Hard Frost

by R D Wingfield

  She coloured a deep crimson and pulverized another piece of coal with the poker. "A statement? Is that really necessary?"

  "You needn't be specific some of our young officers are easily shocked. You can just refer to a letter and certain activities it mentions you would prefer were not made public'

  Burton returned, shaking his head. No TV set of any size in the house. They showed themselves out; leaving her looking decidedly uneasy.

  At the station Mullett was flapping about in a state of high agitation awaiting their return. He grabbed Frost and hustled him into his office. "Well?"

  "She could be involved," said Frost. "But I haven't got any hard evidence, yet." He filled Mullett in on the details.

  "There were other compromising letters and photographs have you checked to see if those people were being blackmailed by Hoxton?"

  "It's on my long list of things to do," replied Frost, who hadn't got round to thinking of that aspect.

  "The sooner we can clear Mrs. Roberts ..."

  "As I am sure you would wish, sir, clearing Mrs. Roberts is right at the bottom of my list of priorities," said Frost.

  "Of course, of course. The letter and the photograph -you didn't tell her I'd seen them?"

  "She never asked."

  "Good." Mullett dabbed at his brow with his handkerchief. "It would be very embarrassing if she thought I knew." He rearranged the blotter on his desk to show he was changing the subject. "What's the procedure for the ransom han dover tonight?"

  "We've got all the public telephone kiosks in the shopping mall bugged, so whichever one the kidnapper calls we'll be able to hear everything he says. I've also arranged for a homing device to be slipped inside the suitcase with the money."

  "How did you manage that?"

  "Remember Tommy Dunn used to be with us in CID?"

  Mullett pulled a face. He did indeed remember Dunn, an inefficient officer with a drink problem and the strongest of hints that he took irregular payments. Dunn had been arrested on a charge of driving while well over the limit, but Mullett had managed to get the charge dropped in exchange for Dunn's resignation. A pity, he thought wistfully, he couldn't do something similar with Frost. He also recalled that Dunn was one of the investigating officers four years ago when Cassidy's daughter was killed and there were vague whispers he was bribed by the hit and run driver. "I remember Dunn. What about him?"

  "Tommy works for Savalot as a security guard. He's going to slip the homing device in the suitcase for us."

  "Why should he do that? He owes us no favours."

  "He's doing it for three bottles of Johnnie Walker and the cancellation of a couple of parking tickets." It was six parking tickets actually, but he wasn't telling the superintendent this.

  "I don't want to know," said Mullett hurriedly.

  "I'll bung the cost of the whisky on my petrol expenses," said Frost blithely, 'so don't query it if it looks a bit high." He was also going to sneak in the cost of petrol bought while he was on holiday which would make it higher still.

  Mullett flapped a hand. "Spare me the details. I'm not happy that Dunn is involved in this, Frost. You can't rely on him."

  "He's all we've got," said Frost. But he shared Mullett's concern. Tommy had sounded half cut when he agreed to doit.

  "So," continued Mullett, 'if things go as you hope and Dunn runs contrary to past form, we will have a homing device hidden in the ransom money?"

  "Yes. We'll be able to track Cordwell to the han dover point and then keep tabs on the kidnapper after he's picked it up."

  "What about his claim he can monitor police radios?"

  "I don't believe him, but just in case he does we'll be scrambling all our radio messages."

  "The safety of the boy is paramount," insisted Mullett.

  "We won't make a move until we know where he is and are assured he's safe."

  Mullett scratched his chin thoughtfully. It sounded foolproof, but when Frost organized things, nothing was foolproof. "Well, I'll leave the details to you," he said, so he could deny any knowledge of them should things blow up in their faces. "The only stipulation I make is that things must not go wrong."

  "That's a bloody good stipulation!" said Frost in mock admiration as he walked to the door. "I'll bear it in mind."

  While Mullett was trying to determine if there was a tinge of sarcasm in this, he heard an indignant squeal from Miss Smith, his secretary, then a cry of "How's that for centre?" and a guffaw from Frost. He shook his head sadly. How could you work with a man like that? He looked up in sympathy at the scarlet face of Miss Smith as she burst in to complain.

