by Robert Innes
“And you know exactly?” Blake asked him.
Hawthorne shook his head. “Not all of it. I’m not entirely clear on what happened after I did my bit.”
The officers all exchanged confused expressions.
“So, what was your bit?” Blake asked him. “And be quick, because we need to stop Frost before he claims yet another victim to add to his list, namely, my best friend.”
Hawthorne looked down at the ground. “I gave him a guard’s uniform.”
There was a stunned silence.
“You did what?” Gresham exclaimed.
“I gave him a prison officer’s uniform,” Hawthorne said slowly.
“Well, what use was that?” Gresham snapped. “He wasn’t wearing one when he was put into that van – whichever van it was,” he added at Blake. “You still haven’t explained that claptrap you were sprouting earlier.”
Blake shook his head and opened the interview room. “I think we better get ourselves to Sally, don’t you? For what it’s worth, Mr Hawthorne, I’m sorry about your wife, and I apologise for how I just acted.”
Fox turned to Fletcher, who was standing in the corner of the room looking utterly bemused. “Put him in a cell,” she told him, before following Blake out of the room, with Gresham in close pursuit.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Fox called to Blake’s back as he strode towards the exit.
“Where do you think?” Gresham said with a smirk. “You know, everything Frost said about him is true. Despite the fact, that it’s probably deeply unwise for him to have any part of this because of his emotional involvement, DS Blake Harte has to be the man to save the day.”
Blake stopped and slowly turned around. He realised that his behaviour in the interview room had him already skating on thin ice. “Look,” he said levelly. “Frost has us over a barrel. He’s not going to cooperate unless I’m there. We’re dealing with a deranged psychopath, he has a picture in his mind as to how this is going to go and if we deviate from that, there’s no telling what he’ll do. Sally is disposable, it’s all about him. He knows this is the end. He’s got nothing to lose. That makes him more dangerous than he’s ever been.”
Fox sighed, apparently ignoring Gresham’s snort of derision. “Alright, Blake,” she said finally. “Let’s go.”
With sirens blaring and the flashing of blue lights illuminating the roads around them, Blake, Gresham and Fox sped through the streets of Manchester towards Blake’s house, with a cavalcade of police officers behind them in their own cars.
Blake had forgotten how heavy the evening rush hour traffic was in Manchester and as Fox steered them around cars, lorries and cyclists, Blake sighed in frustration, aware of the amount of time it had been since Frost had first sent his video.
“Come on, come on,” Blake muttered.
“I’m going as fast as I dare, Blake,” Fox told him. “There’s no point in putting innocent lives at risk.”
“Yes, yes,” Blake replied irritably. “I know that.”
He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and quickly flicked through his numbers until he landed on the one he was looking for. Holding the phone up to his face, he waited for the camera to come into life.
“What are you doing now?” Gresham snapped.
Blake ignored him, then smiled tightly as the person he was calling’s face appeared on the screen.
“Matti,” he said. “Where are you?”
Mattison appeared like he immediately regretted answering the call. Blake could tell that he appeared to be bare chested. “Erm, hi, Sir. How’s Manchester?”
“Never mind that,” Blake said hurriedly. “Where are you?”
Mattison glanced to his side. “I’m just…well. It’s a bit of a tricky moment.”
“Hi, Sir!” said a voice.
Mattison chuckled and moved the camera to reveal Patil lying next to him. By the look of things, Blake had called at rather an inopportune moment. Both of them were in bed, the covers pulled up to their shoulders.
“I’m with Mini,” Mattison said sheepishly. “We’ve been talking.”
“Yeah, looks like it,” Blake replied. “Listen, Matti –”
“I’ve decided to give him another chance, Sir,” Patil said, smiling broadly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s got a lot of making up to do, and I mean a lot.”
“Yes, I’m very happy for you, but –”
“He’s explained that he only kissed Fox because he’s an idiot, and they were drunk,” Patil continued chattily. “I mean, it doesn’t look like she’s going to be in Harmschapel again, so I guess he’s not going to be seeing her, so I’ve decided if we take things slowly, we can maybe start trying to sort things out. Well, when I say slowly, you know, this doesn’t count.”
