Frost yelled to Liz, "Get an ambulance." As she radioed through, he bent over and pulled the coats from the girl, then his jaw sagged. "Shit! . . . She's having a bloody baby!"
Liz stood frozen to the spot, still gripping her handcuffed prisoner. The girl was now in convulsions, sweating and shaking from the pain and the terror at what was happening to her fourteen-year-old body. Her head thrashed from side to side as convulsion after convulsion racked her.
Frost moved back. He felt helpless. He didn't know what to do. He didn't even want to stay in the same room. He beckoned to Liz. "Help her!"
Liz's face drained of colour. She went as white as Frost. "I don't know anything about having babies."
Frost buzzed Burton on the radio. "She's having a baby. Can you help?"
"Yes," said Burton.
"Then bloody get up here - and quick." The airless room was becoming hot and suffocating, smelling of blood and sweat and burning candle. Liz looked ready to pass out.
"Take him to the car," yelled Frost. He didn't want another patient on his hands. He turned back to the girl, who was gripping his wrist, her nails digging into his flesh, hurting as the pain forced another scream out of her. "Come on, Burton," pleaded Frost aloud. "Come on . . .!" The sound of the baby crying coincided with the approaching siren of the ambulance as it turned into the street.
Chapter 6
"Any joy?" Wells asked as Frost mooched in.
"They had the bleeding joy nine months ago," said Frost. He filled Wells in on what had happened. "Fourteen years old. Too young to buy a packet of fags, but not too young to have a baby." He shook his head sadly and dug in his pockets for his own cigarettes. Only three left. Another forage into the superintendent's office was called for. "Is Hornrim Harry in?"
His question was answered by the booming voice of Mullett who came striding through the swing doors, beaming all over his face. "I understand Cassidy has cracked the Lemmy Hoxton killing. That's what I like to see, Frost, quick results - something that is sadly lacking in other officers." He gave the inspector his meaningful stare which Frost pretended not to understand.
"Are you telling me Maggie Hoxton has confessed to killing her old man?" asked Frost.
"Not confessed as such, but it's just a matter of time. Mr. Cassidy tells me it's an open and shut case. She never reported him missing, she's been forging his name on cheques and if that wasn't bad enough, she's been buying young boys for immoral purposes. Even without a confession we've got the strongest possible case."
"I never knew she'd been forging his cheques," said Frost.
Mullett gave his thin sour smile. "Sergeant Hanlon found evidence of it in the house. You really should keep yourself up to date, inspector. You are supposed to be in overall charge." He spun on his heel to return to the old log cabin, tightening his lips and pretending not to hear what sounded suspiciously like a moist raspberry.
Frost hurtled down the other corridor to the incident room to find Arthur Hanlon sitting at one of the desks making a list of the contents of a large cardboard box which contained items found during the search of Lemmy's house. "Who's been crawling round Mullett telling him things I don't know, Arthur?"
"The forged cheques, you mean? I've only just found them, Jack. I haven't even had a chance to let Acting Inspector Cassidy know yet." He stressed the word 'acting'. "Look at this first."
He showed Frost a sheet of lined notepaper on which someone had been writing the signature "Lemmy Hoxton' over and over again, getting more like the real thing each time. Then he produced a white envelope and tipped out the contents - a wad of cancelled cheques returned by the bank. Frost riffled through them. They were all dated later than the date of Lemmy's death. "Here's an old cheque," said Hanlon, pushing it across. "That is a genuine Lemmy. These later ones are forgeries."
Frost studied them and nodded. "Maggie must have been bloody sure Lemmy wasn't coming back to have tried this lark. What else have you got in the box? If it's worth having, we share it fifty-fifty."
Hanlon grinned and hauled out a carrier bag which he tipped on the desk. "This was poked behind Lemmy's cold water tank. A few old friends there from the stolen property list."
