"Finch? You've gone over every inch of his house, his caravan, his car . . . you've found nothing."
"He's our man." Even as he said it, he had his doubts. Earlier today he was damn sure Younger was the kidnapper. He took a drag at the cigarette. "He'd better be our man . . . he's all we've bloody got."
"And what do you hope to achieve by following him?"
"I'm hoping he'll lead us to the kid."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then we're in trouble."
"You will be in trouble," said Mullett grimly. "Make no mistake about it, inspector. You will be in serious trouble." He made no attempt to suppress his smile of satisfaction as he turned and marched out of the office.
"When am I never in trouble?" sighed Frost, swinging his feet up on the desk again.
Liz Maud led Harold Younger out of the charge room and walked him to the main entrance. He had been charged and released on police bail and was free to return to his shed at the bottom of the garden. He had been warned that if he tried to make trouble with his neighbours his bail would be revoked.
Harold Younger was a toe-rag. He thought he was God's gift to women. He kept calling her sweetheart and in the car on the way to the station had slyly rested his hand on her knee. She had given him a sweet, encouraging smile, then stubbed her cigarette out on the back of his hand. He had sucked the burn and sworn at her, but didn't try anything else.
She ushered him out of the door, then returned to the incident room. Liz was not very happy. Cassidy, the same rank as her in spite of his temporary promotion, was tidying up on a murder investigation, while she was stuck with the petty theft of items from the hospital storeroom.
She found Frost in the incident room, seated at a desk, holding the phone away from his ear while a stream of angry abuse buzzed and crackled into empty air. When the noise stopped, he put the phone back to his ear. "I appreciate your concern, Mr. Stanfield. The enquiries into the abduction of your daughter are proceeding. I have every hope we will be able to make an early arrest." More angry buzzing, so he put the phone down on the desk and n't up a cigarette, then when it went quiet, picked the phone up again. "Got to go now, sir . . . urgent call." He hung up and swung round to Liz. "That was Mr. Stanfield. He read in the paper how we're dragging our heels over the kidnapping and intends telling the paper how we're dragging our heels over his daughter's abduction." He stood up and stretched. "So I suppose we had better do something about it. Let's find out how . . ." He clicked his fingers. "What was his name - the one with the pigtail?"
"Ian Grafton?" suggested Liz.
"Yes . . . how an out-of-work layabout can afford an expensive hi-fi."
"We were going to call on those two women at Primrose Cottage," Liz reminded him.
"Primrose Cottage?" frowned Frost, trying to recall what it was about.
"Lemmy Hoxton. They lived in the area where he was found."
"Oh, flip, yes." He had completely forgotten about that case. Too much happening at once. He couldn't keep up with it.
Jordan came in with PC Collier trailing behind. "You wanted to see us, inspector?"
"Did I?" asked Frost. "What the hell for?" Then he remembered. "Finch . . . I've promoted him to my number one suspect in the kidnapping case again." Noting their surprise, he added, "All right - so he's my only bleeding suspect. I want him tailed. I'm hoping he'll lead us to where the kid is, but for Pete's sake don't let him know you're following him. If he suspects anything he'll probably sit tight, stay indoors and let the kid die of starvation. You can call on other cars to help if necessary."
He sat down again at the desk, then realized Liz was still standing there. "Primose Cottage?" she said.
"No." He shook his head. "Lemmy's been dead for months, another couple of hours won't make any difference. We'll go and see Ian Grafton."
He was feeling too fragile to let Liz drive, so he took the wheel himself. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. The poor old sod looked dead tired and much older than when she had first seen him when he turned up out of the blue at Patriot Street. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" she said.
"As long as it's not rude," said Frost.
"It's about Mr. Cassidy's daughter."
"Oh yes?" said Frost, guardedly.
"He seems to blame you for the failure of the investigation."
"Yes," agreed Frost. "He thought I should have tried harder."
