DC Burton wriggled and tried to make himself comfortable in the darkened car. He brought his wrist-watch up to his face. Nearly midnight. He yawned, and knuckled his eyes. Constant surveillance duty was taking its toll. This was his third, freezing cold night of watching outside Ashby's house, waiting for something to happen.
He poured the last of the coffee from the thermos and sipped without enthusiasm. He was dying to do a pee, but knew the minute he left the car, the dentist would come roaring out. He chucked the thermos on the back seat and listened to the burble of police messages over the radio, all from people sounding more alert and wide awake than he did. For three nights he had staked out the dentist's house and each night, dead on eleven, the front door would open, an empty milk bottle was deposited on the step then the house lights would go out one by one. Tonight had followed the same pattern.
His personal radio crackled. 'Frost to Burton. Any joy?'
'Not a damn thing, Inspector. Quiet as the grave.' But as he spoke a light came on briefly in the hall. 'Hold it, something's happening.' The light went out, then the front door opened. Burton's eyes flicked down to his watch. 'Time 23.59. Target leaving house… opening garage doors.'
A metallic grey Honda Accord rolled down the sloped driveway and coasted out into the road where the engine coughed into life and the car moved off. Burton waited a few seconds before following at a discreet distance, making sure he didn't lose sight of the Honda's red tail lights. Back to the radio. 'He's proceeding north towards die town centre. Am following.'
'Don't let him know he's being followed and don't lose him,' ordered Frost.
Burton grinned. What the hell did Frost expect him to do? But he knew the inspector was under pressure with Mullett breathing down his neck as the overtime figures mounted up. 'Target turning into Bath Road,' he reported, spinning the wheel to follow.
'We're in Bath Road,' said Frost, 'Drop back, we'll take over.' With so few vehicles on the road at that time of night it was important Ashby didn't realize the same car was behind him all the time.
Morgan slowed down to let the Honda get ahead of them. The night mist that had hampered previous operations was creeping back again, so he didn't want the dentist to get too far in front.
They drove in silence, Morgan squinting through the dirty windscreen of Frost's Ford, keeping the pin-pricks of red in sight At one point, just approaching a turn-off, he thought he'd lost him, but spotted the lights again in the distance. 'He's put on a bit of speed, guv,' he muttered.
'Eager for the bleeding kill,' grunted Frost. He frowned and scrubbed at the windscreen with his cuff. 'That's the wrong bloody car!'
'It can't be,' said Morgan.
'Well, it bloody well is,' snapped Frost as the mist thinned a little. 'It's a green Citroen.'
'Knickers!' spluttered Morgan, slamming on the brakes. 'He must have taken the turn-off. I lost him for a while, saw the rear lights and assumed it was him.' He squealed into a U turn and headed back to the side road. 'Sorry, guv.'
Frost sat fuming. Bloody Morgan. They reached the turn-off. A long, clear road with no other vehicle in sight. 'Sorry, guv,' mumbled Morgan again.
'If he's after toms, let's try the red light district,' said Frost.
A bitter night with very few toms still about and the ones they asked hadn't seen a grey Honda. Frost radioed to Burton to report they had lost the target.
It was Burton who spotted the car parked down a side street to the rear of the red light district. It was locked and empty. 'Shit!' said Frost.
'Now what?' Morgan asked.
'You and Burton take a walk around, see if you can spot him, I'll watch his motor. He's got to come back sometime.'
A cutting wind made him shiver and he was glad to get back to the warmth of his car. He found a half-smoked cigarette in his mac pocket and lit up, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the Honda straight ahead. The night had all the makings of one of his first-class cock-ups.
A tapping at the driver's window made him turn. A woman in silhouette against the street lamp behind her. He wound down the window and a tatty, ginger-tinged fur coat opened to show a low-cut dress and yards of cleavage. 'Want to see the twins undressed, love?' asked a husky, sex-promising voice. 'Twenty pounds as it's cold.'
Frost's eyes moved quickly from the unappetizing twins to the face, heavily plastered with make-up, and the dyed red hair poking out from under a knitted bobble hat… 'Still on the game, Sarah? Can't you live on your old age pension?'
Sarah jerked back in dismay. 'The fuzz, just my flaming luck.' She backed away, but he reached out and grabbed her arm. 'Get in.'
He opened the door and she thudded down on the passenger seat, filling the car with the overpowering smell of cheap, musky perfume. 'You ain't going to run me in, are you, Mr Frost?' she pleaded. 'Not on me birthday?'
'Your birthday? Show us your telegram from the Queen!'
