The incident room was filled with a fog of eye-stinging cigarette smoke. Frost, on his usual perch at the corner of the desk, was on his second packet of the day. As he smoked, his brain churned over and over again his strategy for the night's operations, testing the seams, looking for the flaws that always seemed to be lurking in anything he was involved in.
A chorus of wolf whistles dragged him from his thoughts… WPC Polly Fletcher in a short tight skirt and an even tighter sweater swaggered into the room. She wiggled and gave Frost a suggestive wink. He winked back at her, his nose twitching at the pungent perfume she had doused herself with. 'Where did you get the scent? It smells like the stuff they use to deodorize cats' litter trays.' She grinned. Inwardly he was a ferment of doubts. God, what if it all goes wrong and we end up finding Polly's mutilated body dumped in a ditch somewhere? Too many people were relying on him, and reliability was not one of his assets.
He was snatched out of his introspective gloom when Liz Maud, a long blond wig concealing her dark hair, made her entrance and the wolf whistles soared. Heavily made up, she had squeezed into figure-hugging red trousers and a clinging black sweater, over which she had draped an artificial leopard skin coat. Swinging a long strapped handbag from side to side, she sauntered over to Frost. 'How do I look?' 'I'm selling my Viagra,' said Frost. 'I don't need it any more.'
'Only two girls?' asked Hanlon.
Frost nodded. 'We keep this tight and simple. We don't want to flood the area with maverick toms, it might get Chummy suspicious. And thanks to Mullett, we've only got two cars per girl which is the absolute minimum if we're going to play it safe.'
At that moment Mullett strode in. Everyone, except Frost, sprang respectfully to their feet. 'Come to inspect the troops, Super?' Frost indicated the two girls. 'You're the expert, what do you reckon?'
Mullett squeezed a sour smile. 'They look very… er, nice,' he said weakly. He turned to the assembly. 'A few words. This is an important and expensive operation. I've had to go on my knees to County to get the expenditure authorized and my head will be on the chopping block if we fail. So let's have a successful, cost-effective and speedy outcome.' To a thin ripple of applause and what sounded suspiciously like a slow hand clap from Frost, he gave a brief nod and marched out.
Frost slid off the desk. 'The fact that Mr Mullett's head is on the chopping block must make it very tempting for you all to want to sod things up, but we've got to deny ourselves that pleasure. There's an even more sadistic bastard out there, torturing and raping, and it's up to us to stop his larks once and for all.' He turned to the large street map of Denton Pinned on the wall behind him. 'This is how we're going to play it. If anyone spots any weaknesses in my foolproof plan, for Gawd's sake shout; sometimes my infallibility goes pear-shaped.' He pointed to six coloured pins. 'There are six public phone boxes in the red light areas and we're going to use them all in turn. We don't want Chummy getting suspicious because all calls come from the same two phones. We've got two pseudo toms.' He nodded to Liz and Polly. 'And four cars, which is all that the cheeseparing budget generously donated by our Divisional Commander runs to. Liz and Polly, you've each got a list of cab firms to phone and destinations to be taken to. When we are all in position, and not before, you each phone the first firm on your list and ask to be taken to the first destination on your list. When the cab turns up, surveillance car number one will follow you every inch of the way. At your destination, you will get out and wait until the cab drives off, then the tailing car will pick you up and take you back to the next phone box, and so on. We've got two cars on stand-by in case anything goes wrong. From time to time we'll swap cars so it won't always be the same one tailing you. But these spare cars have another important function. If, at any time, the tailing car sees that your cab is deviating from where we know you asked to be taken, the other cars will be called in to augment the tail. All clear up to now?'
Nods and murmurs of assent.
'Good. Now, we've got one prime suspect.' He waited while photographs were circulated. 'That's Tom Jackson. Liz arrested him once, so she won't be calling his cab firm. That pleasure goes to you, Polly-If Jackson answers a call, I want both cars to follow, and I want you to be on your guard, Polly. I don't think he's our man, but I've been wrong before, so we don't take any chances.' He jabbed a finger at Detective Sergeant Hanlon who had raised his hand. 'Yes, Arthur?'
