'Where the hell were you yesterday afternoon?' demanded the inspector.
Morgan frowned. Frost knew where he was. 'With the search party, guv.'
'After that? We were all looking for you.'
'I felt rough, guv, shagged out after flogging my gut out looking for that little girl. I didn't go back to the station. I went straight to my digs, took some painkillers, then went to bed.'
'I phoned you. I sent someone round to your place,' put in Wells. 'They nearly kicked the door in. No-one answered.'
'Ah!' Morgan looked shamefaced. 'I felt a bit better after a while, so I went out. Spent the night at a friend's place.'
'A female?' asked Frost.
'Er . . . yes.' He rubbed a hand across his forehead. 'I think we overdid the drink.'
'I think you overdid the other as well,' snapped Frost. He lit up. 'So you flogged your guts out looking for the girl?'
'Yes, guv.'
Frost riffled through the pile of roneoed forms filled in by the search parties. 'You searched that old garden shed in the hospital grounds?'
The DC's brow creased as he tried to remember. 'Did I, guv?'
Frost waved the form at him. 'You've ticked it to say you did.'
'If I ticked it, then I searched it.' He frowned. 'What's the problem?'
'The problem,' Frost told him, 'is that the shed you thoroughly searched is where we found the girl.'
Morgan blinked, wincing as he firmly shook his head. 'No, guv, that's not possible.'
Frost glared. 'Yes, guv, it is bloody possible, because that's where I found her.'
'Then Weaver must have put it there after I searched.'
'That was clever of him, seeing as how he was in our custody all day.'
'Then someone else dumped it for him.'
'Just to oblige him? The man's a loner, he's got no friends. Don't let's beat about the bush. You ticked it off, but you didn't search it.'
Morgan loosened his tie and flapped the front of his shirt to cool himself. 'We are talking about the same place, guv - little shed, fertilizer sacks, a sort of shelf thing on the wall?'
'Yes.'
'I searched it, guv,' insisted Morgan. 'She wasn't there.'
'And what about when you searched it the second time?'
Morgan now looked embarrassed. 'A second time, guv?'
'You were told to go back and search again.' Frost waved the form. 'You've ticked it to say you did.'
Morgan's head sank. 'There was no point in searching it a second time, guv. It was a tiny place, no room to hide anything. She wasn't there.'
A derisive snort from Wells, who had been listening intently.
Morgan flushed. 'Look, guv, I may be all sorts of a shit, but if I'm looking for a kid, then I flaming well look. I lifted the sacks, each one. She wasn't there, I swear it.'
Frost looked hard at him, smoke dribbling from his nose. 'Weaver topped himself last night, left a note saying he didn't do it and I had hounded him to death.'
The DC leant back in the chair, mouth sagging, eyes wide open. 'Bloody hell!'
'And now the Gestapo are here from County to carry out an official inquiry. They'll be questioning you,' He pulled his desk drawer open and took out a tube of extra strong mints. 'Start sucking these . . . if they smell liquor on your breath . . .'
Morgan put one in his mouth. 'Look, guv. I searched that shed. The kid wasn't there, but if it would help you, I'll say that I bungled it and ticked off the wrong shed on the form.'
'You're positive you searched it?'
'Positive, guv.'
'Is there any way you could have missed her?'
'You saw the place, guv. No-one could have missed her.'
'Human dung!' moaned Frost. He mashed out his cigarette in his ashtray. 'This makes things a bit complicated.' His internal phone buzzed. He waved a hand for Morgan to answer it. The summons to Mullett's office.
Frost stood up and tugged a couple of the worst creases out of his jacket. 'Do you think it would look as if I were playing on their sympathy if I wore my George Medal?'
'Yes,' said Wells.
'Then I'll be subtle. I'll say, "I'm sorry my coat sleeve is wet, but I dropped my George Medal down the karzy and had to fish it out." '
'That should win the sympathy vote,' said Wells. He paused. 'Best of luck, Jack.'
'Thanks,' Frost replied. 'If I have to drop you in it to keep my job, you will understand, won't you?'
Wells tried to keep the smile on his face. He was never certain if Frost was joking or not.
