A Killing Frost

Chapter 18

‘Skinner wants you,’ said Wells, ‘and he’s spitting blood.’

‘You did say “spitting”? I’m not going in if it’s the other end,’ said Frost. He groaned. ‘Ah, well. Let’s get it over and done with.’

He took a quick look in his own office on the way down. A heap of niggling chase-up memos from Mullett lay in his in-tray, together with a report from SOCO about the coins removed from the call box. Only ninety pence in assorted coins. One of the l0p pieces had a segment of a finger print which matched the fingerprint on the video wrapping paper. The same woman each time. Big deal! They now knew it was the same woman, but still didn’t know who she was. But what else did he expect? He gave a deep sigh. Things were getting on top of him. The little unexpected lucky breaks that often came to his rescue seemed to be on unauthorised leave. He wished he was! Flaming fat-guts Skinner was no help. He’d dumped all the cases on him, ready to take the credit when they were solved and to bullock Frost when things went wrong. And talking of bollocking, he’d better go in and see what Chubby Chops wanted this time.

The typewritten notice pinned on Skinner’s office door read DCI SKINNER. ROOM 12, with an arrow pointing down the corridor. Frost poked his head inside. It was empty of furniture and a white-overalled workman was splashing paint on the walls. He looked up at Frost.

‘You the gentleman from next door, squire?’

‘First time I’ve been called a gentleman,’ said Frost, ‘but yes.’

‘We’ll be starting on your office next week. Understand you’re leaving?’

‘In my own bloody time,’ snapped Frost, slamming the door. Bloody Skinner, ordering the coffin while the corpse was still phoning for an ambulance.

Room 12’s door had a pinned notice: DCI SKINNER – KNOCK AND WAIT. Frost barged straight in.

Skinner sat behind a paper-laden desk in a tiny room jam-packed with furniture from his office. He glowered at Frost. Standing in front of him was WPC Kate Holby. She was biting her lip hard and looked on the verge of tears.

‘I didn’t hear you knock.’

‘Ah – that’s why I didn’t hear you say “Come in”,’ said Frost.

Another scowl from Skinner. He turned to Kate. ‘Now get out. You’ll hear more about this.’

She brushed past Frost and left.

Skinner leant back in his chair. ‘I’ll give that girl something to cry about. If she can’t obey orders, she’s out. I gave her a specific job to do and I find her out on surveillance at the Blue Parrot.’

‘I ordered her to do that,’ said Frost.

‘I don’t care a sod about you. She obeys my orders, not yours. She’s on probation. I’ve got to do a report on her suitability Well, I’m reporting that she’s unsuitable and that will be that.’

‘Even you wouldn’t do that,’ said Frost.

A nasty grin crawled over Skinner’s face. ‘Wouldn’t I just?’

‘You wouldn’t,’ said Frost as he sat down, ‘any more than I would report you for having sex with an under-age prostitute and bringing her to the station. I wouldn’t stoop so low – unless I had to, of course.’

The colour drained from Skinner’s face. ‘Under age?’ he croaked.

Frost nodded. ‘Fifteen this year.’ He had no idea how old she was, but Morgan had taken her home last night so he knew where she lived, and he’d get her to lie if necessary.

Skinner was trying to pull himself together. He gathered up the papers on his desk and patted them into a neat stack. ‘You’re too bleeding clever for your own good,’ he muttered.

‘Thank you,’ said Frost. ‘Praise from you is praise indeed. What did you want to see me about?’

Skinner waved a hand at the papers on his desk. ‘You know what these are? Overtime claims… unauthorised overtime claims. I’m the one who authorises overtime, Frost, not you.’

‘Superintendent Mullett – ’ began Frost.

‘And not Superintendent bleeding Mullett – you take your orders from me, not him. What did that Irish tart say about the phone?’

Frost told him.

Skinner snorted. ‘She took it from the girl’s locker? Just what I thought.’

‘Mrs Clark said Debbie had it the night she was killed.’

‘Then she’s wrong. It can’t have been in two bloody places at once, can it? The kid probably left it at school by mistake and lied to her mother. You’re wasting everyone’s time following that line of inquiry, so drop it. Bridget Malone is a petty, bog-paper-nicking thief, not a murderer, and Patsy Kelly’s a drug-dealer – I’m letting the drug squad deal with him. I’ve phoned the school. They don’t want to prosecute the woman, so that’s that.’

