'Decoys?' repeated Mullett, scrubbing away at the lens of his glasses to give himself time to think. 'I don't understand.'
'We want to lure this bastard into a trap,' explained Frost. 'We dress up policewomen as toms, plant them in the red light district, and get them to phone for cabs. We keep them under surveillance all the time. If the right cab turns up, we simply follow them to the destination, then bring them back to try again. But if it's a rogue taxi, we tail and get ready to pounce.'
Mullett pinched his nose and thought for a while. He was beginning to have nagging doubts about asking County to send a senior officer down to take over the case. He had been hoping for a chief inspector at most, but Chief Superintendent Bailey out-ranked him and would probably take command of everything, commandeer his office, spend way over Denton's limited budget, leave Mullett to take the blame, then hog all the credit if he was successful. For all his faults, Frost was now looking the much better option. If Frost could pull this off quickly, so County were kept out, there would be no question of the credit being shared. He tugged off the cap of his Parker pen and steeled himself for the worst. 'How many people would be involved?'
'Not too many. Crowds at that time of night would arouse suspicion. Say two or three girls and four or five, maybe six cars to watch and trail.'
Mullett jotted some figures down and winced. 'And all on overtime?'
'Yes,' agreed Frost. 'The sod doesn't like raping and killing in office hours.'
Mullett added up the sums again, but couldn't make them any less. Perhaps he should let Bailey come after all, and let him take the responsibility for spending all this money. But it would still come out of Denton's budget. 'We've got to keep costs down. When the girls book a taxi, I'm only paying for the minimum distance – and no tipping.' He scribbled some more figures down. 'Eight men – three women per night – maximum. And I want receipts, receipts for everything.'
'Of course,' Frost assured him, standing up quickly before the superintendent changed his mind. 'It's all agreed then?'
'No, it's not all agreed,' said Mullett. 'Sit down.' He took off his glasses and pinched his nose. Sanctioning large sums of money made him nervous and when Frost didn't put up objections about it being too little, it made him feel he was giving too much away. 'If I'm to justify this sort of expenditure, I've got to show it's cost effective. I want a result.'
'You shall have one,' said Frost. The result could well be that the whole operation was a disaster, but it would still be a result even if it wasn't the one Mullett wanted.
And this isn't open-ended. I'm agreeing three nights only, then I pull out the plug.'
'Agreed,' said Frost, knowing that if they needed more time, he'd argue about it when it happened. We might even get a result tonight.'
That would make a pleasant change,' said Mullett, sourly. 'Results are something sadly lacking from you at the moment. What is the position with the child killings?'
'We've come to a bit of a dead end there, Super,' admitted Frost. 'All our leads seem to have fizzled out.' Mullett pulled a knowing face, implying this was only to be expected from Frost. 'And the skeleton in the garden? I understand you've tracked down the woman with the missing son?'
Frost told him about the visit to Nelly Aldridge.
Mullett's eyes gleamed. 'We're on to something there, Frost.'
'Ancient bloody history,' said Frost. 'Not worth wasting our time on.'
Mullett's lips tightened. 'You're so damned negative. No wonder you're making no headway. We've found a skeleton, her son is missing and she has no satisfactory explanation. On top of which, she has acquired, apparently out of nowhere, money to buy a smallholding. Bear down on her. She's your best bet for an early clear-up, and goodness knows, you need one.'
'All right,' sighed Frost. 'I'll see her first thing in the morning.'
'You've wasted enough time,' snapped Mullett. 'Do it today. If she doesn't come up with a satisfactory explanation, bring her in.' He picked up his pen and began signing his correspondence to signal that the interview was over.
Frost slouched out, passing through the outer office where Ida Smith, Mullett's faithful secretary, who had overheard everything, was smiling smugly to herself at the way her superior had put that awful man in his place. Frost gave her a nod as he passed. 'I quite agree with you, Ida – he's a real right bastard.'
'I don't think this is a very good idea, guv,' moaned Morgan as his foot squelched in a rain-filled pot-hole.
'It's a bleeding lousy idea,' agreed Frost, 'but we're flaming well stuck with it.' They were slithering and sliding in the pitch dark up the muddied lane leading to the smallholding. 'Not far now – I can smell the privy.'
