It was freezing cold in the car. 'You didn't fix the heater,' Frost grunted.
'Sorry, guv.' Morgan spun the steering wheel and turned off the main Bath Road into the side road that skirted the solid black mass of Denton Woods.
They weren't saying much to each other, both eaten up with guilt, Morgan for abandoning Liz, Frost for letting him do it. Frost tried to close his mind to self-recrimination so he could concentrate on the task ahead. What state would the poor cow be in when they found her? Would she still be alive? From time to time he twisted round to make sure the other cars were following. Morgan was driving much too fast and nearly missed the lay-by, having to brake hard and reverse into it.
The rest of the team joined them, some having to park up on the grass verge. Only one forgetful, silly sod slammed his car door and had to be hissed into silence.
The night was dark with clouds obscuring the moon, but as they reached the top of a slight rise, the moon found a gap in the clouds and slid through, dousing the landscape in silver and black. Before them stood the house, imposing and isolated… Scream as loud as you like, love – no-one can hear you… In front of the house a gravelled drive cut through a large lawn which had in its centre a fountain in the shape of a nude nymph, trickling water from a cornucopia into a circular fish pond.
Frost looked anxiously up at the night sky. Everything was too flaming bright. They needed the cover of darkness to get across that expanse of lawn unseen. Then, to his relief, heavy black clouds scudded across the moon face and friendly darkness returned.
'Here's where we split into two groups,' whispered Frost. 'Take your lot round the back, Arthur, the rest come with me.' Burton grabbed Frost's arm and pointed. A gleam of light suddenly splashed out of an upstairs window, then a figure in silhouette drew the curtains together and all was black again. 'The bastard's still up,' whispered Frost, 'so let's be extra quiet. Arthur, signal with your torch when you're in position.'
A cold, anxious wait until the torch flashed its signal. Frost jerked his head to the others. 'Let's go.'
The scrunch of their running feet on the gravel drive decided him to veer across the lawn. A mistake. Half-way across, a ring of security lamps suddenly clicked on, flooding the lawn with blinding light. They froze stock still, holding their breath. They had triggered a sensor. Frost could hear his heart drumming away as he looked towards the house, waiting for the shaft of light from the window. Nothing. 'Back to the path,' he hissed. As soon as they left the lawn, the lights went out, leaving them with a brief attack of night blindness. Frost blinked and rubbed his eyes.
An estate car parked by the front door was locked, but the radiator was still warm. It had been driven recently. 'That's not the car that picked her up, guv,' whispered Morgan.
'They'd have swapped cars,' said Frost. He looked up the ivy-covered wall to the upstairs windows where the light had shown. 'That's the room we try first.'
'I reckon I could climb that ivy, guv.' Frost's withering stare was sufficient answer. 'We go in through the front door.' He looked round for Burton who had the pneumatic battering ram. 'Sod the noise, son – it's all speed from now on.' He stood back to give the DC room. The noise was deafening, but at the third blow the woodwork splintered and the door crashed back. Led by Frost they charged down the passage and up the stairs.
The first room they burst into was empty, but a muffled scream sent them hurtling into the next one. Curtains drawn, the room was lit only by the glow from an electric fire. The smell hit Frost, cloying tartish perfume mingled with sweat and stale cigarette smoke. His torch picked out white, naked flesh as he fumbled for the light switch.
On the bed, wide-eyed with terror, a naked woman. Leaning over her, a hand clamping her mouth to silence her cries, a man, also naked, his head twisted round, blinking at the night. Frost snatched the man's hand from the woman's mouth. It wasn't Liz.
'There's no money here,' said the man, trying to keep his voice steady. 'I've called the police. They'll be here any minute.'
'They're here already,' snapped Frost, flashing his warrant card. He went to the door and shouted to the others down the stairs: 'She's not in here. Look everywhere.'
The man grabbed a dressing-gown from a chair and slipped it on. 'Police? What the devil do you want with me?'
'I think you know what we want,' said Frost grimly. He turned to the woman. 'Are you all right, love?'
'I was all right until you bastards came charging in.' She blazed angry eyes at Taffy and pulled a sheet over her naked body. 'Seen enough?' Morgan pretended he had been looking past her at something on the wall and frowned as if he didn't understand what she was getting at.
'Pardon?' he asked.
'Dirty bastard!' she snarled.
Crashes and thuds from below as Hanlon's team joined in the search. The man barged past Frost and glared angrily down the stairs. 'You've smashed the front door in. Someone's going to pay for this!'
Ignoring him, Frost pulled Morgan to one side and nodded towards the angry woman on the bed. 'Is she the one who was driving the cab?'
Morgan shook his head. 'Don't think so, guv -wrong colour hair.'
'Could have been wearing a wig,' muttered Frost.
The man thrust himself between the two detectives. 'Would you mind telling me what this is all about or is it a state secret?'
'You are Mr Gerald Vernon?'
'Yes.'
'And this lady is your wife?'
A slight pause. 'Yes.'
'One of our female officers was abducted tonight. We have reason to believe she is in this house.'
Vernon's stunned surprise looked genuine. 'I don't believe what I'm hearing! Have you gone stark staring mad?'
'Have you been out tonight?' asked Frost.
'Yes.'
'Near the Fenton Road area?'
'Nowhere near the Fenton Road area. If you must know, we've been to the Coconut Grove nightclub.'
'What time did you get there, sir?'
'About ten o'clock.'
'And what time did you leave?'
Vernon consulted his wrist-watch. 'A little after three.'
Frost turned to the woman on the bed. 'Is that correct, Mrs Vernon?' She shot a quick glance at the man before nodding.
'Yes.'
The sound of something falling and smashing made Vernon turn to Frost in fury. 'I hope the police are well insured, Inspector, because whatever damage your ham-fisted, loutish oafs have caused will be added to the extensive claim for damages I intend to make against you.'
Burton came into the bedroom, brushing dust and cobwebs from his coat. 'We've been through all this floor and the loft – nothing!'
He was followed by Sergeant Hanlon whose men had been searching the downstairs and the grounds. 'Nothing down there, Jack.'
