PC Collier yawned and knuckled his eyes. Three in the morning, his fourth consecutive night on overtime and it was hard to keep awake. This was going to be yet another boring night with nothing happening. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and wished he was back home in bed, then his eyes snapped open as he became aware there was someone in the seat next to him. Jordan back with the big Macs? No. It was Detective Inspector Jack Frost.
'Sorry, sir,' Collier muttered, trying to look alert. 'Must have closed my eyes for a few seconds.'
'About two hundred and forty bleeding seconds,' said Frost. 'I know it's a bore, son, but there's little point to the exercise if you fall asleep just as the killer picks her up.' He took a look through the car window.
"Where is she?'
With a start of panic Collier snatched up the night glasses and scoured the area near the phone box. Polly wasn't there! He'd missed the pick-up, he'd bloody missed it! Then he saw her, leaning against the railings in the shadow. 'There, sir!' He passed the night glasses to Frost, trying to sound as if he knew all the time.
Sensing she was being watched, Polly moved forward to the light-splash from the lamp post and gave her bottom a little wiggle for Collier's benefit. He blushed, but Frost gawped with delight. 'Cor, I couldn't half give her one.' He turned to the PC. 'Shouldn't there be two of you? Where's Jordan?'
Before Collier could think of an excuse, Jordan appeared clutching two yellow polystyrene containers. His dismay showed when he saw Frost. 'Just popped out for some refreshment, Inspector.'
Frost took one of the boxes and looked inside. A beefburger, oozing fat and reeking of fried onion. 'You should have got one for Collier as well,' he said, sinking his teeth into it. His head jerked up. 'What's this?'
A flare of headlights as a beige minicab marked 'Dave's Taxis' drew up by the phone box and honked its horn. Collier consulted his list. 'The right cab, sir.' He focused the night glasses. 'And the right driver. He's picked Polly up a couple of times before.'
'OK, son. Follow it, then take her back to the station. I'm calling it a night.' He climbed out of the car, fatigue and depression weighing him down. He was so sure tonight was going to be the night. Now he'd have to face Mullett again in the morning and talk the cheese-paring bastard out of stopping the exercise. He took another bite at the beefburger but realized he didn't want it and chucked it into the gutter, giving it a savage kick as it fell. Round the corner to his own car and off to the other phone box. He had left Morgan watching Liz Maud but wasn't too happy at leaving the DC on his own in spite of the man's earnest protestations. 'You can rely on me, guv.' Taffy was the last bleeding bloke you could rely on.
Half-way there when his radio squawked. 'Control to Mr Frost. Urgent. Come in, please.'
He lifted the handset. 'Frost.'
'Urgent assistance required. Ram raid in progress at Conway's Jewellers in the High Street. One officer injured, ambulance on way. We need all your men, now!'
He radioed his team as he spun the car round. 'All units, abandon operation. Ram raid, Conway's Jewellers, officer injured. Get over there now.'
Morgan radioed back. 'I'm watching DI Maud, guv. There's a cab pulling up for her now. Can't see the registration number, but it's a woman driver. Looks all right. Safe to leave?'
'No, not safe to bloody leave,' snapped Frost. 'Might be a man in drag. Follow, pick her up at the other end, then both of you get over to Conway's pronto.'
Skidding round the corner, he was the first on the scene, the other two cars close on his heels. A Panda car was slewed across the road. The pavement outside the jewellers sparkled with broken glass and the alarm was shrilling with no-one to take any notice. He ran over to the still shape of a uniformed officer sprawled in the gutter, his head in a puddle of blood.
A slamming of car doors and the clatter of footsteps behind him. He knelt by the officer and touched the icy cold, chalk white face of twenty-year-old Peter Adams who had been with the Division a few months only. 'Get a blanket or something. The poor sod's freezing.' He moved to one side as WPC Polly Fletcher shucked off her tart's fur coat and gently laid it over the injured constable. Frost could smell the incongruous aroma of the heady scent she had been using.
'Hey!' A man was running towards them from a house opposite. 'It was me who phoned your lot,' he told them proudly. 'I saw it all.'
Frost took the man's arm and moved away. 'What happened?'