They stumbled on and soon could see a feeble orange glow from a flickering oil lamp fighting its way through a dirt-caked window. Frost hammered at the door. 'Open up, Mrs Aldridge. It's the police.' They waited. He tried the door handle, but the bolts and chains inside held firm. 'Let's try our luck round the back.'
They picked their way round to the rear of the house. No lights showed and the door was again firmly locked.
'No-one in, guv,' said Morgan.
'She's in all right, Taffy – probably straining over the slop bucket even as we speak.' He rattled the door handle and yelled again. 'Open up, Mrs Aldridge -police.'
A bitter wind suddenly roared round the house. Morgan shivered. 'Let's leave it until the morning, guv. This place gives me the willies.'
'Talking of willies,' said Frost, 'yours is going to have a rest tonight. I've booked you in for overtime.' He banged the door again. 'Sod it,' he grunted. After coming all this way I'm not going back without chatting up the old cow.' He shook the door. 'I don't think it's bolted.' He tugged a key ring from his Pocket and, with a bit of wiggling, the second key he tried did the trick. The door swung open. 'Oh, look,' he exclaimed in a loud voice. 'This door's been left open. We'd better check to see if the occupant is all right.'
They stepped inside, Morgan's torch beam probing the darkness. 'I'm not happy about this, guv.'
You didn't join the force to be happy,' Frost told him as he led the way through to the hall. He pushed doors open and steered Morgan's torch inside. Miserable, dank rooms stacked with junk.
'Guv!' Morgan, at the room nearest the front door, was calling him over. 'I think there's someone in here.'
The room was pitch dark, but there was the sound of breathing and the smell of a recently extinguished oil lamp. Tentatively, Morgan stepped inside. 'Mrs Aldridge?' called Frost, following him in.
Suddenly a cry from Morgan as the torch was knocked from his hand. Pitch darkness. Another cry from Morgan as he was sent crashing to the floor. A plea for help: 'Guv!'
Frost couldn't see a damn thing. Frantically he scrabbled for the light switch and as he realized there wasn't one, he was sent crashing against the wall as two bodies cannoned into him. His torch! Where the bloody hell was his torch? It had slipped through a hole in the lining of his mac and was refusing to come out. At last he yanked it free and clicked it on. It flickered fitfully, dimly lighting up the figure of a wild animal of a man, all matted beard and greasy hair, stinking to high heaven. He had Morgan in a bear hug and was crushing the life out of him.
Morgan's face was distorted with pain and he was gasping for breath. Frost crooked an arm round the attacker's neck and tried to yank him back, but was smashed against the wall as the man effortlessly shrugged him off. Frost grunted as all the air was forced from his body. 'Police!' he croaked, as if he expected that to make the man immediately surrender. He just managed to jerk his head to one side as an elbow missed him by inches and smashed into the wall.
Frost gripped the torch and brought it down with all his might on the man's head. A cry of pain as the torch went out and the sound of a heavy body crashing heavily to the floor. Pitch dark again. He shook the torch and, to his surprise, it flickered back on illuminating the lifeless form sprawled out on the floor, a big, dirty, hairy smelly beast of a man. The beam moved to Morgan who was staggering to his feet and rubbing his ribs. 'You all right?'
'Just about, guv.' Morgan looked down at the man. 'Who the hell is he?'
'He didn't say,' said Frost, rubbing his own bruises. 'Get the cuffs on him quick before he comes round.'
The man, whoever he was, was out cold.. Morgan knelt down and, with an effort, rolled him over so he could lock the handcuffs behind his back. He glanced up and his eyes widened as he saw something behind Frost. 'Look out, guv!'
Frost spun round. Eyes dimly accustomed to the dark made out the figure of the old girl charging towards them. Her arm was raised, holding something that flashed silver. A knife. The wickedly sharp, long-bladed knife she had used to dismember the chicken. She screeched and lunged, looking like the mother from Bates Motel. Frost flung himself to one side as the knife hissed through the air, missing him by a hair's breadth. Morgan leapt across to take the knife from her, then gasped with pain as she wildly jabbed and the blade slashed through the sleeve of his jacket. She raised the knife again, but Frost managed to grasp the skinny wrist and shake it from her grasp. As it thudded to the ground he kicked it well out of reach. What are you playing at, you silly, bloody cow?'
She glared at them, hatred spilling from her eyes, then backed away out of the room.