His phone rang. ‘Skinner.’ He pulled the hand set away from his ear as a stream of invective poured out. ‘Mr Beazley, my name is Detective Chief Inspector Skinner. I think we have a mutual friend.. . yes, he’s the one. Up to now this whole thing has been a complete mess. I’m going to kick arse to make sure it’s dealt with as it should be. You have my word on that, Mr Beazley, you have my word.’ He hung up and rubbed his ear. ‘More bloody money was taken last night while you were gallivanting around picking up a bog-paper nicker. I want Beazley off my flaming back, so do a proper surveillance for a change tonight and catch the sod… Comprende?

‘Arrivederci,’ said Frost.

Skinner stared at him, wondering as usual whether Frost was taking the mickey or was just plain stupid. A noise from his old office distracted him. ‘How’s that lazy sod next door getting on?’

‘What, Superintendent Mullett?’ asked Frost innocently.

‘You know damn well who I mean. And he’s doing your office next week, ready for your successor. Have you sold your house yet?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then get a bloody move on. You start at Lexton the week after next.’

As Frost got up to go, Skinner suddenly remembered. ‘Where’s the change from my twenty quid?’

‘I gave it to your granddaughter,’ said Frost. ‘The under-age one.’

Back in his office, he sat and smoked, staring at the nicotine-stained ceiling. The thought that he would have to give this up and move to some sterile cupboard in Lexton added to his depressed mood. He hated to admit it, but Skinner was right about Kelly and Malone. Villains, yes; drug-dealers and petty thieves, yes; but killers and torturers of kids, no. So, with them off the suspects list they now had to try and trace the woman who was making the phone calls to Sandy Lane about the video.

He made his way over to the Incident Room to see if they were having any luck with the registration numbers of the few cars that had been in the vicinity at around the time the woman made the call.

Kate Holby was sitting at the corner desk with stacks of box files around her, transferring the contents to the computer. It was a boring, seemingly never-ending job. She looked as depressed as he felt. He wandered over to her. She looked up and gave him a weak smile.

‘I’ve just had a word with Skinner, love. He won’t be doing an adverse report on you.’

Her face brightened. ‘Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.’

‘Don’t thank me, love,’ said Frost. ‘I just pointed out one or two things to him and, living saint that he is, he realised he’d made a mistake.’

He moved across the room to Collier, who had the phone to his ear and was scribbling some thing down on a sheet of paper.

‘What are you doing, son?’ asked Frost when the call finished.

‘Jordan and Simms are out checking on the cars that were in the vicinity last night when the phone call was made. All vehicles cleared so far.’ He waved the A4 sheet at Frost. It was a list of registration numbers, ticked and marked when the owners had been traced and called on.

One registration number wasn’t ticked. Frost jabbed it with his finger. ‘What about this one?’

‘That’s a lorry Inspector. You said check only cars.’

Frost stared at the number. A little bell started ringing deep in the dark depths of his memory Where had he seen that registration number before? It was on a list. It was definitely on a list of some sort. ‘Check it out, son.’

He waited while Collier tapped away at the computer. A name flashed up on the monitor. ‘Registered to Kenneth Taylor, Denton Farm Produce Ltd.’

Frost shook his head. It still didn’t mean anything. ‘By the way, we’re back on surveillance duty at the Fortress cashpoints tonight. After midnight this time. Skinner has promised Beazley that he is going to crack this case personally, and we mustn’t let our Chief Inspector down, must we?’

As Frost returned to his office, DC Morgan hastily stuffed the Daily Mirror in a drawer and pretended to be busily filling in forms.

‘We’re back on cashpoint surveillance again tonight, Taff, so it will give your dick a rest.’

Morgan grinned. ‘I’ve got details of the cars picked up on CCTV around the time the money was taken from Fortress last night. No common factor.’

He passed the file across to Frost, who idly flipped through it while digging in his pocket for a cigarette. Then he froze. Staring up at him was the registration number of the Denton Farm Produce lorry; He turned another page. There it was again. He looked up. ‘Taff, come here.’

Looking apprehensive and wondering what he had done wrong now, the Weishman joined him. ‘Yes, Guv?’

Frost stabbed a finger. ‘Why wasn’t this one checked? The same vehicle on three of the four nights?’

‘It’s a lorry, Guv. You said don’t check lorries.’

‘You prat,’ snarled Frost. ‘Why do you only obey orders when it’s the wrong flaming thing to do? The same flaming lorry turning up every night around the time the money was taken from the building society. Didn’t you think that was more than a flaming coincidence?’

