couldn't help liking the kid. In spite of everything she always came up with a smile.'
'The poor little cow didn't have a smile on her face when I found her,' said Frost.
Hadleigh said nothing. He leafed through the wallet again and found another photograph which he slid over to Frost, face down. Frost flipped it over and could feel Morgan's hot breath on the back of his neck as he picked it up to study it. A long-haired blonde, stripped to the waist, hands cupping large prominent breasts as she lay back on a cushion and pouted at the camera.
That,' said Hadleigh, jabbing a finger, 'is sweet, innocent, eleven-year-old Samantha. She took the photograph herself with an automatic camera. If that was offered to you on a plate, would you turn your nose up at it?'
Give me her bleeding address, thought Frost. Aloud he said: 'She was still under age.'
Under age or not, she'd had it away with half the boys in her class. She couldn't get enough of it. Flaming hell, I'm only flesh and bleeding blood. She calls me up into her bedroom – says she couldn't get the telly to work. When I goes in, there she is, stark bloody naked. You may not believe this, but I did try to push her away – not very hard, but I tried.'
So she overpowered you you and had her way with you?'
Another wry grin. 'No such flaming luck. Her mother came in before anything happened and yelled "Rape" then she called the police and before I know what's happened I was handcuffed and off to the nick.'
'Then what?'
'Lucky for me Samantha didn't want any trouble. She said I came into the room without knocking and she was getting undressed. I was fully clothed, nothing had happened, so the charge had to be dropped, much to the disappointment of the Old Bill.'
Frost took a long, slow drag on his cigarette to give himself time to think. It looked as if another promising suspect was about to bite the dust. 'The night Jenny went missing, where were you?'
'I was out with Mary – her mother – you know that. That's why we both thought she was round her Nan's.'
Frost passed the two photographs back to Hadleigh after prising the one of Samantha from Morgan who was staring at it goggle-eyed. 'Thanks for your help, Mr Hadleigh. You can go now.'
Hadleigh replaced the photographs in his wallet. 'That's all?'
'For the time being. We might want to talk to you again.' If only to have another look at the photograph, he thought. Frost opened the interview room door and yelled for Collier to show the gentleman out.
He sat down again and finished his cigarette. 'I reckon he's in the clear.'
Morgan's eyes glazed. Still lost in erotic thought, he muttered, 'I'd happily go to prison for an hour with that Samantha, guv.'
'I wouldn't,' said Frost. 'I'd make certain I locked the door first and wedged a chair under the handle.'
'Yet another false lead?' said Mullett, as if it was Frost's idea to bring in Hadleigh in the first place.
'I reckon so,' replied Frost. 'We'll keep an eye on him though.'
Mullett held up the return Frost had given him. 'This is not my idea of a progress report. I want facts. Where do we stand with the prostitute killings?'
'We're following up leads,' said Frost vaguely. What few leads there were had proved worthless, but let Mullett think the inquiries were ongoing.
'And the skeleton? Have you found out who he is yet?'
'He's the least of my worries,' said Frost. 'He can wait.'
'No murder inquiry can wait,' snapped Mullett. 'I've been approached by the solicitor acting for the couple who own the property where the bones were found. Our delay in bringing this to a conclusion, plus all our paraphernalia in the garden, is stopping them from selling the house.'
'Tough,' said Frost.
Mullett waved away the interruption. 'He demands immediate action or they will sue for damages.'
'I hope you told him to get stuffed,' said Frost.
A scowl from Mullett. 'I did no such thing. He's a personal friend of mine. As you have done absolutely nothing, I have circulated details of the skeleton to all forces asking them to check their missing person files of some thirty or forty years ago.'
'Brilliant,' said Frost. 'They'll dump all their old missing person files going back to the year dot… We'll have files on Glenn Miller and Amelia flaming Earhart. How are we supposed to cope with that?'
'County are releasing four men back to us,' said Mullett, 'including DC Burton, and Inspector Allen should be back next week so you won't be able to use shortage of manpower as an excuse any more.' He tossed the progress report over to Frost. 'Do this properly and let me have it back tonight.'
'Sure,' said Frost. He chucked it in Mullett's secretary's waste-paper bin on his way out.
He was right about the missing person reports. He peeked into the incident room on his way up to the canteen. The fax machine, screeching like a fingernail scratched down a blackboard, was spewing out yard after yard of paper. Next to it, looking fed up, PC Collier was sorting the faxes out.