'Very funny.' She took the cigarette he offered and sucked at it gratefully. The glow from his lighter lit up a raddled face, heavily caked with make-up, and the smoke she exhaled was tinged with the smell of gin.
'You're getting a bit too old for this lark, aren't you, Sarah?'
She shrugged. 'The landlord wants his rent and I've got to pay it somehow.'
'Ever been approached by a bloke, mid-forties, little moustache, stinks of aftershave and drives a Honda?'
She shook her head. 'All I get is old men in Reliant Robins stinking of wintergreen.' She paused. 'A Honda? You don't mean the bloke who was in that Honda over there?' She indicated the dentist's car.
'Yes,' said Frost. 'Why?' 'I offered him my services and he told me to piss off.'
'And you took that as a "No"?'
'Supercilious bastard. Politeness costs nothing.'
'You didn't see where he went, by any chance?'
'Yes.' She pointed. 'In that house on the corner.'
Frost couldn't believe his luck. 'Are you sure?'
'Positive. He took out a key and let himself in.'
Frost beamed happily. 'I owe you one, Sarah.' He radioed for Burton and Morgan to return, then opened the car door for the woman to leave. 'On your way, love.'
She shivered as the cold hit her. 'I won't get much more trade tonight. I'm never going to get enough for my cab fare home.' She gave a pleading look. 'I suppose you couldn't see your way-'
Frost didn't let her finish. 'Sorry, love, you never paid me back the last time, or the time before that…' It was a waste of time giving the woman money. She'd go straight to the nearest pub and pour it down her throat.
She shrugged. 'Ah well. Thanks for the fag.'
He watched her lumber off into the darkness and waited for the two DCs to return.
'What do you reckon, then, guv?' asked Morgan for the eighth time. He was beginning to get on Frost's nerves. What did he expect – instant flaming solutions?
'We watch and when he comes out, we follow him.'
'What do you reckon he's doing in there?'
'How the flaming hell do I know?' Frost had taken a prowl around the house, but the curtains were all tightly drawn and there was nothing to be seen. He had squinted through the letter box into a darkened hall. Nothing to see, nothing to hear. He had asked the station to find out who lived there. The information supplied was that the premises were occupied by a Mr and Mrs F. Williamson who had lived there for some three years. Nothing was known about them.
'He could be in there with a torn now,' said, Morgan. 'Got her tied to the bed and torturing the poor woman.'
'I know, I bloody know,' Frost snapped. 'If we burst " in and he's just popped in to use their toilet, we've blown it. I don't think that's where he takes them. It's too public. He'd risk someone seeing him.'
'But you can't be sure, guv.'
'I know I can't be sure. For all I know it could be packed floor to ceiling with dead toms. All we can do is wait until he comes out, then wherever he goes, we follow.' He yawned. 'No point two of us staying awake. I'm having a kip. Wake me in half an hour then I'll take over from you.' He pulled up his coat collar, hunched down in the seat and closed his eyes.
He woke with a start. Where the hell was he? The car. He was in the car. He brought his watch up to his eyes. 1.36. Flaming Taffy Morgan was supposed to wake him at 1.30. He stretched and looked round. Morgan, head back, eyes closed, was snoring softly. Frost snorted annoyance. Couldn't the silly sod do anything right? He jabbed the DC sharply in the ribs with his elbow. Morgan shot bolt upright. 'What's that?'
'Your early morning call,' began Frost and then his eyes widened and he swore violently.
The street lamp shone down on an empty parking space. The Honda had gone.
Morgan was rubbing his eyes. 'I nearly dropped off then, guv,' he murmured apologetically. He stared through the windscreen. 'Where's the Honda?'
'He must have driven it away when you nearly dropped off,' snarled Frost as he radioed through to Burton who was watching the rear of the house from a side street. 'You didn't spot Ashby driving off by any chance?' he asked hopefully.
'No,' replied Burton. 'You haven't lost him, have you?'
'Yes,' said Frost grimly. 'The lousy sod didn't have the decency to wake Morgan up as he left. Get over to his house and wait there. Let me know the minute he returns.' He radioed for all units to keep an eye out for the Honda, hoping and praying that Mullett wasn't listening in.
'I'm sorry, guv,' said Morgan again. Frost ignored him, his brain whirling. What had Ashby been doing in that house? Was some poor cow even now tied to the bed, or had he sneaked a body out while Morgan was snoring his flaming head off? Frost gritted his teeth and stiffened to stop himself screaming out loud as, for the hundredth time, Morgan asked, 'What now, guv?'
'We've got to take a look inside that house.' He opened the car door. 'Let's see if we can find a way in.'
