Frost 4 - Hard Frost

by R D Wingfield

  "We can still do it. What I've done is - "

  Mullett's hand shot up. He didn't want the details. Hearing them could imply his seal of approval and this would only be forthcoming if everything went off without a hitch. "Just make sure nothing goes wrong."

  He turned on his heel and marched to the door, spurred on his way with a V sign, behind his back, from Frost who then tapped his desk to get everyone's attention. "Just thought you'd like to know that Mr. Mullett is one hundred per cent behind us, providing we pull it off. But if we fail then God help us!" He drummed his fingers impatiently and looked pleadingly at the speaker, waiting for the next radio report.

  "Subject car in car-park," radioed Collier. "Cordwell getting out and entering the mall by the side entrance."

  A few minutes later Burton called in. "I have Cordwell in sight. He is waiting outside the four phone kiosks."

  "Check the phone bugging devices again," called Frost. If they were going to go wrong, then now was the time.

  The officer with the earphones did a quick check and gave the thumbs-up signal. "All working perfectly."

  "Right." Frost kept the radio channel to Burton open. They could hear the bustle of shoppers in the mall. The Musak had stopped, no doubt by Cordwell's orders so he could hear the phone ringing. The wall clock in the incident room clunked away another minute. The kidnapper was already five minutes late.

  "I don't think he's going to phone," said Liz.

  "Don't be a bloody pessimist," said Frost. "He's probably in the middle of a long wee-wee. You don't pick up ransom money with a full bladder." Still only crowd noises from the monitor speaker.

  Burton's voice suddenly made everyone sit up. But it was only to report that nothing was happening.

  "For Pete's flaming sake!" yelled Frost. He hated people reporting there was nothing to report.

  Cassidy came in and stood behind Frost. "What's happening?"

  "Sod all, "grunted Frost.

  "Did I understand you were going to use Tommy Dunn?" Cassidy asked.

  "Yes," said Frost.

  "I'd like to talk to you about it," hissed Cassidy.

  "Some other bloody time," snarled Frost. Cassidy was really getting on his nerves tonight. He was relieved when the acting inspector left the room.

  Twenty past eight.

  "Are you sure the bloody phones in the kiosks are working?" asked Frost. "What if Savalot's security men accidentally cut off incoming calls when they cut off the outgoing?"

  "You could always try ringing one," suggested Liz.

  Frost dragged a phone towards him and dialled.

  A yell over the speaker from Burton. "Cordwell's moving towards a kiosk. The phone's ringing."

  Frost hastily banged the receiver down. "I know it was me. Just testing." This is turning into a flaming farce, he told himself.

  Almost immediately Burton was back on the radio. "Something's happening. A manager from Savalot is running towards Cordwell . . . talking to him. Cordwell's leaving the kiosks. They're both running back towards the store."

  "Follow him," hissed Frost. "Don't let the sod out of your sight."

  Lots of rustling and roars from the radio as Burton barged his way through the crowd. "Lost him . . . no, I see him. He's going to the Customer Service Desk. He's picking up their phone . . . I can't get too near, he'll spot me . . . He's listening. He's put the phone down . . . Now he's going through a Staff Only door. Do I follow?"

  "No!" snapped Frost. "He's probably gone to get the money. Has he got to come past you again to get to his car?"

  "I don't know."

  Frost's mind raced. "Right - get down to the car-park. Locate his car and let me know when he leaves." He clicked to Collier. "Collier, go to the car-park exit and get ready to follow when he leaves . . . All other units, stand by."

  "What's happening?" Sensing that something was going wrong and anxious to witness Frost's discomfiture when it did, Cassidy had returned.

  "The sod's put one over on us," Frost told him. "He never intended using the kiosks - must have guessed we'd bug them. He phoned direct to the store."

  "So what are you going to do?"

  "I'm hoping we can follow without Cordwell or the kidnapper spotting us. We might have to anticipate where he's making for and try and get there before him. We play it by ear."

  Cassidy smirked to himself. It seemed as if this whole operation could blow up in Frost's face. He was pleased he had expressed his doubts to Mullett when his views were sought. "I foresee trouble, sir," he'd said. "It's too slapdash." And Mullett had nodded grimly in agreement.

