He deliberately didn't say anything about the severed finger. There'd be floods of hoax calls and fake confessions and he wanted there to be something that only the real murderer would know.
"About half an hour before he died, the boy ate a hamburger. It's going to be a bloody waste of time, but we've got to check all the fast food joints in Denton and ask if they remember serving something as unusual as a hamburger to the boy in the photograph around, say, four to five o'clock. I'm sure this will give us about three hundred useless leads, but it's got to be done. Any questions?"
A duffle-coated PC from Lexton Division put up his hand. "You think there's a connection between the dead boy and Bobby?"
"The dead kid was found next to Bobby's guy. That's the only connection we've got at the moment. It could be a coincidence, but it's good enough for me. I say there's a connection." He looked around. No-one else had any questions. "Right. You've been allocated your search areas, so the very best of luck."
He watched them file out clutching the copies of the photographs. He was hoping for the best, but he had a nasty feeling at the pit of his stomach that they were not going to find anything.
Chapter 3
Phones in the incident room were ringing non-stop. The TV appeal for Bobby's return made by his distraught parents, the tear-stained mother with her husband's arm firmly around her, Terry Green and the Chinese nurse tactfully absent, had provoked a terrific response from people convinced they had seen Bobby. None of the leads seemed very hopeful, but all would have to be followed up.
In the same TV bulletin, a photograph of the dead boy was shown with a statement that the police were anxious to identify him. No mention was made of the fact that he was dead, nor that there might be a connection with Bobby.
DC Burton, his ear sore from being constantly pressed against the phone, scribbled some details and thanked the caller. He tossed the form into the main collection basket.
"Any news from Forensic?" asked Frost, dropping in the chair next to him.
"Nothing worth having. The masking tape on the boy's face is run of the mill stuff and there were no prints on it. The cotton wool is a standard type. The plastic bag round his hand came from Bi-Wize supermarket and there were no prints on the rubbish sack the body was in."
"If we didn't have a Forensic Department," said Frost, 'how would we know we had sod all to go on? What about the prints on the other rubbish sacks?"
"The only prints found so far came from the shop staff."
"This bloke is too bloody clever to leave prints," said Frost gloomily. He glanced up at the clock. Nine twenty-five. The kid had been dead for some sixteen hours and no-one had yet reported him missing. "Who's in charge of checking the schools?"
"Wonder Woman. She's in Mr. Allen's office."
"Right, son." Frost pushed himself up from the chair. "Let's go and see what she's got - if you'll pardon the expression,."
Bill Wells was distributing the internal mail. From force of habit he knocked on the door of Inspector Allen's office and a red light signalling "Wait' flashed. Dutifully, he waited. Then a green light bade him "Enter'. He went in and stared goggle-eyed. Sitting at Inspector Allen's desk as if she owned the bloody place was Liz bloody Maud. The cow! Flicking the switch to make him wait. Who the hell did she think she was?
She didn't look up, just waggled her finger at the in-tray. "In there, please." Fuming, Wells flung the mail in. As he reached the door, she called him. "Sergeant!"
He turned. She was holding up a red folder and beckoning for him to come over. "Do you mind taking this to Mr. Mullett?"
"Yes, I bloody well do mind," he snapped, and his slamming of the door echoed around the building.
Liz shrugged. She knew Wells resented her. Well, he would just have to learn to start taking orders from a woman, because her immediate aim was to be made up to acting detective inspector during Allen's absence. She had seen Superintendent Mullett and explained why she was the most suitable person for the temporary promotion. He had nodded vigorously and agreed wholeheartedly with everything she had said. "The decision is not up to me," he had told her, 'but it will receive my strongest personal recommendation." As she didn't yet know Mullett very well, she believed him.
Spluttering with indignation, Wells buttonholed Frost as he came out of the murder incident room and poured out his moans about Liz Maud. "In Allen's office and with the red light on."
"Perhaps she's turning it into a knocking shop," suggested Frost.
But Wells was too angry for jokes. "Who the hell does she think she is? She's only a flaming sergeant and she's acting like a . . ." He stopped open-mouthed as the almost unthinkable thought struck him. "Flaming hell, Jack. You don't think she's going to be made up to acting DI, do you?"
"Could be," said Frost. "I saw her coming out of Mullett's office with her knickers in her hand."
"I wonder she wears any," snarled Wells, stamping off. "I bet that's how she was made up to sergeant."
Frost went into Allen's office without knocking although the red light was on. "What news from the schools?" he asked.
"Five boys in the right age group didn't attend for lessons today," she told him. "Three they know about -one to the dentist, one in hospital and one the mother phoned through this morning to say he had a cold . . ."
"Check that one," said Frost. "The mother could be lying. What about the other two?"
"I've sent Collier round to the houses. I'll let you know as soon as he reports in."
Ten o'clock. A lull in the incident room. The phones had stopped ringing and Frost was sitting on the corner of a desk, watching Liz who was stretching across to stick coloured pins into the wall maps, to mark the progress of the various search parties, and was showing lots of leg into the bargain. "I wouldn't mind sticking something in her," he murmured to Burton.
