Hard Frost

Ten

A few minutes past four o'clock in the afternoon and it was already dark with the ominous rumble of thunder in the distance as Cassidy pulled up outside Snell's house in Parnell Terrace. Only one of the street lights was on, the other had been vandalized, its metal cover forced off and the spaghetti of coloured wires wrenched out. No lights shone from the house and there was no reply to Cassidy's pounding at the door. Outside the front door five bulging dustbin sacks lolled against the wall.

Frost crouched to take a peek through the letter box into more darkness. "We'd better take a look round inside."

"Do you have a key?" sneered Cassidy.

"Don't need one, son. What's that?" He pointed into the darkened street. As Cassidy's head jerked to look there was the sound of breaking glass; when he turned back Frost seemed to be replacing an empty milk bottle on the step and the glass pane of the front door was shattered. "Looks as if someone has tried to break in here," said Frost. "We'd better check." He stuck his hand through the broken pane and unlocked the door from the inside.

Cassidy didn't want to get involved with any of Frost's corner cutting, but there seemed to be no chance of anyone finding out, so he followed him inside.

The hall light came on when Frost tried. There were two preprinted postcards on the door mat, one from the Electricity Board, the other from the Gas company. Both were dated that day and each said that their service engineer had called at 9 a.m." 'as requested by you for the purpose of taking the final meter reading and cutting off the supply. He could obtain no answer. Please contact our office to make a fresh appointment."

They moved through to the living-room. On the table were six carrier bags packed with the mother's personal effects. There was food in the fridge in the kitchen, a Marks and Spencer chilled meal and an unopened carton of milk. The bed was made with folded pyjamas on the pillow.

Frost poked around a few drawers, but they had been cleared out. "He hasn't been here since last night," he decided. "The bed hasn't been slept in."

"He could have made it after he got up," said Cassidy.

"No, son. He was going back to Newcastle today. He was all packed up, ready to go. He might make the bed after he got up, but he wouldn't fold his pyjamas and bung them on the pillow. And he'd have opened up the milk for a cup of tea." He chewed his thumb knuckle thoughtfully. "He went out last night, but didn't come back. Why?"

"I'd have thought that was obvious," snapped Cassidy. "He killed the kids, then the mother and he's now on the run."

"I can't buy that, son. Why should he try to make the mother's death look like suicide? It doesn't make sense."

"You're looking for a rational explanation. The man's a nut-case."

"If he chucked her in front of the train to make it look like suicide, why then has he done a bunk?"

"Perhaps he saw the train hadn't gone over her. He wanted the body all mangled up so we wouldn't spot the knife marks. When that didn't happen, he ran."

Frost chewed this over. It was as plausible as some of his own stupid theories, but it would mean that Snell, who up to now had been content with drawing pin pricks of blood, was suddenly a frantic mass murderer. He poked in one of the carrier bags on the kitchen table. On the top was a silver-framed photograph of the eight-year-old Sidney Snell in a sailor suit, hair combed, face washed for the camera, clutching the hand of his young mother. A sweet and innocent child.. who grew up to be a pervert. "OK," he sighed. "Get on to Newcastle. Ask them to keep an eye on his place and if he shows up, arrest him on suspicion of murder. Tell Control to radio all patrols if they see him, arrest him on sight." He took one last look round the room. "And get someone to check this place from time to time in case he comes back for his milk."

The front door slammed behind them, echoing in an empty street. As their car turned the corner, a furtive figure emerged from the shadows of a derelict house on the opposite side of the road. Sidney Snell, shaking with fear. He had come back to the house to retrieve his belongings when some sixth sense warned him to wait. Sweat had broken out from every pore of his body when he saw Frost and Cassidy forcing their way in. He couldn't hear their car any more, but he hesitated, racked with indecision… Should he risk it and dash over to the house, or were they lurking round the corner waiting for him to do something stupid like that? He was tired and he was hungry. He'd had no sleep at all last night. The back of his hand was bleeding again. He sucked it and wound the dirty handkerchief tighter. What to do? God, what to do…?