The grim-faced trio sat in a row behind Mullett's mahogany desk like officers at a court martial. Frost almost expected to see a sword with the blade pointing towards him. He pulled a chair over and sat down.
'Please sit down,' said Mullett. He introduced the other two officers and let the chief superintendent take over the questioning.
Bailey, a big, hard-faced man, gave Frost his long, cold, intimidating Medusa stare, a stare which had reduced many a hardened suspect to a quivering wreck, all too ready to cough the lot. Frost, who could outstare anyone, flashed back his friendly smile. 'Morning.'
Bailey nodded to Chief Inspector Hopley, who took out a notebook and began to scribble notes. 'We could have done without this, Frost. We've had four deaths in custody already this year and now a fifth . . . And as it is someone who might well be innocent . . .'
'He was guilty,' cut in Frost.
Bailey stared again, then continued where he left off as if Frost hadn't spoken. '. . . this is the last thing the Chief Constable wants.' He pulled a pipe from his pocket, then a tobacco pouch. Slowly and deliberately he filled the pipe and lit up. Frost took the opportunity to have a cigarette himself.
Bailey waved the pipe at Mullett. 'You don't mind, I hope?'
'Of course not,' said Mullett, forcing a grin, his eyes watering from the pungent smoke that wafted across.
Bailey took the pipe from his mouth. 'It was put to us that you should be immediately suspended from duty.'
'Oh?' said Frost, looking at Mullett who quickly turned his head away and stared through the window.'
'This damn George Medal of yours makes the* whole thing high profile. The press would have a field day: "George Medal Hero Suspended", that sort of media rubbish.' He jabbed the pipe stem at Frost. 'And that is something the Chief Constable definitely does not want.'
Mullett firmly shook his head from side to side. 'Neither do I.'
'We want to use your medal to our advantage, not our disadvantage,' added Bailey, shooting a glance at Mullett who had abruptly to change gear and go into a vigorous nod. 'This is not an official inquiry - that will follow. This is simply a damage limitation exercise.' He held out a hand to Hopley who pushed the case files over. 'I've been looking at the files. This man Weaver admitted the girl had been to his house and admitted he took photographs of her?'
'After we'd found where he'd hidden them, yes.'
Bailey spread the photographs over the desk and pushed them around with his pipe stem. 'Nude photographs but nothing really pornographic.' He slipped them back in the folder. 'Weaver also tried to dispose of a quantity of hard porn photographs?'
'That's right,' nodded Frost.
'And that, really, is the sum total of your evidence against him - there was no forensic evidence on the body to link the girl's death to Weaver?'
'No, but what we had made him a prime suspect.'
Bailey gave a non-committal grunt. 'I've been listening to the tapes of your interviews. You bullied him harassed him, reduced him to tears.'
Mullett put on his pained expression and slowly shook his head to signify his disapproval at Frost's inexcusable behaviour.
'I would have done the same,' continued Bailey. 'A kid murdered and raped - I'd have smashed the bastard's head against the wall.'
Mullett blinked. He changed the headshake to a nod of approval, but wasn't too happy.
'But I'd have made sure the bastard didn't top himself,' Bailey went on. '
And if he left a note protesting his innocence, I'd have made damn sure it disappeared bloody quickly.'
Mullett's nod of approval was getting weaker. Bailey was known for his unorthodox methods and it was common knowledge that many of his convictions had been secured on fitted-up evidence.
Frost remained silent. He could see things were swinging his way.
'Then we come to you leaving Weaver alone at the hospital, giving him the opportunity to get enough rope to hang himself.'
'Inexcusable,' said Mullett.
Bailey's head slowly swivelled to Mullett. 'Very excusable, Superintendent. Weaver's mother was dying. We use Frost's compassion to counteract the charge of harassment.' He swung back to Frost. 'No chance she's died yet? It would help our case.'
'She's not co-operating,' said Frost. 'She's still alive.'
Bailey shrugged. 'Never mind, we must build our case on the materials we've got. So, out of compassion you let him see his dying mother for a few minutes on his own, but instead of gratitude, he took advantage of your kindness. You knew you were breaking the rules but you realized how he felt, having suffered a similar loss yourself.' With a grunt of satisfaction he jabbed a finger at Hopley. 'Note that down, Chief Inspector, that's a terrific angle.' He beamed at Mullett, whose responding beam was matching.
