He was back on the edge of the desk in the murder incident room listening glumly to the string of negative reports from his team. After a day of knocking on doors, making inquiries, they were still unable to put a name to the dead girl. She had paid the first quarter's rent in cash, so the letting agents didn't bother taking up references. The name she had given them was Jane Smith but there was no Jane Smith at the address she provided, which turned out to be a newsagent's. Registration numbers of cars still parked in the vicinity of Clayton Street had turned up nothing that would help: the only registered women owners were in their sixties. The few prostitutes who had staggered from bed to answer the hammering at their doors knew little of the dead girl except she was fairly new on the game and didn't seem to have a pimp and kept encroaching on other girls' territories.
Frost's eyes gleamed up at this last piece of information. 'Follow that through,' he told Hanlon. 'If she encroached on another girl's patch, a pimp might have tried some heavy stuff to warn her off and it went too far.' His eyes travelled round the room. His team all looked tired; the tiredness that comes from working bloody hard and getting nowhere. 'I'm afraid you're all having to go out again tonight when the girls are all out working. Some of those who didn't answer the door this morning might know something.' He yawned. 'Until then, I suggest we all go home and get some kip.'
He stifled another yawn as he watched them file out. He could do with a spot of kip himself. The phone rang and the WPG in the corner answered it. 'Forensic, Inspector,' she called. 'Got some news for you on that skeleton.'
'Can it wait?' he asked, winding his scarf round his neck and edging towards the door.
'They say no.'
'Tell them I said "sod them" and I'll look in on my way home.' As he walked out to his car, shivering in the cold, he wondered where Liz Maud, his partner in the investigation, had got to.
Liz was back in her flat, finishing a phone conversation with the abortion clinic in London – a clinic well away from the prying ears and eyes of Denton Division. They would admit her tomorrow afternoon for an operation to be carried out the following day. All being well, they assured her, she should be back at work within a week. She gave them her credit card details and made the appointment.
Frost mooched into the Forensic lab, all white tiles and stainless steel, ignoring scowls from Harding, the senior technician, who was showing disapproval of the cigarette dangling from the inspector's lips. Frost grunted at the array of bones laid out on the table in front of them to form a human skeleton.
'It's complete,' said Harding proudly.
'Glad we've got the full set,' said Frost without enthusiasm. The grinning skull, cleaned of dirt, showed yellow fangs. Frost puffed smoke into the nose cavity and watched it emerge in swirls from the eye sockets.
'I'd prefer it if you didn't do that,' sniffed Harding.
Frost pinched out the cigarette and dropped it into his mac pocket. 'Right. Just tell me his name, address, inside leg measurement and who killed him, and I'll be on my way.'
A thin smile from Harding. 'We can't tell you that, Inspector, but we can tell you quite a bit about him.' He picked up part of the arm bone and showed Frost where it had been sawn neatly through. 'The consultant at Denton Hospital did that for his tests. In his opinion we have the skeleton of a man in his early thirties.' As Frost shrugged disinterest, Harding replaced the bone carefully in position, then pointed to the brown-stained leg bone where a crack showed near the ankle. 'See that fracture? He broke his ankle a few weeks before the time of death.'
'Hold on,' said Frost, squinting closely at the cracked section. 'How do you make that out?'
Harding smiled, glad of a chance to explain. 'Broken bones try to heal themselves. They gradually knit together again, but the knitting process stops at death. The consultant says the amount of healing there indicates a few weeks only.'
Frost pointed to the skull. 'What about the fracture?'
'Definitely made at the time of death and it's probably what led to his death, although the fracture alone might not have been fatal had he received prompt medical treatment.'
'Could it have been an accident – say his bad leg made him fall downstairs and fracture his skull?'
'The consultant doubts if anything other than a blow from the good old blunt instrument could have caused an injury like that.'
'Did he say how long the poor sod had been dead? I know he can't be precise, but within a minute or so?'