'The two cars you've got in reserve, Jack. Wouldn't it be safer if they both tailed the cabs all the time, then if anything happened to one, the other could immediately take over?'
'It would be safer, Arthur, but it might blow the whole operation. At two in the morning there's hardly any traffic on the road. A cab with two cars following its every move could stick out like an eager dick. If our bloke has the slightest suspicion there's something funny going on, he won't play ball.' He turned to Liz Maud who now had her hand up. 'Yes, Liz?'
'When we get in the minicab, do we sit in the back or next to the driver?'
'That's a good point,' said Frost. 'I hadn't thought of that.' He looked around. 'Anyone got any views on this?'
'It's safer if they sit in the back,' said Burton firmly.
'Yes,' agreed Frost, 'but we're not going for safety. We want the bastard to make his move.' He shook the last cigarette from the pack and stuck it in his mouth. 'Unless it's obvious he's expecting you to sit in the back, then take the seat next to the driver. Now, it's important you don't show your hand too soon. If he squeezes your titties, or ventures above the stocking top, don't flash your warrant card. Do what any self-respecting girl would do, knee him in the goolies and get out without paying. The odds are it won't be our bloke; titty-squeezing is small beer when you lust for stubbing fags out on a soft white belly.'
Polly's hand shot up. 'You say don't jump the gun, Inspector. At what point should we let him know we're policewomen?'
Frost expelled smoke. 'At no point, Polly. He shouldn't know you're a cop until we make the arrest. We need hard evidence. He takes these girls somewhere, ties them up, tortures and rapes them. Unless we know where he takes them, we've got nothing. Ideally, we want to follow you right up to the point where he drags you into his hideaway. And then, providing Mr Mullett doesn't decide we can't do any more overtime and calls us all back, we burst in and rescue you.'
'Will we have radios?' asked Liz.
Frost shook his head. 'They'd be a dead giveaway. You'll each have a mobile phone. Many toms carry them, so it won't look out of place. Any trouble, use it. I don't care if it means you blow your cover, your safety comes first. Any more stupid, time-wasting questions?' He looked around. 'No? Right, we've got an hour before we need to move off, so let's all nip up to the canteen and get ourselves something to eat.'
He watched them file out, chattering excitedly to each other, then took one last look round the empty incident room before switching off the light. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something was going to go wrong, he just knew it. Something was going to go terribly wrong.
Frost stifled a yawn and looked at his wrist-watch. Getting on for a quarter past three, time when all the decent toms were tucked up in their beds and the rubbish emerged to pick up any rough trade that might be going, jackals after the lion's leavings. Not much point spending Mullett's overtime money by hanging around any longer. Despite Frost's forebodings, everything had been going like clockwork; the girls made their phone calls, were picked up, tailed, to their correct destinations, then brought back again. Things had gone so well, he just knew nothing important was going to happen tonight and good-looking toms, swinging their handbags at this hour of the morning, were going to look very conspicuous.
DC Burton, at his side, was staring through the windscreen, watching Liz Maud who had just been dropped off by the tail car and was waiting a couple of minutes before making her next phone call.
'Let's call it a night,' Frost began when Button's fingers suddenly tightened on his arm. Frost's head came up. 'Yes, son, I see it.' His radio paged him. The other surveillance car. They had seen it also.
A metallic grey Peugeot slithered round the corner, stopping at the end of the road. Its lights went out.
'Can you clock the registration number?' Frost asked, scrubbing at the windscreen with his coat cuff. Burton shook his head. It was too dark. Very slowly, the Peugeot began to inch forward. Frost frowned. 'What's he up to?' The car shuddered to a halt by the phone kiosk and a burly man in a black zip-up jacket got out and approached Liz. They could see him talking to her, but she was firmly shaking her head. Suddenly, he grabbed hold of her arm and tried to drag her towards the car.