'I was watching a film on the telly when I heard this crash. I looks out the window and I sees this van ramming through the jeweller's plate glass window. There were three of them, youngish, in their twenties I'd imagine, all with balaclavas hiding their faces. They were scooping jewellery from the window when the cop drives up. He charges over and one of them welts him with this baseball bat. Poor sod went down like a stone. They ran back in the van and roared off.'
'Which way did they go?' asked Frost.
He pointed. 'Down the Bath Road, speeding like the clappers.'
'What sort of van?'
'Little grey delivery van. There had been a name on the side but it was blacked out.'
'Registration number?'
The man shook his head. 'Couldn't get it. The plates were covered in mud.'
Frost called for all units to be on the look-out. He had no sooner clicked off when Morgan radioed through, very excited. 'That van. It just passed me by the Denton roundabout going towards Exley… light grey, three men. Am in pursuit, assistance required.'
'Stick to the sods like glue,' said Frost, calling in all units to assist. He found himself having to shout over the noise of the shrilling alarm. 'Can't someone turn that thing off?'
'Key-holder's on the way,' Jordan told him. Another sound sliced through the night. The warble of an ambulance siren. Frost looked down at the unconscious man. Adams was really too inexperienced to have been out on his own at night. Sod the bloody budget cuts. And Adams had been too keen, too anxious to prove himself. He should have stayed in the Panda and waited for assistance, not gone rushing out when there were three of them, armed with baseball bats.
In seconds the paramedics were gently easing Adams on to a stretcher. 'Looks like a fractured skull,' they told Frost, adding ominously, 'Could be nasty.' Frost detailed Polly to go with Adams to the hospital, the paramedics expressing surprise as she tottered up the steps in her short skirt and high heels. He didn't bother to explain.
As the rear lights of the ambulance dwindled to pinpricks as it sped down the Bath Road, Frost scrunched over broken glass to examine the shop front. The metal grid used to protect the display was crumpled and had been cut with heavy duty cutters. The display shelves were stripped bare, except for a solitary diamond necklace which hung forlornly, its price ticket string caught on a drawing pin. Unhooking it, he checked the price tag. Ј4,500. He whistled softly. He'd have guessed a couple of quid.
Morgan radioed through. 'Still on their tail, guv. They're going at a fair old lick. Any chance we could head them off from the other direction before they reach the turn-off?'
I'll check.' He called Control, but Morgan was out of luck. The only available vehicle was over the other side of Denton and would never get there in time. He was pocketing his radio when a black Honda Accord braked to a halt outside the shop and a short, tubby man in a sheepskin driving coat clambered out. 'The name's Conway… it's my shop,' he told Collier, then surveyed the wreckage of the window with mounting indignation. 'Bloody hell! Look at it! The third time in four months. I've only just had that window put in.'
'My heart bleeds for you,' grunted Frost, introducing himself. 'You're insured, aren't you?'
'Top rate premiums and I have to pay the first Ј5,000 of any claim, but after that I'm insured, yes.'
'Tough,' said Frost. He jerked a thumb at the alarm. 'Can you turn that flaming thing off?' Conway scowled. 'I can turn it off if it offends your ears, Inspector, but tell me something, would you? Where was your bloody lot when it went off?'
'Our bloody lot was lying in the gutter with his skull smashed in,' snapped Frost. 'He was welted with a baseball bat.'
The man's eyes opened wide in concern. 'My God! I didn't know. Is he all right?'
Frost shrugged. 'He's unconscious. We're waiting to hear from the hospital.'
Conway covered his face with a hand and shook his head. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't know.'
'We'll want an inventory of what's been taken.'
'That's easy,' said Conway, bitterly. 'It's everything that was in the window.'
'As soon as you can,' said Frost, moving away as his radio paged him. Morgan again.
'We've lost them, guv.'
Frost stared at the radio open-mouthed. 'You've what?'
'Not our fault, guv. They swerved in front of an articulated lorry. The lorry driver slammed on his brakes, skidded and jack-knifed. We couldn't get past.'
Frost sighed. "There's not many places they could have gone. Keep looking!'