Frost shone the torch on Morgan's arm where a sticky red stain was spreading fast over the upper sleeve of his jacket. 'You all right, Taff?'
The DC squeezed his. arm to stop the flow of blood. Just a flesh wound, I think, guv. Nothing serious.'
'You were right, for once,' said Frost. 'This wasn't a good idea.' He shone the torch down and swore violently. 'Oh shit!' The handcuffed man was no longer on the floor. 'Where did the bastard go?'
They raced to the back door just in time to see a dark figure disappearing into the night.
'Shit,' said Frost again. He leant against the wall and pulled out his packet of cigarettes.
'Aren't you going after him, guv?' asked Morgan.
'No fear,' said Frost. 'The bastard would kill me. He won't get far. We'll let the uniformed boys earn their keep for a change.' He pulled his radio from his pocket and called the station, requesting urgent assistance. Back to Taffy. 'And we'd better let the doctor look at your arm – you're dripping blood all over the lady's nice shitty floorboards.' The old lady! She was in the house somewhere and she could tell them who the hairy bastard was. Then he saw Morgan's face was chalk white; he had lost a lot more blood than Frost had realized. The old girl could wait, he'd winkle her out when the area car arrived. 'Come on, son.' Supporting him with an arm round his waist, he sat Morgan down in a chair, then poked a cigarette in his mouth, lighting up for them both. They smoked silently as they waited.
The car was heard whining up the incline long before the torch beams flashed at the window.
'We're in here,' called Frost. Simms and Jordan stumbled in, their boots and trouser legs muddied from their scrambling up the lane. Frost quickly filled them in, then steered them to the back door. 'He's out there somewhere. Go out and get him.'
'What does he look like?' asked Jordan.
'Like flaming King Kong only hairier. You can t mistake him., he's wearing handcuffs.'
He watched them make their way out into the bleak, moonlit landscape wher leafless trees shivered in an icy wind, then returned to check on Morgan before going to look for the woman.
She was in a cold, upstairs room, lit by the flickering orange flame of a smoky oil lamp, seated in an ancient rocking chair which creaked a loose floorboard as she rocked forwards and backwards. She was humming tunelessly to herself, her vacant eyes staring at nothing. She didn't turn her head as he approached. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder. 'Sorry, love. You've got to come back to the station with me. There's lots of questions to be answered, like who's that hairy sod?'
No reply. Just the tuneless drone and the creaking of the floorboards.
'I'm arresting you for assaulting a police officer,' he began, reeling off the standard caution. He tailed off, leaving it unfinished. Why was he bothering? She wasn't listening and probably wouldn't understand a word if she was. 'Come on, love,' he urged. He gently gripped her arm. She snatched it away.
He had noticed a drab grey coat hanging from a nail in the passage and went down to fetch it. 'Put this on, love, it's cold.' She looked at him, then held out an arm like a child waiting to be dressed. He slipped the coat over her shoulders, put her arms through the sleeves, then buttoned it up. 'You got a scarf?' She shook her head. He took his own off and wound it round her neck. It was freezing out there. He didn't want another prisoner to die on him.
Footsteps and muffled voices from downstairs. 'Inspector!' called Simms. 'We've got him.'
'Coming.' He dashed down the stairs. 'Did he give you any trouble?'
'No,' Simms told him. 'He was huddled up by that big oak tree. He was crying.'
Frost man. whose arms were tightly gripped by two burly policemen. His head was bowed and little of his face could be seen through the long matted beard and shoulder-length grey-streaked greasy hair. He wore shabby well-patched clothes, stiff with dirt.
'Who are you?' asked Frost.
The man didn't answer.
'What's your name?'
Slowly, the man's head came up. Tears had cut white channels through the dirt. 'Boy,' he said. 'My name is Boy.'
The area car had left, taking mother and son to the station. Frost took a torch and went for a look around the damp and musty-smelling house. He shuddered. What a place to live. Now that the woman's coat had been removed from the nail, he could see a small door under the stairs. He opened it and shone his torch inside. A filthy mattress and some dirty bedclothes. Boy's bedroom and a place he could hide on the rare occasions visitors were allowed inside the house. He must have been hiding here when Frost and Morgan had called earlier that day.
He closed the door firmly, extinguished the oil lamp in the kitchen and stepped outside. He paused. A flutter of wings from the henhouse, then silence. He looked at his watch. A few minutes past six. Was that all? He could have sworn it was nearer midnight. One last look at the house, then he scrunched down the cinder path to the car where Morgan was waiting.