  A muffled roar and some fragments of speech, totally incomprehensible, from the loudspeaker. "Say again," yelled Frost. "Say again." More gibberish. "What's going on?"

  PC Lambert jiggled some switches. "It's the underground car-park the radio can't work down there."

  "Tell him to move outside," said Frost.

  Lambert spoke into the mike then shook his head. "It's no use. We can't hear him and he can't hear us."

  Frost snatched up his radio. "Collier. Cordwell should be coming out any second. Get ready to follow."

  "Burton to Control - receiving? Over."

  A collective sigh of relief. Burton had moved to an area of better reception. "Cordwell has put a canvas travel bag on the front seat of his car. He's got a couple of his security men with him, so it must be the money. He's getting in the car . . ."

  "On his own or with the security men?"

  "On his own . . . He's driving out now."

  Frost clicked on the other radio. "Did you hear that, Collier?"

  "Yes . . . I see him . . . I'm following."

  "Don't get too close," pleaded Frost, 'but for God's sake, don't lose him."

  "I'll try - "

  "Collier's not up to it," said Cassidy.

  "Neither am I," said Frost, 'but we've got to use what we've got." He could murder Tommy bloody Dunn. He'd been pinning all his hopes on being able to sit back and follow the homing device.

  "Subject turning into Bath Road," reported Collier.

  Frost glanced across to Lambert who was marking up a map. Too soon yet to work out where Cordwell was making for.

  "He's turning left . . . he's slowing down . . . I'm not sure, but I think he's spotted me."

  "Drive straight past him," ordered Frost. "Don't look at him as you do." He ran across to consult Lambert's map. "He can't turn off until he reaches Hilton Road, so go and wait for him there. Tell me when he passes you."

  He lit a cigarette before noticing he already had one smouldering away in the ashtray. He called Burton and told him to get ready to take over the tail from Collier.

  The monitor speaker hummed softly to itself, now and again giving a little crackle as if it was going to speak, but nothing. Impatiently Frost snatched up the radio and jabbed the transmit button. "He should have bloody reached you by now, Collier."

  "But he hasn't. I'm looking straight down the Bath Road . . . visibility's a bit hairy in this rain, but I should be able to see him. There's a couple of lorries, but that's all."

  "Damn!" Frost scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to work out what had happened. "The bastard must have done a U turn. Collier - drive back. If you see him, swing round and follow . . . report to me when you reach where you last saw him."

  He stood up and paced around the room, swinging round abruptly as Collier's voice came over the radio.

  "I've gone right back to the Bath Road turn-off. No sign of him."

  "Shit!" Frost pounded the desk in frustration. "All units . . . you heard that. Look for the bugger . . . Report as soon as you get a sniff of him."

  The door clicked open and Mullett marched in. He had a genius for turning up at precisely the wrong time. "How's it going?"

  "The inspector seems to have lost him," said Cassidy, barely concealing his delight, just as Frost was about to lie and say all was going to plan.

  Mullett's face hardened. "Is this correct?"

 
"Temporary set-back," Frost assured. "We'll find him."

  "You'd better," snapped Mullett. "You'd damn well better." He marched out.

  "He's got a foul tongue, hasn't he?" observed Frost. He suddenly felt he couldn't bear to be cooped up in the claustrophobic incident room any longer, just listening and not being a part of things. He grabbed his scarf. "I'm going to join in the hunt. The more cars looking for him, the better." He looked at Cassidy. "Want to come?" He only asked because he was sure the acting inspector intended coming anyway.

  Cassidy hesitated. If it all went wrong he wanted no part of it, but if Frost was successful, if he arrested the kidnapper and got the boy back, then Cassidy wanted to be there to share the glory. The thought of glory won. He snatched up his coat and followed Frost out.

  They dashed, bent double through rain, to the Ford. Frost slipped behind the steering wheel and persuaded the engine to start at the third attempt. The car splashed through deep puddles as he manoeuvred out of the car park.

  "Where are we going?" asked Cassidy.

  "I'm heading towards Denton Woods. If I was arranging a cash hand-over, that's where I'd choose."