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"He idolized his daughter," said Frost, 'but he was always very busy in those days. He was never able to spend much time with her. That night he'd arranged to take her out for a treat or something -I think his wife was away. Anyway, he had to call it off at the last minute as something boiled over on a case he was working on. The next thing we know is a call from Tommy Dunn that she'd been knocked down and killed by a hit and run driver outside the Coconut Grove."
"The Coconut Grove? What was she doing there?"
Frost shrugged. "God knows! She might have tried to get inside the club - you know what kids are like but Baskin would never allow that: he knows how keen we are to take his licence away. I went straight down there. Plenty of people who heard the car hitting her, not a soul who saw it." He sighed. "So - another of my failures. We never caught the driver and Mr. Cassidy has never forgiven me."
"Mr. Cassidy suggests you didn't follow up the case with your customary vigour," persisted Liz.
"I bet he didn't put it that politely," said Frost. "Let's drop the subject." He turned the car into Fairfield Road. He couldn't park outside Ian Grafton's house. The battered old van was missing. In its place was a gleaming black Porsche.
"When they come into money, they buy fast cars," said Frost with a smirk of satisfaction. He had no doubt now who had abducted Carol Stanfield. Grafton answered their ring. He was disconcerted to see them and had to shout over the sound of heavy meral music rolling down the stairs. "You can't come up - I've got someone with me."
"Only take a couple of minutes," breezed Frost, barging past him.
As he opened the door the blast of noise from the massive floor-standing tannoy speakers almost hit him in the face. The speakers and the state of the art hi-fi unit almost filled the room. But there was still room for the bed. And sitting on the bed, her expression changing from delight to utter dismay when she saw it was Frost and not Ian, was Carol Stanfield. Spread on the bed next to her were heaps and heaps of banknotes. She said something, but he couldn't hear. The noise from the hi-fi was deafening and when he struggled to turn it off he only succeeded in turning up the volume. Liz pushed past him and cut the power off from the mains. In the sudden, stunning silence' they were slow to hear the sound of running feet taking the stairs two at a time. Ian and Carol were dashing for the front door.
By the time Frost and Liz reached the street, the Porsche was roaring round the corner.
Liz started to run for the Ford, but Frost stopped her. "We'll never catch them in that, love. They've got no money and nowhere to go. They'll be back."
They went back inside the flat to gather up the banknotes. He radioed the station to ask all units to keep an eye out for the Porsche and report its position. "Apprehend the occupants if possible, but I want no Brands Hatch speed chase."
He dropped Liz off at the station with the money, then went on his own to Primrose Cottage.
Chapter 17
It was the younger sister, the bubbly nurse, who opened the door. She blinked her surprise at seeing Frost back again so soon.
"Trivial matter," he said, following her into the chintzy lounge where her sister, Millicent, was watching the television. She pressed the remote control to switch it off, then turned to greet their visitor. She did not seem at all happy when she realized who it was. "Sorry to bother you both," said Frost, lowering himself down into an armchair and loosening his scarf. He started patting his pockets, smiling apologetically. "Now where did I put it? Ah!" He produced the typed list of names, which he unfolded and studied. "Y
ou used to live at Woodside Lane?" The nurse kept her face impassive, but from the corner of his eye he saw the older woman visibly start: she snatched up some knitting then pushed it away.
"That's right," said Julie. "A long time ago." She sounded almost too casual.
"I'm a bit puzzled as to why you didn't tell me you used to live there."
Julie frowned. "Why on earth should we?"
Still watching the older woman, whose hands appeared to be shaking vigorously, Frost said, "Because that's where we found the body, right near where you used to live . . . the man you said never called here."
"Good Lord!" exclaimed Julie, wide-eyed and incredulous. "He was found there?"
"You know damn well he was," snapped Frost. "In a coal bunker, right opposite your old garden."
"How on earth were we to know that?" replied Julie. "You never told us where he was found."
He tried to hide his dismay as his mind raced over their previous conversation. She was right. He hadn't told them. Damn, damn and bloody double damn! His one ace trumped.
Julie sat on the settee next to her sister and took her hand. "Millie isn't very well, inspector. We've told you we know nothing about this man, so unless there is any other way we can help . . . ?" She stared at him, her expression frank and open, but somehow, he knew she was lying. All right, he thought, if it's lies you want . . .