  Liz was waiting in his office and pushed a pile of reports over to him. Without looking at them, he pushed them back. "Just tell me what they say, love. My lips get tired when I read."

  She took them and gave him a precis of each. "I saw Mark Grover in hospital and broke the news of his wife's death."

  "Shit!" said Frost. "I should have done that. Sorry to dump it on you, love how did he take it?"

  "He took it very well. He said it served the cow right."

  "You didn't tell him we suspect it was murder?"

  "No. I just said it looked as if she had fallen in front of a train. He told me she had kept threatening to kill herself- the doctor had prescribed her pills for depression."

  "They don't seem to have worked all that bloody well," sniffed Frost. "I'll check it out with her doctor." He scribbled a reminder on his pad. "What else?"

  "You told me to take his clothes to the lab. They're still doing tests, but if there's any blood, they haven't found it yet."

  "Did you ask him about the row the neighbours heard?"

  "He says it wasn't him. He never left the store until nearly two o'clock. I've spoken to his work mate who again confirms this. Then I checked with the security man at the store. No-one can get in or out until he operates the electronic locking system and he's definite that he didn't operate it at all that night. And just in case you might still have doubts, I contacted their boss at the shop fitting firm. He phoned at twenty past midnight to find out how the job was going and Mark Grover answered the phone."

  Frost chewed this over. There was not a lot of support for his theory that Grover killed his wife. But he was only giving Liz half his attention. His mind was still on the ransom han dover He didn't want another of his usual cock-ups on this one.

  "Which means," Liz continued, 'that we can concentrate on our number one suspect Sidney Snell, who seems to have done a runner."

  "I just can't see Sidney killing anyone," said Frost. "The mother was killed in a frenzied attack. Sidney might stamp his foot and say "knickers" but he wouldn't get into a frenzy."

  "Three children, all in one room that could have worked him up to a sexual state where he'd do anything."

  "A bit of bare thigh does the same for me," sighed Frost. He saw there was more to come.

  "We've got a key witness. An old boy walking his dog who swears he saw someone running from the house and driving off in a blue car."

  Frost's head jerked up. "What time was this?"

  "About ten minutes before two o'clock."

  "In the morning? What was the silly sod doing walking his dog at that time?"

  "He used to be on shift work before he retired and old habits die hard."

  Frost tugged the man's statement towards him and read it. The old boy seemed pretty definite as to what he saw. "He's sure the man he saw came out of the Grovers' house?"

  "He's positive... And to back it up, Mark Grover says that when he came home last night the front door was wide open."

  Frost dug in his pocket and found a half-smoked cigarette hidden in the lining that had been there a long time. It was stale, but better than nothing. He lit up. "And what colour is Snell's car?"

  "Dark blue," replied Liz.

  He sucked in smoke and coughed, shaking ash all over a memo from Mullett complaining about the inadequacy of his daily call reports. "Could be a clue there, somewhere."
He heaved himself up and snatched his scarf from the hat-stand. Something was nagging away at him, something just out of reach, something he knew he should have picked up, but the more he tried to remember, the more it crept back to cower in the dark, inaccessible recesses of his mind. He had to get out of the office and think. "I'm off to see her doctor. Let's find out if he agrees with the husband about her suicidal tendencies."

  The waiting room was crowded, people hunched up coughing, snuffling and groaning in counterpoint to children running around, screaming unchecked. If you weren't ill when you went in, you certainly would be after a few minutes of this.

  The receptionist was flustered. Patients were annoyed with her because the doctor was running late, the phone was ringing nonstop, and this scruffy man, claiming to be a detective, wanted to nip in in front of people who had been waiting for nearly an hour. "I don't know when he will be able to see you. We're very, very busy," she said.

  "That makes two of us," said Frost.

  She looked up as a patient emerged from the surgery clutching a prescription form and was about to ask the next patient to go in when this scruffy man scooted in before the surgery door closed and before she could warn the doctor.