‘Now you come to mention it,’ began Morgan, but Frost was already on his way to the Incident Room.

‘Collier, what was the address of that bloke from Denton Farm Produce?’

‘Rose Cottage, Shadwell Road,’ Collier told him.

Frost punched the palm of his hand. ‘Shadwell Road? That’s within spitting distance of where Billy King lives – the one whose cashpoint card was stolen. This could be the bloody lead we’re looking for.’ He snatched up the phone and called Control. ‘Get on to Jordan and Simms. Tell them to drop everything and pick up a Kenneth Taylor, Rose Cottage, Shadwell Road for questioning in connection with the theft of a bank card. And tell him I want to thank him personally for hitting Morgan on the head the other night.’

The area car’s headlights sliced a path through the darkness as it bumped and juddered up the unmade road that led to the farm building. It crawled up to a wooden gate which had fallen off its hinges, the headlights picking out the dim outline of an old farm labourer’s cottage. No lights were showing. Jordan squinted through the windscreen. ‘You sure this is the place? It looks derelict.’

‘This is the place,’ confirmed Simms. ‘Look – there’s the lorry by the side of the house.’

Jordan climbed out and adjusted his peaked cap as Simms slid from the driving seat. They scrunched up the weed-strewn gravel path. Suddenly there was the sound of shattering glass. They froze.

‘What the hell…?’ began Simms when a man’s voice screamed out at them from one of the upstairs windows.

‘That’s far enough, coppers.’

Simms tried to make out the shape in the window. ‘Now look, Mr Taylor,’ called Simms in his ‘let’s be reasonable about this’ voice. ‘We just want to talk to you.’ They were moving forward again when the man swung round and thrust something through the shattered window, something metallic which glinted in the headlights.

‘Shit!’ croaked Simms., ‘It’s a bleeding shotgun.’

Both policemen stopped dead.

‘This is silly, Mr Taylor,’ called Jordan. ‘We only want to talk to you.’

‘Another move and I’ll shoot.’ The voice was strained. The man seemed to be on the crumbling edge of a nervous breakdown.

Flaming hell, thought Simms. What has Frost let us in for this time?

The woman on the phone was near hysterical and Wells could hardly make out what she was saying. ‘Now calm down, madam, please.’

‘The baby,’ she kept sobbing. ‘He’s got the baby.’

‘Who has got the baby?’

‘I keep telling you. My husband… I came home from work. I went to the childminder. She said my husband had taken him. He told her we were going away on holiday.’

‘And what’s wrong with that, madam?’

‘We’re separated. He doesn’t have access. He gets violent rages. He’s going to hurt the baby. I just know it.’

‘Have you contacted your husband?’

‘I keep telling you. You don’t listen. I tried the last address he gave me. He’s moved. I don’t know where he is. He’s got the baby and I don’t know where he is.’

Wells picked up a pencil. ‘Right, madam, let’s have some details. First, your name and address…’

Jordan and Simms stood stock still. The barrel of the shotgun was moving slowly from one of them to the other.

Jordan tried again. ‘You’re prolonging the agony, Mr Taylor. If we can’t sort this out calmly, we’ll have to call in a whole gang of armed police and things would get really nasty We don’t want that.’

‘I bloody want it,’ screamed Taylor. ‘Get your bloody armed police. Get the press. Get the telly. I’ll tell them how those bastards ruined me… how they drove me to this.’

‘Mr Taylor – ’ Jordan took a tentative step forward, jumping hurriedly back as the shotgun blasted out, shattering one of the area car’s headlamps.

‘I warned you,’ screamed Taylor. ‘I won’t warn you again. Unless you want a faceful of pellets, clear off!’

‘In the bloody car,’ yelled Simms, grabbing Jordan’s arm and dragging him back. Once at the wheel, even before the doors were shut, he hurriedly backed the car down the lane, out of shotgun range and snatched up the radio handset.

‘Denton. We’ve got a problem. We’re going to need back-up.. .’

‘A bloody shoot-out,’ moaned Frost, shuffling on his mac. ‘Just what we flaming well need.’

Lambert looked round the door. ‘Skinner isn’t answering his radio or his phone.’

‘Trust Fatty Arbuckle to piss off somewhere when things get nasty.’ Frost turned to Morgan. ‘He might be checking up on that tart. You did tell her to say she was fifteen?’

‘Yes, Guv. She said she would. Are you going to call out Armed Response?’