'Definitely less than the seventy you'd like it to be, Inspector. Between forty and fifty years, he reckons. And that's borne out by this.' Harding picked up a small plastic bag with the wrist-watch inside. 'We managed to trace the maker. They first made this particular model forty-five years ago.'
Frost took another look at the skull. 'Anyone checked his choppers?'
'All his own teeth and in quite good condition apart from a couple of fillings. That doesn't help much and I doubt if we'll find any dentist who still keeps patients' records from so long ago.'
Frost frowned at the skeleton. 'He's not making it easy for us to identify him.'
'He's being particularly unhelpful,' agreed Harding. 'We sifted all the earth from around the burial site and found nothing. Vegetable matter such as cotton would rot away after being in the ground for so long, but some trace of clothing should be left -buttons, buckles, zips, metal eyelets. There was nothing, absolutely nothing.'
'Which means?'
'Unless he was undressed after death, it suggests he was stark naked when he was killed – apart from the wrist-watch.'
Frost kneaded some life back into his scar. It was always freezing cold in the Forensic lab, just like the hospital morgue. He stared up at the ceiling for inspiration. 'Starkers, except for his watch? The only time I'm starkers, except for my watch, is when I'm having it away but want to keep an eye on the time so I don't miss the football results on the telly.' He watched Harding put the watch back in the drawer. 'Thanks for sod all.'
Harding smiled the smug smile of a man who had something up his sleeve. 'There's something else, Inspector.' He pulled out something from under the lab bench. A polythene bag containing something encrusted in rust. Frost took the bag. Inside, heavily corroded, were the rusty remains of a kitchen knife, its handle long-since crumbled away, the metal spike which had run through the handle ending in a metal ring so the knife could be hung on a hook. 'We found it underneath the skeleton,' said Harding.
Frost stared at the long-bladed knife. It would have been a wicked weapon when new. 'Are you saying he was stabbed?'
Harding shook his head. 'There's no way of tying the knife to the body, I'm afraid. It was under the skeleton and could have been buried long before.'
Frost gave a snort. 'Thanks for even more sod all,' he said. 'That helps a flaming lot.' As he made for the door he paused. 'Are you sure he's dead?'
Harding frowned. 'What do you mean?'
'The bastard's just pinched one of my fags,' said Frost, pointing to the skull which now had a lighted cigarette in its mouth.
'It's still not funny,' snapped Harding, coldly.
But Frost was laughing to himself all the way back to his car.
Quarter past ten and he was back at the station with the feeling it was going to be another long, hard night. He had filled everyone in on the details known about the skeleton, but stressed they weren't to spend any time on it. 'We've got the killing of more recent meat to sort out first.' He looked up as the door creaked open and Morgan, hoping to sneak in unobserved, began to tiptoe across to a vacant desk. 'I'd like to apologise to DC Morgan,' said Frost, 'for not waiting fifteen bleeding minutes before he condescended to join us.'
Morgan gave a sheepish grin. 'Sorry, guv… damned alarm clock…'
'Yes, if you switch them off and go back to sleep they're no bleeding good, are they?' He noticed the DC rubbing his jaw. 'How did you get on with the dentist?'
Morgan rattled a little white box. 'Gave me some painkillers, guv. Said he couldn't touch it until the swelling had gone down.'
'That's what the nurse said to me,' Frost told him, 'but I think she was talking about my dick.' He heaved himself off the corner of the desk. 'You all know what to do. Chat up the ladies of the night, spurn their tempting offers and see if they can name that torn!'
Back in his office he was surprised to see Liz Maud waiting for him.
'Quick word, Inspector.'
'Sure.' He waved her to a chair. 'How's the armed robbery going?'
'I'm getting nowhere… but I'm afraid I'm going to have to hand my cases over to you.'
His eyebrows shot up. 'Oh?'
'I've got to go to London for some medical treatment.'