Frost's confidence was fast ebbing away. This was their only lead and if it led nowhere, they were left with absolutely nothing, and with time ticking away, they wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of finding Liz alive.
'Inspector!' Collier burst into the bedroom. 'I found this behind the hat-stand.' He held aloft Liz Maud's handbag. Frost's spirits sky-rocketed. He opened it and took out the mobile phone.
With a bellow of rage, Burton hurled himself at Vernon, smashing him against the wall. 'Where is she, you bastard? What have you done with her?'
With difficulty Frost and Collier managed to drag him off, but not before Burton had managed to bloody Vernon's nose. 'Go and check the two cars downstairs,' ordered Frost.
Burton scowled sullenly. 'I've checked them.'
'Then check them again – now!' As Burton slouched out, Frost turned to Vernon who was trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose with a handkerchief. 'I apologize for my colleague's over-enthusiasm, sir.
Like us, he's anxious to know where she is.'
'I don't know where she is,' hissed Vernon, each word making him wince with pain, 'and I don't particularly care. But you are going to pay for this. My God, how you are going to pay…'
Frost waved the handbag. 'When our colleague went missing she was carrying this. So where is she?'
'Why don't you ask him how the handbag came to be here, you bloody bullies?' The woman was shouting at them from the bed.
'All right,' said Frost sweetly. 'How did the handbag come to be in your house, Mr Vernon?'
Vernon folded the blooded handkerchief and stuffed it into his dressing-gown pocket. 'We found it in the road as we were driving home from the Coconut Grove.'
'What time was this?'
'I've already told you – three o'clockish.'
Frost sent Morgan to check this with the night-club, then signalled for Vernon to continue.
'As we turned from Bath Road into the side road, there was this car ahead of us.'
'What sort of car?'
'I only saw the back of it. Darkish, could have been black, nothing special.'
'It was black,' chipped in the woman from the bed. 'Black, one person driving, two in the back.'
Vernon glared at her. 'Do you want to tell this bloody story, or shall I?'
She pouted and stuck her tongue out at him.
'We're driving behind it when she sees something in the road and yells for me to stop. So, being a good citizen, completely unaware that I would be beaten up by the police for my trouble, I stopped and retrieved it.' He jerked a thumb. 'It was that handbag.'
Frost turned to the woman on the bed. 'You spotted it?'
She nodded. 'Yes. I think it came from the car in front of us.'
'You think'? Didn't you see?'
'I wasn't actually looking, but I got the impression it had been chucked out. I wanted Gerry to go after the other car and give it back. He drove ever so fast, but there was no sign of it.'
'I was going to drop it in at the police station in the morning,' said Vernon. He winced and ran his tongue along his mouth. 'I think he's broken one of my teeth.'
'I'm sure he hasn't,' said Frost dismissively, hoping and praying he was right. They were in enough trouble. If Vernon's story checked out and he didn't leave the Coconut Grove until after three, there was no way he could have swapped cars and picked Liz up. Frost looked up hopefully as Morgan returned.
'I've contacted the club, guv. They confirm Mr Vernon didn't leave until just after three.'
'Shit!' said Frost.
'Yes,' said Vernon, smiling malevolently, 'and that is exactly what you've dropped yourself in, Inspector. I'm suing you, and that thug and the Denton police force for malicious damage and criminal assault.'
Where have I heard that before, thought Frost mournfully as he sent the rest of the team back to their cars. He put on his contrite look. 'I appreciate your feelings, sir, but it would be a nice gesture if you could overlook this error of judgement on our part. We were concerned for our colleague.'
Vernon shook his head. 'I don't make nice gestures, officer.'
Frost sighed. 'Fair enough, sir. If you and your lady wife would come down to the station with proofs of identity, we'll get the wheels rolling.'
Vernon frowned. 'Proof of identity?'
'It's just that your good lady wife, flashing her dugs over there, is a dead ringer for one of the high class ladies of the night from the Coconut Grove. I'm sure I'm mistaken, but if she isn't your wife and your real wife finds out…'
Vernon's eyes blazed. 'You bastard!'
'Not such a bastard, sir,' smiled Frost. 'We'll accept your claim for damage to property – we're insured for that – and if it would spare you any embarrassment, I won't query it if you say you were alone in the house when it happened. But I want the assault accusation dropped.'
'You bastard!' repeated Vernon.
Frost beamed. 'All agreed then, sir? Don't bother to come to the door, I'll find my own way out.'
As he closed the front door behind him, the gloom returned, not helped by the weather. The black clouds had opened and rain was bucketing down. Liz Maud was out there somewhere, at the mercy of the serial killer, and he didn't know what the hell to do next.
Screwing his eyes against the stinging smoke drifting from his cigarette, he stared unseeing at the large-scale map on the wall of the incident room. The cigarette tasted hot and bitter, and his head ached from smoking too much, but it was something to do while he waited for an elusive, long absent, flash of inspiration to whisper in his ear, telling him what to do next. A tramp of footsteps as the team he had sent to search the spot where the handbag was found returned. As he feared, they had found nothing, but at least it had given him some respite, some relief against them all sitting staring at him, waiting for him to come up with the magic answer. He was all out of magic answers.
To add to his misery, an angry, all bright and shining Mullett brisked in. 'Four Divisions have men standing by, Inspector, all on overtime to our account, and no-one has told them what to do.'
Frost barely gave him a glance. 'As soon as I know what they can do, I'll tell them,' he snapped. Sod Mullett, sod the budget and sod everyone.
Mullett glared and stamped out.
Frost turned to the wall map and studied it closely, scratching his chin in thought. 'The bag with the phone was found here.' A nicotined finger marked the spot. 'Vernon slows down, unclicks his seat belt, gets out and picks it up. Back to the car, a quick nose in the bag, seat belt back on and away. That should take him what – thirty seconds?'
Burton shrugged. 'Depends how quickly he did it.'
'Of course it does,' said Frost, 'but he's got a hot bit of choice nooky in the car and he wants to get his leg over, so he's not going to dawdle. She wants him to go after the other car, so he puts his foot down – the foot on the end of the leg he wants to get over. He drives like the clappers, but no sign of the other motor.' Back to the map. 'Once you get round the bend here, the road runs straight as a die. You should be able to see the rear lights of the other car for miles.'