Progress was slow. Everything up to now was negative. The five boys who were away from school had all been accounted for. The fingerprints on the rubbish bags all came from the shop staff, except for two which were too blurred to provide any positive identification but like the others probably came from a shop assistant. The little Chinese nurse was reported to be very fond of Bobby and wouldn't lift a finger to harm him. A missing boy and a dead boy and no leads to follow on either.
The phone rang. He looked up hopefully, but it was Mullett asking for a progress report.
"Tell him it consists of two words," grunted Frost, 'and the second is "all"!"
"Still following up leads, sir," translated Liz. "We'll let you know as soon as we have something positive." She went back to her wall map.
Bill Wells came in, grinning all over his face. "Control have just had a phone call from a motorist. Said a naked girl tried to flag him down in Hanger Lane."
Frost brightened up. Naked girls interested him very much. "Did he pick her up?"
"No. He couldn't stop. Said he was in a hurry to keep an appointment. He phoned us on his mobile."
Frost frowned and shook his head in disbelief. "A naked girl and he didn't stop? I'd have stopped if she was only half naked . . . Bloody hell, I'd have stopped if she was fully dressed with one titty hanging out."
"You're all heart, Jack,"said Wells.
"Some people say I'm all dick," said Frost, 'but I try not to brag." A snort of disgust from Liz Maud made him pull a face at Wells.
"I've sent Jordan and Simms to pick her up," said Wells.
"Some people have all the luck," said Frost.
Another phone rang. Liz answered it. She listened and her expression changed.
"What's up?" asked Frost.
"That naked girl. It's not as funny as you thought it was. She's only fifteen. She was abducted last night by a gang of men. Her parents had to pay a £25,000 ransom to get her back."
"Shit!" swore Frost. "We've got enough on our flaming plates without this .. He stared at her thoughtfully before reaching a decision. "You can handle this one, love," he said, 'if you don't mind me coming with you."
They went in Liz's car, Frost sitting next to her and Evans, the Scene of Crime officer, in the back seat. It was a white-knuckle drive as she slammed the car in and out of the tight country lanes, trusting to luck there was nothing coming in the opposite direction. Frost sank down low in his seat and tried not to look at the blur of greenery flashing from side to side across the windscreen as she spun the wheel, slammed on the brakes and skidded, narrowly avoiding catastrophe after catastrophe.
"Left here," he murmured.
"No - right," said Evans from the back seat.
She turned right. Up to now, Frost had been wrong with his directions every time and she'd had to slam on the brakes and do a reverse.
"There it is," said Evans.
Liz turned the car into a long drive leading to a large, ivy-clad Edwardian house standing alone and surrounded by fields. Frost stared at the house. He'd been here before, but couldn't remember when, or why. A police car was parked just outside the front door. She slowed and parked behind it. Frost and Evans staggered out. PC Jordan came from the house to brief them.
"Family of three - husband, wife and fifteen-year-old daughter. Husband and wife travelled up to London last night to see a show. They got back home around three in the morning. The house had been ransacked, jewellery and furs valued at £50,000 missing. They found this on the kitchen table." He gave Frost a sheet of A4 white paper which had been slipped inside a transparent folder to preserve any prints. The message had been printed on a bubble jet printer, and read:
To Mr & Mrs Stanfield
We have your daughter. If you go to the police we will gang rape her. one of us is HIV positive.
If you want her returned unharmed you will go to your bank as soon as it opens at 9.30 and withdraw £25,000 in used notes. You will put the money in a small suitcase. As you pass the white gate in Clay lane you will throw the case out of the car into the ditch. You will drive straight home. You will not look back.
If you do all this and there are no tricks we will release your daughter unharmed. If you try to trick us she won't be worth having when we return her. The enclosed is to show we mean business!
"This was with it," said Jordan, handing Frost a Polaroid photograph, also in a transparent cover. It showed the girl, kneeling on the floor. A hand of someone out of sight had grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. The other hand held a knife which was pressed against the girl's throat. Her eyes were closed and her mouth sagged open. She was naked.
"They ripped her nightdress off with a knife," said Jordan.
"I usually use my teeth," grunted Frost, passing the photo and the message to Liz.
"The family are in the lounge with Simms," Jordan told him. "Do you want to see them?"
"Show me round the house first," said Frost, hoping it might jog his memory as to when he was here before. "How did the gang get in?"
"Through the back door - I'll show you."
Jordan walked them down a side path to the rear of the property where a small patio with tub bed plants backed on to the lawn. The back door had one of its glass panels smashed. The gang had punched a hole in the glass, reached in and turned the key which had been conveniently left in the lock.
Frost squinted through the smashed pane. "Stupid bastards! They install an expensive, six lever mortice lock, then they leave the flaming key in it." He waited as Evans, his hand gloved, opened the door for them. They stepped over broken glass on the mat, into the kitchen, Evans staying behind to dust the door for prints. A pine wood table had been laid the night before with cups and cereal bowls for a breakfast that had not been eaten. Frost picked up the cereal packet. "All Bran - nature's laxative. I bet no-one needed that this morning." Jordan laughed, but Liz didn't find it funny. "How many of them were there?"
