A damp and misty morning. It was just pushing half-past eight as Frost turned into the station car-park. He'd had a phone call from Bill Wells telling him that Ashby's solicitor wanted to see him urgently at nine o'clock with his client.
He checked the cars in the car-park. DC Burton was in already but no sign of Taffy Morgan's motor. With a muttered curse he spotted Mullett's Rover in its designated parking space. Hadn't the sod got a home to go to? No sign yet of the solicitor's car so he had time to snatch something to eat.
As he pushed open the door, the siren smell of frying sausages and bacon wafted down from the canteen. A quick peek inside the murder incident room as he passed through. Sitting next to Burton, noisily slurping tea from a chipped canteen mug, sat one of the tallest women Frost had ever seen. Thin, with bleached blond hair, jangling curtain-ring ear-rings and wearing, below a short black jacket, a tiny leather miniskirt which made her long, skinny legs look even longer. Spotting the inspector, Burton hurried over.
'Who the hell is that?' whispered Frost. 'The giraffe woman?'
'You asked us to check on toms. Lily saw a bloke Pick up Sarah last night.'
'From her height she could see for miles,' said Frost. He took one more look and shuddered. 'I can't talk to her on an empty stomach. I'll be down when I've had something to eat.'
He clattered up the stairs to the canteen, piled the full monty fried breakfast on a tray and sat down next to Bill Wells who was staring reflectively into an empty cup. 'Did you see what Burton's dragged in?" Frost asked.
'I reckon it's a man dressed up,' said Wells.
'Two men,' said Frost. 'One on the other's shoulders.' He cut off a chunk of sausage and dipped it in his fried egg. 'Did you hear the one about the midget who married the tall girl? His friends put him up to it!' He roared with laughter at his own joke, nearly choking on the sausage. 'Do you get it?'
'I got it, when you first told it to me,' said Wells glumly, 'but I was a lot younger then.'
'You're no fun any more,' said Frost. 'Do you know why Ashby's solicitor wants to see me?'
Wells shook his head. 'Ashby phoned him about eight o'clock. Half an hour later the solicitor phoned us, saying he wanted to see you urgently at nine.'
'Did he sound like someone whose client was going to confess and make a broken-down detective inspector very happy?' asked Frost hopefully.
'He sounded like someone who reckoned he had a broken-down detective inspector by the short and curlies.'
'Talking of private parts,' said Frost, 'I see Mullett's in?'
'He's got Wonder Woman with him.'
'Liz Maud? Back already? So I was wrong, it wasn't a heart and lung transplant?'
Wells leant over and lowered his voice. 'She's had an abortion.'
Frost's fork with a speared sausage hovered an inch from his mouth. 'And Mullett's the father? Flaming heck. How do you know it was an abortion?'
'It stands to reason.'
'So does my dick… but how do you know?'
'She used to keep throwing up… that's morning sickness.'
'It could be the canteen food.' He cocked an ear as the tannoy blared out: 'Would Inspector Frost come to the phone, please.'
The solicitor had arrived.
Mullett took off his glasses and gave them a careful polish with a paper tissue, then smiled at Liz who was seated in the visitor's chair opposite him. 'So you are fully fit and ready to resume duties?'
'Yes, sir. It was only a minor operation.'
He nodded. 'Er… yes.' He found his eyes being drawn to her chest. If it was a breast enlargement operation as Frost had suggested, they certainly didn't look that much larger than he remembered them. 'If you could let me have your doctor's medical certificate – we need it for your sick pay, of course.' That should tell him what had been done.
'I didn't take the time off as sick leave, Superintendent. It was part of my annual leave entitlement.'
'I see.' He took another quick peek. Perhaps her chest was a bit bigger than before. These damn women with their mysterious female ailments, taking time off at crucial moments for trivial operations. Anyway, things should be a bit easier for you next week. Inspector Allen will be back and you will be able to revert to your proper rank as sergeant.'
Liz stared coldly. 'You did say you would see about getting my temporary rank of inspector made Permanent.'