'What are you getting at?' asked Hanlon.
'If he didn't see it or overtake it, the other car must have turned off down one of the side lanes.' He indicated them on the map.
'There's a hell of a lot of them,' said Burton.
'But if it was out of sight before Vernon turns the bend, then it's got to be one of the early ones otherwise Vernon would have seen it.' He pointed this out on the map as they crowded round. 'This gives us three side road possibilities. This one, which leads to those farms and smallholdings where old mother Nelly Nipples lives. This one, which ends up at the new estate, or this one which goes through to the factory area. I'm going to call in all our resources from other Divisions and saturate these three areas, house-to-house, the lot.'
Burton, leaning over his shoulder to study the map, was doubtful. 'If he took the road to the factory area' he could have gone straight through and out on to the Bath Road at the back and be miles away by now.'
'He was on the Bath Road to start with, son. If he'd wanted it, he wouldn't have come off it in the first place.' Burton was beginning to get on his nerves. Maybe this wouldn't work, but it was all they had. 'We're going to have to get people out of bed and search their premises. They're not going to be very pleased. Lie to them if you like and tell them it's a three-year-old kid we're looking for – they might be more helpful than if we said it was a police officer. And if they still refuse to let you in to search, tell them that under the 1997 Police Act you have unlimited powers of entry and if they resist they will be arrested and charged.'
'What Police Act is that?' Jordan asked.
'Any bloody Police Act you like,' said Frost. 'It doesn't exist. If that doesn't work, knee them one in the groin and go in anyway. I'll carry the can for any come-backs. If you knock and get no reply, smell gas and break in. I want every single property searched.'
'It could take hours,' said Burton.
'Then don't hang about,' said Frost. He picked up the phone and told Bill Wells to call in the other Divisions. 'Of course it's authorized by Mr Mullett, but whatever you do, don't bloody tell him.'
The lorry that passed them was travelling at speed down the wrong side of the road to overtake. Frost's convoy of four cars had turned the bend, just past the point where Vernon found the handbag, and the dead straight stretch of road was ahead of them. Frost watched the rear lights of the lorry dwindle to pinpricks of red, but still clearly visible. Vernon was right.
If the cab had stayed on the road, he would have seen its rear lights. It was the lorry driver's lucky night, speeding on the wrong side of the road past four carloads of coppers and getting away with it. Then he blinked. The red lights suddenly disappeared then, after a brief pause, appeared again. He went cold. Shit! He should have realized. As the map showed, the road went dead straight, but it also went up and down. Was that why Vernon didn't see the cab? Perhaps it hadn't turned off one of the three side roads he was going to search after all. It could have taken any of the many other side roads further ahead. He shot a quick look at Burton who was driving the car, but he hadn't given the lorry more than a passing glance. Frost's brain churned. They didn't have enough men to search all the possible side lanes. Right or wrong, he'd have to stick to his original plan and concentrate on the three nearest, but all the optimism he had when they set out had now evaporated.
They parked on a piece of scrubland and huddled round the inspector, coat collars up, getting drenched in the heavy, thudding rain. Even the weather was conspiring against him.
The area they were to search was bleak and remote with isolated ramshackle houses and bungalows, some empty and decaying, a few smallholdings and a couple of farms struggling to survive. In the distance, silhouetted against the night sky, they could see the house where old Nelly Aldridge lived with her idiot son. Not much point searching there but just to be thorough they'd give it a going-over after everywhere else had been covered.
'We look everywhere, houses, barns, sheds, the lot. When you've searched, radio Sergeant Hanlon and he'll tick it off on the map to make sure we don't miss anywhere. Start with the most likely – places with a good access for a car. He's going to have to drive his victim right up to the door not drag her half a mile up a hill. Off you go, and good luck!'
Frost, accompanied by PC Collier, began a search of some deserted farm buildings, all rusting corrugated iron, rancid hay and oily puddles. He had a feeling of having been here before, then remembered he had – when they were searching for the missing Vicky Stuart. Rain trickling down his neck, he shone his torch through a shattered window – broken floorboards, rotting rubbish and the scurrying and squealing of rats. He moved away. He couldn't see their killer bringing his victims here.
His radio called him. PC Collier from the rear of the farmhouse reoporting signs that someone had been in there recently. Collier met him outside and took him into a room, pointing out a dirty mattress, some empty bottles and cans, and the remains of a fire in the grate. Frost shook his head. 'Some tramp's been using it. Have you checked upstairs?'
Collier nodded. 'Nothing. The rain's pouring in through the roof.'
Frost wrinkled his nose. The tramp had been using the corner of the room as his toilet. 'Hardly a love nest, is it, son? More like a sewage worker's beano site. Let's get out of here… and mind where you tread.'
As they were leaving, a radio call from Jordan: 'At a house now, Inspector. We've been hammering at the door. A dog's barking inside, but no-one answers.'
'Kick it in,' Frost told him. 'I reckon there's drugs on the premises.'
And then reports started coming in thick and fast, all negative, intensifying his doubts that they were looking in the wrong area, but, right or wrong, he was committed.
His radio called him again. Yet another negative report. He poked a cigarette in his mouth and surveyed the area. Through a solid curtain of rain lights from dozens of torches bobbed in the dark. Anyone looking out would know the police were in the vicinity, but they couldn't search blind. The cigarette was sodden and wouldn't light. As he hurled it away another radio call, this time from Burton, sounding excited: 'Might be on to something Inspector. I'm at a bungalow at the foot of the rise, talking to a Mrs Jessop. She reckons she often hears a car, very late at night, coming from that smallholding on the top of the hill.'
'What does she mean by "very late"? Some of these old dears go to bed at six.'
'She doesn't sleep well. Says the car wakes her up as it goes past her place. About two o'clockish or thereabouts, she says.'
'Did she hear it tonight?'
'No, she took a sleeping tablet, but she's definite about the other nights. Do you want to talk to her?'