A forlorn hope but he tried the front door, just in case Ashby hadn't closed it properly. No joy. Another look through the letter box, this time shining his torch inside. Nothing. What did he expect to find – a dead tom swinging from the coat rack? He straightened up. 'Let's try the back way.'
An unlocked gate from the back alley led to the rear of the premises. A small garden with a tiny lean-to greenhouse. The back door was locked and the downstairs window catch stubbornly resisted the efforts of Frost's penknife to open it.
Morgan stepped back and pointed to an upstairs sash window which wasn't quite closed. 'I reckon I could get in through there, guv.'
With visions of Morgan slipping, smashing every pane in the greenhouse and waking up the entire street, Frost firmly shook his head. I'll do it.' He dragged the dustbin over and climbed on top, but even on tiptoe, the sill was just beyond his reach. Reluctantly, very much against his better judgement, he let the slightly taller Morgan try. The DC hauled himself up, full of confidence, just managing to hook his fingers over the edge of the sill. With a foreboding of disaster, Frost turned his head away. 'I'm there, guv,' called Morgan triumphantly just before he fell, his feet kicking, trying to get a foothold in the brickwork as he crashed down, sending the dustbin flying and the lid rolling and clanging. 'Sorry, guv,' muttered Morgan, picking himself up.
'That's your bleeding theme tune,' hissed Frost. For a moment, by some miracle, he thought no-one had heard the racket, then a light suddenly cut across the garden from the house next door. 'Let's get the hell out of here.'
Back in the car they stared at the house while Morgan sucked his bleeding fingertips and rubbed his grazed knees. 'I nearly made it, guv.'
'And Captain Scott nearly made it to the South flaming Pole.' Frost couldn't see any lights coming on in the house and wondered if it was empty. 'Sod it… let's take a chance. I'm going to smash a window and get in that way.'
Out of the car again. He was bending to pick up an empty milk bottle from the doorstep when headlights blinded him. A squeal of brakes and running footsteps. 'Hold it, you two.' He spun round, almost dropping the bottle. Two uniformed men, Jordan and Simms, were racing towards them, the flashing blue light of the area car in the road behind them. Frost gaped. 'What are you doing here?'
'Householder reports two men in her back garden trying to break in,' Jordan told him, wondering what Frost was doing here.
'Two men?' said Morgan. 'That was… Oow!' He hopped with pain as his ankle was kicked.
'We thought we heard something,' said Frost, 'so we stopped to take a look. You two go round the back, we'll go in the front way.' He hammered on the door. A light came on in the hall. 'Police!' he called. The door inched open on a chain and a hand took his warrant card. The door opened. They stared. Wearing a powder blue dressing-gown over a flimsy nightdress, the red-headed receptionist from the dental surgery was looking equally surprised at Frost. 'Thank goodness you've come. My husband's away and I'm in the house on my own. There were two of them.'
'We'll come in and look round,' said Frost. 'If they got into the house we'll flush them out. We've got two uniformed men round the back.'
They quickly went through every room, Frost lingering in the bedroom which held the unmistakable aroma of the dentist's aftershave. A heap of cigarette ends in the ashtray, but no shackles, no blood, no-one else in the house.
'No sign of them,' he told the woman. 'Probably miles away by now. We had a report of a man driving off in a Honda. Would he have been your husband?'
She looked confused and blushed. 'Er, no… a friend.'
'I see,' nodded Frost. 'Can you tell me exactly what time he left you?'
'Just before half-past one.'
About five minutes before Frost woke up to find the Honda had gone. 'Are you sure?'
'I checked the clock as I got back… er, got into bed. Why – is it important?'
'No,' said Frost, shaking his head. Bloody Morgan! They'd missed Ashby by seconds. 'It's not important.'
He sat in his office, moping. What a flaming night. There would be hell to pay in the morning when Mullett learned that after nights of fruitless surveillance, their target was actually on the move but they had lost him. He looked across at Morgan who was in a reverie of erotic recollection.
'I couldn't half have given her one, guv,' said Morgan, settling himself down at his desk. 'Red hair drives me mad. Did you see the love bites round her neck?'
'Is that what they were?' muttered Frost. 'I thought she had fleas.' He radioed Burton who was still stationed outside the dentist's house. Ashby still hadn't come back home and no patrol had spotted the Honda. 'What can the sod be doing?' asked Frost. The phone rang. Control. Urgent message for Inspector Frost. The body of a woman had been found on the outskirts of the Denton Golf Course.
She was lying on her back, fully dressed, the unbuttoned ginger-tinged fur coat spread, out beneath her, the low-cut dress pulled down, exposing her breasts. Sarah had looked old when Frost had seen her earlier. In death she looked very old.