He looked concerned. 'Nothing serious, I hope?'
She shook her head. 'No… a minor operation… I'll be back in a couple of days.'
'Good.' It wasn't flaming good. They were already short-staffed and now all her cases were going to be dumped on him. He waited. It didn't look as if she was going into details, but he could make a guess and it wouldn't be for ingrowing toenails.
'I'll be off tomorrow afternoon and probably back next Friday.'
'Well, don't come back until you're properly fit. I'll try not to sod your cases too much.'
She smiled. 'I'm sure you won't.'
'What's the problem with the armed robbery?'
'They had to have swapped cars somewhere near where they shot the old boy… but we can't find either car.'
Frost scratched his chin. 'They might not have gone to the woods for their own car. They could have walked. They might even live near the woods.'
'Possible,' she shrugged, 'but if they lived locally, they would have dumped the old boy's car somewhere in Denton… So why haven't we found it?'
'Because we're bleeding inefficient,' Frost told her. 'And we're working on a shoe-string thanks to Mullett's generosity in giving County all our spare manpower. We haven't got the bodies to go up and down every side street and alley.'
She nodded. 'I suppose so.'
He found a pencil stub and turned over one of Mullett's memos so he could write on the back. 'Tell me about your cases.'
Station Sergeant Bill Wells took an instant dislike to the man the minute he barged through the doors. But then he felt this way with most members of the public who came crashing in with their petty grievances, expecting instant attention. This one, a lout in his late twenties with close-cropped hair and a scowling face, was snapping his fingers for Wells to attend to him. 'Yes?' grunted Wells. He wasn't going to waste a 'sir' on this rubbish.
'My car's been stolen.'
'Stolen car?' Wells tugged a form from a stack and pushed it across. 'Fill in the details.'
'You fill in your own flaming forms. I know who's stolen it and I want her arrested.' He pushed the form back.
'And who do you think has stolen it?' asked Wells.
'I don't think, I flaming know It's my girlfriend… my ex-flaming-girlfriend now. She's run off and pinched my motor.'
'You're saying she took it without your permission?'
The man rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. 'That's what stealing means, doesn't it? Would I be wasting my time with flaming wooden tops if I had given her permission?'
Wells gritted his teeth to keep his temper. Let's hope she's driven the flaming thing over a cliff, he said to himself. The man took a cigarette from a packet and stuck it in his mouth. Wells waited until he had it well lit before pointing to the 'No Smoking' sign. 'If you don't mind,' he said, hoping Frost wouldn't spoil it by slouching in with a cigarette going full blast. Scowling, the man ground the cigarette under foot. Wells smiled sweetly. 'Give me the details – as briefly as possible. We're very busy.'
'We both work nights. I usually drive her to work and pick her up in the morning. I didn't go to work yesterday as I went up to London to see the big match.'
Wells jabbed a finger. 'I remember you now. You were here last night with those other yobbos in the coach. Was it you throwing up in the bloody corner?'
'No, it wasn't me throwing up and yes, I was here. Anyway, as I wouldn't be able to drive her, I told her to phone her work and say she was sick or something.'
'Why couldn't she drive herself?'
'Because she hasn't passed her driving test. If she had an accident or anything, the insurers wouldn't pay out. When I got back in this morning, no sign of her and more important, no sign of my car.'
'So what did you do?'
'What the hell could I do? I went to bed. I woke up about four this afternoon; still no sign of her. I waited until ten o'clock when she should be at the hospital and phoned them.'
'The hospital?' queried Wells.
'She's a nurse, does the night shift at Denton General – at least, that's what she told me. When I phoned them today they said they'd never heard of her.'
Wells rubbed a hand over his face. This was getting beyond him. 'Never heard of her? Was she an agency nurse?'
'I don't know – what difference would that make?'
'Some of these part-time agency nurses give false names to avoid having to pay income tax. She might have used a different name.'