“Matti, listen to me.”
“Oh,” interrupted Patil, pointing at the camera, “Just so you know though, you can tell that brazen hussy from me that if she goes anywhere near my boyfriend again, I’ll have her by her cheap looking peroxide blonde roots and I’ll beat the crap out of her.”
Blake rolled his eyes and sighed before glancing up at Fox. “Did you get that?”
“Loud and clear, Mini,” Fox called as she steered the car around a taxi.
Patil’s mouth fell open. “Are you with her now?”
“Yes!” Blake exclaimed. “Now shut up the pair of you and listen. Is Tom Partridge still in the hospital?”
“Yeah, he’s getting out tomorrow,” Mattison said. “Why?”
“Because I need you to get there as soon as you can,” Blake replied. “I don’t have time to explain, but just get to him now. Call me, on video, when you get there. I’ve got somebody I want him to speak to.”
“Blake…” Fox said warningly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Trust me,” Blake replied. “We’re going to need all the help we can get.” He turned back to the phone. “Is that clear, Matti?”
Mattison shrugged. “Well, yeah, I guess so.”
“Good lad. Get moving now. I’m sorry to interrupt the pair of you. I’m genuinely delighted you’re getting back on track. Now move.”
“Sir, before you go,” Mattison said. “Harrison is…”
But Blake had hung up before he could finish the sentence. He only had time to briefly wonder what Mattison was going to say about Harrison before the sight of Hope Crescent coming into view pushed it out of his mind.
The street was full of people. A mixture of residents from the houses around them were standing in their doorways, their gardens and some in the middle of the road, all looking equally as confused as to why Hope Crescent was currently full of journalists, news reporters, photographers, and now, police.
“Jesus,” Blake murmered. “How many papers did he send that video to?”
“Looks like he sent it to some of the TV news channels as well,” Fox replied as they got out of the car and began to push their way through the crowd and towards the house.
“Blake!”
Blake turned to see his mother standing in the street, staring around in wonderment.
“Mum, go back inside.”
“What on Earth is going on?” Stephanie asked as Colin appeared beside her. “Your father says the news is reporting something about Thomas Frost! Is he here? On this street?”
“Yes,” Blake replied. “Now, please, Mum. Go back inside.”
“Lad,” Colin muttered, pulling Blake closer. “All the news is saying is that he’s kidnapped a police officer. Is it true?”
Blake sighed. “Yeah. Look, I’ve got to go. Just stay away from that house, okay? Promise me.”
His tone was so forceful and his expression so utterly serious that Stephanie appeared taken aback.
“Yes, dear. Of course.”
Before Blake could stop himself, he had grabbed both his parents and was pulling them together in the tightest hug he had ever given them. The adrenaline from the journey had caused him to forget until this moment that he
had no idea what Frost had planned in making sure that Blake was here.
“Very touching, Harte,” Gresham called from behind him. “Can we get on with this now?”
Blake gave his parents a final squeeze and then followed Fox and Gresham down the street without another word.
“What’s the plan?” Gresham asked Fox once they were out of earshot of anybody else. “If he has got Matthews in there, he’s hardly just going to let her go because we’ve turned up.”
As they got nearer the house, Blake noticed that there were various news reporters scattered around the small area in front of the house, each positioned carefully presumably so as not to be in each other’s camera shots.
Gresham groaned loudly. “Oh, for God’s sake. We’re going to have to move this lot on. They’re just going to be in the way.” He turned around to the police officers behind them. “Fletcher! Move these reporters on!”
Blake looked around until he spotted the one reporter he wanted to stay exactly where she was. He placed a hand on Fletcher’s shoulder. “All except that one.”
Fletcher followed Blake’s eyeline to where Theresa Bowen was standing in the centre of the road, right in front of the house, no doubt affording herself the best shot of the rest of the crew there.
“Right, Sir,” Fletcher said.
“What are you up to?” Fox asked him.
“Just be ready,” Blake replied.
“For what?”