Bill Wells was liberally squirting air freshener around the cell area. 'Where did you dig those two up from, Jack? They're stinking the place out.'
Frost grinned. 'If they don't talk I'm going to threaten them with a bar of soap.' He pinched out his cigarette. 'Did you hear the one about the two flies on the heap of steaming horse-dung? One says to the other, "I saw a bottle of disinfectant yesterday." The other one says, "Do you mind… I'm having my dinner." '
'Yes, I have heard it,' grunted Wells. 'How's Morgan?'
'I've packed him off to Denton Hospital. He might need some stitches. Where's the old girl?'
'No. 1 interview room. She looks harmless enough.'
'As long as she hasn't got a carving knife in her hand. And the bloke?'
'I've stuck him in a cell for now. Is he her son?'
'Apparently. She's been telling everyone he's dead. He smells as if he is, but she's been keeping the poor sod hidden away under the stairs.' He lit up a cigarette and took Burton with him to the interview room.
The mug of tea the WPC had brought her was left cold and untouched on the table. Frost moved it out of reach in case she decided to chuck it over him in lieu of a slop bucket. 'The officer you attacked. He's in hospital having stitches,' he told her.
She stared blankly ahead. Her face registered nothing.
Frost puffed out a lungful of smoke and watched it weave its way up to the ceiling. 'The sooner we get this over, the quicker you can go home. Is that hairy sod your son?'
She slowly turned her head towards him. 'My son is dead.'
'I've never been kneed in the groin by a dead man before,' said Frost. 'Why did you keep him hidden away all these years?'
Her mouth twitched a secretive smile, then she began rocking backwards and forwards in the chair, humming that same tuneless dirge, ignoring all further questions until he gave up and terminated the interview. A WPC gently took her arm and walked her back to a cell.
'She's off her head,' said Burton.
Frost worried away at his scar. 'She's a crafty old cow. I don't think she's as daft as she's making out.' He decided to ask Bill Wells to call in the duty solicitor to sit in next time he questioned her in case it was suggested he had taken advantage of a feeble old woman who couldn't defend herself unless she had a dirty great carving knife in her hand. 'Let's chat up Hairy Horace.'
The man wasn't looking so wild now. He looked frightened and was watching PC Collier mop up the tea that had spilt from the mug in his violently shaking hands.
In the harsh light of the unshaded cell bulb his face looked more dirt-grimed, his hair more matted and straggly than before. His long, ragged coat was flapping open. Bill Wells had removed the knotted rope used as a belt in case he decided to hang himself like the previous occupant of this cell. They took him to the interview room where he sat uneasily in his chair, shrinking back as far away from Frost as possible. He flinched when Frost lit up a cigarette and cowered away from the flame of the lighter.
'What's your proper name?' Frost asked.
'Boy,' he muttered. 'My name is Boy.' He repeated 'Boy' a few times as if he liked the sound of it. He grinned. 'Boy,' he said again.
'This is a police station. Do you know why you're here, Boy?'
A solemn nod.
'Tell me.'
The man hung his head and shook it.
'You've got to tell me,' insisted Frost. 'It's the law.'
Boy looked up, tears again cutting paths through the grime on his face. He wiped a running nose with the back of his hand. 'If I tell you, Ma says you'll hang me.'
Frost gawped at him. 'Hang you? We stopped hanging people years ago. Why should we want to hang you?'
Boy stared down at the table. 'I mustn't say,' he mumbled.
'We used to hang people,' said Frost, 'but only if they had killed someone. Did you kill someone?'
The man stared at his hands and rubbed the red marks round the wrists where the cuffs had bitten. 'Ma says I mustn't talk about it.'
'Talk about what?' asked Frost, softly.
Boy shook his head firmly from side to side. 'If I tell you, you'll hang me. I'm not going to tell you.'
Beaumont, the duty solicitor, had arrived; a small fuzzy man who didn't approve of Frost. 'You're charging her with assaulting a police officer?' he asked.
'It could be a bit more serious than that,' Frost told him.
They went into the interview room and waited for the WPC to bring her in. She scowled suspiciously at the solicitor. 'Who is he?'
'I'm a solicitor,' said Beaumont, carefully sounding all the syllables as if speaking to a young child. 'I'm here to protect your interests.'