Frost thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Not yet. They’ll take over and turn it into a flaming gun fight at the OK Corral. Let’s try and keep things low key and talk Taylor out of it.’

Kate Holby came in and dumped some papers on Frost’s desk. ‘From DCI Skinner,’ she said.

Frost smiled up at her. ‘Grab your coat, love. We’re going to a shoot-out.’

She looked doubtful. ‘I’ve got to stay here. DCI Skinner said – ’

‘Sod Skinner. He’s not here, so I’m in charge. Just get your coat.’

‘Shall I come too, Guv?’ asked Morgan.

‘Yes,’ nodded Frost. ‘We might need an expendable human shield.’

Frost’s ancient Ford made heavy going of the unmade road but it eventually staggered up to the area car. Frost switched off the headlights, then he and Taffy slid on to the rear seat of the area car. ‘Where is he?’ he asked.

Jordan pointed up to the shattered window. ‘Up behind that left-hand top window – the one with the broken glass.’

Frost squinted. ‘I can see sod all.’ He wished he’d had the sense to bring the night glasses.

‘He’s up there all right,’ Jordan assured him. ‘Just try walking towards the house and see what happens!’

Frost passed his cigarettes round to delay the moment when he would have to come up with a plan of action. At the moment, his mind was a blank.

Morgan offered a suggestion. ‘If you kept him talking, Guv, I might be able to sneak round the back of the house unnoticed and take him by surprise.’

‘No,’ said Frost. ‘I only want you shot to pieces as a last resort.’ He took one last drag at his cigarette and stubbed it out. ‘Let’s see if my silver-tongued eloquence will work.’ He climbed out of the car and advanced cautiously up the path. ‘Mr Taylor, my name is Frost. Detective Inspector Frost. I want to talk to you.’

No reply.

Frost took another couple of tentative steps forward. ‘Can we talk?’

Movement at the window. A shot blasted out. Shotgun pellets bounded off the path just in front of Frost, who backed away hurriedly. ‘I’ll take that as a no,’ he muttered.

‘I said no further,’ yelled Taylor.

‘What’s the point of all this?’ shouted Frost. ‘You’ve nowhere to go. Chuck out the gun and come out.’

‘If you want me, you can bloody well come and get me.’ The voice was quivering on the edge of total hysteria.

‘I don’t want to have to bring in armed police,’ called Frost, his throat hurting from shouting against the wind. ‘I don’t want my men hurt and I don’t want you hurt.’

‘Then go away. Leave me alone.’

Frost shrugged and mooched back to the car for another cigarette.

‘What now, Guv?’ asked Morgan, who always imagined Frost had instant solutions to all problems.

‘Gawd knows,’ shrugged Frost. ‘Sit it out, I suppose. He can’t stay in there for ever.’

‘He sounds suicidal,’ said Kate Holby.

‘If he tops himself, then hard luck. I’m not risking lives trying to stop him.’ A tapping at the car window made him look up. He opened the door to Simms.

‘Have you got your radio switched off, Inspector?’

Frost checked. ‘Yes. Sorry’

‘Control’s going mad trying to contact you.’

Frost switched on and picked up the handset. ‘Frost. What’s the panic?’

‘Mullett wants you,’ Lambert told him.

‘And I thought it was urgent,’ sighed Frost.

‘Putting you through now,’ said Lambert.

‘Frost,’ said Mullett, sounding annoyed as usual. ‘We’ve been trying to contact you.’

‘Sorry, Super. Radio went on the blink. We’ve just managed to fix it.’

‘We’ve had Taylor’s wife on the phone. She’s frantic. She and Taylor are separated. He doesn’t have access to their one-year-old son. Taylor picked the kiddy up from the childminder and didn’t take him back home.’

Frost went cold. ‘Shit. He must have the kid in there with him. I need back-up.’ This completely changed the situation.

‘DCI Skinner is coming over to take command.’

‘Terrific,’ muttered Frost. ‘Our troubles are over!’ He turned to the others. ‘Taylor’s got his one-year-old son in there with him.’ He opened the car door. ‘Let’s have another bleeding fireside chat.’

He moved as far up the path as he dared and yelled, ‘Mr Taylor!’

Movement at the window. ‘What do you want?’

‘Have you got your son with you?’

‘He goes where I go.’

‘He could get hurt. Let’s get him out of there.’

‘He stays with me.’

‘What’s the point of all this, Mr Taylor? You’ve got to come out some time. This is doing no one any good. What do you want?’