The clock on the interview room wall clunked its way round to 4.12. The radiator still wasn't working properly in spite of Frost's kicks and the room was cold. Frost thumbed through the list of stolen items then raised his eyes to Conway. 'Nearly a quarter of a million. What were you stocking – the Crown Jewels?'
'It was all good stuff: gold, silver, jewellery, Rolex watches. It soon adds up.'
'Why wasn't it in the safe?'
'Good question. The flaming safe's jammed. We can't open it. The locksmith's coming tomorrow to fix it – too flaming busy to come today. I had to get special dispensation from the insurance company to leave it in the window overnight.' 'That was good of them.'
'Yes… very generous,' replied Conway with heavy sarcasm. 'All they charged was an extra premium of Ј500. Ј500 for twenty-four flaming hours.'
Frost glanced at the list of stolen items again. 'I bet they wish they'd turned you down, now.' He took out a cigarette. 'Was tonight the first time the stuff was left in the window?'
'Yes. These crooks were either bloody observant or bloody lucky – tomorrow night the stuff would all have been nicely locked away in the safe.'
Frost thumbed his lighter. 'At least you were insured.'
'Oh yes, and if I live long enough, and they can't find anything in the small print so they can wriggle out of paying, I'll get the wholesale price less Ј5,000 excess and treble the premium for next time.' He blew his nose noisily. 'But here am I ranting on and forgetting about that poor devil in hospital. Any news?'
'Still unconscious. It doesn't look too good.' The jeweller's face creased. 'I'm so terribly sorry. I owe him. If there's anything I can do…'
'Thanks,' said Frost, rubbing his hands together to restore the circulation. 'And thanks for coming. We'll keep you informed.'
Conway zipped up his briefcase and pulled on a pair of leather gloves.
'Half a mo!' said Frost. As Conway sat down again, Frost beckoned Collier over. 'Nip out and see if there's any news from the hospital, would you, son?' He waited until the constable had left before leaning across the table to Conway and lowering his voice. 'Wanted him out of the way for a minute,' he said, tapping his nose conspiratorially. He pulled a brown paper bag from his pocket and shook the contents into his hand. A necklace which sparkled in the overhead light. 'I bought this from a bloke in a pub today, paid fifty quid for it. He swore blind it was worth Ј400. Was I caught?'
Conway stripped off his gloves and examined the necklace. A sad shake of his head as he handed it back. 'You got exactly what you paid for, Inspector. It's worth Ј50 top whack.'
With a rueful grin Frost tucked the necklace back in his pocket. 'The lousy bastard!' he said. Then he clicked his fingers as if he had suddenly remembered something. 'I'm a silly sod. This isn't the necklace I bought in the pub. This is the one I took from your shop window tonight. It had this Ј4,500 price ticket on it.' He swung the price ticket backwards and forwards.
Conway went white. I don't understand…'
Frost grinned back at him. 'Don't you, Mr Conway? Your bank manager does.'
'My bank manager?'
A cheerful nod from Frost. 'I phoned him a few minutes ago. It might have been my imagination, but he didn't sound too pleased at being woken up from a sound sleep. Anyway, it seems you're overdrawn like mad, the bank want to repossess your house and your shop, and there's quite a few of your cheques bouncing like the Dambusters' bomb. He said you had a profitable little business there until you let your son start running it.'
Conway stared, mouth agape, then, with an effort, pulled himself together. 'This is all beyond me, Inspector. I'm going-'
'Sit down!' barked Frost.
Conway's shoulders slumped. He dropped down in the chair.
A tap at the door and a grim-faced Collier returned.
He whispered something to Frost whose lips tightened. 'Thank you, Constable.' He stared at Conway. 'A fractured skull, extensive brain damage. They rate his chances as lower than fifty/fifty, but even if he does pull through, they doubt if he will ever be able to lead a normal life.' He bent forward, his face nearly touching Conway's. 'You bastard!' He spat out the words.
Conway jerked back as if he had been hit. 'How dare you!' he spluttered.
'An insurance fiddle. I can smell them a mile off. A fake raid, then claim on the insurance. And thanks to your scam a bloody good police officer who was trying to protect your property has been ruined for life.'