'No time for that, son. We go straight to the smallholding. Meet me outside.' He radioed for Morgan and Jordan to join him. They followed him up the steep hill. No chance of a stealthy approach. The whine of their engines straining up the steep rutted slope would waken the dead.
The smallholding was a collection of ramshackle structures around a two-storeyed house. Outside the main building a black car was parked and a light gleamed through curtains from a downstairs room. Surveying it, Frost felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. This was it. This was bloody it.
As they squelched to a halt by the front door, Frost clambered out and ran over to the car, a black Ford, the windows wound down and the driver's door wide open. He stuck his nose inside and sniffed for traces of the pungent perfume Liz had been wearing. All he could smell was carbolic disinfectant. He checked the number plates. Not the ones Taffy had noted, but too much to expect the false plates still to be there. He rejoined the others and pounded at the front door with his fist. They waited. Nothing. Frost gave the door handle a tentative turn and, to his surprise, the door swung open. Collier was sent round to the back, while Frost and the other three entered the house.
They stepped into a long passage. Frost jerked a thumb to Burton and Jordan. 'Upstairs.' He and Morgan followed the passage to a large, stone-flagged kitchen where a cream-coloured Aga stove belted out heat. A long wooden-topped table was laid out for breakfast with bowls and cups. In front of the Aga a grey and black tabby cat in a wicker cat basket gave them bemused looks while her six tiny kittens, eyes still not open, suckled noisily. A peaceful, innocent domestic scene.
'I think we're on the wrong track, guv,' said Morgan.
'You can be a bastard and still like animals,' said Frost, although his frail certainty was now wavering. 'Hitler had a dog and Mullett's got a cat.' He opened the back door to let Collier in, then they checked all the downstairs rooms. All neat and tidy. Footsteps from above as Burton and Jordan returned.
'Nothing,' reported Burton. 'One double bed, but it hasn't been slept in.'
'So where are the people who live here?' asked Frost. 'Let's try the outbuildings.'
They split up, Morgan and Frost going to a wooden-walled structure with a corrugated iron roof. Pitch dark inside, but over the drumming of the rain they could hear rustling. Someone was inside. Frost fumbled round the door frame and found a light switch. Some twenty cats in cages blinked angrily at him. His heart did a somersault and he shivered, but not from the cold. Deja vu again. Cats, and that smell!
Old Martha Wendle's cottage all those years ago when eight-year-old Tracey Uphill went missing.
'You all right, guv?' asked Morgan.
'Yes,' lied Frost, shaking off the memory. Tracey was dead when they found her.
A quick look round. Metal cupboards filled with tins of cat food and bags of cat litter. Nothing else.
On to the next building, a windowless barn-like structure. Frost stiffened and held up a finger for silence. The murmur of voices from inside. Carefully, he turned the door handle and gently opened the door. Inside, about half-way down, a hurricane lamp lit up two figures wearing oilskins, their backs to him. They were bending over something on the straw-lined floor, something whimpering in pain. He charged towards them. 'Stay where you are. Police!'
A squeal of alarm as they spun round. Two women looking terrified. Both were in their mid-fifties, one quite fat with uncombed dark hair, the other thin and sharp-featured.
'Police!' said Frost again, trying to find his warrant card. Morgan got his out first and flashed it in front of their faces. They blinked at it, not understanding.
Another whimper from the floor. Frost pushed them aside. On a bed of straw, a red setter, body heaving and shaking, tongue lolling, whites of eyes showing.
'She's in labour,' the thin woman explained. 'There's a blockage there, or something. We're very worried about her.' She blinked again at the warrant card. 'But why are you here?'
Frost quickly explained about Liz. 'We're searching everywhere in this area.'
The two women seemed genuinely concerned. 'How dreadful,' exclaimed the fat woman. 'She can't be here, Inspector. We've been up all night with the dog and we'd have heard a car. But please search anywhere you like – anywhere.' The dog whimpered again. 'We've got to get the vet,' said the thin woman. 'Can one of your policemen carry her to the house?'
Frost nodded to Morgan who bent and gently humped up the dog. As soon as the two women had left Frost called the rest of his team over. 'I've got one of my feelings. Get some more men in and give this place a right going-over. She could be alive, she could be dead, so look everywhere.' Burton and Collier were detailed to accompany him back to the house. I'll keep Little and Large talking while you search every nook and cranny.'
He slumped down in the chair alongside the Aga, the dog, eyes closed, panting heavily, in a basket at his feet. He ruffled its fur and watched the thin woman ring the vet's emergency number on a mobile phone, letting the Aga bake dry his sodden clothes.
'He's out on another call, Mavis, a calving, but he'll phone back when he's finished so we can take Jessie straight to his surgery. He thinks he'll have to do a Caesarean.'
Mavis, the fat one, looked worried. 'I hope the calving doesn't take long, Lily.' She shuffled over to the sink and filled a brown enamel kettle, stepping carefully over the cat's basket to plonk it on the Aga. 'Would you like a cup of tea, Inspector?'
'If you twist my arm,' yawned Frost, loosening his scarf. The heat was making him sleepy. He nodded at the mobile. 'Aren't you on the phone?'
'The phone company quoted over a thousand pounds to run a line up here and the electricity people wanted double,' Lily told him. 'We haven't got that sort of money, so it has to be the mobile.'
'We look after cats for the Cats' Defence League,' added her companion. 'So a phone is vital.' She frowned at the noise of dragged furniture coming from above. 'You surely don't think she is in this house?'
'Not really,' smiled Frost. 'But we have to search everywhere, just to be thorough.' They each took one of his offered cigarettes. He lit up. 'One of your neighbours mentioned she often hears your car late at night.'
'Oh dear,' said Mavis, sounding very concerned. 'I hope we don't wake her up. We're always having to dash off to the vet's. Animals seem to have a habit of being taken ill in the middle of the night.' She slurped milk into the cups, the cigarette dangling from her lips. Frost's eyes narrowed. He had seen her somewhere before. She bent and poured milk into the cat's saucer. The cat eyed it blearily and decided she would leave it until later.