‘I’ll tell you what I want.’ The man was screaming now. ‘I want the world to know what that bastard supermarket has done to me…’

‘And what has it done to you?’

‘I had a market garden. I supplied all their vegetables – top-quality stuff, but they kept cutting the price they wanted to pay me. And then they wanted to cut it to below the cost of production. When I couldn’t meet their price, they dropped me. I lost everything.’

‘Tough,’ said Frost. ‘But how does this help?’

‘I want the world to know what that bastard Beazley did to me. I want the press here… I want television… I want the bloody world to know what a shit he is.’

‘All right, send your son out and I’ll get the media here.’

‘My son stays with me.’

‘Is he all right, Mr Taylor? He’s very quiet.’

A long pause.

‘Mr Taylor,’ repeated Frost. ‘Is he all right?’

‘He’s sleeping… peacefully sleeping.’

‘If I get the media here and you give them your story, will you end this? Will you come out quietly with the baby?’

Again a pause, then a none-too-convincing ‘Yes.’

‘Leave it to me.’ Frost returned to the car and lit up. ‘I don’t like this,’ he said. ‘I don’t like it one sodding bit. Still, we’ve got no choice. We’ll have to go along with him. I get the feeling the bastard might make his point by doing himself in in front of the TV cameras and before the bleeding watershed.’

Headlights flared in the windscreen as DCI Skinner’s car pulled up alongside. ‘Our troubles are over,’ muttered Frost. ‘The United States Cavalry has arrived.’

Skinner yanked open the car door, then jerked a thumb for Morgan to get out so he could slide in beside Frost. He scowled as he noticed Kate Holby. ‘What the hell are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you – ’

‘We need her,’ cut in Frost. ‘Taylor’s got a baby with him. We could well need a woman.’

‘I told her to stay in the office. She’s disobeyed orders once too often. By the way, I’ve checked with that tart… She’s twenty-three.’ He turned to face the WPC. ‘You’re out, sweetie.’ Back to Frost. ‘Fill me in.’

Frost brought him up to date.

Skinner frowned. ‘And you haven’t called in Armed Response?’

‘I don’t want to escalate things. I want to keep it as low key as possible.’

‘Firing at police officers is hardly low bleeding key, is it?’

‘He fired in their direction. He could have hit them if he’d wanted to.’

‘OK, we’ll keep them out of it for the time being. Those bastards like to steal all the flaming glory. And he’s got the child in there with him?’

Frost shrugged his shoulders. ‘He says he has, but we haven’t heard a peep out of the kid. He says the baby is sleeping peacefully – that’s got me worried.’

Skinner stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘With all the shouting and noise, I’d expect the kid to be bawling its head off. He might have done him in.’

Skinner frowned. ‘Done him in? You’re a cheerful bleeding sod, aren’t you? You’ve got no bloody proof of that.’

‘Of course I’ve got no bloody proof. I hope I’m wrong, but Taylor’s gone round the bend. He’s not talking logically any more.’

The DCI chewed this over. ‘Suppose we rushed him – drove the car at speed to the door, bashed our way in and charged up the stairs?’

‘Even I’m not prat enough to try that,’ said Frost. ‘He’s got suicidal tendencies. He’d have shot himself and the kid before you were halfway down the passage.’

‘We can’t just bloody well sit here,’ said Skinner.

Then think of something, thought Frost. I’m out of flaming ideas. Aloud he said, ‘He wants to pour his heart out to the media.’

Skinner shook his head. ‘I don’t want the media here at this stage. If anything goes wrong I don’t want our mistakes broadcast all over the flaming country.’ He tugged at his nose in thought. ‘I’ll talk to him. Do we know his phone number?’

‘If he’s got his mobile on him, we know that number. It’s written on the side of the lorry.’

‘Then try it.’

Frost dialled and handed his mobile over.

The call was answered on the first ring. ‘What do you want?’

‘Mr Taylor?’

‘Who the hell did you think it would be? Who are you?’

‘Detective Chief Inspector Skinner.’

‘I don’t want to speak to you. Let me talk to the scruffy one.’

Skinner handed the phone to Frost. ‘He wants to speak to you.’

‘What is it, Mr Taylor?’

‘The media. Where’s the media?’

‘On their way,’ lied Frost. ‘How’s the baby?’

A pause, then, ‘He’s fine. He’s at peace.’

A cold shiver crawled down Frost’s spine. ‘You’re sure he’s all right?’

‘He’s at peace.’