Conway flushed. 'This is preposterous. You're making wild accusations without a shred of proof. I am not saying another word unless my solicitor is present.'
'Good,' said Frost, opening his folder. 'You can show him this when he gets here.' He pulled out a printed form and handed it over. 'It's a search warrant… I took the liberty of getting one ready in advance. We're going to search your house.'
'My house?' croaked Conway, the search warrant shaking as he tried to hold it steady.
Frost nodded. 'Who knows, we might find a lot of the good stuff hidden away somewhere that you forgot to stick in your shop window.'
The jeweller's face crumpled. He stared down at the scratched and scarred table top. 'You've got to believe me, Inspector. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt.'
Frost signalled for Collier to start up the cassette recorder, then gave Conway a warm, encouraging smile. 'Tell us all about it,' he said.
Frost watched Wells lock the cell door on Conway. 'His son and two mates carried out the fake raid.
We've sent a couple of cars to pick them up, so get the other two cells swilled out.'
'Conway's son was behind it all, then?' asked Wells.
'Yes,' agreed Frost. 'Conway put him in charge of the shop. The worst mistake of his life. Sonny Boy's been selling off the stock to pay for his gambling and drug habits and replacing it with cheap swag, hoping no-one would notice. Conway was going to sell the business and had the buyer coming in next week to appraise the stock, so Sonny Boy had to come clean. They thought this would be a good way out of their troubles. Let this be a lesson to you, Bill – crime does not pay!'
'Not a wasted night after all, then?' said Wells as they walked back to the lobby.
'If you overlook the poor sod in hospital and the fact that our serial killer is still on the loose, then by my lousy standards it was an unqualified success.'
In the lobby a worried-looking Burton was waiting for them. 'Anyone seen Liz?' he asked.
'Detective Sergeant Maud, to you,' snapped Wells. 'And I haven't seen her. Try the ladies' toilets – she spends most of her time in there.'
'She's probably in the incident room,' called Frost as Burton hurried off. To Wells he said: 'What's the world coming to? They get their leg over, then start calling senior officers by their first name.' But on the way back to his office he found himself worrying. He couldn't recall seeing Liz since early on in the operation, and now he thought about it, she wasn't at the scene of the jewellery raid. He found Burton staring into an empty murder incident room.
'She might have gone straight home, son,' he suggested. 'Have you phoned her?'
'I've phoned: she doesn't answer.'
'Let's ask Morgan where he dropped her.'
The sound of raucous laughter from the rear doors heralded the return of Morgan with Jordan and Simms, all escorting three sullen men in handcuffs, the ram raiders. Simms was carrying the bags of fake jewellery. 'We've got them, guv,' announced Morgan triumphantly.
'Where's Inspector Maud?' asked Frost.
'No idea, guv. Isn't she here?'
'Would I be asking you if she was? You picked her up after the cab dropped her. Where did you take her?'
'I didn't pick her up, guv. I stopped following the cab when I chased after these three in the van.' He pointed to the handcuffed men.
Frost stared. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'You just left her?' Morgan nodded. Telling Jordan and Simms to get their prisoners charged, Frost dragged Morgan into the murder incident room. 'You just flaming left her?' he repeated incredulously, an angry Burton looking on.
Morgan's head turned from one to the other, not understanding what the fuss was about. 'I couldn't chase the van and follow the cab at the same time, guv. I told you I was going after the van. You didn't object.'
'I didn't object,' exploded Frost, 'because I assumed you'd already picked her up. I didn't think you'd be so stupid as to abandon her.'
'Sorry, guv,' mumbled Morgan. 'A misunderstanding. But it was a woman driver. Inspector Maud will be all right. She probably got them to drive her straight back home.'
'I've phoned,' Burton told him. 'She doesn't answer.'
'She could be in bed with a sleeping tablet,' suggested Morgan hopefully.
'She could be in bed with a flaming serial rapist,' snapped Frost. PC Simms was walking past the door.
Frost called him in. 'Drive straight over to Inspector Maud's flat, kick the door in if necessary, but get inside, confirm she's there, and radio me immediately either way.'