'This is it,' exclaimed Frost excitedly, clicking on his radio. 'All units stand by. Be ready to follow a metallic grey Peugeot 605, no registration details yet.' He squinted through the windscreen, puzzled at what he saw. 'What is she playing at?' Liz was resisting. She had pushed the man off and was walking quickly away. 'Go with the nice man,' pleaded Frost.
Burton, his hand on the door handle, was getting ready to run across to her assistance. 'No,' ordered Frost. 'Wait!' As he spoke the man chased after Liz and grabbed her again and again Frost had to restrain Burton. 'Wait, son.' He couldn't make out why Liz wasn't going quietly. She knew they would be tailing. Then a shrill, animal-like scream of pain shivered the air. Liz and the man were struggling and he hurled her to the ground.
'Sod tailing him,' said Frost. 'Get him.' He chased after Burton, yelling into the radio for assistance as he did so. A second man had now got out of the Peugeot. Something silver flashed in the moonlight. A knife. Another bloody knife! Two in one night.
Burton put on a spun of speed. 'Drop it' he screamed
The second man spun round, seeing the DC for the first time. He jabbed the knife menacingly. 'Stay out of this, sonny!' Then he gave a grunt, his eyes rolled upwards and he dropped like a stone as Frost's torch cracked down on his head.
They didn't give him a second glance as they ran over to the black-jacketed man, who was straddling Liz and had his fist raised ready to smash into her face. Burton grabbed the wrist, feeling with his free hand for the handcuffs in his pocket. As the man threatened to buck Burton off, Frost grabbed a handful of hair, yanked the man off Liz, then smashed his face hard against the pavement. As Burton snapped on the cuffs, Frost gave it another bang for luck, before turning his attention to Liz Maud. 'You all right, love?'
'I'm fine.' She rose to her feet and brushed down her clothes, then she prodded the black-jacketed man with her foot. 'Do you see who it is?' Frost rolled him over and shone his torch on a bruised and blooded face. 'Mickey Harris!' he said. 'Nice to see you again.' Frost looked at the other man who was rising unsteadily to his feet, shaking his head and rubbing the bump on his scalp. Harry Grafton. 'Which of you bastards hit me?' he demanded.
'No-one hit you, Mr Grafton,' beamed Frost. 'You tripped and fell.'
Burton had dragged Mickey Harris to his feet. The man was spitting blood and wincing with pain. 'I want a doctor. That bloody cow kicked me in the goolies.'
'Was it you screaming?' asked Frost. 'I thought it was her.'
'And I'm suing for assault. You handcuffed me then you smashed my face on the pavement.'
'Tut, tut,' reproved Frost. 'Policemen don't do things like that. We tried to stop you falling but you tripped and accidentally banged your head on the pavement three times.' His expression hardened. 'I thought I told you to leave the toms alone, Mickey?'
'She offered me her services and I refused. That's why she kneed me.' He spat out bloody saliva. 'My tooth's broken.'
'There's a coincidence,' said Frost. 'That young tom you beat up, her tooth was broken as well.' He turned to Liz. 'What happened, love?'
'He threatened to cut me up if I didn't move off of Harry Grafton's territory,' said Liz.
'Just a minute,' called Grafton, pushing his way between them. He tugged a wad of notes from his wallet and stuffed them in the pocket of Liz's coat. 'There's a hundred quid there, darling. Keep your mouth shut, stay stum and I'll double it.'
Frost snatched the wad of notes and shook his head in mock reproof. 'Oh dear, oh dear, you've done it this time, Harry. Bribing a police officer to withhold evidence, in front of witnesses too.'
Grafton blinked in astonishment. 'Police officer?' He peered at Liz, who pulled off the wig. 'Remember me?' she asked Mickey Harris.
Grafton turned to Frost in protest. 'There's no way you'll get away with this, Frost – this is entrapment.'
'We are going to get away with it,' Frost replied. 'We didn't entrap you. We were here on an entirely different case.'
'Anyway, I never knew she was a police officer.'