'There's the question of the finding of the girl's body,' Hopley reminded him.
'Yes,' nodded Bailey. 'That's a bastard. As I understand it, the girl's body was found in a place that had already been searched while Weaver was still in custody?'
'Yes,' agreed Frost, grimly.
'You've spoken to the officer involved?'
'Yes. He is adamant the girl wasn't there when he searched.'
'As far as this initial inquiry is concerned, we are going to be unaware of that fact. We expect the officer concerned to change his story. We leave that to you.'
Frost said nothing. If they thought his silence was acquiescence, that was their look-out.
Bailey slammed the file shut. 'Right. We can keep the lid on this for a while. We won't release the suicide note until the coroner's inquest. By then, I'm hoping you will have made an arrest.' He shook the dottle from his pipe into Mullett's clean, cut-glass ashtray. Frost added his cigarette end to the pile. 'The Chief Constable, apparently, doesn't want to lose you, Frost. You've done very well for the Division in the past . . . a history of excellent solved cases.'
'Thanks to teamwork,' put in Mullett.
'Of course; under the devoted leadership and guidance of your Divisional Commander.'
'I must have been away that day,' murmured Frost. He went to stand. 'If there's nothing else . . . ?'
'Wait,' said Bailey, ordering him back in the chair. 'Your recent clear-up rate isn't at all good - in fact its bloody lousy. We want it improved. We're going to return some of the men your Divisional Command kindly loaned us for the drugs bust operation, so you won't have the excuse of shortage of manpower. We want this killer of prostitutes apprehended before he carves up any more, and we want this child murder case cleared up, and damn quickly.' '
Right.' Frost stood up again. 'And if you can implicate Weaver in any way . . .'
'If he's guilty,' replied Frost, 'I'll implicate him.'
Wells tapped on the door and looked in on Frost, who was scribbling on a pad. Frost nodded him to a chair. 'Larry, Curly and Mo want me to do a report on your claim to have looked in on Weaver,' he murmured. 'How do you spell "lying bastard"?'
Wells grinned. He had already been let off lightly by the investigation. 'You've got a visitor. Sandy Lane from the Denton Echo - says it's important.'
'Did he look as if he had any fags?'
'He'd just opened a fresh packet.'
'Then show him in.'
Sandy Lane, chief reporter for the Echo, bounded in, his dark blue duffel coat flapping. 'It's brass monkey weather out there, Jack,' he said as he tossed a cigarette over to Frost before taking one himself.
'If you think I'm going to break the Official Secrets Act for one lousy fag, you can think again,' said Frost, accepting a light. 'I never do it for less than two.'
Lane grinned and settled down in the chair. 'Jenny Brewer,' he began. 'The dead kid . . .'
'Yes said Frost guardedly "What about her?'
'The whisper is that Weaver didn't do it.'
It's still an ongoing investigation,' said Frost, 'and he' still my number one suspect . . . but that is off the record.'
Lane pulled a notebook from the duffel coat, and flipped to a page scrawled with shorthand symbols does the name Henry Plummer mean anything to you?'
'Yes, he's a he's a nutcase. He keeps getting on to us with his vague prophecies. "You will find the body on something green, under something blue," so she could be anywhere in the world except the Sahara desert or the North Pole.'
'He says he's seen her body in a dream.'
'I saw a girl's body in a dream - she was in bed with me. I told her not to speak with her mouth full. Did I tell you the joke about the bloke getting married?'
'Never seen a blue one before, yes, Jack, four times. Plummer says he can describe things about the girl that never appeared in the papers.'
'Like what?'
'Look, Jack, I want a story out of this. If he does lead you to the body, I want an exclusive.'
'Like what?' repeated Frost.
'On her right wrist - he says she was wearing a bangle.'
Frost stiffened. Vicky Stuart had been wearing a bangle, a fact that had not been released to the press.
'Is it true?' asked Lane.
'No comment,' said Frost. 'Did he say what kind of bangle - gold, silver, lucky charms that didn't bring the poor little cow any luck?'