Again Mullett took off his glasses and held them up to the light, looking for non-existent smears. 'Ah, yes. I fought hard, Sergeant, but…' He shook his head sadly. 'In spite of all my efforts on your behalf, County wouldn't agree.' He beamed an insincere sympathetic smile. 'If you had achieved any good results, things might have gone differently, but as it was…!' He spread out his hands.
Her eyes spat fire. 'I see.' And she was out of the chair and his office without another word, her door-slamming pushing Frost's into second place.
Mullett shook his head and sighed. Damn woman! How right he was not to have recommended her promotion to County.
The bald-headed solicitor was seated next to his client in the interview room, his briefcase on the table. He nodded curtly as Frost, followed by Burton, came in to take their seats. 'An important development,' he announced.
You're looking too pleased with yourself, you smug bastard, thought Frost. Aloud he said: 'Oh?'
'As I understand it, Inspector, the mainstay of your case is that all these killings were carried out by the same person, including the murder of my client's unfortunate receptionist?'
'That's right,' said Frost guardedly. What had the sod got up his sleeve?
'And you feel the strongest link in your case against my client is the killing of Miss Stokes?'
Frost nodded.
'And whoever was responsible for her death, also dumped the body?'
Another nod. Get to the bleeding point, for Pete's sake.
The solicitor unzipped his briefcase and extracted a sheet of typescript. With irritating slowness, he took out his spectacle case and put on his glasses to refer to it. 'As the fast food vendor was away for such a short time, you can pin-point within a quarter to half an hour or so the time the body was dumped?'
'Yes.'
The solicitor turned to his client and they exchanged superior smiles. 'At first my client was unable to recollect what he was doing around half-past midnight or so, but this morning, he did remember.' He waved a hand for the dentist to take up the story.
'I needed cash, Inspector,' said Ashby, 'so I went to the automatic cash dispenser at Bennington's Bank in Lexton.'
Frost leant back in his chair. 'Lexton? Why didn't you use the cash point in Denton?'
'Because, Inspector, it was out of order – as I'm sure you will confirm when you check – so I went to Lexton and withdrew Ј50.'
'And what time was this?'
'Three minutes to one in the morning.'
'Which means,' the solicitor cut in, 'there is no way my client could have got to that fast food van between your window of times.'
Frost stared at the dentist. 'Did anyone see you there, sir – anyone who could confirm your story?'
'There was no-one else about at that time of the morning.'
'A pity,' said Frost, sounding relieved. He was afraid Ashby was coming up with a cast iron alibi. 'And why did you need Ј50 at that time of night?'
'The lady in question insisted on payment in cash, and I didn't have any on me.'
Frost frowned. 'Are you telling us that you drew money out to go with a prostitute?'
Ashby hung his head. 'I'm not proud of myself, Inspector, but yes.'
After a session with your receptionist,' said Frost, 'I doubt if I would have had the strength to crawl back to my car, let alone go with another woman.' He pulled the cap from his pen. 'Details, please, so we can check.'
'I was out of luck, Inspector. When I got back, I couldn't find her, or anyone. I drove around looking for a while, then returned home.'
'Then we have nothing to corroborate your story, sir,' said Frost, trying not to sound relieved.
'On the contrary, Inspector,' smirked the solicitor. 'A timed receipt is provided with money withdrawn from the bank's cash machines. Fortunately, my client remembered he had retained his and it was in the pocket of his other suit. He phoned me this morning. I collected it, and here it is!' Like a magician asking 'Is this your card, sir?' he flourished the receipt at Frost. The date and time checked. The solicitor then produced his client's plastic credit card so Frost could see that the account number agreed.
'It does look fairly conclusive,' admitted Frost, grudgingly.
'It is proof positive,' smirked the solicitor. 'I take it my client will be released immediately? He does have a surgery to run.'
Frost thought hard for reasons to say no but couldn't come up with any. 'We'll need to make a few more inquiries, but at the moment he is free to go.'
Nodding with smug satisfaction, the solicitor zipped his briefcase and stood up. 'You will be hearing further about our claim for substantial damages for false arrest and unlawful imprisonment.'