'According to Denton General, the only nurses working nights in her ward were two West Indians and a nun…' He tugged a photograph from his pocket and stuck it under Wells' nose. 'Does she look like a bleeding nun?'
Wells squinted at a photograph of an attractive girl in a very low-cut dress, leaning forward to show yards of cleavage. The cleavage was so attractive, it took him a while to look at her face. He stared. 'Just give me a moment, sir.' He used the phone in Control, out of earshot of the man, and buzzed Inspector Frost. 'You'd better get out here right away, Jack.' He looked again at the photograph. She definitely wasn't a nun… she was the murdered tom.
Frost tapped a cigarette on the packet and lit up. He was leaning against the wall of the interview room, watching the man closely as Liz interviewed him.
'What the hell's going on?' asked the man. 'The wooden top outside says you're all terribly busy, now I get two detective inspectors falling all over me about a stolen car.'
Liz made an attempt at a reassuring smile. 'Just a couple of questions.' She glanced at the form on the table. 'You are Victor John Lewis, 2a Fleming Street, Demon?'
'Bang on, darling. I haven't changed my bleeding name and address since I filled that form in five minutes ago.'
Liz pointed to the photograph. 'And this is Mary Jane Adams, your girlfriend?'
'Yes.'
'You live together?'
'Yes.'
'How long have you been together?'
'Six months. What the hell has this to do with getting my car back?'
'Bear with us. Where do you work?'
'At the all-night petrol station in Felton.'
'When did you see Mary last?'
'Just after five o'clock yesterday afternoon when I left to pick up the coach.'
'When you woke up this afternoon and she wasn't back, weren't you worried?'
'Of course I was worried – she'd walked out on me before, but this time she took my bloody motor. When you find her, I want the cow charged.'
Liz shot a glance at Frost in case he wanted to ask some more questions before they told him about the girl. Frost moved into the chair next to Liz. 'I'm afraid we've got some bad news for you, Mr Lewis.'
The mortuary attendant parked his chewing gum on the underside of the table, put on his doleful expression and led them through to the refrigerated section. He pulled open the long drawer, twitched back the sheet and stood respectfully in the background. The face, washed clean of make-up, looked like that of a young schoolgirl. Lewis stared, then his face screwed up in pain as he turned away. He nodded to Frost. 'Yes… that's Mary.'
Lewis was knuckling tears from his eyes on the way back, but apart from a few" sympathetic grunts, Frost said nothing, his mind on other things. He wasn't being callous. He had driven grieving relatives back from the morgue so many times, it was almost a routine. He couldn't get involved in their grief, otherwise he would be grieving every bloody day and his job would become unbearable.
Back at the station Frost sat Lewis in the main interview room with a mug of strong tea while he nipped out to gather up the reports Morgan had been making for him. He picked through them. 'Another job for you, Taffy boy. Lewis says he used to drop her off and pick her up from outside the hospital at the end of her shift. If she was plying her trade in Clayton Street, how did she get there? It's too far to walk. Check with the local cab firms.'
'What for, guv?' asked Morgan.
'Lewis could be lying. He might have known she was on the game and dropped her off outside the flat at Clayton Street. If he dropped her off outside the hospital and then she called a cab that would suggest he had no idea she was a tom which would sod up my theory.'
He collected Liz on his way back to the interview room. 'Could Lewis be the bloke you heard on the phone last night?'
She shook her head. 'No. He's nothing like him.' She frowned. 'You don't suspect Lewis, do you?'
Frost shrugged. 'I've got to suspect someone, and he's all we've got at the moment.'
Lewis sat hunched at the table, sucking at a cigarette, the mug of tea cold, scummy and untouched. He raised his head as Frost and Liz came in. 'A prostitute! I still can't believe it.'
'I know,' said Frost, sounding truly sorry. 'And to make things worse we've got to ask you some searching questions.'