He stared down at her, moodily smoking, getting in the way of SOCO and the Forensic team who were methodically searching the immediate area. She had been dumped in rough grass on the outskirts of the municipal golf course, no more than a couple of feet from a small cut-through road so her killer wouldn't have had far to move the body before driving off. He wouldn't have had to leave the road, just stop the car, dump her, then drive off within seconds. Forensic and SOCO were wasting their time looking for clues in the grass.
No attempt seemed to have been made to conceal the body, which had been spotted by an emergency plumber on his way to attend to a burst pipe at one of the local factories.
He realized Morgan was alongside him, also studying the body. 'I could have saved her life, Taffy,' he said. 'She asked me to lend her the money for a cab, I said no, so she went off to earn enough for her fare and this bastard picked her up.'
'It's a wonder anyone would want lo pick her up,' said Morgan. 'I wouldn't fancy her myself.'
Frost expelled smoke. 'When I was a young copper, Just joined the force, years ago – hansom cabs and Jack the Ripper – I often used to see Sarah plying her trade. She was a bloody cracker then.' He took another drag at the cigarette which was tasting hot and bitter. 'So where is our flaming dentist?'
'You reckon it's him, guv?'
'I hope and pray it is, Taffy. He's all we've got.' He moved back to let SOCO take photographs. Another look at the body. 'She's fully clothed. Why didn't he take her to his lair and strip her off like the others?'
'Probably picked her up in the dark and didn't fancy her when he saw her in the light?' offered Morgan. He nudged Frost. 'The doctor's here.'
Slomon, the duty police surgeon, annoyed at being dragged out of a warm bed at three o'clock on a cold, frosty morning, scowled a greeting at Frost, then knelt by the body and touched the flesh. 'Hasn't been dead long, a couple of hours at the most.'
Frost nodded. "That fits in, doc. I was talking to her a couple of hours ago. She offered to show me her titties.' Want to see the twins undressed, love? Twenty pounds as it's cold. It was even colder now and everyone could see the twins for free.
Slomon made a brief examination, then studied the face. 'No sign of injuries. I think she had a heart attack.'
Frost frowned. 'Heart attack? All the others were suffocated.'
'Not this one.' Slomon stood up. 'She probably had a wonky heart to start with and when she realized what he meant to do with her, the shock killed her.'
Frost crouched and lifted the dress so he could study her stomach. No sign of cigarette burns. He checked the wrists and ankles. No rope burns.
'Could it be a different killer?' asked Morgan.
'I don't think so,' said Frost. Sod it… he had enough unsolved cases without a different bleeding killer being involved. 'He gets his kicks out of seeing women suffer and there's not many giggles if she's dead and can't feel anything. That's why he dumped her so quickly.'
Slomon was scribbling out his expense claim. 'You anywhere near catching him?'
'Not so near that you'd notice,' sighed Frost. If only Morgan hadn't fallen asleep. If only he'd given the poor cow her cab fare. If only he was a better flaming detective. If, if, if…
One of the men from Forensic was examining the fur coat. 'This has seen better days, Inspector.'
'Better decades more like,' muttered Frost. He bent and rubbed the coat with his thumb. As he did so, wisps of fur floated off. 'It's moulting,' he told Forensic. 'If she got into anyone's car, or sat close to them, we'd find traces of rabbit's fur or whatever it is – right?'
'Without a doubt.'
Frost nodded his satisfaction. His radio called him. Burton reporting that Ashby had just returned home. Frost checked the time. 3.32 a.m. 'Where's his car now?'
'In the drive.'
'Right – stay there. If he attempts to leave the house again, arrest him on suspicion of murder. SOCO and Sergeant Hanlon will be with you in around fifteen minutes.' He clicked off and yelled to Detective Sergeant Hanlon: 'Arthur. The dentist has just returned home. I want his clothes, his car, and his house examined for traces of moulting fur – take SOCO with you. Then get Ashby down to the station, arrest him if necessary, but don't tell him about Sarah, tell him it's about his late receptionist.'
'Aren't you coming?' asked Hanlon
'No. I've got to wait for Drysdale. Just stick Ashby ^ an interview room with a warm cup of tea and let him sweat it out until I get there.'
NO sooner had Hanlon and SOCO driven away than the lights of Drysdale's Rolls-Royce cut across the golf course.
'Another one?' sniffed the pathologist, peeling off his gloves and handing them to his secretary.
'Kill one, get one free,' said Frost. 'Dr Slomon reckons she died of heart failure.'