'All the doors and windows of your car were wide open as we drove up,' said Frost.
Mavis smiled and nodded. 'One of the cats made a mess inside it. I'm hoping the smell has gone by now.'
An explanation for everything, thought Frost, then suddenly his see-sawing spirits soared. He remembered where he had seen the fat woman before.
Their mobile phone chirruped. Mavis snatched it up. 'The vet,' she told the thin woman. 'On his way to the surgery now. He wants us to bring the dog over.'
I'll get someone to go with you,' said Frost. They protested that it wasn't necessary, but he insisted. He called Burton down and drew him to one side. 'Go with them to the vet's. Don't let them out of your sight for a second and bring them straight back. I'll explain later.'
He saw them out to the car, then dashed back to the house just as Detective Sergeant Hanlon returned from searching the outhouses. 'Nothing, Jack, not a sniff.'
'Then we'll just have to sniff a bit harder, Arthur. Bring in everyone – pull them off what they're doing. I want every inch searched again. She's here, alive or dead – Liz is here, I'm bloody certain!'
Hanlon stared at him. 'How can you be so sure?'
'That fat tart. She works in the control room of Denton Minicabs. Left her old man to live with her lady lover – that'll be skinny Lizzy. I spoke to her at Denton Minicabs, told her what we were investigating, but she never said a word about it today. She was hoping I wouldn't recognize her until they got Liz out of the way.' He turned to Morgan. 'Could Fatty Arbuckle have been driving the cab that picked Liz up?'
'Could have been, guv. I didn't really get a proper look.'
'It was her, I'd stake my last packet of fags on it. They said they would have heard a car if it came to dump Liz, but we come straining up the hill in two motors making one hell of a row, and they pretend to be taken by surprise. They'd seen the torches, they couldn't miss them from up here, and the fat tart would have recognized Liz. They knew we were coming. They were ready for us.' He rubbed his hands together briskly. Action, this was what he liked, action. 'Get everyone in, Arthur. We are now going to search on the basis that Liz is definitely here and we are definitely going to find her. Pull out cupboards, rip up floorboards, sieve the cats' flaming litter trays, never mind the damage, just find her.'
He watched for a while in the pouring rain as the teams went through the outhouses and sheds, then returned to the dryness and warmth of the house, getting in everyone's way as he mooched around. Back to the kitchen where he swilled down his mug of tea, watched by the nursing cat with its sleeping kittens.
The all too familiar negative reports rattled in, non-stop: nothing… nothing… nothing… His gloom returned. She was here, he knew she was here, but what was the bloody good of knowing if they couldn't find her? Then he went cold. Up against the wall, near the sink, draped with a cloth and stacked with crockery as if it was a table, a large chest freezer, amply big enough to hold a woman's body. He piled the crockery in the sink and tried to lift the lid. Shit! It was locked. A tuppenny-ha'penny lock, but none of his skeleton keys worked. There was a poker by the Aga. Leaning over the cat, he snatched it up and levered off the lock, taking a deep breath before raising the lid, then forcing himself to look inside. Fish, meat, loaves of bread. No body. He let the lid drop with a thud, not knowing whether to feel relieved or dejected. He sank back in the chair and stared through the window to the night sky. Already daylight was scratching at the edges. He was sucking moodily on his fifth cigarette when Hanlon returned, looking as tired and dejected as Frost. 'We've torn the place apart, Jack. She isn't here.'
Frost scrubbed weariness from his face with his hands. 'I've sodded it up again, Arthur. We've been wasting our time, looking in the wrong place.'
'It was our best shot, Jack.'
'Which missed the bleeding target by miles.' Wearily, he pushed himself out of the chair. 'Nothing to do now but wait until someone reports finding a body.' His mobile rang. His heart skipped a beat. Good news? Bad news? It was Mullett asking, 'What progress?'
'None,' reported Frost. 'Not a sodding thing.' He clicked Mullett off in mid-moan and dropped the phone back in his pocket, now feeling almost suicidal. Another death on his conscience. Well, he'd give Mullett the treat of his life when he got back to the station, his resignation with immediate effect.
Hanlon sensed his mood. 'You did your best, Jack. You couldn't have done more.'
'I let it happen, Arthur. If that's doing my best, I'm bleeding useless.' Shoulders slumped, he made his way outside where the rain-soaked teams were assembled, waiting for his further instructions. He was about to send them all home when he stopped dead in his tracks and clapped a hand to his forehead. 'What a bloody, bloody fool! The generator!'
Blank expressions.
'They're not on mains electricity, yet they've got a fridge, a deep freeze, lights. They must have a generator. Did anyone find it?'
Heads were shaken. 'We looked everywhere,' said Hanlon.
'We couldn't have looked everywhere. You can't make electricity out of thin air. There's got to be a generator.' He stared upwards. No overhead power lines. 'It's got to be inside the house.'
They followed him back into the kitchen where the mother cat yawned annoyance at having her sleep disturbed yet again. He looked around. 'Where the hell is it?' As he spoke the thermostat on the deep freeze clicked and the motor started to hum. 'Switch that thing off and listen. If there's a generator we should be able to hear it.'
Morgan clicked the switch. The humming stopped. They strained their ears. Silence broken only by the mewing of one of the kittens. Hanlon shook his head. 'Can't hear anything, Jack.'
Morgan dropped to his knees and pressed his ear to the stone-flagged floor. 'I can!' he called excitedly. 'It's coming from underneath.' Frost joined him. He could hear it too. A low, throbbing sound just about audible through the thick slabs. 'There must be a cellar!'
Frost straightened up, eyes darting round the kitchen, stopping at the cat and its offspring in the basket, bang in front of the Aga. He remembered fat Mavis stepping over it with the kettle. 'If I had a cat with kittens, I think I'd stick the basket in that recess alongside the stove, not bang in front of it where I'd have to step over it every time.' He tugged at the folded blanket on which the basket rested, sliding it, with the cat and kittens, to one side. 'Bingo!' The blanket had been covering a wooden trap door. Morgan heaved it open. Wooden steps led down to darkness. Frost fumbled and found a light switch.