Frost poked through the pile of assorted bric-a-brac; necklaces, compact cases, dubious-looking strings of pearls, wads of family photographs, letters tied with ribbon. There was a rolled gold cigarette lighter which Frost flicked a couple of times, dropping it back when it refused to work. "Nothing worth pinching here. Hello - what's this?" A small, black rexine-covered case, the letters DFM in gold on the lid. He opened it. On a bed of blue plush was a medallion. He took it from the case and examined it. The Distinguished Flying Medal, awarded to Flight Sergeant J.V. Miller. Miller was the name of the old lady conned by the fake Water Board man. So Lemmy must have been involved in that scam, but he didn't match up to the description she had given. The man she described was small and thin with a moustache. He replaced the medal and pushed the case across to Hanlon. "Let her know we've got it back. It'll cheer the poor old cow up no end." He stood up. "Where's Hopalong Cassidy?"
"Still questioning Maggie in No. 2 interview room."
"I think I'll stick my nose in if only to irritate him."
But he was too late. Cassidy had just left the interview room and PC Collier was about to escort Maggie Hoxton back to her cell. Frost beckoned him outside. "How's it going?"
"She hasn't cracked yet, but Mr. Cassidy is sure she will."
"Let's see if I have any luck," said Frost. He went back into the interview room with Collier. Maggie, seated at the table, arms folded, looked up at him defiantly as he flopped into the chair opposite her and treated her to his disarming smile which immediately, put her on her guard. He pushed across a cigarette and lit up for them both. "Things don't look too good for you, Mag."
She smirked. "If they look so bloody bad, why haven't I been charged? You've nothing on me, not a damn thing. Like I told that other git, we had a row, Lemmy walked out and I haven't seen him since."
"When he walked out on you, Mag, did he say, "Maggie, dearest, I'm never coming back, not ever"?"
"No. He slammed the door and went."
"He didn't even do a typical, lovable Lemmy thing, like putting your hand in the door frame as he slammed it shut?"
"No."
"Didn't it strike you as strange that he left his home, his clothes, his change of underpants and his bronze Toyota?"
Maggie shrugged. "Perhaps he didn't need them. Perhaps his new lady friend has lots of money."
Frost beamed. "Funny thing that, Mag. I was going to ask you about money. Did he leave you anything for the housekeeping?"
"No."
"Did he send you a cheque from time to time?"
"No. He didn't give a sod about me."
"Oh come, Maggie. You do that noble man an injustice. Lemmy was so concerned about your welfare that even though he was dead, rotting away and stinking the place out, he still insisted on signing cheques so you could entertain your toy boys." He produced the cancelled cheques from his pocket and dumped them on the table. "He's been dead for three months, yet there's one here dated last week."
She stared at the cheques, her mind whirring, trying to find an explanation that just wouldn't come. "All right. So I forged his name. How was I supposed to live? The sod had walked out on me."
"If you believed Lemmy was still alive, you wouldn't have dared forge his name to his cheques. He'd have broken every bone in your body. You knew he was dead. You knew because you killed him, you and young Superdick." He gave her a sweet smile. "So I'm going to charge you both with murder."
She snatched the cigarette from her mouth and leant across the table. "You're not pinning this on me. I never killed him."
"Then who did, Maggie?"
"I don't know." She leant back and took a long drag at her cigarette. "All right, I'll tell you the truth. We didn't have a row. He went out one day and never came back. Well, you don't look a gift horse in the mouth. He'd
been a bastard to me, knocked me about and kept me short of money. I didn't give a damn what had happened to him, I was just thankful he'd gone."
"What did you think might have happened to him?"
"At first I thought he'd been arrested. I knew he'd gone out that day to do a job."
"Nicking stuff from old age pensioners?" suggested Frost.
"Sounds his bleeding mark, but I don't know what it was. Anyway, he never came back end of story."
"So you started forging his cheques?"
"After a week. I had to live, didn't I?"
"Didn't it occur to you that Lemmy might be dead?"
"Occur to me? I was bloody banking on it."
"So why didn't you tell the police? If you and young Rent-a-dick didn't kill him, you had nothing to lose."
"If I told the police and they found his body, Lemmy's flaming wife would have copped the house and all his money."
Frost gaped. "His wife? I thought you were his wife?"