Lewis sniffed back a tear and nodded. 'Ask what you like. As long as it helps you catch the bastard who did it.'
Frost shuffled the reports on the table in front of him. 'We've been making a few inquiries about Mary, Mr Lewis. The nearest she got to being a nurse was working in the canteen at Denton General.'
Lewis stared, unable to take this in.
'Four months ago she got the sack,' continued Frost. 'She'd been putting the takings in her pocket instead of in the till.'
Lewis buried his head in his hands. 'You think you know someone and she turns out to be a prostitute, a liar and a thief.' He looked up. 'We were going to get married…'
Frost waited as Lewis lit up another cigarette. 'I know this has all come as a nasty shock, Mr Lewis, but just to eliminate you from our inquiries, could we have an account of your movements last night?'
The man wiped a hand over his face. 'As I said, I left the flat just after five and picked up the coach for Wembley – a crowd of us were going from the club. We saw the match and got tanked up. On the way back we stop at this off-licence place. There was a bit of a punch-up – some of the lads had tried to nip out without paying. We're off in the coach swilling down booze to get rid of the evidence. It all gets a bit hazy from there. I remember some cops picking us up and taking us to the nick. Then they bunged us back in the coach, but someone managed to hot-wire it and we got away. We all ended up in a pub somewhere near the motorway.'
'What pub?' asked Frost.
Lewis shook his head. 'No idea… it's all a blur.'
'How long were you there?'
'Couple of hours, I think.'
'How did you get back to the flat?' One of the blokes had, parked his car there. He drove a crowd of us back. Don't ask me who it was.'
'You got back and Mary wasn't there?'
'Too right – and neither was my flaming car. I could have murdered the cow.' His face contorted as the import of the words hit him. 'God, what am I saying?'
'It's all right,' soothed Frost. 'Then what?'
'I flopped on the bed fully dressed and didn't wake up until about four in the afternoon with a splitting headache. Mary wasn't in bed with me.'
'So what did you do?'
'I still wasn't worried… I thought she'd sodded off somewhere to teach me a lesson. She knew I needed the car to take us both to work so I was sure she'd be back before then. I must have fallen asleep in the chair. I woke up just before ten. No Mary and no motor. I phoned the hospital, and they hadn't heard of her! And now I know why!'
'There was a threatening phone call while we were at her place in Clayton Street,' said Frost. 'Any idea who it might have been?'
'No, but there were a couple of queer phone calls at the flat. She'd been edgy for some time and jumped a mile each time the phone rang – always dashed to answer it before I did. I was beginning to suspect there was another bloke.'
'Who did she say it was?'
'She tried to pretend it was someone from work playing a joke, but she didn't sound as if she thought it was funny.'
'And you just let it go at that?'
'You didn't push things with Mary if she didn't want them pushed – not if you didn't want a screaming row.'
'She had a temper?'
'We both had, I suppose. The rows were awful, but it was fun making up.' He stared into space as if a specific memory had hit him then gave a brief, sad smile and shook his head. 'There were lots of good times.'
'I'm sure there were,' nodded Frost. There were even good times in his own marriage that the many bad days couldn't entirely wipe out. 'Just for the purpose of elimination, Mr Lewis, we'd like to have the clothes you were wearing last night.'
He frowned. 'My clothes?'
'The killer would have got blood on his clothes. I know you'd want us to be thorough.'
'They're at home. I'll bring them in.'
Frost stood up. 'I'll save you the trouble. Let's go and collect them.' Then he sat down with a thud. What a stupid sod he was. An important detail and he'd forgotten to ask. And there it was, staring up at him from the table. The form Lewis had filled in giving details of his missing car. A dark brown 1988 Toyota Corolla. The vandalized car with the slashed tyres outside the apartment building in Clayton Street was a Corolla. He quickly checked registration numbers. Lewis was shown as the registered owner. He berated himself. Stupid fool. Why hadn't he made the connection before? A tap at the door. Morgan beckoned him out.