Frost 'tut-tutted' again. 'She called out, "I'm a policewoman." ' He pointed to the group of police officers who were now watching the proceedings. 'In the earshot of all those unimpeachable, unbiased witnesses who will swear on stacks of bibles-'
'You're a bastard,' snarled Grafton.
'You're upset,' smiled Frost, 'so I shall put that down to a momentary lapse of good taste.' He jerked a thumb. 'Take them to the nick: armed with a deadly weapon, assaulting a police officer, attempted bribery of a police officer and dropping blood and bits of broken tooth on a public footpath.' He watched Jordan and Simms bundle them into the car and drive off. 'Well, not a bad result, even if it wasn't the one we were after. Let's call it a night and try again tomorrow.'
Police Superintendent Mullett studied the overtime claim form Frost had presented and winced. The third consecutive night without a result and the overtime bill was soaring. 'This isn't good enough, Frost. All this money expended and nothing to show for it.'
'We can only dangle the bait,' said Frost. 'We can't force him to swallow it… he picks his own time.'
'Well, he's now left it too late. I'm pulling the plug on Operation Decoy as of now. Heaven knows what County is going to say when they see this bill.'
'County knows we can't give guarantees,' said Frost. 'One more night. I've got a feeling in my water that tonight's the night.'
'No,' said Mullett firmly. 'You've had that same feeling the past three nights.'
I'll cut out one of the cars and use mine instead,' Frost offered. 'Just think of the praise you'll get from County if we pull it off…'
'And the flak I'll get if we don't…' Mullett wavered. If Frost could pull it off and he could get on the phone to the Chief Constable to modestly announce that Denton Division had done it again… 'All right, Frost. One more night… but this is the limit and if your lack of success continues, then I'm taking you off the case.' He skimmed through the wad of receipts Frost had handed over to support the claimed expenses. Some of them looked decidedly dubious. Many of the cab fare receipts seemed to be signed in the same hand although the names were different. He stared hard at Frost, but the man seemed completely unconcerned. Damn. If only he could prove it. He pulled out his pen and signed the authorization. Frost, face impassive, suppressed a sigh of relief and snatched the authorization back before Mullett could go through it more thoroughly. 'I'll get this off to County now, Super.' He had a few more receipts to slip in and a final total to alter now that Mullett had obligingly signed the covering authorization. He rose to go.
'Wait,' ordered Mullett. 'Where do we stand with the murder of the two little girls?'
'We stand nowhere,' Frost told him. 'My only suspect topped himself.'
'I am only too aware of that,' sniffed Mullett. 'The inquest is coming up next week and your job is on the line. I suggest you find yourself a more likely suspect and fast.'
A half-hearted nod from Frost. He had reached an impasse on this. No other suspects, no more clues, no helpful witnesses coming forward. You're working so hard on this one, Inspector, Vicky's mother had said, and he was doing sod all.
'And the skeleton,' reminded Mullett. 'I'm still waiting to learn his name.'
'Still working on it,' lied Frost, who had better things to do.
'My patience is wearing thin, Frost. I want a name…today… without fail…'
'Stitches come out today, guv,' announced Morgan when he returned to the office.
'They should have stitched up the flies on your trousers while they were about it,' grunted Frost.
'So I'll need time off to go to the hospital…'
Frost stared at him, light dawning in his eyes. 'The bloody hospital. Of course!'
'Guv?' frowned Morgan, puzzled.
'Mullett wants us to name that skeleton! We know the poor sod broke his ankle a couple of months before putting his leg over for the last time. Here's your starter for ten. Where do you go if you break your arm?'
'Hospital, guv.'
'Precisely, and Denton Hospital keeps records back to the year dot…' He snatched his scarf from the hook. 'Get the car out.' On the way past the incident room he yelled for Burton. 'Come on, son, we're off to Denton Hospital.'
The hospital porter, a miserable-looking man in dirty overalls, led them down endless flights of stone stairs and unlocked an olive green door. A musty smell of damp papers wafted out to greet them. He fumbled for the light switch and clicked it on. A long, narrow room, almost like a corridor, its sides lined with ceiling-high racks jam-packed with ancient files running far into the dark distance, all gradually coming into view as light after light clicked on.