Blake did not hear her. He was now walking straight towards Theresa, a steely look in his eyes.
Theresa had her finger in her ear, apparently listening to somebody talking through her earpiece. Behind the camera in front of her, another crew member was counting her down. As Blake arrived by her side, Theresa began speaking.
“Thank you, Laura,” she began. “As you say, I am currently here at Hope Crescent in Manchester, where we understand Thomas Frost has locked himself in this house behind me, with a hostage, believed to be a police officer. How do we know this? Well, we at Channel Three News received a video from Frost, detailing his current location and…”
She stopped as she turned to indicate the house and saw Blake standing by the side of her. Judging from her expression, he was not standing quite in shot.
Blake gave her a little wave as she glanced at her crew.
“Okay,” Theresa said, with a shrug. “As we were about to tell you, in Frost’s video, he specified that Detective Sergeant Blake Harte, formally of Manchester Police, was to come to Hope Crescent and possibly begin negotiations for his officer’s release and we actually have Detective Sergeant Blake Harte here with me now.”
Blake raised his eyebrows.
“Well, come on,” Theresa said, indicating for him to come closer, before turning back to camera. “We should point out that, in his video, Thomas Frost has described DS Harte, who viewers may remember from last night’s News at Ten, as being someone who had ‘put himself on the case for his own self-indulgence,’ a topic that DS Harte felt unable to comment on when I spoke to him last night.”
Blake smirked in annoyance as he stepped into shot and felt a microphone being placed on his collar by one of the crew.
“Harte!” Gresham hissed from behind him. “What the hell are you doing? This is no time for one of your great public eye moments.”
Blake ignored him. Instead he stared resolutely at Theresa who appeared delighted by the opportunity to goad him at a time when the danger appeared so real.
“DS Harte, Thomas Frost has said that you are only here for your own self-importance, even implied that you have believed that this investigation is all about you. What can you tell us in defence of that and what do you believe to be Frost’s plan?”
“I’ve got nothing to say in respect of my own self-importance,” Blake replied. “I don’t think it’s especially relevant at the moment.”
“Well, I don’t think they’ll be much surprise from our viewers there,” Theresa said, rolling her eyes at the camera. “And what about Frost’s next move? What is he planning?”
Blake glanced at the camera. “I’m sure you could tell your viewers that, couldn’t you?”
Theresa frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, I’m sure you could tell your viewers what Frost’s plan is,” Blake replied. “I would presume he’s watching you right now from inside that house. He’s hardly going to be watching any of the other reporters here, is he? After all, none of them have been working for him for the past year.”
Around him, the other reporters that had been moved away from the house by Fletcher slowly seemed to become aware of Blake being interviewed and what he was saying. Slowly, more cameras began to turn in his direction.
Theresa stared at him, her lips thinning. “I’m not exactly sure what you’re trying to accuse Channel Three news of here, DS Harte, but I can assure you that it will not end well for you.”
“Oh, no,” Blake replied cheerfully. “I’m not accusing Channel Three of anything, far from it. Their only crime is putting you on the screens every night, unaware of what you’ve been doing under their noses. No, it’s just you, Theresa. I’m accusing you.”
“I think you’d better move along, DS Harte,” Theresa snapped. “It’s probably quite clear to all our viewers by now that Frost’s analogy of you is quite accurate.”
“Oh, come on, Theresa. Let’s share with your loyal viewers exactly what’s been going on. You see, I know it was you that helped Frost escape from that prison van. I know that you’ve been as good as his puppet for the last few months. Every news report, every article, every blog you’ve ever done, it’s all been slightly in Frost’s favour, hasn’t it? All the way back to the original murders where you were the only news reader telling the public that Frost wasn’t quite as bad as he was being made out to be and that the police were simply using him as a scapegoat. Even after he had been arrested, you were still there, valiantly insisting that there was more to the Frost murders than met the eye. And there’s television in prison, Theresa. They even get newspapers. Frost soon learnt that he had a fan in a very powerful position, didn’t he? And that’s why you helped him to escape.”