  "That area is bloody big," said Cassidy.

  "So's my dick," grunted Frost, 'but I usually manage to find the bit I want." He radioed through to Lambert to ascertain the current position of all mobiles. Lambert reported straight back. As many cars as possible were scouring the town, but there were too many roads which Cordwell could have used and not enough vehicles to cover them. Again Frost cursed Tommy Dunn. With the homing device it would have been a doddle; without it they were flying blind in the thickest of fogs. Sod Tommy bloody Dunn.

  "Tommy Dunn." A voice sliced through his thoughts as if it could read his mind.

  "Eh?" Frost's head swivelled round. Cassidy was staring hard at him, waiting for an answer. "Sorry, son, I was miles away."

  "I'm not your damn son and I asked you for Tommy Dunn's address."

  "I don't know it," muttered Frost, squinting through the windscreen at an approaching car that could have been green. But it wasn't.

  "You're a bloody liar," said Cassidy.

  Frost didn't reply. Yes, he was lying. He knew Tommy's address but he wasn't going to let Cassidy go round there stirring everything up again. "It happened a long time ago, son. Let the wounds heal."

  "You and Tommy made a great team, didn't you? One damned incompetent and the other always on the take."

  "I did my best to find the hit and run driver, son. We all did. We worked bloody hard, but we failed."

  "I don't doubt you did your best, inspector, but your best is inadequate and bloody pathetic' Frost shrugged. Cassidy had idolized his daughter and his bitterness at the failure of the investigation, even after all these years, was understandable, if not excusable.

  "That bastard hit my daughter at speed, and roared off without bothering to see if she was alive or dead. She was smashed to pieces. Fourteen years old. She hadn't lived. She hadn't bloody lived!"

  "I know son. I know."

  "You know much more than you're damn well saying."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You let me down four years ago, so I've been making my own enquiries. I've found a witness."

  "Oh?" A green car roared past them, but it was a hand-painted VW Beetle.

  "He was in the car-park at the Coconut Grove when he saw this car speeding past. Then he heard it pumping its horn, and the smash as it hit my daughter."

  "He didn't actually see the accident?"

  "No. He went running out to the road and there was a crowd of people and they were looking down at my daughter's body."

  "We know all this, son." Frost would never forget that night . . . the flashing blue light of the ambulance reflected in the shiny pools of blood inside the chalked outline marked out by the traffic police. He had viewed the smashed and broken body in the morgue, the small fourteen-year-old body that had spilt so much blood on the road. He had tried to stop Cassidy from seeing her until they had tidied her up, but had been pushed aside . . . The memory of the man's grief and anger still hurt, a mental wound that would never heal. "We know all this," he repeated.

  "Then here's something you apparently don't know. There was a BMW parked in the road outside the club. The driver was in it. Tommy Dunn was talking to him."

  "I've no knowledge of Tommy talking to anyone, son. If he had, there would have been a witness statement."

  "Depends on how much Tommy was paid to keep his mouth shut."

  Frost lit a cigarette. "It depends on how reliable your witness is. Funny he never told anyone about this at the time."

  "He says he told you," said Cassidy.

  Frost slowed down. He was driving much too fast. "He's mistaken." Headlights of an approaching car dazzled the windscreen. A white Mercedes. "Look, son, let's drop it for now. We're not concentrating on the job in hand."

  "I'd like to see the file on your investigation of Rebecca's death," said Cassidy stubbornly.

  "I'll dig it out and let you have it," replied Frost. As soon as he got back to the station he would hide it where no-one could find it. There was no way he would let Cassidy see it. And he'd get Tommy Dunn to have a word with this mouthy witness. He knew who he was. He offered a cigarette to Cassidy which was curtly refused.

  "What was Dunn doing at the Coconut Grove that night - collecting backhanders?"

  "Checking on stolen credit cards," said Frost, twisting his neck as another car sped past. "I never realized there were so many damn green cars in Denton." He sank back gloomily in his seat, squinting at the road ahead through the solid curtain of rain which his squealing windscreen wipers were making pathetic efforts to clear.

  "Burton to Inspector Frost. I've found him. Back on the Bath Road, heading north. I'm following."