'Should be down the far end somewhere,' said the porter, leading them past shelves labelled with the dates of the files they held. It was like walking back in time as the files got yellower and yellower and the years rolled further and further into the past: '80s, '70s, '60s… Frost shivered and tightened his scarf. The far reaches of the corridor were damp, cold and mildewy just like the smallholding.
'There you go,' said the porter, waving a vague hand at the 1957 section where shelves groaned under the weight of files and bundles tied with string held in fossilized knots. 'If he came here with a broken ankle and if it's been filed correctly, which doesn't always happen, you should find him amongst this little lot.' The racks of 1957 files seemed to go on and on. 1957 was a bumper year for people going to hospital.
'This could take all bloody week,' moaned Burton,
'At least,' grunted the porter. 'Turn out all the lights when you've finished.'
'A helping hand would be nice,' said Frost hopefully.
'That's what I thought when you bastards nicked me for speeding,' said the porter.
They waited until he was out of earshot, his footsteps fading in the distance. 'Find out the number of his car and nick him again,' said Frost. Ignoring the 'No Smoking' sign, he passed his cigarettes around and lit up. 'It's so bleeding damp, nothing would burn down here,' he muttered, 'but I've half a mind to give it a bleeding good try.' He pulled out a bulging file. The string broke and the contents spewed out on the floor. 'We're in for a flaming good time,' he moaned, kicking the file to one side. He nodded at an overflowing rack behind Morgan… 'What are those big green envelopes?'
Morgan pulled one out and looked inside. 'X-rays, guv.'
'Right,' said Frost. 'If he broke his ankle he'd have it X-rayed. Ignore all the other files, just get the green envelopes out.'
Frost and Burton looked through the envelopes while Morgan dragged them from the shelves. The Pile of discarded files grew higher and higher. 'Didn't people have anything better to do in 1957 than break their flaming arms and legs?' complained Frost, adding yet another file to the discard heap.
'You realize he might not have come to this hospital, guv,' said Morgan.
'If you haven't got anything helpful to say, shut up!' snarled Frost. There were very few green envelope files left and he was beginning to give up hope, when 'Bingo! This is it! Derek Femley, aged twenty-six.' He skimmed through the patient's record card.. 'Single. Address: 3a St Clement Road, Denton. Occupation, Assistant Manager.'
'Damn!' This as the tottering pile of discarded files suddenly toppled over and ancient string snapped, sending the contents all over the floor in an untidy mess. The two DCs bent to pick them up, but were restrained. 'That's what hospital porters are paid for,' Frost told them, tucking Fernley's file under his arm and marching out, deliberately neglecting to switch off all the lights.
The phone in the incident room rang. Harding from Forensic. 'Yes, Inspector, the break in the ankle of our skeleton corresponds exactly with the X-ray photograph. It's him all right.'
'Thanks,' grunted Frost. 'I'd have settled for him even if the X-ray didn't match.' He hung up and scratched his chin thoughtfully. The assistant manager of what? A shop, an office, a factory? An assistant manager goes missing and no-one reports it? Surely someone would have noticed by now that he wasn't at his desk? He took a look round the room. 'Where's Taffy?'
'He's still checking that address in St Clement Road,' said Hanlon.
'If Derek Femley opens the door to him, we're back to square one,' grunted Frost. 'And if a nubile young tart opens the door we won't see Taffy back here today.'
'And who's taking my name in vain?' Taffy had returned, his clothes smothered in dust, an ancient police file tucked under his arm. He plonked a black and white photograph in front of Frost. 'That, guv,' he said proudly, 'is Derek Fernley.' The photograph was of a man in his early twenties, arms folded, dark hair glossy with brilliantine, an over-large nose and a small, neatly trimmed moustache.
Frost studied it, then checked the photograph of the skeleton before shaking his head. 'Nothing like him, Taff. Our one hasn't got a moustache.'