A large cellar stretching the length of the kitchen. In one corner a diesel-powered generator throbbed away. Up against one wall was a single bed with a mattress and pillow. Frost sniffed the pillow. Perfume. Liz's perfume. She had been here, on this bed. He thudded up the wooden steps and yelled to the men outside. 'She's been here… search again.'
She had to be somewhere near. The two women would have spotted the police teams crashing about and would have had to get Liz out of the house quickly. She had to be within walking distance, but there was no trace of her.
'We need those two cows back here now!' said Frost, but before he could radio Burton headlights and the sound of a car straining up the hill. Burton and the two women returning.
He waited in the kitchen. Burton was in first, humping in an exhausted-looking red setter bitch in its basket. 'Mother and kids doing fine,' he announced proudly. Behind him the two women, beaming all over their faces, carried in a large cardboard box which they lowered gently to the floor. Frost looked down on five newly born red setter puppies. 'Panic over,' smiled Lily. 'Jessie didn't need a Caesarean after all.' The smile abruptly froze on her face. With his foot, Frost was slowly pushing the cat's basket to one side. The two women watched as if hypnotized.
'We've found the cellar,' said Frost grimly.
The thin woman shot a warning glance to Mavis, clicked her smile back on and turned to Burton. 'Put the basket there, please.' She indicated the recess by the Aga. 'They must be kept warm.'
'I said we've found the cellar,' repeated Frost.
The two women busied themselves putting the puppies in the basket with their mother. 'There's nothing down there,' said Mavis, in a matter-of-fact voice. 'Just a spare bed and the generator. No-one could have got down there without our knowledge.' She held out a puppy to Frost. 'Isn't he a little darling?'
'Don't sod me about,' snapped Frost. 'Where is the woman police officer you brought here tonight?'
Mavis gave him a look of puzzled innocence. 'We haven't been out at all tonight, Inspector. How could we pick anyone up?'
'You're a lying bitch!' snapped Frost.
The thin woman came forward. 'Inspector, I appreciate you are concerned about your colleague, but you are wrong if you think she is here. We know nothing about her, I give you my word!'
The word of a bitch who tortures and kills, thought Frost. We've searched everywhere, so where the hell is she? He creased his face in thought. The women would have spotted the search party and had to get Liz out of the house bloody quickly. Where could they hide her? And then it hit him. 'Of course,' he exclaimed. 'Of bloody course!' The one place they hadn't looked and it was so flaming obvious. The boot of the car. What a prat he was. The car doors had been left wide open and he hadn't thought of looking in the boot! He held out his hand. 'Your car keys, please.'
Mavis nestled the puppy next to its mother, then dug deep in her coat pocket. Frost hurried out with the keys, but didn't like the relieved look which had returned to both the women's faces.
The boot was empty.
He was now at the brink of utter despair. Back to the house. 'Where is she?' he shouted.
Mavis shook her head and gave him a pitying smile. 'I'm afraid we don't know, Inspector.'
Frost tugged Burton to one side. 'Did you let either of them out of your sight even for a bloody second when you went to the vet's with them?'
'No,' said Burton.
Frost raised his head and swore bitterly at the ceiling. 'Shit, shit, shit. Tell me exactly what happened.'
'We drove to the vet's-'
'Who drove?'
'The skinny bird. I was in the back with Fatty and the dog. When we got to the surgery, the lights were on inside and the main door was open. It was peeing with rain, so she drove the car right up to the surgery door. I humped the dog out, the fat one came in the vet's with me while the other woman parked the car.'
Frost's eyes glinted. 'She parked the car? Where?'
'The parking area just round the back of the surgery.'
'She'd have to walk back through the peeing rain. Why didn't she leave the car where it was?'
Burton frowned. 'I don't know. I was more concerned with getting the dog inside. But she was only out of my sight for a minute or so.'
'That's all she'd flaming well need to drag Liz out of the boot, hide her somewhere and when we'd left, go back and pick her up again.'
Burton stared at him. 'Do you think she's still alive?'
'I hope so, son, I bloody hope so.'
He quickly briefed the others, then jerked a thumb at the two women. 'You're coming with us.'
Mavis looked concerned. 'Jessie-' she began.
Frost nodded at Collier. 'The constable will look after the dog.'
He hustled them into his car where they sat pressed together in the back seat gripping the armrests tightly as Morgan drove at speed down the bumpy incline. The car lurched and juddered, rain hammering on the roof, the windscreen wipers squealing as they tried to cope with the downpour.
At the vet's, now in darkness, Morgan swung the car into the rear car-park and braked violently. He and Frost were out, shoulders hunched against the driving rain as the following cars skidded to a halt behind them.
Frost opened the passenger door and leant in. The two women smiled up at him, seemingly not in the least concerned. 'We're going to find her anyway, so why not speed things up and tell us where she is?'
Mavis oozed with sincere concern. 'If we knew, Inspector, don't you think we would say?'
He slammed the car door and turned to meet the others.
'Where do we start?' asked Burton.
He surveyed the empty expanse of car-park, putting himself in the place of the skinny woman who would have been frantically searching for somewhere to hide the body in the boot. There weren't many places. His eyes fastened on the row of dustbins and large metal rubbish containers stacked along the rear of the surgery. 'Try over there.'
Much activity. Jordan and Simms managed to clamber up and get inside one of the large containers which held a mass of black plastic sacks, too small for a woman's body. They ripped a couple open. Dead animals for disposal. They climbed out, shaking their heads.
He'd got it wrong. He'd got it bloody wrong again. He tried to conceal the surge of panic building up inside. From the car the two women watched impassively. 'She's got to be somewhere near,' he said. 'That skinny bitch couldn't have carried her far.'
'Assuming she was here in the first place,' muttered Burton, voicing the unspoken opinion of most of the team. Like so many of Frost's hunches this was going to prove a disastrous waste of time.
The rain showed no signs of easing up. Frost's scarf, a sodden mass around his neck, added to his mood of misery and depression. He screwed his eyes against the stinging rain and took one last look around. Then he smiled. 'We've been too flaming clever. The skinny bitch wouldn't have had the strength, nor the time, to hump her up to those bins. She'd just drag Liz out of the boot and dump her.' He pointed to the long wet straggling grass just beyond the low, chain link fence forming the perimeter of the car-park. 'She's over there.'