'Hold on,' said Burton, digging into his pocket. 'No need to kick the door down.' He handed a key to Simms, then turned back to Frost. 'She wouldn't have gone home without reporting back here.'
'She might have got pissed off with us because Taffy didn't pick her up and thought, Sod them!' said Frost. But he wasn't even convincing himself. Doubt and self-guilt chewed away at his innards. Why the bloody hell didn't he check with Taffy that he had Liz on board when he phoned? He jabbed a finger at Morgan. 'Phone the minicab firm… find out where they dropped her off.'
A hot, liquid surge of relief as the phone rang. This had to be Liz. But it was Arthur Hanlon joyfully reporting from Conway's house. They had found most of the allegedly stolen jewellery and watches in the home safe. This didn't cheer Frost one bit. The ram raid wasn't important any more. 'We've got a problem, Arthur.' He told him about Liz and ordered him to get over to Sutton Street where Liz should have been dropped off by the minicab, in the slender hope she might still be impatiently waiting to be picked up by Morgan. 'If she's not there, keep an eye out on the return trip. She might be walking back to the station.' In high heels and a tom's outfit? What a bloody hope, but it had to be covered.
No sooner had he replaced the phone than it rang again and again his hopes soared. This had to be Liz. But it was Mullett.
'I understand we've got an injured policeman in hospital. Why wasn't I told?'
God, he should have told Mullett right away. 'Sorry, Super – so much going on.' He filled the Divisional Commander in, but didn't tell him about Liz. 'They are operating on him now. We've got the men who did it.'
'Hmph,' grunted Mullett. 'Keep me informed.' Frost hung up as Morgan finished his call to the minicab firm, his expression telegraphing bad news. 'They don't use women drivers at night, guv. They took the call and sent a man driver, but when he got to the pick-up point there was no-one there.'
'Did you check the registration number of the cab that did pick her up?'
Morgan looked anywhere but at Frost. 'It belongs to a VW Beetle sold as scrap six months ago.'
Frost dropped in a chair and stared into space. 'Bloody, bloody hell.'
A howl of rage as Burton, hearing the tail end of this, hurried over to them. 'What are you saying?'
'It doesn't look good, son,' Frost told him. 'Unless Simms tells us she's tucked up in her flat, we've got to face the possibility that our serial killer has got her.' The phone rang. Control. Simms had just radioed in. Liz wasn't in her flat and the tom's outfit wasn't back in the wardrobe… He broke the news to Burton.
Burton's face reddened with anger. 'And that Welsh bastard just abandoned her?'
'I thought she'd be all right,' muttered Morgan, stepping back quickly as Burton, swinging wild punches, lunged at him.
'You thought, you bloody Welsh sod? When have you ever thought in your life?'
'Pack it in!' Frost pushed himself between the two men, forcing them apart. 'I'm as much to blame as Morgan,' he told Burton. 'I was in charge so I'm even more bloody guilty. If you want to beat me to a pulp, son, fair enough, but let's find her first.'
'Find her?' snarled Burton, still glaring daggers at Morgan. 'Find her dead body, you mean?'
Frost poked a cigarette in his mouth and lit up, a delaying tactic to give him time to think. They hadn't the faintest idea where she was so where the hell did they start looking? All they had to go on was the minicab, a black Ford. He opened the door and shouted to Bill Wells: 'I want as many cars as we can get to go out on the road and look for this Ford. The fake registration plates have probably been dumped by now, so let them stop any minicab, any vehicle in fact: car, van, articulated lorry, I don't care what colour or make, and search it. I want everyone in on this, off-duty men as well.'
'I'll need authority,' said Wells stubbornly. 'Sod authority. I'll get the authority and if I can't get it, I'll carry the can.'
'And you'll have to let Mr Mullett know.' Frost snatched up the phone. 'I'm letting him know now. Just do what I bloody ask.' As he waited for Mullett to answer he yelled for Burton and Morgan to phone all the minicab and taxi firms and find out if any of their drivers had noticed a maverick cab in the area and, if so, where it was heading. The ringing tone went on in his ear. 'Come on, come on,' he muttered. 'It's only four o'clock in the morning, you can't be in bed yet.' At last a disgruntled, still drowsy Divisional Commander answered the phone. It took some time for the import of what Frost was saying to sink in and when it did, Mullett was wide awake.