‘Can we see him?’

‘No. I want the media. I want Beazley. I want him here.’ The line went dead.

Frost stared at his mobile, then turned it off. ‘Did you hear that?’ he asked Skinner.

Skinner nodded. ‘Yeah. I don’t want the flaming media here yet. Hold on. Do nothing. I’m going to take a recce.’ He opened the car door and stepped out into the darkness.

‘A reccy?’ said Frost to Morgan. ‘Is that another name for a slash?’

‘Reconnaissance, Guv,’ explained Morgan.

‘Oh!’ said Frost, as if he didn’t know. He lit up another cigarette he didn’t want and watched the smoke writhe its way up to the roof. ‘It might not be a bad idea to get his wife down here.’

More car headlights shone through the wind screen. A blue Porsche Superintendent Mullett. ‘Shit,’ groaned Frost. ‘Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.’

Mullett tapped on his window and beckoned Frost over. ‘Update,’ he snapped as Frost slid in beside him.

‘Up what?’ asked Frost innocently.

‘I want an update,’ barked Mullett. ‘What is the current position? Where is DCI Skinner?’

‘Taylor’s in that upstairs room. He’s got a shotgun and is threatening to shoot anyone who comes too near. We think he’s got his one-year-old son with him, but we can’t be sure.’

‘What does he want?’

‘He wants the media and Beazley brought in so he can let the world know what a load of bastards Beazley and his supermarket are.’

‘If that’s what he wants, get the media here,’ said Mullett.

‘In case we make a complete balls-up, DCI Skinner doesn’t want it splashed all over the TV screen,’ said Frost.

Mullett nodded gravely. ‘Yes, of course. Good point. But what do you intend to do, Frost? We can’t just sit it out.’

‘I’m waiting for Skinner. He’s in charge.’

‘Then where is he?’ The possibility of a balls up was making Mullett nervous. If things went disastrously wrong, he didn’t want to be in the vicinity. He was already mentally composing his defence. I knew nothing about it. I would never have sanctioned it if I had known. ‘Ah – here he is.’

Skinner emerged from the dark and slid into the back seat. He nodded to Mullett. ‘Good to see you, sir. Do you want to take charge?’

‘Good heavens no,’ blurted Mullett, vigorously shaking his head. ‘I’m sure things are in capable hands.’

The DCI grunted his acceptance of authority ‘The way I see it is this. The longer we leave things, the worse they could get. He’s on the verge of cracking up completely. God knows what the hell he’ll do when he does.’

‘We should back off and let him calm down,’ said Frost.

‘That’s just delaying what has to be done. We’ve got to bite the bullet. I managed to get round the back of the house without being seen. The back door doesn’t seem to be locked. Since I’m an official police marksman, I drew a gun from the station before I came. I want you to keep him talking, Frost, while I sneak round the back with the gun. I reckon I can get in without him knowing, creep up the stairs and ram my gun in his guts before he has a chance to do anything.’

‘But if he hears you…’ protested Mullett.

‘If he hears me and comes at me with the shot gun, I’ll have no alternative but to shoot. I hope it won’t come to that. The important thing is to save the child if he’s still alive.’

Mullett blinked nervously. This could well go wrong and he didn’t want to be around when it happened, but he could see no way of getting out of it. ‘I don’t like it,’ he said. ‘It’s too risky.’

‘The alternative could be him killing the kid, then topping himself. Do you want to risk that?’

Mullett winced. He hated being put on the spot. ‘You’re in charge of the operation,’ he told Skinner. ‘I must defer to your decision, but I’m calling Armed Response as a back-up just in case.’

Use your flaming authority, you spineless prat. Veto it, urged Frost mentally. This was going to end in disaster, he just knew it.

‘Right, Frost,’ ordered Skinner. ‘Get him on the phone and keep him talking.’

‘Hold on,’ said Frost. ‘Let’s make one last attempt to get the kiddy out.’ He climbed out of Mullett’s Porsche and beckoned Kate Holby, then walked up the path with her so she was fully illuminated in the headlights. He called Taylor on the phone.

‘What now?’

‘I’ve got this young WPC here. She’s trained to handle children. Why don’t you let us have your son? He shouldn’t be placed in danger like this.’

‘No. He stays with me. She’s not having him. Where’s the press? Where’s that sod Beazley?’