“Alright, that’s quite enough out of you. I’m not here to have my time wasted,” Theresa said sharply, turning to her camera crew. “Apologies to our viewers. Come on, we can get a just as good vantage shot from the other side.”
“It’s also why you murdered Helen Beauchamp, isn’t it, Theresa?” Blake asked calmly. “Just to keep Frost happy.”
The crew all froze. Then the cameraman slowly turned his camera back towards Blake.
“You did, didn’t you?” Blake continued. “Yesterday, after you interviewed her. What did you do then? Follow her home? Or even better, offer her a lift?”
“I beg your pardon?” Theresa exclaimed. “Murder? How dare you accuse me of something like that. This is the end of your career, DS Harte, I hope you’re aware of that. Slander on national television.”
“It’s not slander though, is it, Theresa?” Blake asked calmly. “You murdered her because you knew that it was vital that we all thought Frost was out on the streets. Even down to leaving me a little note to keep the pretence, otherwise we could have thought that it was some copycat killer.”
By now, all the cameras around them were facing in Blake’s direction. Theresa appeared routed to the spot, glancing around at all the eyes on her, possibly for the first time in her career wishing that the cameras would all turn off.
“You can’t just stand there accusing me of murder!” Theresa said shrilly. “Your own police force released an official statement saying that Frost had killed again! You don’t have any proof of any of this!”
“That’s the problem, I actually do,” Blake replied. “We’ve got piles and piles of paperwork back at the station detailing Frost’s visitors over the last nine years. And for a TV news reporter, your name appears an awful lot, especially in the last six months. Because you were forming a plan, weren’t you, Th
eresa? You and Frost. Working out how you could get him out. Oh, I bet he liked you. A powerful, icy woman with strong opinions and a nice big platform to shout them out from. Ironically, under any normal circumstances, you could just as easily have found yourself as one of his victims, you’re just his type, but you were far too useful for that.”
“His victim?” Theresa said quietly. “No, he wouldn’t…” She stopped, too late to prevent the implication from what she had been about to say to become obvious to those around her.
Blake raised his eyebrows. “What did he promise you, Theresa? Exclusive interviews? What did he tell you when you went to visit him? That he was just misunderstood? That you were the only woman that could see him for the poor misguided soul that he was? And what did you tell him? That, if he trusted you, you could get him back on side with society again? Because, sadly this isn’t just a case of you being easily manipulated, is it? There’s a side of you that’s just as bad as he is. Power hungry, unemphatic, and most of all, prepared to kill in order to get what you want.”
“You shut your mouth,” Theresa snarled, her chest heaving with emotion and her voice cracking. “You couldn’t begin to understand me.”
“Oh, I think I could,” Blake replied with a shrug. “I hate to break it to you Theresa, but you don’t come across as someone who is all that multifaceted. The bottom line is that you wanted to use Frost for your career. One of the most evil serial killers the UK has seen since the eighties and you know that violence and terror sells. I imagine you thought that you and Frost could secretly work together, and you could present documentaries, do interviews, anything that the networks would take that they knew would bring in viewers. Once interest had waned, you could just drop Frost and revel in your new found success as one of the most influential women in television. Of course, I doubt Frost would have let you get that far. I’d guess that he worked you out pretty quickly. In essence, you were both using each other for your own personal gains, which all reached a climax with you helping him to escape from prison, and the key to that all boils down to your channel’s records about who has been using your news studio and the wrong number plate on a van, plus that one thing that I couldn’t quite put my finger on because the reason for it wasn’t obvious enough, the fact that Frost’s hair had grown since the last time I saw him in the flesh. It didn’t match the video of the news report at all. You tried to cover all bases, but hair grows. The video of Frost inside the van was taken, what? About a week ago, with the help of Nigel Hawthorne? I’d have thought somebody with your extensive production knowledge would be able to knock up something a bit more convincing that a video that was just looped and then darkened to give the impression that Frost had simply disappeared, but you were probably pressed for time and besides, the first video was supposed to do all the convincing. Because that’s all that first report was, wasn’t it, Theresa? Just a video, and it's not even yours.”