'Brilliant,' said Drysdale coldly. 'Everyone dies from heart failure. It's what causes the heart to fail that matters.' His examination didn't take long. With much reluctance he agreed with Dr Slomon. 'A heart attack, probably brought on by shock. I don't suppose it will reveal much more than that, but the autopsy will be at two tomorrow afternoon.'
Frost sighed. 'I'll be there, doc.' He seemed to be spending half his flaming life at Drysdale's elbow in that miserable autopsy room. He left Jordan to oversee the removal of the body and let Morgan drive him back to the station. The aroma of Sarah's cheap perfume still clung to the interior of the car and there were bits of her tatty fur on the seat…
'You can't talk to Ashby yet, Jack,' Bill Wells told him. 'He's sent for his solicitor.'
'People are too flaming aware of their rights,' moaned Frost. The canteen was closed at that hour of the morning so he sent Morgan off to make some tea, then sat in his office to wait and draw doodles on one of Mullett's memos.
Morgan pushed the door open, bearing two mugs of tea. He was followed in by Detective Sergeant Hanlon. Frost fished the tea-bag from his mug, took a sip and shuddered. 'Cat's pee,' he said.
'Sorry, guv,' mumbled Morgan. 'Making tea isn't my strong suit.'
'Nothing done in a standing position seems to be your strong suit,' said Frost. He turned to Hanlon. 'What joy with Forensic?'
'They're still going through the house, Jack. They bagged up some clothes for examination, including the coat he was wearing in the car, but no obvious sign of any fur fibres.'
Frost looked worried. 'You sure it was the right coat?'
'His keys and his driving licence were in the pocket.'
'For all we know he went back to that red-haired receptionist's flat and changed. I should have left someone watching the place.'
'You think she's in it with him, guv?' asked Morgan.
'I reckon there's got to be two of them, Taff. He couldn't have carried Big Bertha's body from the car on his own, not without a fork lift truck.' He took another sip from his mug before grimacing and pushing it away. His cigarettes went the rounds. 'Knowing who did it is one thing – proving it can be bloody difficult.' He looked up hopefully as Rawlings, the SOCO, followed by Burton, came in and dropped into a vacant chair. 'This had better be good news,' said Frost, 'or I'll get Taffy to make you a cup of tea.'
Rawlings waved away the offer of a cigarette. 'Forensic are doing more thorough tests, but I haven't turned up anything either in the house, his clothes or his car. My guess is she was never in that Honda.'
'I'm not interested in your guesses,' moaned Frost. 'If you've nothing positive to report, then lie.' He turned to Hanlon. 'What happened when you went to the house?'
'I told him we'd like him to come to the station to answer a few questions. He said he'd come tomorrow. I said now. He told me to get stuffed, so I arrested him.'
'On suspicion of the murder of Helen Stokes?'
'Yes. He called us a load of incompetent fools.'
'He knows us too well.' Frost yawned. It had been a long day and it wasn't yet over. 'Unless Forensic come" up with something, we haven't got a lot on him; suspicion, but nothing concrete. We're going to bluff our way through this, pretend we know a lot more than we actually do.' His internal phone rang. Ashby's solicitor had arrived.
Ashby, dishevelled and furious, was seated next to his solicitor, a small balding man who looked equally annoyed. 'My client would have been perfectly willing to answer your questions at a reasonable time, Inspector. It's intolerable that you should drag him down here at this hour of the morning.' He glanced at the sheet of paper in front of him. 'I understand you wish to question him regarding the death of his late receptionist Miss Helen Stokes?'
'Bang on!" nodded Frost, settling himself down in the chair with his files, his cigarettes and his lighter. He checked that Burton was ready with the tape machine.
As soon as it was running, the solicitor said his set piece. 'My client wishes to state emphatically that he knows nothing at all about the death of his employee and he resents most strongly that you have arrested him without a shred of evidence.'
'Then let's try and clear this little misunderstanding up,' beamed Frost, leaning across the table to Ashby and making great play of studying his earlier statement. 'Miss Stokes was killed in the early hours of Saturday morning. You told us you went straight home Friday night, after the surgery closed, stayed in and didn't go out?'
'That's correct.'
'Is it?' asked Frost, sounding surprised. He pulled another sheet of paper towards him. 'So any witness saying they saw you out in your Honda in the small hours would not be telling the truth?' He had no such witness, of course and kept his fingers crossed that the solicitor wouldn't challenge this point, but to his relief Ashby swallowed the baited hook.
'Saw me driving? Ah, yes, now I come to think of it… I suffer from insomnia, Inspector, and sometimes have to get up and take a short drive in my car. I find driving aimlessly around helps me sleep.'