"Four, we think," said Jordan, taking them through a door leading to the hall. "The first thing they did was to turn the electricty off at the mains." He opened a small cupboard door under the stairs and revealed electricity and gas meters, side by side, with the central heating control box just below.
Frost frowned. "Why did they do that?"
"So the girl couldn't call the police. She had a phone in her bedroom it was one of those cordless models. If the electricity is off, they don't function."
"I thought they were battery powered," said Liz.
"The handsets are, but most base units are mains powered - without electricity they just don't work," Jordan told her.
"I thought they only didn't work when I dropped the bleeding things on the floor," said Frost, checking the clock on the central heating timer with his watch. It was only a couple of minutes slow. "It wasn't switched off for long, then?"
"Once they got the girl, they switched the power back on. They needed the electric light so they could ransack the rooms."
Evans rejoined them, shaking his head sadly. "No-one leaves fingerprints any more."
"Crooks today have no consideration for the police," said Frost. He still couldn't remember why he had been in the house. "Let's see the girl's bedroom."
A typical teenager's room. Posters on the wall advertising past pop concerts and a large one saying "Save The Whale'. A black ash wall unit held a hi-fi system with two tiny Wharfdale speakers and a 10-inch colour TV set. The room had been turned over. Drawers gaped, their contents strewn all over the floor. Frost's nose twitched. The girl's perfume lingered. A bit sexy for a fifteen-year-old, and so were the pair of scanty briefs he bent and picked up. He showed them to Liz. "You'd have a job stuffing your hankie up the leg of these."
Jordan grinned, but Liz stared stonily. The man was an ignorant pig.
Frost flicked the briefs across the room and they butterflyed delicately down to the carpet. "What was taken from here, Jordan?"
"The girl's too upset to check, but her mother doesn't think anything is missing." He pointed to a heap of chunky beads, bangles and necklaces tipped out on the floor. "It's all junk, not worth pinching."
"I'm surprised they didn't take that little telly," said Frost. "I wouldn't mind having that myself."
"They were after bigger fish," said Jordan. "Jewels and furs from the parents' room. I'll show you."
The main bedroom was a bigger shambles than the girl's, with drawers dragged open and clothes strewn about apparently just for the hell of making a mess. On the big double bed the contents of a drawer had been tipped out - underwear, perfume bottles, cosmetics, in an untidy heap. "The jewel box was in that drawer," said Jordan. "They took the lot, box as well - fifty thousand quid's worth they claim - including the fur coats from the wardrobe." He nodded towards the far wall where the sliding door of the woman's wardrobe was open, showing a jumble of coats and dresses on the floor and empty hangers swinging above.
Frost picked his way through the mess on the floor to take a closer look. "Why did they drag all these dresses off?" he asked. "They could have got to the furs without doing that."
"Some people get a kick out of leaving things in a mess," said Liz.
Frost grunted. It could be the answer. He peered through the large picture window which overlooked the garden and the fields and the winding lane which was the only access to the house. Some more houses in the far distance, but not a soul to be seen. He was fumbling for his cigarettes when a man's voice bellowed from downstairs.
"When you've finished sodding about up there, what about talking to us - or aren't the victims important any more?"
He went to the landing and looked down. An angry-looking man was glaring up at them. Robert Stanfield, early fifties, sallow complexion and a tight, thin little mouth.
Frost frowned. He'd seen Stanfield before . . . in this house, but still couldn't recall the circumstances. He clattered down the stairs, followed by Liz and Jordan, Evans staying behind to photograph and check for prints. Then it all came back to him. He smiled broadly. "We meet again, Mr. Stanfield."
The man's eyes crawled over Frost's face. A brief flicker of apprehension, then a thin, scornful smile. "Ah ye
s - the arson attack. Let's hope you are more successful this time, inspector. In here . . ." He jerked his head to direct them into the lounge.
PC Dave Simms, sitting by the door, jumped up as Frost entered. It was a large and comfortable room with a recently lit log fire crackling in the grate. Wide casement windows gave a view across the garden. In the corner stood a large screen television set on a stand, beneath it a video recorder, its clock, not yet reset, flickering on and off showing there had been a break in the current.
Stanfield hurled himself into an armchair by the fire and swilled down a glass of whisky which had been perched on the arm. Opposite him, in a settee drawn close to the fire, sat his wife and his daughter. His wife, Margie Stanfield, dark-haired, in her early forties, wearing a red and black satin housecoat, was flashily attractive. Frost couldn't remember seeing her before. But it was the girl, Carol, PC Simms's greatcoat draped around her, who held Frost's attention. She looked much older than her fifteen years. Her dark brown hair was long and flowing and uncombed, giving her a wild, untamed appearance. She kept her head down, but her eyes, narrow like her father's, were watching Frost suspiciously and reminded him of a cornered animal with nothing to lose and ready to fight back.
Frost 4 - Hard Frost Page 5