No-one had any confidence in him any more. They slouched across and did a half-hearted search. It was Jordan, yelling and waving frantically, who found her. 'Over here!' He was shuffling off his greatcoat to cover her as they reached him.
She was naked, rain-soaked, blue with cold and not moving. Her wrists and ankles were bound with wire and a gag bit deeply into her mouth. There were angry red marks on her stomach – cigarette burns. Next to her was a plastic carrier bag. A quick look inside revealed Liz's clothing and other objects. Frost dropped to his knees in the muddy ground and felt for a pulse. He could have cried with relief. She was still alive. His penknife sawed through the wire and cut the binding to the gag as Jordan swaddled her in his greatcoat.
'Get her in the car,' ordered Frost. 'We'll take her straight to the hospital.'
They went in Burton's car, their clothes steaming with the heating turned up full and Polly Fletcher vigorously massaging ice cold limbs to try and restore the circulation. The sudden jolt of the car hitting a pot-hole made Liz's eyes snap open. She looked from side to side in terror. 'It's all right, love,' soothed Frost. 'You're safe. We're taking you to hospital.' She stared at him, then shook her head violently, muttering something he had to bend his head closer to hear. 'What was that, love?'
Her teeth were chattering as she forced the words out. 'I don't want to go to hospital.'
The WPG patted her arm. 'We want the doctor to examine you.'
'No.' She struggled to sit up. 'I don't want to go to hospital. I don't want to be examined.' Near hysterical, she leant over and tried to reach the door handle. Her voice was shrill and insistent. 'Stop the car. I'm not going to the hospital.'
'All right, all right,' murmured Frost, gently restraining her. 'What do you want to do?'
'I want to get back home. I want a shower. I want to get clean…'
'All right,' nodded Frost. 'If that's what you want.' To Burton he said: 'Take her home, son, take her home.'
From the canteen above the murder incident room came sounds of drunken singing, thuds and the glass shattering, almost a replay of the night the coachload of drunken football supporters had been brought in. The teams were celebrating the successful outcome of the search and the solving of the serial murders. Frost had looked in briefly just to show willing, but was in no mood to celebrate.
He put the plastic carrier bag on a desk and took out the tom's clothes Liz had been wearing, then removed the other items. A coil of wire identical to that used to bind all the victims, a roll of adhesive tape, a thin cane still wet with blood, and at the bottom of the bag, a large dildo. 'Bloody hell,' muttered Frost. 'No wonder we thought a man was involved.'
He was disturbed by Mullett, who frowned at the noise from above. 'They're not still on overtime, are they?'
'No,' lied Frost. Sod it, he had completely forgotten to book them out. Trust this to be the first thing Hornrim Harry would think of.
Mullett gaped at the dildo. 'What on earth is that?'
'Don't touch it, Super,' warned Frost. 'You don't know where it's been.'
He quickly explained as Mullett, the puritan, went scarlet and backed away in disgust. 'Nasty business. What's the position with the prisoners?'
'They won't say a word until their solicitor gets here, but Forensic are digging up so much evidence from that cellar, we won't need a confession.'
Mullett remembered what should have been his first query. 'And how is Detective Sergeant Maud?'
'Bearing up, but badly shaken,' said Frost.
'What did they do to her?'
Frost looked at the contents of the carrier bag and shuddered. 'She won't say.'
Mullett frowned. 'Won't say? Don't be ridiculous. We need her statement.'
'We can get a conviction without it.'
'We need to tell the court how we got on to the two women, why we arrested them. She will have to give evidence.'
Frost rubbed his chin and yawned. God, he was tired. I'll try and persuade her.'
'Tell her it's an order,' barked Mullett.
Frost reached for his wet scarf. 'Like I said, Super, I'll try and persuade her.'
It was Burton who opened the door to Frost's knock. 'She's showering,' he said.
Frost followed him into the tiny living-room with the electric fire glowing. He flopped into an armchair. 'How is she?'
Burton shrugged. 'Very uptight. She doesn't want to talk about it.'
'Did she say what happened in the cab?'
'The skinny one was driving. The fat tart was sitting in the back. Skinny says, "You don't mind sharing, do you, love?" Liz smelt a rat, but she knew Morgan was tailing her, so she didn't worry. Next thing she knows, Fatty has a knife to her throat and Morgan is nowhere to be seen. Later she tried to get to her handbag and the phone, but they chucked it out.'
'Mullett says we need Liz's evidence.'
A door clicked open and Liz, in a white bathrobe, glowing from the hot shower, came in, damp hair flowing down her back. Frost gave her a sympathetic nod as she pulled a chair nearer to the fire and sat down. 'We're going to need a statement.'
She shook her head. 'I don't want to talk about it.'
'What did they do to you, love?'
Her eyes spat fire. 'I don't want to talk about it, subject closed.' She hissed the words through clenched teeth.
'We need your evidence.'
'If you think I'm standing up in court and saying what those bitches did to me, then having to face the sniggers back at the station…' She stared down at the carpet. She was shaking violently. I'm not returning to duty. I'm leaving the force.'
'No,' said Frost, firmly. 'We need you. You're a bloody good cop.'
'And look where it's got me.' She was on the verge of tears.
'I know,' said Frost gently. 'It's not been a ball of laughs, has it?' He tugged out his cigarettes. She took one and sucked the smoke down hungrily. I'm the one who sodded it up, love. I'm the one who should be leaving. The only thing stopping me resigning is the joy I know it will bring to Mr Mullett.'
She forced a smile and knuckled her eyes. 'I'm sorry, but I am not going into the box to tell the world what those bitches did to me.'
Frost dribbled smoke through his nose. 'Tell you what, let's bend the facts a little. They pick you up, they bundle you into the house, but before they could do anything, we arrive so they bung you back in the boot and dump you off behind the vet's. You weren't examined medically so no-one can dispute it and those two cows are going to keep their mouths shut.'