'It is him,' insisted Morgan. 'I went to his old address. They couldn't help, but I found someone in the street who remembered him.'
'So where did you get the photograph?'
'From our store room. We've got a file on him. Look!' He dumped the file in front of Frost and opened it. A yellowing newspaper cutting clipped to the top had headlines that read: SUPERMARKET MANAGER AND TAKINGS BOTH GO MISSING! Below the headline was a reproduction of the photograph of Fernley. Frost picked up the cutting and read the story out aloud:
' "Derek Fernley, twenty-six, Assistant Manager of the large Superwise Supermarket in Denton, is being sought by the police in connection with the disappearance of some Ј6,000 from the store's safe.
' "Denton police are anxious to interview Fernley who has not reported for work since the money went missing. Neighbours said Fernley did not return home on the Friday and has not been seen since." '
Frost looked again at the photograph. 'Call me a suspicious old sod, but I reckon Fernley took that money.' He flicked through the investigating officer's typed notes. Small sums of money, between Ј5 and Ј10 a week, had been disappearing and it was obvious that Fernley had been milking the supermarket's petty cash float. Checking his flat they found he had cancelled the milk and drawn the balance from his bank account. There was no sign of his passport.
'They never found him,' mused Frost. 'They should have looked in that old cow's back garden.' He closed the file. 'So why wasn't he listed as a missing person?'
'Missing isn't the same as absconding,' explained Burton.
Frost handed the file back to Morgan. 'He was milking the petty cash. The auditors are coming which means he's bound to be found out, so he empties the safe and legs it, pausing only for that last fatal grumble and grunt with big-nippled Nelly and her creamy white belly. But what happened to the six thousand quid and how did big-nippled Nell suddenly find the money to buy the smallholding? Do we see some sort of a connection?'
'You're saying she took it?' Morgan asked.
'Yes, I am,' said Frost. He stood up. 'Come on, Taff. Let's go and ask her.'
She was in the kitchen, still preparing vegetables, chopping them into small pieces with a knife.
'We've found out who your last client was,' Frost told her. 'Derek Fernley, assistant manager of a supermarket.'
Her eyes flickered briefly, then she concentrated on dicing the vegetables. 'I didn't know his name.'
'He paid a bit over the odds for his last bit of the other, didn't he? And he didn't even get a cup of tea afterwards.'
She kept her eyes down, the blade of the knife chopping, dicing, missing her fingers by a hair's breadth. 'Don't know what you mean.'
'Where did you get the money to buy this place?'
'Don't remember.'
Frost dragged a chair out to sit down, saw the state of the seat and decided against it. 'I'll jog your memory, shall I? He comes round for his usual Friday night nooky, but this time he's got a suitcase with him. After his unfortunate demise, you take a look inside and there's more money than you've ever seen in your life, over six thousand quid. So here's a chance to move out, to hide away somewhere, to keep little Sonny Boy under wraps in case he blurts out about the naughty man he and mumsie planted in someone's garden. You buy this place for cash, poke Sonny Boy under the stairs and if anyone asks about him, you dab away a tear and say the angels grew lonely and wanted him for a sunbeam. Is that it?'
She shrugged. 'I don't know nothing about any money.' Chop, chop, chop.
The door creaked open and Boy lumbered in. He started at the sight of the two detectives.
'Go and chop some wood, Boy,' she snapped.
Obediently, like a well-trained dog, Boy went to the sink and pulled out an axe from under it. He shouldered it like a rifle. 'I'll chop some wood,' he announced, as if he had just thought of it. They watched him march out.
'You told us your son kept hitting Fernley on the head again and again.'
'That's right.'
'The pathologist reckons he was only hit once.'
'It was a long time ago. I don't remember it clearly.'
'Did you know Derek had the money with him when he came?'
'I don't know nothing about no money.' She scooped up the diced vegetables in a gnarled hand and dropped them into a saucepan.