'Fair enough, sir,' agreed Frost. 'We'll co-operate with you in every way. We'll even give the court full details as to why we suspected your client: his kerb-crawling, his late night excursions looking for nooky his extra-marital affair with his receptionist…"
Ashby and his solicitor exchanged concerned looks, with the dentist shaking his head firmly. 'I'm not vindictive,' he told Frost. 'A full apology will suffice.'
'Then, sorry,' grunted Frost. He opened the interview room door and yelled to the custody sergeant: 'We're releasing this gentleman… no further action.'
Frost grabbed another mug of tea from the canteen and plodded back with it to the murder incident room, giving Mullett's office a wide berth in case the superintendent bounced out, as he always seemed to do at the wrong moment, to demand to know if the dentist had signed a full confession yet. Morgan was hovering at the incident room door and seemed reluctant to enter. 'What's up, Taff?'
Morgan pointed to the towering figure of the mini-skirted prostitute who was savagely applying fresh lipstick to replace that adhering to the rim of her mug of canteen tea. 'What on earth is that, guv?'
'You haven't met Mrs Mullett then?' said Frost, jerking his head for Morgan to follow, then sitting in the vacant chair next to her. In the corner of the room he could see Burton and Liz Maud in deep conversation. He introduced himself to the tom. 'I'm Inspector Frost. What can you tell me?'
She rammed the tube of lipstick back in her handbag. 'About bloody time! Is it true? Is Sarah dead?' Frost nodded.
'The same bastard who did for the others?' Again Frost nodded.
'And all you do is sit on your arse-hole drinking tea?'
'What else can I sit on?' asked Frost. 'My ear-hole?' He swigged from the mug. 'If you can help us we flight catch the bastard, so tell us what you know.'
'Like I told the other copper, I saw Sarah last night going off with a punter.'
'What time was this?' Frost was giving her face a quick once-over: eyelashes heavily caked with mascara, make-up plastered on, but he was sure he could see dark stubble underneath.
'Late, ducky, getting on for two in the morning.'
'Are you sure about the time?'
'Bloody sure. If you're not one of Harry Grafton's girls you're not allowed out on that beat until all Harry's toms have packed it in for the night. He plays rough otherwise.'
Frost nodded. He knew this only too well.
'I gets there about half-past midnight and there was still a couple of his girls working, so I went to the pub for a drink, came back just after one and it was all clear. It's unfair, ducky, at that time of night all we get is the dregs of the trade.'
So do the punters, thought Frost. 'Right, then what?'
'Had a couple of customers and was standing there just before two when this car crawls up. I saw the bloke inside was giving me the eye, so I goes over to him. He looked the sort of bloke who only buys the reduced to clear stuff from the supermarket. "How much?" he asks. "Forty quid," I tells him. The bastard offered me a tenner. A tenner! I wouldn't even blow in his flaming ear for a tenner. I told him to get knotted.'
I'd have thought you would have grabbed any trade that was going at that time of the morning,' said Frost.
'You're got to have standards, ducky,' she said, dragging up her miniskirt so she could give her thigh a vigorous scratch. I'd have come down to fifteen quid at a pinch, but a tenner, no way!'
'Then what?'
'Further down the road, leaning on that lamp post by the phone box, there's Sarah, wearing that moth-eaten fur coat of hers. He goes over to her in his car, they chat, she climbs in his motor, and he drives off.'
'And you didn't see her again?'
'No. For ten quid I'd have expected her back in five minutes. – ten minutes if she was feeling generous -but she never came back.'
'Can you give us a description of this man?'
'Hardly took a look at him. Anyone offering ten quid wasn't worthy of my contemplation.'
'Come on, Fanny,' urged Frost. 'If we're to catch him, we want some sort of a description.'
'Medium age, medium height, black hair.'
'And distinguishing features?'
'No, apart from him being a stingy bastard.'
'Clothes?'
'Blackish coat, black jacket…'
'The man in flaming black,' snorted Frost. 'I suppose he had black fingernails as well?'