'I've checked with the cab firms, guv. Denton Minis had a fairly regular pick-up from outside 10 Clayton Street to Denton General Hospital… a woman. Sounds like our tom.'
'Yes,' agreed Frost dolefully, 'and it sounds like I'm losing my only bleeding suspect.'
A poky little bed-sit with a small bathroom and a kitchen. The black and orange studio couch which also served as a twin bed was rammed up tight against toe sash window and on shelves fixed to the opposite wall a cheap hi-fi unit sat next to a fourteen-inch remote control colour TV. Alongside the studio couch stood a small dark-wood cabinet on which there was a phone and a china ashtray overflowing with cigarette stubs, some only half smoked and mashed to hell. 'Do you both smoke?' Frost asked.
'Only me.' Lewis took the ashtray and emptied it into a bin, blowing the overspill from the cabinet top. 'Mary hated all the muck of fag ends – said the smell gave her a headache.' He lit up another cigarette and started filling up the ashtray again.
Frost went over to two pine effect single wardrobes, one on either side of the door leading to the bathroom. He opened the door to one. Woman's clothes: coats, dresses, shoes. A handbag dangled from one of the hooks. He clicked it open: make-up and tissues. He hooked it back and closed the door. 'Did she usually take a handbag with her when she went out?'
'Yes. A red one, keys, credit cards and things.'
There had been no sign of a handbag at the Clayton Street flat, thought Frost. So where was it? He cursed his stupidity. The car. It was probably in the car. As soon as he'd finished with Lewis he'd give the motor a going-over.
'If we could have the clothes you were wearing last night,' he reminded.
'Sure – won't be a tick.' As Lewis went into the kitchen and rummaged in the laundry basket, Frost poked around, opening and closing drawers, looking for inspiration that didn't come. Lewis gave him the clothes in a plastic bag. 'Thanks,' said Frost. 'If you think of anything that might help, you will let us know?'
Lewis nodded, then flopped down on the studio couch, sniffing back tears. 'I just can't believe she's not coming back.'
'I know, I know,' cooed Frost soothingly. To himself he said, You killed her, you bastard, you bleeding killed her. But how was he going to prove it?
'You still suspect him, guv?' asked Morgan as Frost climbed back in the car.
'When you've only got one suspect,' grunted Frost, 'you don't let little things like watertight alibis stand in the way. Check with the other people on that coach. Let's make certain he was with them when the girl was killed.'
The brown Toyota was in a sorry state: headlights smashed, tyres slashed, bodywork crumpled as if hit with a sledge hammer. The driver's window had been shattered. Frost squeezed his arm through and opened the door, then shone his torch inside. Even the seats had been slashed. Frost brushed away the crystals of glass and slid onto the driver's seat He dug down deep into the glove compartment. 'Hey presto!' He pulled out a purse containing loose change and some credit cards. Also, a Nationwide Building Society deposit account pass book. The account had been opened three months earlier and there were regular entries, almost daily. The balance stood at over Ј6,000. 'The wages of sin!' muttered Frost to Morgan. 'Check if she made a will and Lewis is the sole beneficiary.'
'Girls of her age don't make wills, guv,' said Morgan. 'They don't expect to die.'
'Check anyway.' He rapped his forehead with his knuckled hand. Something was worrying him. The car keys. Where the hell were the car keys? 'First thing tomorrow, Taffy, you turn that flat upside down. The car keys have got to be there somewhere – she didn't hot wire the bleeding thing.' He called the station to get the car collected for forensic examination and was just slipping the radio back in his pocket when it squawked his name. 'Control to Inspector Frost.'
'Yes?'
'Can you get over to Denton Hospital right away, Inspector, liase with DI Maud.'
'Why?' . badly beaten up.
'Young girl just been admitted She's a prostitute.'
'On my way,' said Frost.