  "I thought I was next," said one of the women indignantly. "I'm writing to the General Medical Council about this."

  The doctor, a plump young man in his early thirties, was at his desk, scribbling something in a register. He didn't look up as Frost entered. "Please sit down, Mrs. Jenkins. What's the trouble?"

  "The sex change operation didn't work," said Frost, sitting as requested.

  The doctor looked up startled. "I thought '

  "I'm not a patient," said Frost, sliding a warrant card across. "Police."

  The doctor stared at the warrant card as if Frost had just dumped a hand grenade with the pin removed on his desk. "Look, officer. I think my solicitor had better be present. I never touched that girl. She stripped to the waist, I gave her a normal examination. I know she was only fifteen '

  "Hold it," interrupted Frost. "This is nothing to do with that ... I wish it were, it sounds quite juicy. I'm enquiring about another patient of yours Mrs. Nancy Grover, Cresswell Street."

  In his relief, the doctor couldn't have been more helpful. He dragged a file from his filing cabinet and opened it up. "Yes those poor children. I had no idea she would do anything like that."

  "What were you treating her for?"

  "Depression paranoia. She imagined people were following her everywhere she went, watching her, staring at her through the windows of her bungalow at night when her husband wasn't there."

  "And the bastard rarely was there, was he? Shouldn't she have had specialized help?"

  "Yes. I wanted to send her to a consultant psychiatrist, but she wouldn't go. I prescribed tranquillizers, but I don't think she took them."

  "You say she was imagining she was being watched .. . that a man was looking through her window. Could this really have happened?"

  "It's possible. It's difficult to be certain with patients like her. They are convinced that things that only happen in their own minds are actually occurring. She was so upset because her husband didn't believe her."

  "What do you think brought it all on?"

  The doctor gave a sad smile. "Three children, another on the way. A husband who worked most of the day and was then out drinking most of the night. No relatives or close friends she could confide in. It was all getting too much for her."

  Frost stared at the desk in silence. He felt so sorry for the poor cow. He stood up. Thanks, doc."

  Angry faces sped him on his way out of the waiting-room. Outside in the darkened street, the first heavy drops of rain were splattering the pavement.

  "Penny for the guy, mister?"

  He froze. The small boy standing in front of him with his palm outstretched, a misshapen Guy Fawkes propped up in a push chair at his side, was the spitting image of Bobby Kirby. But it wasn't Bobby, of course.

  "You didn't ought to be out," said Frost.

  "You tight-fisted old sod," said the boy, trundling off with the push chair

  Frost watched him go and wondered if parents should be warned of the dangers. He'd have a word with Mullett when he got back.

  As he turned the key in the ignition and his engine tried to cough itself into life, the radio called him. Burton sounding excited. At first Frost couldn't take in what he was saying, his mind was still on that poor woman and her kids, terrified because someone had been staring in the house. Her husband didn't believe her and had left her all alone. Could the face at the window, the face that everyone thought was only in her mind, have been the face of Sidney Snell? He shuddered, then realized Burton was still talking.

  "Sorry, son -I didn't catch that."

  Burton told him again, slowly and clearly as if the poor old sod was going deaf. This time Frost was able to share the DC's delight. The first stroke of luck they had had in the Lemmy Hoxton case.

  The television set bought posthumously with Lemmy's credit card had been registered for the guarantee.

  They had a name and address.

  Eleven.

  "He registered the guarantee!" said Burton triumphantly. "Douglas Cooper, 2a Merchant Street, Denton. And he's got form." He handed the inspector a photostat of the form sheet.

  Frost didn't need to read it. "I know Duggie Cooper, son. I've nicked him a couple of times .. . breaking and entering, handling stolen goods, obtaining money under false pretences."

  He looked at his watch. Ten past two. He shook his wrist with annoyance. He must have forgotten to wind the damn thing last night. "Have we got time to give Duggie a tug before the ransom caper?"

  Burton checked his own watch. Six thirty-five. The ransom call was due to be made at eight. "Not really," he said.