'Can't say, ducky – he had gloves on, black gloves I think.'
'Funny,' said Frost, 'I was going to say that. What about his car?'
She shrugged. 'An old banger, could have been black as well. I didn't pay that much attention.'
'Would you recognize him if you saw him again?'
'I doubt it.'
Frost sighed. They were getting nowhere. 'We're going to show you a few photographs, see if you can pick him out.' He went over to Burton. 'Show her some mug shots, slip in one of the dentist, you never know your luck.'
Morgan gawped as she strode out, towering over Burton. 'She's a big girl, guv!'
'Yes,' agreed Frost. 'She wouldn't waggle it under your nose, more like over your head.' He swallowed the last of the tea and thought he'd try his joke out on Morgan. 'Did I tell you about the midget that married this tall girl… Great big tart she was, just like Lily. _ ' Morgan didn't think it funny either and was about to tell Frost a joke of his own when Burton returned, Lily traipsing after him. 'Flicked through the lot, recognized no-one,' he reported.
'Did you slip the dentist's photo in?'
'Yes. She passed it over, the same as the others.'
'Knickers!' said Frost. But it was only what he expected. He turned to the woman. 'Thanks for your co-operation. If you think of anything else that might help us, please let us know.'
She stared angrily at him. 'And that's it? What about some protection? If I'm out tonight and the same flaming bloke turns up, I could be lying on the slab next to Sarah.'
'If you're worried, don't go out on your beat until we catch him,' said Frost.
'And if you never flaming well catch him, how do I pay the lousy rent? If I was the Queen Mother you'd fall over backwards to protect me, but just because I'm a flaming tom you don't give a toss.' She snapped open her handbag and took out a ten pence piece which she banged down on the desk. 'For the coffee… so you don't waste your money on flaming toms.'
She stamped out, barging into Mullett as he came in, sending him crashing against the door post. Mullett glared his annoyance. 'What was that all about?'
Frost held out the ten pence piece. 'She brought your change back from last night, Super.'
Mullett's expression froze. The man was a disgrace and the sooner he could get rid of him, the better. He was now considering Liz Maud in a more friendly light. If he had her made up to inspector he might be able to get Frost moved on elsewhere. The thought was tempting. But he squeezed out a smile to show he enjoyed a joke against himself. 'What was that all about?' he repeated.
Frost explained. 'She saw last night's murdered tom going off with a client. We're hoping to trace him.'
'You think he could be the killer?'
'No,' replied Frost. 'He turned down the tall torn because she asked too much.'
'So?' asked Mullett.
'If you pick someone up intending to torture and kill them, you don't give a sod about the asking price. You wouldn't be paying it anyway… the poor cow would be dead.'
'So why are you trying to trace him?'
'I want to know where he dropped Sarah off. Her next client could have been the killer and our man might even have seen him.' A thought struck him. 'Actually, Super, you could help us with this.'
'Oh?' said Mullett warily.
'We need a TV and press appeal for this man to come forward. We say we know he's not involved, but his information could be vital to our investigation.'
Mullett mulled this over. The chance of appearing on TV always appealed, and he had his formal uniform in the office cupboard. 'Do we have a photofit picture?'
'No, and if we want him to believe we're going to keep him anonymous, the last thing he will want is his mug shot sprawled all over the telly. Can I leave that in your very capable hands, Super?' he smarmed.
Mullett beamed. 'I'll see to it right away.' He marched out, silently rehearsing his TV announcement, completely forgetting he had sought out Frost to tear him off a strip for not letting his Divisional Commander know the dentist had been released without charge.
Frost turned back to his team. 'Right. First, we're glad to welcome Inspector Maud back. I'll just go over what we've got so far in case she can spot anything we've missed.' He jerked a thumb to the photograph. 'There's our prime suspect. Ashby, the dentist. He's cautions for kerb-crawling, his receptionist, Helen Stokes, was murdered the same way as the other toms, he's two-timing his wife with his new receptionist and he was seen talking to Sarah Hicks the same night she too was abducted. Also, he claims to suffer from insomnia so is out of the house in the early hours which is when the murders have taken place. Lastly, he's got a little black moustache like Mullett. Now anyone with all that against him would have to be guilty.'