'Solid plastic, green and yellow sea shells.'
Frost slowly exhaled smoke. An exact description. Only a few people knew about it and the details had never been released. 'Where is this clever bastard?'
'In my office.'
'Then trot him over here.'
He paced the office impatiently, waiting for Lane to return. He spun round as the door opened, but it wasn't the reporter. It was Detective Sergeant Authur Hanlon who handed over a small brown manila envelope. 'This was in the post, Jack.'
Frost glanced at the handwritten address:
The Detective in Charge
The Jenny Brewer Investigation
Denton Police
There was something small and round inside. He ripped it open and pulled out a single folded sheet of cheap, lined notepaper. The message was in the same handwriting as the envelope:
You have made a mistake and arrested the wrong man. The body is in the shed at the back of the hospital. The button came from her dress.
He shook out a blue button which had a short length of black thread attached. A button was missing from Jenny's dress when they found her. The postmark stated the envelope had been posted at the main Denton post office, 3.15 p.m. the previous afternoon. He showed the note to Arthur Hanlon who skimmed through it.
'Whoever sent this, Jack, knew where the body was before we found it.'
'I love people who state the flaming obvious,' said Frost. 'Send the button over to Forensic and let's see if it matches the others - knowing my luck, it's bound to.' He shook his head. 'It doesn't make sense. If I'd done a murder I'd be over the bloody moon if the fuzz arrested someone else for it, I wouldn't try to clear him.'
'A murderer with a conscience?' suggested Hanlon.
'A murderer with a conscience doesn't rape seven-year-olds,' said Frost.
As Hanlon left, Bill Wells poked his head round the door. 'You in the mood for a bloke with second sight, Jack?'
'I'm in the mood for a sex-starved sixteen-year-old with a hundred fags to spare. I wouldn't kick her out if she only had fifty.'
'Then you're out of luck. It's Sandy Lane with that fortune-telling weirdo.'
'Wheel them in,' Frost told him. 'He reckons he can find Vicky Stuart for us.'
The tweed-suited m
an with Sandy Lane was in his late fifties, gaunt, and sporting a goatee beard. Frost took an instant dislike to him.
'You spurned my gifts in the past, Inspector,' said Plummer, looking cock-a-hoop, 'but at last you've come to your senses.' He declined Frost's offered cigarette. 'Alcohol and cigarettes deaden the mental powers, as I'm sure you've found out.' He produced a worn leather wallet from his jacket pocket and took out a newspaper cutting carrying a photograph of Vicky Stuart. 'This is the little girl I keep seeing, calling out to me in my dreams. You don't know where she is, do you, Inspector?'
'No,' grunted Frost, mentally adding, and neither do you, mate. This was going to be a complete and utter waste of time and he had so many other things to attend to. That bleeding skeleton for a start.
Plummer rubbed his hands briskly. 'I'd like a full-scale map of Denton, if you please.' Frost found him one and Plummer carefully unfolded it over the surface of Morgan's desk. He sat in Morgan's chair and took several deep breaths, slowly expelling air from his lungs. 'To purify the system,' he told the inspector.
Frost raised his eyebrows to Lane. He was getting fed up with this already. Plummer gave him a pitying smile. 'Patience, Inspector. These things can't be rushed.' He addressed Lane, who he considered a more receptive audience. 'Last night I had a dream, a vivid dream. A child was crying out.' He imitated a small child's voice: ' "Help me . . . please help me . . ." I saw her face clearly.' His finger stabbed the newspaper cutting. 'It was that child.' If he was expecting a favourable reaction from Frost, he didn't get one.
'When is the big film going to start?' Frost asked. 'I'm getting bored with the Mickey Mouse.'
Plummer, looking hurt, ignored him. 'I immediately sprang out of bed and felt something drawing me to this copy of the Denton Echo. I opened it, and there was this picture . . . the little girl from my dream. I concentrated on it and could feel hatred, pain, violence. There were trees, grass, leaves . . .' Again he looked at Frost.
'So all we've got to do is to find somewhere where there's trees, grass and leaves, and we've got her. Thank you very much.' Frost rose to his feet, bringing the meeting to a close.
Frost 5 - Winter Frost Page 23