The old woman was waiting for Frost as he pushed through the doors to the lobby. She hurried towards him, eyes glowing. "You've got them back. The sergeant says you've got them back."

He smiled, but she had wrong-footed him. Who the hell was she? Then he placed her. Of course… the old dear who'd had her husband's medals pinched. Bloody hell. He hadn't had time to sort out half the stuff they'd found stacked behind the cistern in Lemmy Hoxton's house. "Your medal yes, love… If you'd like to formally identify it…"

He took her into the main interview room and they waited for Burton to lug in the large cardboard box. The medal, in its black case, was. near the top. It deserved more respect than being piled on top of the other junk. He gave it to her.

She beamed her delight. "I never thought I'd see this again." She took the DFM out and held it close to her cheek. "He wanted our son to have it. There was going to be a baby, but I lost it when our house was bombed and I had a miscarriage. The doctor said it would have been a boy."

Frost nodded in sympathy and explained they would have to hang on to the medal for a little while. "Don't worry, love, it'll be safe here. I'll look after it." Look after it! He grinned wryly to himself

… as well as I looked after forty grand's worth of jewellery from the Stanfield robbery? Which reminded him of the treat to come. He was going to have to face Mullett about that.

"And you've found the photographs. That's such a relief!"

Photographs? What was she on about?

There was a wad of photograph wallets held together with a rubber band in the box. Frost had only skimmed through them briefly. Most of them looked like family snaps. It seemed Lemmy had scooped up everything he could lay his hands on, whether it was of value or not.

She had pulled out the top wallet and was shuffling through the photographs. "I'd hate to think of these falling into the wrong hands." She gave Frost a conspiratorial wink and nodded towards Burton. "Do you think he's old enough to see these?" She handed them over.

Frost stifled a yawn as he took the photographs. More black and white family snaps. Then he sat up straight. "Bloody hell!"

Black and white postcard-sized prints, but not for family viewing. They showed a young, pert, dark-haired girl in a bedroom. Completely nude. "Bloody hell!" he said again as the girl in the photograph cupped her breasts with widespread fingers to reveal rosebud-like nipples, or turned her back, peeping over her shoulder and showing a lovely tight bottom. Then his jaw dropped. He recognized her. He pointed to Mrs. Miller. "It's you!"

She nodded roguishly. "My husband did his own developing. He used to get his chemicals and paper from the R.A. F photographic section. It was hard to come by during the war."

"Bloody hell!" repeated Frost for the third time. "You were a little cracker." He showed them to Burton who grinned his approval. Reluctantly, he stuffed them into the wallet and handed them back to her. "You'd better take these with you, love. They'll get us all too excited if you leave them here."

She dropped them in her handbag and snapped it shut. "I wasn't always old, you see," she said wistfully.

"Good job I wasn't around then," said Frost. "Your husband wouldn't have got a look in." He showed her out. When he returned to the interview room, Burton was packing the stuff back in the box.

"Hold on, son," said Frost. "Let's see what other goodies Lemmy had stacked away."

In an old chocolate box they found lots of pornographic photographs, some involving children. There was a set of photographs of a man dressed in women's underwear. Frost showed them to Burton. "I like his frilly knickers, but the beard puts me off." There were letters. Frost read through one and whistled softly. "This is a blow by blow description of what this couple got up to while her old man was away," he told Burton. "And I use the word "blow" advisedly."

"This one's a bit naughty too," said Burton, showing him a deckle-edge sheet of light green notepaper.

Frost found another letter, still in its envelope which gave the name of the recipient. An address Frost recognized. Inside was a letter and a Polaroid colour print of a woman bending over an armchair. A big, hefty woman. Her skirt was up and her knickers were round her ankles. A man in a mortar-board and gown was standing over her, wielding a long leather strap. Frost skimmed through the letter. The writer, a man, was arranging to call round the following evening and was detailing the punishment he meted out to naughty girls. His name and address were not included. Stapled to it was the carbon of a letter to him from the woman explaining how naughty she had been. "Some old tom!" sniffed Burton.

"Not an old tom as it happens," corrected Frost. "She's a retired civil servant… lives in one of those posh houses in Charter Street."