Frost sighed. They weren't going to get anything out of her. 'All right, Mrs Aldridge. We'll leave it for now.' He jerked his head for Morgan to follow him out.
'You let her off the hook pretty easily, guv,' said Morgan.
'Maybe,' grunted Frost.
Outside, near the coop of squawking chickens, Boy was chopping a fallen tree trunk into sizeable pieces, the axe blade flashing in the dying sun as it hissed through the air. Morgan nudged Frost. 'I reckon I could get him to talk, guv.' He wandered over to the man, who stopped his chopping and eyed him suspiciously.
'Go away. Mustn't talk to you.'
'Just a couple of questions,' wheedled Morgan, but Frost tugged him away.
'Leave it, Taffy.'
'But, guv-'
'I said leave it!'
Frost spun on his heel and marched off to the car, leaving a puzzled Morgan trailing behind him.
'So she wouldn't admit to taking the money?' asked Mullett when they reported back to him.
'We pushed her as hard as we could, Super,' said Frost. 'She denied all knowledge of it.'
'What about her son? Did you question him?'
'No, we didn't – Aww!' said Morgan, cut off in mid-sentence as a well-aimed kick from Frost hacked his ankle.
'We really put him through it,' said Frost. 'He says he knows nothing about any money and I don't think he's capable of lying. My guess is that Fernley hid the cash somewhere and we'll never find it.'
Mullett nodded his satisfaction. 'A loose end that needn't concern us unduly. Now, we know his name, I can forward the papers to the CPS. Like you, I very much doubt that they will prosecute, but that is their concern.' His hand reached out for the phone. 'If you'll excuse me, I'll let the Chief Constable know of my – er, our success.'
'I don't understand, guv,' said Morgan when they got back into Frost's office. 'You told Mr Mullett we talked to the son and we didn't.'
Frost kicked the door shut behind them. 'We didn't talk to the son, Taffy, in case he told us something we don't want to hear.' 'Like what, guv?'
'Like what really happened with Fernley.'
'We know what happened. The son killed him.'
'No, Taff. I reckon the old girl killed him.' He flopped down at his desk and lit up a cigarette. 'Did you clock the knife the old girl was using to dice up the carrots?'
'Yes, guv. It looked very similar to the one she stuck into me.'
'And it also looked very similar to this.' Frost opened his desk drawer and took out the plastic bag containing the rusty knife that had been found buried near the skeleton. 'In fact it could be its bloody twin, the same ring at the end of the handle for hanging it up.'
Morgan examined the knife carefully. 'It does look similar,' he admitted grudgingly.
'Similar? It's flaming identical. One of a pair, I reckon.'
'So what are you suggesting?' Morgan asked.
I'm suggesting, Taffy, that this knife, which we found buried with the skeleton, came from her kitchen. Now why would she bury a perfectly good knife? She's too bleeding mean to throw anything away; she probably uses her toilet paper on both sides. She chucked it because there was blood on it, and not chicken's blood… Derek Fernley's blood.'
'You're saying she stabbed him?'
'Yes, I am. She said there was blood everywhere. You don't get that amount of blood from a crack on the nut. The boy might have been involved somehow, but she killed Fernley, probably to get the money, and that makes it murder.'
Morgan stared at him. 'Where's your proof, guv?'
'I haven't got any proof, son. I just know she did it.'
'Then why didn't you let me question her son? I could have got the truth out of him.'
'And suppose he told you that mummy stabbed the naughty man with her knife? Mullett wouldn't let it rest and we'd then have to start wasting our bloody time investigating an ancient murder case that would be thrown out of court, and I've got better things to do.'
'But you can't turn a blind eye to murder,' protested Morgan.
'Just watch me, Taffy. That old cow kept her son hidden away for years just to save her own skin. I'd like to get her for that, but she's too old and it happened far too long ago and I'm too flaming tired to care.' He exhaled smoke. 'Let this be a lesson to you, Taff. Stay away from women with big nipples and long knives.' He yawned. 'Let's get our heads down. I get the feeling we're going to be in for a rough night.'