Liz Maud was waiting for them by the entrance and led them up to the admission ward. 'Could be a tie-in with last night. She's been beaten up pretty badly – bruising, cracked ribs.'
'So what happened?'
'A lorry driver spotted her lying by the side of the road near Denton Woods. He thought she'd been the victim of a hit and run and phoned for an ambulance. The doctor says she's been punched and kicked.'
'Do we know who she is?'
'She won't say a blind word to me. Her handbag's full of condoms and the name on her credit card is Cherry Hall… In here.'
They followed her through a darkened ward and then into a side room where a heavily bandaged figure lay still on the bed. The bandaging covered most of the head and all that could be seen of her face was a pair of grey eyes stabbing them with hostility.
Frost flopped down in the chair by the bed. 'You look like Queen bleeding Nefertiti,' he told her. She didn't answer. He unhooked the chart from the foot of the bed and studied it, shaking his head in mock concern. 'It says, "Condition very serious, but cooperate with the police and you'll live." '
'I'm in pain,' hissed the girl. 'I want to be left alone.'
'Greta Garbo wanted to be left alone,' said Frost, 'and now she's dead!' He checked to see there was no nurse in sight and stuck a cigarette in his mouth. 'Come on, love. Tell me what happened and I'll go, cubs' honour.'
'Nothing to tell. I'm at Denton Terrace, freezing cold, not much trade about, when this bloke pulls up. I didn't like the look of him, but he wasn't going to get trampled in the rush, so we agrees a price and I get in his car. He drives off to somewhere near the woods and parks. I'm starting to unbutton my dress when the bastard belts me one… That's it. I don't remember any more.'
'He just beat you up – for no reason?'
'Yes.'
'That wasn't very sociable. You didn't make any disparaging remarks about his appendage or anything?'
'I never saw his appendage, only his bleeding fist and there was nothing wrong with the size of that.'
'Describe him.'
The bandaged head shook. 'I don't remember.'
'Come on,' urged Frost. 'You remembered enough to say you didn't like the look of him.'
'Middle age, medium height, medium build, dark clothes.'
'Clean-shaven?'
'Yes.'
'We've got him then,' said Frost. 'There can't be more than twenty million blokes with that description.' He puffed smoke up to the ceiling. 'What sort of car?'
'Just a car. I know nothing about cars.'
'Old, new, big, small, diesel, petrol, steam-driven?'
'Medium sized… fairly old.'
'Colour?'
'Darkish.'
Frost flicked ash on the floor. 'You're sodding me about, aren't you, love? You could describe him Perfectly if you wanted to.'
'I've told you all I can remember.'
'How old are you?'
'Seventeen.'
'Been on the game long?'
'Couple of months.'
'Got a pimp?'
'No.'
'I thought not. You say this bloke picked you up at Denton Terrace? That's where Harry Grafton's girls flash their knickers. I bet they didn't like a young piece of stuff like you encroaching on their turf?'
'It's a free country.'
'I reckon they warned you off, but you gave them the two-fingered salute, so Harry sent one of his persuaders to teach you a lesson. Right?'
'I'm saying nothing.'
'He smashed you up, love – are you going to let him get away with it? He could have killed you!'
She just lay stiff and still, willing him to go.
Frost sighed. 'If you want the bastard to get away with it, that's your prerogative. Like you said, it's a free country.' He pinched the cigarette out and dropped it in his pocket. Liz and Morgan followed him out.
The night sister was at her desk behind a newly delivered large bunch of flowers. She looked up at the inspector. 'Did Cherry tell you who did it?'
'Sudden loss of memory,' Frost told her.
'Whoever did it wants locking up. I hardly recognized her when she was brought in.'
Frost stopped in his tracks and walked back. 'You know her?'
The nurse nodded. 'She used to work here… in the staff canteen.'
Frost exchanged glances with Liz. 'When was this?'
'About four months or so ago. She didn't stay long.' The nurse rose from her chair and picked up the bunch of flowers. 'Perhaps these will cheer her up.'