Frost smiled happily. 'That clears up that little point, sir. We don't like to have these discrepancies.' He shuffled through the papers and pulled out a witness statement. 'Now what was the date that other witness mentioned…? Ah yes… the early hours of Tuesday morning…' He raised his eyebrows enquiringly. More bluff. The statement was from a householder reporting they saw nothing at all at the time the body was dumped under the fast food van.
'Ah…' said the dentist, as if suddenly remembering. 'I did go out for a late night drive… It slipped my mind before.'
Frost ticked the statement. 'Good. We know the body was dumped between half-past midnight and half-past one Tuesday morning. Can you tell us where your aimless drive had taken you between those times?'
'I'm sorry, Inspector, I don't stare at the clock as I drive, I just don't know.'
'Did you know Miss Stokes had a secret passion for you sir?'
Ashby blinked in amazement. 'What…?'
Frost showed him the photograph. 'We found this in her bedroom… the red marks are lipstick. She'd been slobbering all over it. Didn't you detect any signs of a smouldering passion?'
'No, I did not.'
The solicitor came to life. 'I can't see where any of this is is leading, Inspector.'
'Bear with me, sir.' Back to Ashby. I'm suggesting, sir, that Miss Stokes, with her secret passion, would have been insanely jealous if you gave your favours to someone else.'
'I'm a happily married man,' snapped Ashby.
'Yes, sir, but is it your wife who is keeping you happy or your new receptionist?'
The solicitor quickly intervened. 'Are you suggesting my client is having an affair with his receptionist?'
Frost gave the solicitor a knowing smile. 'I don't think your client will deny it, sir, especially as I caught them at it.' Back to Ashby. 'Did Miss Stokes catch you at it as well, sir? Did she threaten to tell your wife? Is that why she had to be silenced?'
'No, no, no,' shouted Ashby, his fist hammering on the table for emphasis.
'You had motive and opportunity, sir.'
Before the dentist could answer, the solicitor raised a hand. 'Just a minute, Inspector. A purely hypothetical motive which my client has denied, and as for opportunity, being unable to state definitely where he was at a critical time is hardly proof that he committed a crime.'
'You're right, sir,' said Frost ruefully. 'It's not enough, is it?' He lit up another cigarette and slowly exhaled smoke. 'Let's see if we can't bolster our case up a bit.' He put Sarah's file on the top of the heap and opened it up. 'Now here's coincidence. Death does seem to follow your client around. He was seen with another woman earlier tonight and now she's dead!'
The colour drained from Ashby's face. 'Jayne? Are you saying Jayne's dead? Oh my God!'
Frost's mind whirled. Jayne? Who the hell was Jayne? Then it clicked. She was the redhead. Clever, bloody clever. The man deserved an Oscar. 'Not your receptionist sir, a prostitute… Sarah Hicks, fur coat and bobble hat.'
Ashby's eyes narrowed as if he was trying to remember. 'You mean that old granny? She offered me her services and I told her to leave me alone. I then went into my receptionist's flat for a quick chat.'
'What time did you leave there, sir?'
'Round about half-past one.'
Frost nodded. That agreed with the time the receptionist had told him. 'And what time did you return to your house?'
A vague shrug. 'Around a quarter to two, I suppose.'
'That's the time I would have expected you to arrive if you had driven straight there, but in actual fact it was gone 3.30, not too long after we found the body.'
Frowning, the solicitor looked up from his notes. 'Who says my client didn't arrive home until nearly 3.30?'
'One of my officers, sir. Your client has been under surveillance all evening.'
'If he was under surveillance, you will know where he was during that time.'
Frost tried not to look uncomfortable. 'Unfortunately, sir, the officer concerned was called away to another incident for a while.' A tap at the door and Bill Wells came in. 'Not now,' hissed Frost.
Wells pushed a piece of paper towards the inspector and left hurriedly. Frost glanced at it. A note from Mullett, heavily underlined in red. 'Must speak to you urgently.' Damn. Was the sod still here? He crumpled the note and resumed his questioning. 'So what were you doing in that missing hour and a half, Mr Ashby?'
'Just driving around… I still wasn't tired.'
'And where did you drive?'
'Round the woods, along the trunk road. I don't blow for sure. You may not be willing to believe this, "inspector, but I was still very upset about Helen. It's bad enough when a stranger is murdered, but when it's someone you work with, you see every day…' He blew his nose loudly.