  "Let's do it anyway," said Frost.

  Merchant Street, a narrow side road to the north of Denton, was jam-packed with parked cars, most of them without a current tax disc. Burton had to double park at the end of the street and they walked back to the house. A dark grey Ford transit van stood outside Duggie's house and this reminded Frost that he should get someone to keep an eye on the boyfriend of Tracey Neal with the light brown van.

  Cooper answered their ring. A thin-faced, shifty-eyed man in his late thirties, he had a little toothbrush moustache with dark, greasy hair brushed straight back. His face fell when he saw who his visitors were. "Mr. Frost!"

  "Just passing," said Frost. "Knew you'd never forgive us if we didn't drop in and say hello." He pushed past Cooper and went straight into the lounge. There it was, in the corner, gleaming and dominating the room, a large screen Panasonic television set. Frost plonked himself down on the settee and pulled out his cigarettes.

  Cooper hurried in after them looking very agitated. "What do you want, Mr. Frost?"

  Frost tutted reproachfully. "Since when do friends have to have a reason for calling on each other?"

  "I ain't done nothing," said Cooper.

  Frost cupped a hand to his ear as if he had difficulty in hearing what Cooper was saying. "You give us permission to search your house, did you say? That's damn decent of you, Duggie. It saves all that sodding about getting a warrant." He nodded to Burton, who scuttled up the stairs before Cooper could stop him.

  A woman bounded into the room. Duggie's wife Jean hadn't started out as a redhead and the various colour changes she had gone through before reaching her present shade had left their mark on the final result. "There's a bloke going up our stairs," she shouted, stopping abruptly in mid-protest when she saw Frost. She screwed up her face in annoyance. "Oh no just what we bloody need!" Hand on hips, she glowered at her husband, then spun back to Frost. "Don't try and tell me he's done something, because he never does damn all. He sits on his arse in the house all day and never does a bloody stroke." The thudding of Burton's feet across the ceiling made her look up. "What's he looking for? There's nothing in the house that shouldn't be here .. ." And then she saw the
expression on Duggie's face. "At least, there bloody well had better not be!"

  "Nice telly," said Frost, nodding at the set in the corner. "Must have cost a bomb."

  "It's all legitimate," she snapped. "We've got the receipt." She darted across to the sideboard and pulled open a drawer. "It's in here ..."

  Duggie sprang across and pushed the drawer shut. "No, it isn't," he said.

  She frowned. "What are you talking about? I saw it there this morning."

  "No, you didn't," he hissed. "I lost it... weeks ago."

  "But I saw .. ." And then the penny dropped. With an icy glare at her husband which said, I'll sort this out with you later, she turned to Frost, smiling sweetly. "Duggie's right. We lost it."

  "Then it's lucky I called in," said Frost. "Because I've got a copy of the receipt here." Humming to himself, he unfolded the photostat and pretended to check the details. "Panasonic .. . Model No. TXT2228 .. . serial number .. . call out the serial number, would you, Duggie it's on the back."

  He waited as Duggie moved the heavy set with difficulty and read it out. "TXT2822311Y."

  "Check," beamed Frost, folding the receipt and returning it to his inside jacket pocket. He stood up. "Sorry I troubled you, Lemmy .. ." He frowned. "Why did I call you Lemmy? Your name isn't Lemmy ... I must be going bloody mad." He took the receipt from his pocket again as if to check the name.

  "All right, all right," said Duggie. "It was bought with Lemmy Hoxton's credit card. He owes me, so he let me use it." He fumbled for a cigarette and lit up with a none too steady hand.

  "Ah," said Frost, sitting down again. "I knew there was a rational explanation. When did he give you his card?"

  "The same day Iixnight the telly."

  "You bought the telly and gave the card back to him?"

  "Of course."

  "What deodorant does Lemmy use?" asked Frost.

  "Eh?" frowned Duggie. "What's that got to do with it?"

  "It must be bloody strong stuff, because the day he lent you the card Lemmy would have been stinking the place out he'd been dead for two months."