'He sounds a cert to me,' commented Liz Maud.
'That's what I thought when we brought him in, but the lousy swine has provided an alibi for more or less the exact time Helen Stokes's body was dumped.' He showed them the service till receipt. 'He never could have drawn the money out, then got back in time to shove her under the meat pie van.'
Liz Maud, who had been studying the service till receipt, raised a hand. 'Someone else could have used his card to withdraw the money.'
Frost stared at her, then grinned happily. 'You're right! His red-headed receptionist could have got the money out for him.'
Liz nodded. 'She uses his card to draw the cash out while he dumps the body. She gives him a phoney alibi.'
Burton looked doubtful. 'But how would they know he was going to need an alibi for that time? It was only sheer chance the fast food van happened to be deserted.'
Frost thought for a minute. 'Supposing it wasn't meant for an alibi at the time. It was only later, after we arrested him, that he realized he could use it as one.'
'The trouble is,' said Liz Maud, 'it's all theory -how do we prove it?'
Everyone went silent, but it was Frost, again, who came up with the answer. 'Wait a minute. Some of these banks have closed circuit TV cameras set up by their cash machines in case someone swears blind it wasn't them who drew the money out.' He jabbed a finger at Burton. 'Phone Bennington's Bank at Lexton and find out if they've got one.'
They waited anxiously while Burton made the call. As he listened, he smiled, then turned to give Frost the thumbs-up. 'Yes, they have.'
Tell them we're on our way,' said Frost, rubbing his hands with glee. 'If it's anyone other than our teeth-pulling friend on candid camera, we've got him.' He was snatching his mac and scarf from the coat hook when Bill Wells came in with a face that telegraphed trouble.
'13 Denton Way, Inspector. Frantic mother on the phone. Her two six-year-old daughters have gone missing.'
Frost went cold. He had pushed the child killings right to the back of his mind. No clues and suspects. He had been hoping the killer had moved away to someone else's patch. 'How long have they been missing?' 'I don't know, Jack. She was almost incoherent and her English wasn't too good. I said we'd get someone over right away. Shall I send an area car or do you want to take it?'
Frost crushed his cigarette under his heel. This sounded bloody nasty. 'I'll take it if you like,' offered Liz Maud.
He nodded. 'Thanks. We'll join you as soon as we've checked the bank's video.'. He sat, slumped, sucking at an unlit cigarette in silence, as Taffy Morgan drove them to Lexton. He hoped that this, at least, would give him some good news.
The manager was busy with an important customer so he instructed one of his female clerks to get the videotapes out for the detectives to view. She was very young, sixteen or seventeen at the most, and wore tight jeans with an even tighter sweater. Morgan couldn't keep his eyes off her. As she knelt to get the tape from a bottom shelf, her sweater rode up as the jeans rode down, revealing the start of an inviting buttock cleft. Frost nudged Morgan who didn't need any nudging. 'I wouldn't mind swiping my credit card down that,' he whispered.
'Pardon?' asked the girl, turning her head.
'Nothing,' said Frost. 'Just hoping we weren't putting you to too much trouble.'
'No trouble at all,' she smiled, straightening up and tugging her sweater back into position, causing a sharp intake of breath from Taffy as it stretched and hugged. 'I've got what you want,' she told them.
'You certainly have,' muttered Frost through smiling ventriloquist's lips. Aloud he asked, 'Does the camera record all the time or only when there's someone using the cash point?'
'All the time, I'm afraid, so we'll have to run it through to try and find the right spot.'
'I'd love to find her right spot,' whispered Morgan as the girl fed the tape in the recorder and fast-forwarded. Smudgy, furtive-looking customers zipped across the screen poking in plastic, jabbing keys, removing money at high speed. A timer at the bottom counted through the hours and minutes. None of the pictures were very distinct. 'I bet the bank paid at least two quid for that camera,' said Frost.