Her head swung round to Frost. 'Get him out!'
'You'd better have him,' said Frost. 'He's free, and things are a bit more serious now. I've had a chat with Boy.'
'Boys dead,' she snapped.
'He told me a lot of things, but he didn't tell me that,' said Frost. They settled down in the chairs. The solicitor sat next to her, then his nose twitched and he decided his best position would be at the far end of the table. He usually objected when Frost smoked, but this time was happy to see the inspector light up. Tobacco smoke was preferable to other aromas!
'We've spoken to Boy,' Frost continued. 'He's told us everything.'
She shook her head. 'He doesn't know anything, he's simple.'
'He knows enough to tell us where you buried the body, the precise spot, exactly where we found it.'
Her eyes narrowed. She thought for a while. 'What did he say?'
Frost smiled sweetly. 'Never mind what he told us. Let's hear your version.'
The solicitor intervened. 'I think I should have a word in private with my client before she makes any kind of a statement.'
She glared at him with contempt. 'You shut your mouth!' Back to Frost. Lips pursed, looking shrewd, she didn't seem so simple now. 'His father deserted me as soon as he knew I was pregnant. I had to bring him up on my own. You didn't get any help from the government in those days, you were on your own. I had to get money any way I could,'
'And what way was that?' asked Frost.
'I let men stay the night.'
Frost looked at her through the blue haze of cigarette smoke. Wrinkled, scraggly grey hair, dirty and unwashed, it was difficult to imagine that this smelly crone was once able to get men to pay for her services. She read his thoughts. 'I was quite good-looking then.'
'I know,' nodded Frost. 'I saw a photograph.'
'This man – he was one of my regulars…'
Frost pulled out a pen. 'His name?' She looked down at the table. 'I forget.'
'Come on, love,' Frost urged. 'It's difficult to forget the name of someone you buried in your neighbour's garden.
'He said his name was Derek. He didn't tell me his second name.'
'Did Boy know about your men friends?'
'No. He was always asleep when they came. But that night Boy woke up. He'd heard noises and he was frightened, so he crept into my bedroom. He must have thought Derek was hurting me and wanted to protect me. Boy had this cricket bat thing. He hit Derek on the head with it and when Derek yelled, he hit him again and again…' She shuddered, her eyes glazing over as she recalled the horror of that moment. 'I screamed for him to stop, but he wouldn't. There was blood everywhere, on me, all over the bedclothes… I snatched the bat from Boy, but Derek wasn't moving and I knew he was dead.'
'You didn't phone for an ambulance?'
'We didn't have a phone.'
'You could have got help.'
'If I told anyone, they would have told the police. They hang murderers by the neck until they are dead. I didn't want Boy to be hanged.'
'How old was Boy?'
'Eighteen. If you're over sixteen they hang you. We had to get rid of the body. Boy was strong. He carried Derek down the stairs and into the garden. It was dark…no lights, no-one watching. We squeezed through the fence of that empty house and Boy dug a deep hole. We buried him. His clothes were still in the bedroom, so I burnt them… then we cleaned up the blood.'
'Then what?'
'Boy kept talking about it, about how he had hit the man and how we had buried him. I daren't let him out of the house in case he told everyone he met. Then this smallholding came on the market, so I bought it and we moved.'
'Where did you get the money from?'
'From what I'd earned from the men.'
'So all these years you've kept him hidden away, sleeping in a cupboard, no friends… no contact with the outside world. What son of life was that for the poor sod?'
'A much better life than being strung up by his neck.'
'The death penalty was abolished years ago. Don't tell me you didn't know.'
She stared at him, eyes slitted with suspicion, then turned to the solicitor. 'He's lying!'
'No, Mrs Aldridge. The officer is correct. Surely you read about it in the newspapers?'
'I can't read, neither can Boy.'
'The radio then, or television?'
'Ain't got them.'
'You've kept that poor bastard hidden away under the stairs for nothing,' said Frost.
Her shoulders twitched a shrug. 'You can't turn the clock back. Can I go now? I've got chickens to feed…'
Mullett was beaming from ear to ear. 'So, thanks to my insistence, we've got a result. It was a good thing I took this case over from you.'
Frost perched his cigarette on the large glass ashtray Mullett had hastily skidded across the desk top. 'It was a near thing, Super. I might not have solved it then it would still be my case.'