'What are you trying to tell me?' Mullett's voice soared to a screech.
Frost pulled the phone away from his ear and let the sizzle of accusation and fury crackle round the incident room. When the noise stopped for a while, he tentatively returned the phone to his ear in case the superintendent was simply pausing for breath, but he seemed to have finished his initial tirade.
'Couldn't agree with you more, Super,' said Frost. 'A proper balls-up. I presume I have your full authority to do whatever is necessary to locate and rescue Detective Sergeant Maud?'
'How much is this going to cost?' shrilled Mullett.
'Cost?' echoed Frost incredulously. 'What the hell does the cost matter? A police officer's life is at stake.'
'I've got to get sanction from County and the first question they will ask is "How much?" '
'Ј2,300,' said Frost, plucking a figure from the air. 'Might be less if we're lucky.' And a bleeding sight more if we're not, he told himself.
'Right,' said Mullett, seemingly content now that he had a figure. 'Hold fire. I'll get back to you.'
Frost hung up quickly. Sod holding fire. 'All agreed,' he told Wells. 'I've got carte blanche to do whatever is necessary. Oh, and get someone to keep checking her flat. We'd look proper prats if we had the helicopters and the dogs out and she'd only popped out for some fish and chips.'
But he knew she wouldn't be back. He knew the rapist had got her and his face creased with pain at the mental picture of Liz, naked, tied to a bed, while the sadistic bastard stubbed fags out all over her. Smoke from the cigarette in his mouth drifted up his nose. It tasted foul. He stubbed it out on the polished surface of the desk. Don't worry, we'll be following you every inch of the way, he had promised. God, he'd made some balls-ups in his time, but this…
Wells returned, only to be sent out again as Frost thought of something else. 'Get on to the other Divisions. I want all their off-duty men standing by in case we have to do a house-to-house.'
Wells hesitated. 'Are you sure Mullett's agreed to this?'
Frost gave the sergeant his most reassuring and sincere smile. 'When have I ever lied to you, Bill?" he asked.
'Every bleeding day of the year,' said Wells.
As the off-duty men reported in, he found them jobs to do: phone all the hospitals for unknown casualties; get names and addresses of every minicab and taxicab driver from their firms and phone or knock them up to ask if they had seen a maverick cab lurking about at any time. He sent Burton out with Collier to call on all the local toms yet again to ask if they had ever been approached by this minicab with the woman driver. The place was a-bustle. He had given everyone something to do, but in his heart of hearts knew that none of this would do any good. They needed a break, one of his strokes of luck, but his guardian angel was refusing to do any more overtime.
The phone rang. 'Frost.' It was Arthur Hanlon. Liz wasn't at the drop-off point. He'd retraced the route back to her flat. No sign of her.
The phone hardly stopped ringing. Negative reports. Nothing from cab drivers, toms, the hospitals… A blaze of headlights in the grimy windows of the incident room. A car pulling into the car-park. Liz! It had to be Liz. It was Mullett, bloody Mullett, just in time to receive a 'Sod all' progress report.
Even at that unearthly hour of the morning, Mullett was a walking tailor's dummy in his immaculate uniform. 'My office!' he barked, flinging the words through the open door of the incident room as he marched down the corridor.
Frost heaved himself out of the chair. 'It's probably about my promotion,' he said.
In the old log cabin with its highly polished built-in wooden cupboards, Mullett sat stony-faced at his desk. 'A shambles,' he said. 'An absolute shambles.'
Frost said nothing. Mullett was right. Of course it was a shambles, but what was the point in stating the bloody obvious? How was this helping to get the poor cow back?
'Against my better judgement I bled our overtime budget dry, on your unequivocal assurance that by doing so we would definitely catch the killer and that nothing would go wrong. Teams of men, on expensive overtime, but when the killer turns up, what happens?'
'We sodded it up,' said Frost blandly. 'I know what happened, Super, I don't need telling.'