‘On their way,’ said Frost, aware that Skinner had slipped out of Mullett’s car and was circling round to the rear of the house. He was sure Taylor wouldn’t spot him behind the glare of the headlights. ‘The local TV boys are sending a team and I’ve arranged for ITV news to send a full crew, but it may take a little time. I expect they’ll want to send a cameraman into the house.’

‘No!’ cut in Taylor. ‘No one comes inside the house.’

‘Let them see your son. You’ll get everyone on your side if they can see the kiddy.’

‘No!’ screamed Taylor. ‘No one sees him. He stays with me.’

He’s dead, thought Frost.

‘And I want that bastard Beazley here. I want the world to see what a shit he is… what that bastard has done to me.’

‘So you said. My colleague is on the phone now, trying to get him to come,’ said Frost, glad to spin things out. ‘We can’t force him to come, but we’re trying.’

‘I want him here,’ shrilled Taylor, his voice rising to a scream. ‘Do you hear me? I want him here.’

‘We’re trying now,’ said Frost, signalling to Mullett to make the call. The Superintendent was speaking quietly into the mouthpiece but didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. ‘He wants to speak to you,’ he said, handing the phone over to Frost.

‘What the hell are you playing at?’ demanded Beazley. ‘If you think I’m coming in front of the flaming TV cameras you’ve got another thing coming. I’m not the bloody villain here. I didn’t try to kill bleeding babies. If he couldn’t meet our prices there were plenty of people who could. You keep my bloody name out of this, do you hear, or I’ll have your guts for flaming garters.’

‘Thank you,’ grunted Frost, handing the phone back to Mullett and returning to Taylor on the other phone. ‘He’s on his way.’

‘Right… I… What’s that?'

Shit, thought Frost. He’s heard Skinner. ‘Mr Taylor… Mr Taylor…’ But Taylor had put the phone down. Frost could hear the thud of foot steps, and muffled voices.

The sound of a shot blasted through the phone and echoed over the open ground.

The colour seeped from Mullett’s face. ‘Did you hear that?’ he croaked.

Frost nodded grimly. ‘What’s going on?’ he yelled down the phone. ‘Answer me, you sod, answer me…’

Slow footsteps. A rustling as the phone was picked up. Heavy breathing.

‘Who’s this?’ demanded Frost.

It was Taylor. ‘You tried to trick me,’ he screeched.

‘What the bloody hell has happened?’ yelled Frost down the phone.

‘You sent someone up with a gun. He was going to kill me.’

‘What happened?’ asked Frost again.

‘I shot him. I’ve got his gun.’

‘Is he dead?’ Everyone around him held their breath, waiting for an answer.

‘No, but he’s bleeding badly. He could bleed to death.’

‘We’ve got to get him out of there… get him to hospital.’

‘No. If you want him, you do what I say. I want a car, with a full tank of petrol. I want that WPC to come with me. If anyone follows or tries to stop me, I’ll shoot her. I’ve nothing to lose. So help me God, I’ll shoot her.’

‘And if we do what you say?’

‘When I’m sure I’m not being followed, I’ll let her go. I won’t hurt her.’

‘Hold on,’ said Frost.

‘I’m not bloody holding on. The way he’s losing blood, I’d say he’s got minutes. It’s pumping out.’

‘Hold on,’ cried Frost. ‘I’m calling an ambulance.’ He put his hand on the mouthpiece and yelled at Morgan. ‘Get an ambulance, Skinner’s bleeding to death.’

‘What’s going on?’ demanded Mullett.

‘He says Skinner is still alive, but bleeding badly. He wants a car and Kate Holby as a hostage before he’ll let anyone in to Skinner. He says if we try to follow, he’ll kill her.’

‘Right,’ said Mullett firmly, ‘then that’s what we do.’

‘No,’ said Frost. ‘No bloody way. I’m not giving him a hostage.’

‘I’m willing,’ said Kate. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Forget it,’ said Frost. ‘No bloody way.’

The phone rang. ‘I’m not sodding about waiting,’ yelled Taylor. ‘Two minutes. If I don’t get the car and the woman in two minutes, I’ll finish the bastard off with his own gun. I mean it.’ His voice rose to a shrill shriek. ‘I’ll finish him off.’

‘Send in the girl,’ ordered Mullett.

‘No,’ Frost replied. ‘I’m not risking her life.’

‘I’m ordering you,’ said Mullett.

‘And you’ll take full responsibility if she gets killed?’

Mullett’s mouth opened and closed. Damn Frost to hell for putting him on the spot like this. He jabbed a finger at the inspector. ‘On your head be it,’ he snapped.