This sounded like insolence to Mullett, but Frost always looked so sincere when he made these dubious remarks, he would have to give him the benefit of the doubt. 'And the son has admitted to killing this man?'
'Yes, Super. The poor sod was having it away when the son welted him with a cricket bat. He died of a severe case of coitus interruptus.'
Mullett wrinkled his nose. He couldn't take Frost's crude attempts at humour. 'So what's the current position?'
'We've released your prisoners on police bail.'
Mullett's eyebrows soared in surprise. 'Released them?'
'They were stinking the place out,' said Frost. 'The council have been round twice to dig up the drains… We know where they are. We can always pull them in when we want them.'
'But this is murder, Frost. We've got a confession. I want them arrested and charged.'
Frost took another drag on his cigarette. 'The son's given us a statement, but it's all a bit vague and he hasn't got all his marbles. We'd be wasting our time taking him and the old girl to Court.'
'That's for the Crown Prosecution Service to decide, not you. Do we know who the victim was?'
'Not yet. All we've got is his first name and we know the approximate date he had his last leg over, but that doesn't help much.'
'Doesn't help much?' echoed Mullett in mock incredulity. 'It narrows things right down. Do something positive for a change. Go through the old records until you find him.'
'We've been through them Once,' said Frost.
'Then go through them again,' snapped Mullett. He smiled inwardly. He was feeling pleased with himself and was already mentally composing the conversation he would have with the Chief Constable: Yes, I took the case over, sir. Frost was getting nowhere so something had to be done. We've got a confession, we know who the victim is, all 't's crossed and 'i's dotted.
Hanlon and Burton came into Frost's office and sank wearily into chairs. Their clothes were dusty and they looked fed up.
'We went through all the missing persons for the year before and the year after,' said Hanlon. 'Only two Dereks, one a fourteen-year-old kid, the other a married man, both returned home after a couple of days. I didn't expect to find anything. We've already been through them once.'
'Never mind, Arthur,' said Frost. 'If you had found something the second time round I'd have chucked it away. Mullett's bloody smug enough as it is.' He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 'But who the hell was he?'
'He might not have lived in Denton,' suggested Burton. 'We could circulate other Divisions.'
'I can see them wasting their time digging through ancient records for us,' said Frost. 'They'd do what I would have done – not look and say they couldn't find anything.' He squirted a salvo of smoke rings up to the ceiling. 'My gut feeling is that he lived or worked in Denton. He had to be within travelling distance of his bit of nooky. The old girl wasn't a bad looker in those days, but even if you were a nipple buff, you wouldn't travel too many miles for a leg over.'
'He could have come by car,' suggested Hanlon.
'Then it would have been parked outside the house, Arthur, and neither the woman nor the son could drive so they wouldn't have been able to get rid of it.' He opened the file and flicked through the pages, then abruptly slammed it shut. 'Why are we sodding about with this? He's been dead forty years and no-one's missed him and we've got a serial killer to try and catch tonight. You two go home and get some kip. I'll see you back here just before midnight.' He stuffed the file back in his drawer, put his feet up on the desk, leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. He'd have a couple of hours' sleep in the office, then get things ready for the night's decoy operation.
He didn't hear the door open. 'Working your fingers to the bone as usual, Frost?' sneered a sarcastic
Mullett.
Frost opened his eyes and dragged his feet from the desk. Flaming Hornrim Harry had a genius for turning up at the wrong moment. 'You want me, Super?' he grunted.
'I've been expecting you to report back to me with the identity of the skeleton.'
'Oh, sorry, about that,' yawned Frost. 'We had no joy. Couldn't trace him.'
'Rubbish,' snapped Mullett. 'No-one goes missing without it being reported. I want a name and I want it tonight!' He spun on his heel and stamped out.
'I'll give you a name!' spat Frost to the closed door. 'Four-eyed bastard!' He froze as the door opened almost immediately. To his relief it wasn't an angry Mullett coming back, it was Liz Maud.
'Tonight's operation, Inspector. You want women as decoys?'
'That's right,' nodded Frost.
'Put my name down.'
Frost hesitated. He already had enough volunteers, but knew the poor cow was itching for a chance to prove herself before going back to her old rank.
'All right Liz, you're on. Tart yourself up and we'll see you in the incident room at midnight.'