Frost held up a hand. 'Hold on… Someone's sent her flowers?' He checked the card on the bouquet of red and pink carnations. 'To Miss Cherry Hall, Nightingale Ward… To Pastures New… Bon Voyage…' 'Who the hell would have known she was here – let alone get the right ward?'
'People can always phone the switchboard and ask,' the nurse told them. 'They have an updated list of admissions.'
Frost's eyes lit up. 'Do you tape all calls?'
'Yes,' said the nurse. 'In case people claim we've given the wrong information.'
Frost sent Liz to go down to the switchboard to check, then he picked up the bunch of flowers and waited in the corridor. He was on his second cigarette when the clatter of shoes on parquet flooring signalled Liz's return. She was panting and had to wait a while to catch her breath. 'The stairs in this place…'
Frost nodded. He knew all about the stairs. His wife had been up on the fourth floor. 'You've got something?'
One last gasp before she was ready to talk. 'Yes. A man phoned about half an hour ago. Asked how Cherry Hall was and what ward she was in. They told him and he hung up.'
'And…? I can see from your face there's more.'
She fluttered a hand telling him to be patient. 'I listened to the tape of the call… It was the same man who phoned last night.'
Frost expelled a mouthful of smoke, then picked up the flowers. 'Right. Let's pay her another visit…'
She was still lying motionless, eyes tightly closed, pretending she was asleep and hadn't heard them return. He squeaked the chair noisily and thudded down in it. 'The bloke who beat you up sent you some flowers. Wasn't that nice of him?'
She didn't answer.
He shook her violently by the shoulder. 'OK, Fanny, we stop playing games now.'
She shrugged off his hand. 'I've nothing to say. Now get out!'
'Do you know a girl called Mary Adams?'
She stiffened. 'We used to work here together… so what?'
'Your friend who sent the flowers. We think he called on Mary last night.'
'Oh?' She feigned indifference.
'He won't be sending her any flowers though… the poor cow couldn't smell them if he did. She's dead!'
The eyes widened. 'Dead? Mary dead?'
'He strangled her, the same bloke who beat you up, so you are now going to tell me who he is.'
'I want my clothes. I'm getting out of here.' She struggled to get up, but Frost pushed her down.
'You're not going anywhere, love, you're a key witness. And to help you not go anywhere, we'll have a nice policeman sitting by your bed, twenty-four hours a day.' That'll bring the pains on with Mullett, he thought.
She lay back, eyes fluttering. 'He said he'd kill me if I went to the police.'
'He won't be able to kill you if we've got him locked up. Tell me about you and Mary Adams.'
'We used to work here in the canteen… long bleeding hours, starvation wages. They tried to make out we were nicking from the till and we got the push. Mary didn't want to let her boyfriend know -they were saving up for a house. She told me she was going on the game, said it would be easy money. So we both had a go. I used to share a place with her in Clayton Street where we could take the punters, but we weren't earning enough to pay the rent, so Mary said we should go to Demon Row and get the kerb-crawlers. The other girls didn't like it and we started getting threatening phone calls. I stayed away for a couple of weeks, but I wasn't earning, so I went back. And this…' a bandaged hand indicated her bandaged face, '… was what happened. He said I was to leave Denton and if I went to the police I'd end up in the bottom of the canal with conger eels for customers.'
'And who was it who beat you up?'
'One of Harry Grafton's bully boys. I don't know his name.'
'Describe him.'
'Big… heavy build… wonky nose… looked as if it had been broken.'
Frost's eyes gleamed. He turned to Liz. 'I know him. Mickey Harris, one of Harry's pit bulls… used to be a wrestler.' He stood up, sliding the chair back against the wall.
'You won't tell him I grassed?' the girl pleaded.
'You won't come into it, love,' smiled Frost. 'Beating you up is small beer… We're after him for murder.'