"I hate to suggest you're not telling me the truth, Miss Fleming, but we have a witness . . ." He looked again at the sheet of paper as if confirming details. "A witness who saw the dead man, Lemmy Hoxton, come into this house on the day in question. And he never saw him come out again."
The nurse flushed angrily. "I resent the implication. If this man called here, why on earth would we try to pretend he hadn't?"
"Why indeed?" Frost gave his enigmatic smile which implied he knew everything. But he knew damn all. He was floundering. He stared at Julie, a long, hard stare. She returned it, her gaze unwavering. Game, set and match to her. His bluff had failed.
But he hadn't been watching her sister.
"Tell him, Julie. For God's sake tell him and get it over with."
She was standing, shaking, her face white.
"Tell me what?" asked Frost.
Julie moved protectively in front of Millie, and tried to get her to sit down. "You can see she's not well. Would you please leave now."
"What does she want to tell me?" repeated Frost.
Julie signalled her sister to keep silent, then glared defiantly at the inspector. "It's nothing. She doesn't know what she is saying."
Frost stood up and sighed wearily. "It might be better if we all went down to the station."
"All right," said the nurse, patting her sister's hand and gently pushing her back on to the settee. She sat down beside her. "Yes, that man came here. Yes, he robbed us, and then he left."
"He robbed you?" said Frost. "And you did nothing about it?"
She stared at the floor. "We didn't want anyone to know what he had taken."
"Which was . . .?"
She hesitated, drew a breath, and put an arm round her sister who was starting to sob quietly. "Photographs."
"What sort of photographs?"
"Explicit photographs. Photographs of . . ." She looked at her sister. "Photographs of us doing things . . ." She lowered her eyes and her voice was a whisper.". . . using things."
Frost's jaw dropped. He wasn't sure he had heard correctly, then he remembered what Liz had said about them. "What sort of things?"
She flushed brick red. "Do we have to go into details?"
"You use them on each other?"
"Yes." She was now staring straight through him to the far wall.
"But you are sisters?"
"No. We live together. We have a circle of friends, we go to the church . . . We thought it best to give the impression that we were sisters, but that isn't the case."
"So Lemmy discovered your secret?"
"Yes. He took the photographs and jewellery and money. He threatened to blackmail us if we told the police."
"And where were the photos and jewellery and stuff kept?"
"In the bedroom."
"The connubial bedroom?"
An angry frown. "Of course."
Frost pushed himself out of his chair. "Show me."
"I protest. Surely this isn't necessary . . .?"
But Frost was already half-way up the stairs. Still protesting, she followed him, leaving Millie, face tear-stained, on the settee. He opened a door to a daintily furnished room with a double bed. He felt disappointed. He had expected mirrors on the ceiling, black sheets, whips and leather knickers. It was chintzy like the lounge. He tugged at the top drawer of a mahogany dressing-table. "He took the jewellery from here?"
She was standing by the door. She nodded. "Yes."
He looked in another drawer. Tucked away under a pile of neatly folded underwear was a grey plush-covered box with a gold clasp. He opened it. Inside were gold neck chains, a locket, two jewelled brooches, a cameo watch and a heavy gold and ruby bangle. He showed it to her. "How come he missed these?"
She looked away and said nothing.
"I'm waiting for an answer," said Frost. "You said he took your jewellery, but your jewellery is still here." He smiled at her. "Perhaps you then went out and bought some more, in which case just show me the receipts and I'll slink away with my tail between my legs."
She was engrossed in the pattern on the carpet.
He pulled open other drawers. In the bottom one he found a wad of coloured Polaroids bound with elastic bands. He flicked through them. The two women naked and intertwined. The nurse, wide-eyed and panting, had a stunning figure. "You take a good picture," said Frost. At the back of the drawer, the sex aids. The object he brought out and held aloft was obscenely realistic. "Alas poor Yorrick," he declaimed. "I knew him well."
She winced. "Must you be so unpleasant, inspector?"