The girl smiled. 'The bigger branches get the best equipment.' She checked the screen and slowed down the tape. 'Ah… this is what you wanted.'
But it wasn't what Frost wanted at all. There, on the screen, taking his money and carefully checking it as the timer showed 00.57, was the dentist.
'Shit,' hissed Frost in dismay. 'We're right back where we bloody started.'
Detective Sergeant Hanlon was waiting in the murder incident room. He didn't look as if he was going to bring the smile back to Frost's doleful face. 'We've checked out most of the known toms, Jack. Very few of them were working that late, but we did find a couple who were around. Neither of them saw Sarah after midnight.'
'Have you ever considered how useless you are, Arthur?' asked Frost, dropping into a chair and fishing out his cigarettes. 'A serial killer of toms who loves inflicting pain, and we haven't got a single flaming lead.'
Hanlon took the offered cigarette. 'Most of the girls are demanding police protection.'
'They can flaming well demand. If they're that worried, they can stay indoors.'
'Couldn't we ask Mr Mullett to authorize extra patrols of the red light district?'
Frost exhaled smoke. 'And what good would that do? Uniforms in cars buzzing around every five minutes would scare the sod off. And what are they looking for? How would they know he was not a genuine punter?'
'We could take notes of all car registration numbers,' suggested Hanlon, 'then follow them up if there's another killing.'
Frost chewed this over. 'Better than sod all, I suppose. We could give it a whirl.'
The Phone rang. Hanlon held it out to the inspector. Liz Maud for you, Jack.'
Frost went cold. The two missing kids. What kind of a bloody detective was he? He had completely forgotten about the kids. He snatched the phone grabbing for his scarf with his free hand. 'On my way, he began, but this time, for a change, it was good news. "The kids are all right, Inspector. They were with the father although he's denied right of access. Uniform are dealing.'
A hot surge of relief flooded through his body. 'Thanks, Liz,' he croaked. His hand was shaking as he put the phone down. What if they had been killed and he hadn't even remembered they were missing? God! The thought made him shudder.
'Jack!' Bill Wells had poked his head round the door. 'Bloke called Scrivener in the lobby, asking for you.'
'Unless he's come to confess to something, I haven't got time.'
'He works for the Samaritans and said there was a message on his answering machine asking him to contact you.'
Scrivener was on duty Friday night with Helen Stokes and they had been trying to contact him. 'On my way,' said Frost.
Scrivener, a nervous, twitching individual, was furtively smoking a cigarette hidden in his cupped hand, like a man having a sly fag at a petrol dump. He kept shaking his head in disbelief. 'Shocking, bleeding shocking,' he told Frost. 'I was only speaking to Helen Friday night. Came home today and there she is all over the local paper.'
'You didn't know until today?' Frost asked.
'I've been away. After I finished my stint at the Samaritans, I drove straight down to my weekend cottage in Cumbria. It was a rough bloody night and I needed a break, otherwise I might have ended up doing myself in.'
'I know how you feel,' sympathized Frost. 'I've got the Samaritans' phone number pasted inside my gas oven, just in case.'
'She never hurt a living soul, spent all her spare rime helping these poor sods and this is what happens to her.'
Frost nodded sympathetically. 'We've been trying to get in touch with you.'
'Sorry about that. Mervyn left a message on my answerphone, but when he said the police wanted to talk to me I thought he'd reported me for the lousy five quid from the petty cash. I'd only borrowed it, for Pete's sake.'
'I know nothing about that,' said Frost.
'I wouldn't put it past the sod to call in Interpol,' continued Scrivener. 'He might be good for the Samaritans, but he does everything by the flaming book. I'd have paid that money back. Does he think I'm short of five lousy quid?'
'Yes, well…' began Frost.