Back to the phone. ‘Mr Taylor – ’

‘Where’s the car?’ yelled the man, before Frost could say any more.

‘You’re not getting a car, you’re not getting a hostage,’ said Frost. ‘Chuck the guns out of the window, then come out with your hands up. It’s all over, Mr Taylor.’

Taylor’s voice was now hysterical. ‘Your last chance, or I shoot him.’

‘Come out with your hands up,’ repeated Frost. ‘It’s all over.’

The crack of a single revolver shot shattered the air.

Shocked silence, broken by Mullett turning to Frost, his face black as thunder. ‘You hated Skinner. You wanted him dead. You killed him.’

Frost said nothing. Yes, he hated Skinner, hated his guts. If the man was dead, then he was sorry – or was he? Had he secretly been hoping this would happen?

More cars roared up the lane. The Armed Response team had arrived.

Frost quickly filled them in and watched as they ran, half crouching, to the house. He tried to raise Taylor on the phone, hoping to distract his attention as the team burst their way in.

‘Mr Taylor, talk to me. What have you done?’ The armed police were at the front door, examining it to see if it would open with a kick. Heads shook and they silently made their way round the back to the door Skinner had used.

‘Mr Taylor…’ Frost was silently pleading for the man to answer, terrified he might be waiting, gun in hand, at the top of the stairs, ready to shoot as the men burst in.

Silence. Creaking sounds. A door charged open. Silence again. Then someone picked up the phone. One of the Armed Response team.

‘Inspector Frost, we need an ambulance.’

‘On its way,’ said Frost.

‘And you’d better get up here now.’

Skinner was sprawled on the floor by the door of the upstairs room. His clothes were sodden with blood. Frost bent to touch his neck.

‘He’s dead,’ said one of the flak-jacketed Armed Response team. ‘The other one is still alive, but he won’t be for long unless that bloody ambulance hurries up.’

As if on cue, they heard the approaching urgent wail of the ambulance siren.

Frost had to step carefully over Skinner’s body to get inside the room. Two of the team were waiting. Taylor was slumped on the floor, his back leaning against the wall. Frost winced. Half his jaw had been blasted away and blood bubbled from his throat. The wall behind his head was splattered with flesh, bone fragments and blood. On the floor, where it had dropped from his hand, was the police-issue revolver he had taken from Skinner, its muzzle wet and sticky red.

‘Must have tried to top himself,’ said the sergeant. ‘Stuck the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger. Must have had it at an angle.’

‘Silly sod couldn’t even do that right,’ said Frost sadly.

The ambulance pulled up below.

‘Up here, quick,’ yelled Frost.

The paramedics carefully and gently lifted Taylor on to a stretcher and covered him with a blanket. They had managed to stem some of the bleeding from the shattered jaw. Taylor’s face was chalk white and his rasping breath was making blood flow again.

‘Will he live?’ asked Frost.

The paramedic looked down at the shattered wreck of a face. ‘If his luck’s in, he won’t,’ he said.

Frost watched them ease the stretcher down the stairs, then pulled his mobile from his pocket and switched it on. Seven unanswered calls, all from Mullett. It rang again.

‘What the devil’s going on up there, Frost?’ barked Mullett. ‘Ah – I see they’re bringing Skinner down.’

‘No,’ said Frost. ‘That’s Taylor. Skinner is dead.’

Stunned silence as Mullett took this in. ‘What?’

‘He’s dead,’ repeated Frost. ‘It’s now a murder scene. We need SOCO, Forensic, a doctor and a pathologist.’ Then he suddenly remembered. He took the phone from his mouth and called to the sergeant. ‘The kid. Any sign of the kid?’

‘Next room,’ said the sergeant, pointing.

Frost dropped the mobile in his pocket and followed the man to the adjoining bedroom.

The boy was fast asleep and completely unharmed.

‘He slept through it all,’ said the sergeant. ‘I wish I could sleep like that.’

Frost sighed with relief, then remembered the phone in his pocket. He fished it out.

‘Frost…’ Mullett was shouting. ‘Answer me.’

‘Frost.’

‘I hold you solely responsible for DCI Skinner’s death, Frost. ..’

‘I knew I could rely on your support,’ said Frost, switching off the phone. He looked down at Skinner’s body, now draped with a sheet from the bed, a sheet that was becoming more and more bloodstained.

‘I hated your bleeding guts,’ he told the corpse. ‘I didn’t want you dead… but I can’t say I’m sorry.'