"If I'm pleasant, people lie to me," he said. He didn't take your jewellery, he didn't take your family snapshots and I'm damn sure he didn't take your money. Lemmy would never leave without them . . . not unless he was dead." He picked up the pink and red tipped appliance, waggled it, then slapped his palm with it. "This wasn't the murder weapon, I hope?"
She looked away, screwing up her face. "You're quite disgusting, inspector."
"Lemmy's body was pretty disgusting when we fished it out of that coal bunker. You know the one I mean . . . next to your old house."
"We've got to tell him, Julie."
They hadn't heard her come in. Millie was holding tightly on to the door frame as if she was ready to collapse.
"Yes," said Frost. "You've got to tell me." He waited while the nurse took the other woman's arm and gently led her over to the bed, then sat beside her, tightly gripping and patting her hand. Frost nodded for Millie to begin, but it was the nurse who spoke.
"I was home when he called. He must have thought it was only Millie in the house, but I had a migraine and was lying down in the back bedroom where it was cooler. It was so hot that day. All I had on was a nightdress and I was lying on top of the bed. Millie let him in. He did all the things you said . . . got her to turn on the kitchen taps while he came upstairs to the bathroom, ostensibly to flush the toilet. I heard him in our bedroom, opening drawers, so I got up and went to see what he was up to. He was at the dressing-table, his back to me."
"This dressing-table?" pointed Frost.
"Yes. He'd opened the bottom drawer and found the photographs and the other things. When I shouted at him, he spun round, a dirty grin on his face. He wouldn't hand over the photographs. He said if I wanted them back, I would have to pay. He said . . ." Her voice dropped and Frost had to lean forward to catch what she was saying. "He said, "Why not try the real thing?" Then he grabbed me and tore off my nightdress. I struggled and tried to get away, but he was too strong. He pushed me over to the bed. He was going to rape me. Thank God Millie heard the noise and came running in." S
he turned and smiled at the other woman who took up the story.
"I heard Julie screaming so I grabbed the rolling pin and ran up. His trousers were gaping open and he was forcing Julie back on to the bed. I hit him . . . hit him . . . again and again. He turned and stared at me, then he collapsed on the floor. I prayed he was unconscious, but Julie said he was dead."
"You didn't call an ambulance, or a doctor?" asked Frost.
Julie looked up. "There was no point. I'm a nurse. I know when someone is dead."
"And you didn't consider calling the police?"
"No."
"You were being attacked . . . he was trying to rape you . . . you were screaming in fear of your life. I can't see any jury convicting you, especially when they learnt what a bastard Lemmy was."
Julie shook her head hopelessly. "Too much personal detail would have come out."
"But it's all going to come out now, isn't it?" said Frost. "All the lip-smacking details." He put a cigarette in his mouth, but didn't light it. "You hid the body?"
"We wanted to put him somewhere where he wouldn't be found for a long time. Millie thought of the coal bunker near the old house."
"A good place," said Frost. "If we hadn't been looking for a missing boy, we might never have found him." He lit the cigarette. "You did something else to him. His fingers?"
The nurse shuddered. "Yes."
He dribbled out a stream of smoke. "Why did you do it?"
"We'd just painted the bathroom. He must have touched the paint. It was all over his fingers. We tried to get it off, but we couldn't."
"Why was it important you got it off?"
"It was our own special colour. The shop mixed it for us to match the bathroom curtains." She saw Frost still looked mystified. "The shop keeps all the details of these special mixes in case you want a repeat order. If the body was found, we thought you could have traced the paint back to us."
Frost gave a wry smile. "You wasted your time, love. I wouldn't have been that bleeding clever."
"We scrubbed and scrubbed, but it wouldn't shift," said Millie. "Then Julie said we would have to . . ." She left it unsaid. "We waited until it was dark, then took the body to our old place. Every day from then was a nightmare. We kept expecting to read in the papers of someone who hadn't returned home. Nothing. So we thought he had no relatives . . . no-one who would miss him. We were lulled into a sense of false security. We even began to fantasize that it never really happened. And then you came . . ."
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