'And in addition you have put the life of one of our officers in peril, the very thing you assured me would be avoided. How on earth am I going to explain this to County?'
'I know it's the last thing you'd think of doing,' said Frost, 'but you could always put the blame on me.'
'The fact that I had put my trust in you could still reflect badly on me,' replied Mullett. His eyes lit up as he found a solution. 'We put the entire blame on DC Morgan, a man foisted on us by County against my better judgement. He deliberately disobeyed your explicit orders.' With luck, Denton Division could come out of this comparatively unscathed.
Frost shook his head. There was no way he was having the buck dumped solely on Morgan. 'I was in charge-' he began.
Mullett cut him short. 'Technically in charge, perhaps, but you had given him explicit instructions and he would know the consequence should he disobey those instructions. I want no falling on swords here, Frost.' He jabbed a finger, happily recalling the phrase used by County. 'Damage limitation, that's what this is all about, Frost, damage limitation…'
Frost was about to snap, 'Sod damage limitation,' when there was a tap at the door and Bill Wells looked in.
Mullett scowled, annoyed at being disturbed. 'Can't it wait, Sergeant?'
'Urgent call for Mr Frost,' said Wells. 'Mrs Beatty.'
'Drawers-dropping Doreen?' protested Frost. 'Get shot of her!'
'Who is she?' asked Mullett.
'A sex-starved spinster who imagines she's being stalked,' Frost told him.
'I think you'd better get over there, Inspector,' said Wells. 'She's in a hell of a state. She reckons the stalker broke into her house and she's killed him.'
'Shit!' said Frost. 'This is all we bleeding need.'
He took WPC Polly Fletcher along with him. 'Just in case she accuses me of raping her,' he said.
The young WPC gave a weak smile. She wasn't finding Frost very funny at the moment. It could have been her, instead of Liz Maud, who had been picked up by the killer. With her face wiped clean of the tart's make-up she looked about sixteen. Her hands on the wheel were shaking.
'Don't worry, love,' said Frost. 'We'll find Liz.' He wasn't even convincing himself. 'There's the house.' He nodded at the only one in the street with any lights showing.
He thumbed the doorbell. 'Come on, come on,' he muttered, urging the woman on as she fumbled with the locks and chains. The sooner he got this farce over and was back in the station, the better.
Doreen Beatty was fully dressed, a thick grey coat over her skirt and cardigan. She looked distraught. 'I told you I was being stalked but you wouldn't believe me. He got into my bedroom. He would have raped me.'
They stepped inside and she closed the door behind them. 'I couldn't sleep. I went to the all-night supermarket for some milk. When I came back, there he was, in my bedroom. I hit him with my walking-stick. I killed him.'
'Good for you,' murmured Frost, not believing a word of it. 'Where's the body?'
She pointed a trembling finger to an open door. Frost nodded for Polly to take a look as he yawned and consulted his watch.
'Inspector!' The WPC was trying to keep her voice steady. 'You'd better come in here.'
The man was lying face down on the floor, blood from his head staining the beige carpet. A pillow was half-way down the single bed, an empty pillow case on the floor by the sprawled man. Frost felt for a pulse. The pulse beat was strong, but the man was out cold. He straightened up. 'Not dead and not a stalker, Mrs Beatty,' he told her. 'You've knocked out the pillow case burglar.'
'More than half of our unsolved crime figures wiped out in a stroke,' he told Bill Wells bitterly. 'Any other time I'd be over the moon but tonight I don't give a toss.' Polly had gone with the ambulance to the hospital. Slight concussion, nothing broken and he'd be fit for questioning in the morning. 'Morning? It's bleeding morning now,' said Frost, mooching back to the murder incident room.
He steeled himself to push open the door. All heads turned, everyone expectant, waiting for him to come up with an instant solution so they could roar out and pick up Liz unharmed. He flashed a pleading glance to Burton and Morgan who had just finished their phone calls to cab drivers. They both shook their heads. 'Nothing,' reported Burton. 'What do we do now?'
Pray, thought Frost as he peeled the cellophane off yet another pack of cigarettes. Bloody hell. All these men at his disposal, plus – although Mullett didn't know it yet – men from other Divisions standing by on overtime, and nothing to give them to do. Fall on his sword? If he had a bleeding sword he'd skewer himself on it right now.