She studied the glowing end of her cigarette. I'll think about it.'
'I'll get a statement typed out. All you need do is come in tomorrow and sign it.'
I'll think about it,' she repeated.
Frost grinned happily. He knew she would do it.
Coda
Frost stared out of the window. Snow, driven by a blustery wind, had coated the car-park in white and from the state of the sky there was a lot more to come down. He didn't want to venture outside in such weather but he and Morgan had been ordered to attend the coroner's inquest and he had been warned that the solicitor for Weaver's family was after his blood. Also, he had been tipped off that the London press would be there in force to witness the humiliation of an officer who had hounded an innocent man to his death.
He went back to his desk and yet again studied the transcript of the last interview he had with Weaver, the one they were going to read out in court.
FROST (Showing photograph): Recognize her? That's how we found her. Were her eyes open like that when you raped the poor little cow? Seven years old, you bastard – seven years old.
WEAVER: You're trying to incriminate me. You want a suspect, so you're framing me.
FROST: Did you give her one of your green sweets first? 'Here little girl, have a sweetie while nice Uncle Charlie rapes you then chokes the bloody life out of you'?
WEAVER (Sound of sobbing): You framed me. You planted that body… you… (Sounds of choking: asthma attack brought on by questioning)
He was aware of Morgan's chin digging into his shoulder as the DC read the transcript with him. 'Doesn't read too good, does it, guv?' said Morgan. 'Perhaps you did push him that bit too hard?'
'Thanks, Taff,' grunted Frost, pushing the transcript back in its folder. 'You've cheered me up no end.' He was missing something, but what the hell was it?
I'll still change my evidence if you like, guv,' Morgan offered. 'I owe you more than one. I'll say I never searched that shed in the first place.'
'No thanks,' muttered Frost. He was thumbing through the file and had come across Mrs Weaver's death certificate with brief details of her illness, which had been requested from the hospital by the Police Federation's lawyer in case the family's solicitor tried to suggest that the mother's death was hastened by Weaver's suicide. Something on the death certificate screamed at him. He pulled it out to study it more closely, then leant back in his chair and smiled. 'Who's a silly sod?'
'Me?' answered Morgan, cheerfully.
'Apart from you, Taff. Me! I'm the silly sod.' He tossed the death certificate over. 'Look at the address.' 'Danes Cottage, Fern Lane, Denton,' read Morgan. He frowned. 'They've got it wrong, guv. She lived with Weaver in Argylle Street.'
'She only moved in with him when she was taken ill, Taff. She had her own place. I should have bloody realized.'
'I don't see the point,' said Morgan.
'I'll tell you the point,' said Frost. 'When I told Weaver we'd found Jenny's body, he didn't ask where. He just started screaming and shouting that we'd planted her body to frame him.'
'Perhaps I'm a bit thick, guv…?'
'There's no "perhaps" about it, Taff. Weaver didn't ask where we found it, because he assumed we'd found it where he'd left it. He accused us of planting it because he had left it in a place that would point the finger straight back at him.'
Morgan's eyes widened as the light dawned. 'You mean his mother's place?'
'Yes. No wonder we found no evidence in Argylle Street.'
'Then who moved it?'
'I'm not sure,' said Frost, 'but I've got a bloody good idea…'
His windscreen wipers had cleared a hole through the snow-plastered glass. It was still snowing heavily and everything was blanketed in white. Danes Cottage with its lop-sided 'For Sale' sign was the only property in Fern Lane. A brown estate car was parked outside.
He scrunched over thick snow to the front door and knocked. He hadn't expected anyone to be inside, and had been prepared to smash a window if necessary.
The door was opened by an old woman. Mrs Maisie White, little Charlie boy's Aunt Maisie. At first she appeared disconcerted, then resigned, to see the inspector. She knew why he had come. 'You've left it too late,' she told him.
He stepped inside. The place had been stripped bare. Furniture removed, carpeting taken up, floorboards swept and scrubbed clean. She followed him as he wandered from empty room to empty room, no lampshades, no curtains, nothing. In the kitchen a large chest freezer stood alone and forlorn. He lifted the lid and looked inside. It had been defrosted and it, too, was empty.
'You've done a bloody good job of removing all the evidence,' he told the woman. 'Where did you find the kid's body?'
It took a long time for her to reply. 'Upstairs,' she said at last, leading him up the stairs to a curtainless room. 'In here.' She stood by the door. 'This was his mother's bedroom. If she knew what her darling son had been doing…' She shook her head. 'Charlie was her little angel, he could do no wrong.' She walked into the room and shivered. 'That poor little mite.' She closed her eyes and screwed up her face. 'The terrible things he had done to her!'
'Why did you cover up for him?' asked Frost.
'I always covered up for him,' she said. 'It would have broken his mother's heart if she knew what he was really like. There were photographs… filthy photographs… Charlie and children…'
'Where are they?'
'I burnt them.'
'And you sent the anonymous letter with the button?'
'Yes.'
Now Frost was shivering as he looked round the room where Jenny and Vicky had spent the last few terrible moments of their short lives. 'I want you to come back to the station with me and make a statement.'
She shook her head firmly. 'No. I told you for your own peace of mind, Inspector Frost, but I'm not making any statements. I shall deny everything I've told you.'
'Why?' asked Frost. 'Charlie's dead, his mother's dead.'
I'm not bringing shame on the family.'
'Sod the family! In half an hour's time I'm going to be pilloried in the coroner's court for hounding an innocent man to death. I could be kicked out of the force.'
She lowered her head. I'm sorry, Inspector, but that is how it has got to be.'
Frost stared at her. She raised her head and stared back, lips tight and determined. She wasn't going to change her mind. Without her statement and without a scrap of evidence in support, he had nothing.
'All right,' he said bitterly. He was about to go when he saw it. On the window ledge, the window ledge of the room where she had found Jenny's body. A toilet roll. He walked across and picked it up. Nearly new, just a few sheets torn off. He smiled. 'On the other hand,' he said cheerfully.
Outside it was now blowing a blizzard. He was going to be very late for the inquest. But he didn't care.