'And he hates anyone smoking.' Scrivener's eyes flicked from side to side as he raised the cupped cigarette to his lips, looking as if he expected Mervyn to burst in. 'The minute you light up he starts coughing and clutching his throat and flinging windows open in the middle of flaming winter-'
'Yes,' cut in Frost. Talk of smoking opened a nasty wound. It was in this very interview room that Weaver had asked him not to smoke. 'You were probably the last person, apart from the killer, to see Helen alive, Mr Scrivener. Mr Adams tells us she had an upsetting telephone call just before she left. Any idea what it was about?'
'Yes,' said Scrivener. 'It was that flaming pervert Sam. If ever I got my hands on him I'd string him up by his flaming privates.' She told you about the call?'
'She was in tears. These bastards think it's a joke to get you upset. If I get the call I always hang up on the sod. Mervyn doesn't like that, he says this could be the one time it's genuine, but I know a slimy faking bastard when I hear one.'
'You're losing me,' Frost told him. 'He phones, usually late at night when we're at our lowest ebb. Says he can't go on living, that he's going to chuck himself under a train – we should be so bloody lucky!'
'Why?' asked Frost.
'It's all a flaming act. He calls again, says he's on the railway bridge and is about to jump. You can hear the train getting nearer and nearer. Whoever he phones is yelling, "Don't jump – let's talk." Then there's a scream, the train roars past, then silence. The first time it happened Mervyn went berserk. He called the police and they traced the call to a public call box on a railway bridge. The phone was swinging from its cord, but no mangled body, no sign of the bastard. He's back home having a good laugh. He's done it to other Samaritans as well. Week before last he was on the phone to me. I said, "Jump, you bastard, jump" and got a right ear-wigging from Mervyn.'
'And this was Helen's caller?'
'Yes.' Scrivener lit up another cigarette from the stub of the old. 'Does this help you at all?'
'I don't think so.' Frost sighed smoke. Another dead end. 'And that was the last you saw of her?'
'Yes – except when she came back to phone for a taxi.'
Frost's head jerked up. 'She came back?'
'Yes – couldn't get her car to start so she called a cab. She didn't have any cash on her for the fare, neither did I, so I borrowed five quid from the petty cash box.'
Frost's brain went on overdrive. This knocked all his previous assumptions to smithereens.
'Mervyn never told us she came back.'
'He didn't know. He was brewing up tea in the kitchen. He would have made such a stink about us borrowing from the petty cash, so I never told him.'
'She called a cab?'
'They said it would be along in five minutes, so she went down in the street to wait.'
'Do you know what cab firm?'
'Denton Minicabs.'
Frost scribbled this down on the back of his cigarette packet. 'She went down in the street and waited?'
'Yes. I kept an eye on her through the window. The cab was there in a couple of minutes. She got in and off it went.'
Frost stood up, almost shaking with excitement. A cab! She was picked up by a cab! This altered everything. 'You've been a great help, Mr Scrivener.' He called PC Collier in to take a statement and dashed back to the murder incident room. 'We've got a new lead.' He filled them in on Scrivener's statement. 'We could be on the wrong track looking for someone posing as a punter. Our killer could be a cab driver. Go out and chat up the toms again. Find out if any of them have had nasty experiences with cabbies. Inspector Maud and I will cover Denton Minicabs.' He nodded at Taffy Morgan whose hand was raised to attract his attention. 'Yes, you can do a wee, Taffy, but wash your hands afterwards.'
Morgan grinned. 'I've had a phone call from my contact in the council, guv. We could have a lead on Nelly Aldridge.'
'Wow!' exclaimed Frost. 'And who the hell is Nelly Aldridge?'
'The lady with the nipples in that old photograph,' explained Morgan. 'The one with the missing son."
The skeleton in the garden. He hadn't time to sod about with that. 'Make my day, Taffy… tell me she's dead.'
'Sorry, guv. It looks as if she's still alive and living in Denton.'
'If a lady wasn't present,' said Frost, nodding at Liz, I'd say, "Shit!" All right, follow it through. The rest of you, chat up toms.'