Hearts and bleeding flowers time, thought Frost. But he was worried. He wasn't really getting anywhere. He kept hoping Forensic would come galloping to the rescue at the last minute with solid evidence to nail the bastard. He pulled out the list of dates for the earlier prostitute killings and read them to Ashby asking where he was on those nights., To each date the reply was: 'I'm sorry. I don't remember.'
'An alibi we could check would be very helpful,' Frost told him.
'Had I known I'd need one I'd have made damn sure I got one. Prostitute killings! What else will you try to accuse me of – the Great Train Robbery?'
'Two people you were in contact with are now dead, sir. One of them was a prostitute. Our serial killer picks up prostitutes, and you have received two cautions for kerb-crawling, looking for prostitutes at night.'
The solicitor glared at his client. 'Kerb-crawling? You never told me about that.'
'I didn't think it was important.'
'Important? Of course it's important.'
'If I could continue,' said Frost, sounding almost apologetic for interrupting. 'One other question. Tell me about your phone calls to the Samaritans, Mr Ashby.'
Ashby stared incredulously. 'The Samaritans? Why on earth should I phone them?'
'Telling them about things you had done, and finding you were talking to your old receptionist and fearing she had recognized your voice.'
Ashby gave a scoffing laugh. 'This is really scraping the bottom of the barrel, Inspector. You're floundering. You haven't a clue and you're trying to come up with a suspect, any damn suspect. You tried to pin the murder of those kids on that poor man who hanged himself. Well, you're not going to pin this on me.'
Frost winced inwardly but tried not to show it. Every tin-pot crook would be chucking that in his face from now on.
The solicitor cleared his throat. 'My client has denied your accusations which you clearly have no evidence to support. I demand that he be released from custody.'
I'm sorry,' replied Frost. 'Our investigations are continuing and there will be further matters I wish to put before your client.'
The solicitor pursed his lips angrily and zipped up his briefcase with a flourish. 'Very well, Inspector. But if you hold him one second longer than the law allows without specifically charging, you will be in serious trouble.'
Tm rarely out of it,' said Frost.
Harding from Forensic was waiting for him in the murder incident room. He wasn't smiling. 'You're just pretending it's bad news, aren't you?' said Frost. 'You've nailed him, haven't you?' He swilled down the dregs of cold tea on the desk, then spat it out hurriedly. He had forgotten he had dunked a cigarette end in it.
'Nothing on his clothes. Fibres from her fur coat adhering to the driver's window of the Honda, but nothing else.'
'She would have leant on the car to stick her titties through the window,' said Frost. 'You sure you found nothing inside – a 60B bra or a pair of open crotch knickers?'
Harding gave a tired grin. I wouldn't have kept it from you if we had, Inspector. I like to be frank and open.'
I'd prefer you to be lying and bleeding devious,' said Frost. 'If she got inside that car there should be bits of fur all over the seat.' He had a sudden thought. 'He's got a place where he usually takes them. Perhaps he's got a car vacuum cleaner. Could he have cleaned it out before he drove back home?'
Harding shook his head. 'It would have to be a super vacuum cleaner to remove every trace, Inspector.'
'You're bleeding useless,' said Frost.
'We can't find what isn't there,' protested Harding, 'and you can take it from me, there was nothing.'
'Perhaps he's got a second car hidden away somewhere," Burton suggested. 'Changes cars when he picks up toms, then changes back to the Honda when he drives home.'
'And changes his flaming suit as well?' said Frost, shaking his head. 'It's too complicated. Either we've got the wrong man, or we're missing something. In any case, it's too bloody late and I'm too tired to think.' He buttoned up his mac. 'First thing in the morning we contact all the toms who work in that area and find out if any of them saw Sarah going off with anyone.' He stretched his arms and yawned. I'm for bed before any more bodies turn up.'
He got as far as the corridor.
'Frost!'
He winced. Bloody Mullett. Half-past four in the morning and there was Hornrim Harry, uniform razor-creased, face all shining and squeaky clean, making Frost feel dirtier and more dishevelled than ever.
'Super?'
'My office… now!'
Frost followed him to the old log cabin and flopped wearily into the visitor's chair. Mullett marched to his desk and sat ramrod straight behind it, treating the inspector to a long, disapproving glare. What the hell have I done now, thought Frost, digging in his pocket for a cigarette and finding the note Bill Wells had given him in-the interview room. Mullett demanding to see him urgently. Knickers! He'd forgotten all about it.
'I was just about to phone you when you called out,' lied Frost, thinking Sod it, a couple of minutes earlier and I'd have made it to the car-park and been off home. He put on his tired, overworked copper face. 'This won't take long will it, Super? It's been one hell of a night.'