  "Exactly where on the Bath Road?" yelled Frost into the handset as he swung the car around, shooting up a shower of rainwater.

  "Just passing Sandown Road."

  "Right - Frost to all mobiles. I want two of you to get ahead of him. Charlie Baker you get to the motorway turn-off, and when he approaches, you take over from Burton. Charlie Abel - tail them both. If it looks as if he's spotted Charlie Baker, then you take over." He began to whistle cheerfully. Action - this was more like it.

  "Subject turning north into Forest Row," reported Burton.

  Frost nodded resignedly. It looked as if Cordwell was heading for Denton Woods where it would be bloody difficult to keep track of him once he left the car. It now needed lots more men than he had available. And yet again that evening he bitterly cursed Tommy Dunn for dropping him in it like this.

  "He's slowing . . . he's slowing," reported Burton. "He's stopped."

  "Where?" yelled Frost. "Just in case we might want to know."

  "Sorry. By the public call box, corner of Forest View. He's getting out of the car, making for the call box. He's waiting and checking his watch. The phone's ringing .. . he's answered it. Now he's hung up and he's dashing back to the Nissan."

  "It must be the final instructions for the drop," said Frost. "Don't lose him . . . we'll be with you soon."

  Burton braked. He was getting too close. A short way back he had lost sight of the Nissan and had jammed down on the accelerator only to have to slam on the brakes to avoid shooting up its backside. Luckily Cordwell had other things on his mind and did not seem to notice.

  The road wriggled into another sharp bend and again the rear lights of Cordwell's car slipped out of sight. Burton accelerated as much as he dared. The weather conditions were making the road surface treacherous. As he negotiated the bend, he cursed. The Nissan had stopped. Had Cordwell seen him? Was he, perhaps, checking to see if he was being followed? Burton drove straight past, avoiding turning his head as he passed, but at the very next bend, he slowed and bumped the car up on to the grass verge. Quickly, he stuffed the radio into the pocket of his raincoat, slung the night glasses round his neck and stepped out into torrential rain.

 
Running back towards the oak tree, he reported to Frost. "He's stopped."

  "Where?" asked Frost.

  "The big oak alongside Forest Common."

  "What's he doing now?"

  Burton didn't know. He couldn't see a flaming thing. He couldn't even see the car. Cordwell had switched off the lights and the rain was making visibility very limited. "Wait," he panted, dropping the radio back in his pocket and getting out the night glasses.

  He located the oak tree, then moved down to the car. It was empty. He panned the common. Bushes, trees ... He'd lost him . . . he'd damn well lost him. He began swinging the glasses wildly from left to right, hoping to pick up something. What was that? Something white. He held the glasses steady on Cordwell in his white mac. Thank goodness it was a white raincoat otherwise he might never have spotted him. He adjusted the focus. Cordwell was carrying something. The money bag.

  He became aware of squawkings from his pocket. The radio. Frost pleading for some news. He fished it out and reported breathlessly, "Have subject in sight. Will report back." He raised the night glasses again. Damn. Bushes, trees, but no sign of Cordwell. He panned quickly from left to right. Nothing. Where the hell was he? He almost shook with relief when he again picked up a blur of white. Cordwell emerging from a line of bushes and bramble. He was coming back . . . Returning to his car. Had he made the drop? At first Burton wasn't sure. Cordwell was at the wrong angle, but when he turned towards the oak, Burton could see that the supermarket chief no longer had the travel bag.

  He pulled out the radio and brought the anxious Frost up to date. "He's made the drop."

  A sigh. of relief from Frost. "Good boy. What's he doing now?"

  The night glasses followed him. "He's going back to his car."

  The sound of the Nissan's engine could just be heard over the drumming of the rain. "He's reversing. He's heading back to Denton."

  Frost ducked his head as approaching headlights flared in the windscreen and Cordwell roared past them on his way back. He radioed Charlie Baker, the area car, to wait by Sandown Road and, as soon as Cordwell passed, to follow him at a discreet distance. "If he goes anywhere but straight home, I want to know." The kidnapper was such a wily bastard, all that had happened could have been a feint; the money could still be with Cordwell to be dumped elsewhere.