They were still looking at him, thinking his silence was deep, studied thought instead of blind panic. He sucked down a lungful of smoke. Then, suddenly, his guardian angel decided to soften her heart. He leapt to his feet. 'The mobile phone… she had a mobile phone!'
Burton sighed. What was the fool on about? 'I've tried calling her on it,' he said. 'No reply.'
Frost flapped an impatient hand. 'I know, it's in silent ringing mode. Get on to the mobile phone company. Tell them to pin-point its location.'
Burton frowned. 'Pin-point it?'
'I'm not sure how they do it,' said Frost, 'but they can pin-point the location of all the mobile phones on their network – cross-bearings from their transmitters or something. Never mind how they do it, just get on to them.'
They waited impatiently as Burton made the call. A lot of hanging on, then being transferred to someone else with even more hanging on and Burton getting more and more uptight. Frost crushed out a barely smoked cigarette and lit up another one. At last Burton put the phone down. 'They'll get back to us. It could take a few minutes.'
'You did tell them it's a matter of life or death?'
'Of course I bloody did,' snapped Burton testily-Then he flushed. 'Sorry, Inspector.'
'It's all right, son,' soothed Frost. 'We're all uptight. I was a prat to ask.'
Silence as they all stared at the phone, willing it to ring. Frost was constantly glancing at his watch. How long had the bastard had Liz? What was he doing to her now?
'Inspector!' The angry voice of a furious Mullett from die doorway. He had just been told by Sergeant Wells of the men from other Divisions standing by and the time bomb of a mega-overtime bill ticking away. 'My office – now!'
'Later,' grunted Frost, his eyes back to the phone.
Mullett's face furrowed with annoyance. 'I said now!'
'And I said later,' snapped Frost. 'When I can fit it in.'
Mullett's mouth opened and closed. He couldn't think of what to say. Conscious of all eyes in the room witnessing his discomfiture, he forced a smile and nodded. 'Keep me informed.' He stamped back to his office. Frost would pay for this.
Burton snatched up the phone on its first ring. The mobile phone company. 'What?' He spun round to survey the large wall map of Denton behind him. 'Are you sure? Thank you.' He banged the phone down. 'We're in luck. They've traced it.' They crowded round as he tapped a section of the map. 'The phone is somewhere in this area here – the outskirts of Denton Woods.' He peered again at the map. 'It's nearly all trees and scrubland, but there is one house. There!' His finger jabbed the position. 'That's got to be it!'
'Right,' said Frost, rubbing his hands briskly. 'First thing is to find out who lives there. If it's a nunnery or a home for castrated clergymen, we could be sniffing up the wrong tree.'
Burton dashed out to the computer in Control to check. 'Occupants a Mr and Mrs Gerald Vernon,' he informed them. 'Vernon's had a couple of parking tickets… nothing else known.'
'Anyone know the house?' Frost asked.
Jordan pushed forward. 'I do, Inspector. We were called there a couple of months ago for a suspected burglary. Big, posh place, dirty great lawn at the front, double garage, massive garden round the back.' Frost chewed this over. 'We'll all go. The more the merrier. If he manages to get out, we could be combing the woods for the sod, so we hem the place in tight and block all escape routes.' He squinted at the map. 'We don't want them to know we're coming, so once we get to this point…'he tapped the map, '… headlights off. We'll park well away from the house… here.' Again he tapped the map. 'We go the rest of the way on foot and we keep very quiet, so no talking, no torches, no car doors slamming and no bleeding sirens.' He snatched his scarf from the hook and wound it round his neck. 'One other thing. If he listens in to taxicab radios, he could listen in to police broadcasts, so we maintain radio silence.' He buttoned up his mac. 'Let's go.'
Burton was the first out, dashing to his car. Frost hung back for a quick word with Bill Wells. 'Get a doctor standing by, Bill. If we get to the poor cow in time we might need one. And if we don't get to her in time… the bastard who did it is going to need one because he's going to be seriously injured while resisting arrest, come what bloody may!'