'Not only for you. Frost. I too have had one hell of a night. Woken up in the small hours by the press demanding my comments on the latest killing and asking if it was true that we had arrested a man in connection with the serial killings. And I didn't know a damn thing about it.'
Frost frowned. 'I didn't know the press had got the story. They didn't phone the station.'
Mullett picked up his paper knife and beat a gentle tattoo on his desk top. 'Er… no… I had arranged that all press calls were to be diverted to me. I wanted to spare you the burden of having to deal with them.' He wouldn't look Frost in the eye as he said this. His concern was firstly that he didn't trust Frost to deal with the media, dreading seeing some of the man's more outrageous comments spread across the front pages of every London daily, but more important, it didn't do his own career any harm to have his name featured as spokesman in such an important case – and it also gave him the opportunity to deflect blame and misdirect credit.
'You spoil me, Super,' murmured Frost, who wasn't fooled for one minute.
Mullett modestly shrugged off what he took to be a compliment and returned to the attack. 'I couldn't give them answers, so I had to stall them. I asked you to phone me immediately you were free, and you ignored me. Then… then…' He banged the paper knife down on the desk to show the importance of his next point. '… the Chief Constable phoned me. The press had gone through to him. He demanded answers which, thanks to you, I was unable to provide.'
'Sorry about that, Super,' mumbled Frost, sounding just like Morgan.
'Sorry isn't good enough, Frost. I've been made to look a complete idiot.'
Frost bit his tongue and said nothing.
'I told the Chief Constable that the suspect you are questioning had, at my instigation, been under surveillance and that, although I didn't have the details, I was sure you had caught him red-handed and this was yet another feather in Denton Division's cap. He complimented me and is waiting for my return phone call to tell him we have formally charged this man with the serial murders.'
'You stuck your neck out a bit, Super,' reproved Frost. 'We're questioning Ashby, but he denies everything and we haven't yet got enough to charge him.'
'But you had him under surveillance. You must have seen him dumping the body?'
'We had him under surveillance,' said Frost, blandly, 'but we lost him.'
Mullett's face turned to stone. 'You lost him?'
'Yes,' agreed Frost. 'By the time we found the body, he was back home.'
'You lost him?' Mullett could think of nothing else to say. 'We set up an expensive surveillance operation, but at the vital moment, you lose him?' The enormity of how he was going to explain all this to the Chief Constable was tempered by the thought that he could put all the blame for this monumental mess-up on Frost's bungling. He waggled a reproving finger.
'There is no way County will overlook this, Frost. Heads will roll.'
'You mustn't blame yourself, Super,' said Frost, sounding very concerned. 'You meant for the best and it's not entirely your fault.'
Mullett blinked rapidly. His fault? How could the blame be put on him? 'What on earth are you talking about? You're the one who lost your prime suspect.'
'As I said to you at the time, Super, you hadn't given us enough men to do the job properly.' 'Not enough men? Three of you to tail one man?' 'At two in the morning there's hardly another car on the road. It was vital he shouldn't know he was being tailed. We had to keep well back so he wouldn't keep seeing the same two cars wherever he went. He suddenly put on a bit of speed and we lost him. Two more men in another car and we would have nailed him, but obviously, with County watching the pennies, the money angle took precedence over stopping another killing. Let's hope they see it's their fault and don't try to blame you. I'll back you up, Super.'
Mullett's head was in a flat spin. Frost always seemed able to wrong-foot him. How to wriggle out of this? 'But I've told the Chief Constable you would be charging him.'
'He has opportunity and motive. We just need a bit more evidence.'
'And how do you propose to get it?'
'We'll be questioning the local toms tomorrow. One of them might have seen him drive off with Sarah. If so, we've got him.'
'And if not?'
'If not, we let him go and hope we catch him next time.'
He left a stunned Mullett staring at the telephone, mentally drafting out his call to the Chief Constable.
'Frost seemed to think three men were enough. I urged him to take more…'
Frost didn't make it to the car-park. Bill Wells called him into the cell area. 'Ashby wants to speak to you. Jack.'
His tiredness evaporated. A confession. It had to be. He waited as Wells unlocked the cell door. Ashby was sitting on the bunk bed, arms folded defiantly. 'I'd like you to know, Inspector, that first thing in the morning, I am instructing my solicitor to instigate proceedings against you and this lousy police station for false arrest and wrongful imprisonment.'
'Is that all you wanted to say?' asked Frost, disappointed.
'Yes.'
'See you in the morning, then.' He turned to leave.
'You'll see me,' shouted Ashby. 'And I won't be hanging from a bloody hook.'
Pity, thought Frost.