She shook her head. "He walked out on his real wife over ten years ago. The greedy grasping cow she'd have had me out of the house and on the street before the ropes came off the coffin handles."
"So he went out, never came back and you did sod all about it?"
She glared at him defiantly. "I don't think there's any law against that."
"There's a law against forging cheques," said Frost.
"I was his common-law wife. I had no money. I don't think any jury's going to convict me on that, do you?"
Frost tapped his empty cigarette packet on the table. "You might be telling the truth, Mag. Trouble is, you still fit nicely into our frame. We reckon Lemmy came home unexpectedly, found you and little Wayne having it away. There was a fight, you killed him and disposed of the body. You then proceed to lead a life of unlimited dick and luxury."
She snapped her fingers at PC Collier. "Give me my handbag." She opened it and took out a window envelope which she gave to Frost. "Have a look at that!"
He unfolded the printed sheet inside. It was a Visa credit card statement made out to Lemmy Hoxton. The amount outstanding was £699.99 covering a purchase from Supertek Discount Warehouses, Denton. He looked at it, then back at her. "So?"
"Lemmy never let his credit card out of his sight. It was in his wallet which he always kept on him. If he was dead in August, how come he spent "nearly seven hundred quid in October?"
Frost looked again at the statement. The date against the purchase was 12th October. "Are you saying you didn't buy this?"
"I didn't have his bloody credit card, so how could I? I reckon whoever killed him took his wallet. Check with the store - they ought to remember who they sold seven hundred quid's worth of stuff to."
Frost refolded the statement and popped it back into the envelope. "OK, Maggie. I'll check it out."
He ambled back to the incident room where Arthur Hanlon was putting the finishing touches to a sheaf of schedules which he waved at Frost.
"Do you want to OK the arrangements for dragging the lakes and canals tomorrow, Jack?"
Frost shook his head. "No thanks, Arthur. If you did it, I'm sure it's impeccable." He yawned. "I'm going to get my head down for a couple of hours. If any more bodies turn up with limbs or dicks cut off, let Mr. Cassidy handle them."
He drifted into his office on his way out. Liz Maud's things, following her expulsion from Allen's office, were neatly stacked on the spare desk. He took a cursory glance through his in-tray. More piddling little memos from Mullett and a wad of returns demanding to be filled in. In the middle of his desk Liz had left a list of the jewellery and furs allegedly stolen from Stanfield's house, together with a copy of their claim to the insurance company which suggested they had been robbed of the Crown Jewels. He skimmed through it and put it back on her desk. There were more important things to think about than that at the moment.
He almost made it to his car. As he was unlocking it Wells charged out, yelling his name and waving a message sheet. "Another kiddy stabbed in his cot, Jack."
"Give it to Liz Maud," said Frost. "It's her case."
"She's off duty. Mr. Mullett wants you to deal with it."
"Me? Why?"
"You're an inspector. The kid's father is a friend of his."
"Any friend of Mullett's is an enemy of mine. Tell him you just missed me." But as he spoke he could see the Divisional Commander watching them both from his office window. He heaved a sigh of resignation, took the message sheet from Wells and climbed into his car.
The address was an expensive-looking bungalow with a large garden whose rear boundary backed on to Denton Golf Course. A police car was outside. As he slid in behind it another car skidded to a stop behind him and Liz Maud got out, her hair all over the place. She had heard the call over the radio and driven straight over.
PC Jordan let them in. They could hear angry voices. "That's the father," explained Jordan. "He's throwing his weight about . . . a real right bastard."
"Of course he is," agreed Frost. "He's a friend of Mr. Mullett's." Not feeling an immediate desire to go inside to be shouted at, he asked Jordan to tell him what had happened.
Jordan flipped open his notebook. "Family name is Wilkes. Him and his wife were down the golf club - the annual dinner and dance or something - leaving the nanny to put their four-year-old daughter to bed. Around half-past eleven the nanny hears the kiddy screaming. She tried to get into the nursery, but the door was jammed. Anyway, she managed to give it a kick and burst in. The nursery window was wide open, the kiddy screaming with blood all over her pyjamas. Nanny looked out of the window and saw someone scrambling over the garden fence on to the golf course."