Frost gave them a desultory thumb through. 'Flaming hell,' he croaked. 'They've emptied all their rubbish on us, missing men, women, kids and dogs.' He lifted one up. 'And here's a bloke who only went missing last week. That stupid git Mullett!' He dropped the fax back on the desk. 'We haven't got time to sod about with these,' he told Collier. 'Bung them in a box file, hide them away somewhere and forget where you put them. I'm off to the canteen for a chip butty.'
He didn't make it to the canteen. As he passed through the lobby he was called over by Bill Wells. 'Lady to see you, inspector.' Frost froze. Not Doreen Beatty claiming to be raped again? Wells jerked his head to indicate a young woman in her mid-twenties with a three-year-old boy in a pushchair. Frost's heart plummeted. Please God, not another missing child! 'Thinks she might know who your skeleton might be,' said Wells.
'Bully for her,' grunted Frost, without much enthusiasm. He led her to the interview room. 'I'm probably wasting your time,' she said, manoeuvring the pushchair through the door.
He pointedly studied his watch and frowned, indicating he was pushed for time.
I'll be as quick as I can.' She slipped off her thick coat under which she wore a tight, knitted blue woollen dress. To Frost's delight, beneath the figure-hugging dress there was an awful lot of quivering breast and nipple fighting to get out.
'Take as long as you like, love,' he croaked, as she bent over to tighten the straps round the child and a pert little bottom waggled under his nose.
She smiled and sat down opposite him. He tore his eyes away and winked at the little boy. 'So what can you tell me?'
'My name's Mrs Vivian Tailor.' She waggled a finger to show him the wedding ring which looked a lot newer than the child. 'It's about that skeleton they found in Nelson Road. This may not have anything to do with it…'
'I'm sure it has,' he said. She was leaning over, her breasts supported by the table top, and his hand brushed them as he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. 'Don't rush it.'
'Well, my mum used to have a friend in Nelson Road when she was a girl. I'm going back some years, of course. Anyway, there was this woman she used to chat to over the garden fence. She was a bit older than my mum and she had a son, a great lolloping boy.' She lowered her voice. 'Mum said he was a bit simple, but he couldn't help that, could he?'
'No,' agreed Frost. 'His name wasn't Mullett, was it?'
She frowned. 'No – Aldridge. His mother was Nelly Aldridge. Mum said she was a bit fast. She used to sunbathe topless in the garden – very flighty for those days.'
Frost nodded happily. This was getting interesting.
She leant further across the table, nearly pushing the pen from his hand. Her voice was even softer. 'Mum reckoned she was over-sexed.'
Me and her both, thought Frost. Cor, he could feel their warmth seeping into his knuckles.
'Anyway,' she continued, 'the whole point of this, according to my mum, was that one day the son wasn't there any more. Whenever Mum asked about him, Nelly Aldridge would say, "He's in the house, not feeling well," that sort of thing. Then later she told my mum the boy had gone off to live with relatives, but she'd previously said she was all alone in the world without any relatives living.'
'And the boy was never seen again?'
She shook her head firmly. 'No, and she got all uptight whenever Mum mentioned him. Mum always reckoned she'd done away with him and I reckon that's his skeleton you've dug up.'
'She could have had him put away in a home?' Frost suggested, not entirely convinced there was any point in this.
'Then why not say so? Why all the mystery?'
'Is your mother still alive?'
She gave a sad smile. 'She died last year.'
'What about Nelly Aldridge?'
'No idea. She moved away long before I was born. One minute she was there, Mum said, the next the house was empty… not a word to a soul. She disappeared off the face of the earth.'
Well, at least it was a lead of sorts, something to waste the minimum of time on and keep Hornrim Harry quiet. He scribbled down the details, thanked her and accompanied her to the main door, watching her wiggling bottom as she pushed the child across the road. 'I wouldn't say no to a slice of that,' he told Wells.
'Bit young for you, isn't she, Jack?'
'I don't know, give me a week's notice and a fire in the bedroom and I think I could manage.' He hurried off to the incident room and dragged Morgan away from the racing page of the Daily Mirror, He quickly filled him in. 'So go and find out everything you can about Little Nell.'
Morgan didn't seem too keen. 'What number Nelson Road did she live, guv?'
'You want flaming jam on it!' snorted Frost. 'Knock on doors. She liked to sun her bristols in the back garden. Someone must remember. So find her, arrest her for the murder of her idiot son, then do all the paperwork and I'll buy you a beer in the pub tonight.'
'I was going to have my tooth out,' protested Morgan.
'Business comes before pleasure, Taffy,' reproved Frost. 'Find her first, then have your tooth out afterwards…'
He hurried Morgan on his way, then trotted upstairs to the canteen. 'All the bacon butties have gone,' said the canteen lady. 'Do you a nice cheese salad – much more healthy.'
He had the salad with double chips.