Max Golding, the fat and balding proprietor of Denton Minicabs, barely gave them a glance as they came in. He wore a dirty grey cardigan over a red and black lumberjack shirt and was chewing savagely on a soggy, unlit cheroot as he took orders from customers through his headset phone and relayed them over the radio system by means of a large, 1930s-looking chromium-plated microphone. 'A pickup outside Marks and Sparks to the railway station. Who can take… Right.' He gave Frost and Liz a half-hearted enquiring glance before returning to the phone to take another call. Frost poked his warrant card under the man's nose, but he seemed unimpressed and began to take yet another call, yelling with annoyance as Frost dragged the headset from his ears. 'Hey!'
'Get someone else to take over,' snapped Frost. 'This is a murder inquiry.'
'And this is market day. We're too flaming busy for murder inquiries. Come back later-'
'Just do it,' hissed Frost.
Golding twisted round in his chair and yelled 'Mavis!'
A fat, pudding-faced woman, a cigarette in mouth, stuck her head through a hatch. 'I'm making the tea.'
'Leave it and take over. The fuzz are here.'
She waddled in and took over the headset from him. Golding jerked a thumb at the two detectives and led them through a door which had a piece of cardboard pinned to it with the word 'Office'.
Inside was almost a clone of Frost's office. An untidy desk spilling papers everywhere, a half-eaten cheese roll in the filing tray and squashed, soggy cheroot stubs in unwashed tea mugs.
Golding swept junk from two chairs and invited them to sit as he plonked down behind the desk, leaving the door wide open so he could keep an eye on the fat woman. 'So what's this about?' he asked, striking a match on the desk top and puffing away at his cheroot.
'We're interested in one of your pick-ups early Saturday morning.'
Golding burrowed through the mess on his desk and pulled out a wad of papers held by a bulldog clip. 'What do you want to know?'
'A pick-up around one in the morning outside the Samaritans' office in Marlow Street.'
A stubby nicotined finger travelled down the page. 'Got it.' He looked up. 'So?'
'You remember the call?'
'Yes.' He leant back in his chair. 'A woman, said her car had broken down and asked for a cab with a woman driver.'
'You sent a woman driver?'
'No. We've got women drivers, but they won't work after ten o'clock at night, it's too flaming dangerous. I told her I'd send one of our most reliable men.' His voice tailed off as he tried to hear what the fat woman was saying on the phone in the other room.
'And…?' prompted Frost.
'I passed on the…' He suddenly leapt from his chair and dashed out to the woman. 'Don't send Jacko to Mrs Silverman, you silly cow. He's the one who ran over her pet dog when he collected it from the vet's after its expensive operation. She threatened to tear his balls out if she ever saw him again.' He stamped back to his desk. 'Pardon my French, love' he apologized to Liz. He lowered his voice. 'I have to watch her all the time. She left her husband two months ago… for another woman!'
'I wish I had his luck,' said Frost, stretching out a foot to kick the door shut. 'Let's concentrate on the topic in hand, shall we – unless you'd like to finish this down at the station.'
Golding spread his hands in resignation. 'All right, all right, sod up my business. Why should I care?'
'Who did you give the job to?'
'Tommy Jackson… one of my most trusted drivers. I told the lady he'd be there in five minutes.'
'That was quick,' said Liz.
'It was going to be nearer a quarter of an hour, but I always say five minutes. If you tell them the truth they go somewhere else.'
A little bell tinkled at the back of Frost's brain. 'Jackson. Don't I know that name?'
Golding pursed his lips. 'Possibly. He's a good driver.'
Frost snapped his fingers and turned to Liz-'Jackson! He was the bloke you arrested when that old dear reckoned he'd raped her.' Back to Golding. 'Do you know he's got form? Broke a woman passenger's jaw?'
A shrug. 'That was ages ago.'
'She wanted someone safe, you sent a bleeding jaw-breaker.'
'Beggars can't be choosers at one o'clock in the morning. It was Jacko or nothing.'
'Nothing might have been better,' said Frost grimly-
Jackson was off duty, so Golding dug out his home address. As he followed them out he suddenly darted across to Mavis and jerked the plug from Z switchboard 'I've told you before. We don't take bookings from that old girl. She thinks she can pay for cabs with her flaming bus pass…'