"How's the little girl?" asked Liz.
"No real damage, thank God. She's gone back to sleep now, I think." He frowned his disapproval at the angry shouting still coming from the other room. "Assuming she can sleep through that damn row."
"Show me where he got in," said Frost. Jordan led them round the back of the bungalow, past the patio windows of the lounge where they could see the father striding up and down and yelling at PC Simms. He glared at them as they quickly scuttled past.
The end casement window was wide open and outside it the SOCman was closing up his case of equipment. He shook his head to Frost. "No prints other than the mother's and the nanny's."
"You're bloody useless," said Frost, looking through to the nursery which was decorated in pink and white. A pink and white wooden chair lay on its side in front of the open door. The matching pink and white bed by the wall was empty. "Where's the kiddy now?"
"In the nanny's room."
Frost turned to look across the garden to the golf course. "She saw him clambering over that rear fence?" It wasn't a very high fence.
He swung his leg over the sill and dropped into the nursery. Liz and Jordan followed. "He wouldn't have to be much of an athlete to get in here, would he?" muttered Frost as he padded over to the bed. He looked at the circus motif counterpane. One of the grinning, white faces of a clown was freckled with tiny drops of blood. Frost peered at it closely, then nodded. He had seen enough. "I can't put it off any longer - let's go and talk to Mr. Mullett's mate."
The mother, an ash blonde in her mid-thirties, wearing a low-cut emerald green evening dress, was sitting hunched by the electric wall fire. Her husband, dark-haired, with a trim black moustache, wore a white dinner jacket and a black bow tie. His face was flushed and he spun round angrily as they entered. "It's too damn late now. He's miles away. If you'd have got here sooner instead of sitting on your fat arses doing nothing, you might have stood a chance of catching him."
Frost dropped uninvited into a vacant chair and beamed up at him. "I would hardly describe my lady colleague as having a fat arse, sir - it's smaller than yours."
The man's face darkened. "Don't come that tone with me, inspector. Some perverted maniac has broken into my house and stabbed my four-year-old daughter. Instead of sending twenty men to surround and search the place, we get two men in
a car. It's pathetic . . . bloody pathetic'
"We couldn't send twenty men even if we wanted to, sir," replied Frost. "At the moment, all we have got is eight men covering the whole of Denton. The rest have been out all day from early this morning, searching for a missing boy. They only stopped when it was too dark to continue. They are now getting some sleep and will be out again early tomorrow morning."
The man wasn't interested in facts and figures. "Someone's going around stabbing babies," he yelled. "Get some more police in . . ."
Frost held up his hands in mock surrender. "Let's calm it down, shall we, sir? You want him caught, we want to catch him. We won't achieve that by yelling at each other. You and your wife were out when it happened, so let's have a word with the nanny. She, at least, saw him."
Frost had imagined the nanny to be a grey-haired little old lady in a nurse's uniform, reeking of wintergreen, and was pleasantly surprised when a strapping Swedish blonde in her late teens came in carrying the sleeping child wrapped in a blanket.
"Flaming hell," he whispered to Liz. "She can breast feed me any time she likes!"
Liz pretended not to hear and hoped the family hadn't heard either. Frost had a genius for tasteless jokes at the wrong time.
"Helga's English is not too good," said the man.
I bet she knows how to say, "Yes please," thought Frost. He smiled encouragingly. "So you heard a noise, Helga, and you ran to the nursery?"
She nodded, eyes glowing at the chance to recount her adventure. "I hear Zoe cry. I run to nursery, but door is jammed. I kick and it opens. There is blood on Zoe. I look out of window and there is man climbing fence into golf field."
"Can you describe him?" asked Liz, pen poised.
"No. Too dark. Too far. I phone Mr. Wilkes at golf place."
"That's right," nodded Wilkes. "I called the police from there and we came straight over."
"If it was too dark and too far, could it have been a woman?" asked Frost.
Her eyes widened in astonishment at such a question "Would a woman do such a thing to a little child?"
Frost 4 - Hard Frost Page 11