"You know her?"

"Not as a client. You know her too, son. She's a friend of Mullett's wife they both serve on the same hospital committee or something. She reported some money stolen from her bedroom after a man from the Water Board called…"

"I remember now," interrupted Burton. "The very next day she claimed she was mistaken and nothing was pinched after all."

"That's her," nodded Frost. "We never suspected it at the time, but I reckon she must have received a blackmail threat pay up or we send the photos to the vicar, sort of thing." He pulled the photograph towards him and studied it. Behind him the door creaked open.

"Inspector Frost!"

Frost groaned. Flaming Hornrim Harry, ready to give him a bollocking for leaving the loot unattended. He turned with a surprised smile. "I was just on my way in to see you, super." He held up the photograph. "Just for the purposes of elimination, the man in the mortar-board isn't you by any chance?"

Mullett took one look at the photograph and flushed angrily. "You know damn well it isn't. My office now!"

Mullett's voice droned on and on as Frost sat in the chair, his face a look of rapt attention, his mind miles away, trying to filter out Mullett's drivel as he turned over the day's events in his mind. If Mullett's wife's mate was being blackmailed, it was a near certainty that Lemmy had been putting the squeeze on others for stuff pinched from bedrooms during his Water Board scam. Which meant Lemmy was a blackmailer as well as a thief and here was a strong motive for murder. Perhaps one of his victims had decided that enough was enough. He opened his ears, but Mullett still hadn't finished.

'… not the sort of behaviour I expect from an officer under my command…"

He clicked the sound off again. The first thing to do would be to call on this woman and see if she could throw any light on Lemmy's death. Come on, Mullett hurry up and finish… I've got work to do. He became aware of a welcome silence. Mullett had stopped at last and was looking at him questioningly.

"You've finished, sir? Good sorry and all that. Won't happen again." He snatched up the bag of jewellery and made for the door before the superintendent could think of any more of his shortcomings to moan about.

"Wait!"

It was a tone that could not be ignored, even by Frost. He turned slowly. "Sir?"

"That photograph you showed me… there was something familiar about it."

"Don't worry, super… I'll try and keep you out of it."

Mullett tightened his lips and stretched out a hand for the Polaroid print. "Let me see it again." He studied it, then took off his glasses and polished them slowly. "It's Mrs. Roberts."

"Top marks!" cried Frost. "I would never have recognized her just from her bare behind… although, c course, I've never seen it before…"

Mullett reddened. "I recognized the room," he snapped.

"Of course, sir," said Frost. "Whatever you say."

Mullett glowered. "My wife and I have been there many times… those pictures… that bookcase…"

"Oh, I see, sir," said Frost, leaving a lingering tinge c doubt in his voice to annoy Mullett further. "Yoi probably sat in that self-same chair she's bending over, hope excitement doesn't make her dribble."

Mullett wiped his eyes wearily and replaced hi glasses. "Look, Frost, this is all very embarrassing. She' a friend of mine and she's very big in the town."

"She's even bigger round the buttocks," said Frost.

Mullett ignored this. "What do you intend doing with it?"

"I'm going round to her house to show it to her."

Mullett stared hard at the surface of his desk am moved his fountain pen a fraction of an inch. "I think i would be better if I handled that. She's a good friend, but she could also be a very bad enemy. If I could return th photograph and let her know we were keeping her nam out of it, it would make things go a lot smoother in ou later dealings."

"Sorry, super," said Frost. "You're too late. I thin] she's been blackmailed already. In fact it could be th reason Lemmy Hoxton was killed." As he filled Mullett in, the superintendent became more and more agitated.

"I'd prefer it if you would drop it, Frost. I'm sure she' not involved in murder. Dammit, she's a family friend."

Frost adopted his air of puzzled incomprehension. "I this a bit of the Judges' Rules that I've missed, sir that shouldn't question any murder suspect who happens to be a friend of yours?"

Mullett leant forward, his face creased with anger "You know damn well that's not what I meant. Of coursi you must question her. If, by some remote chance, she is involved, then you have my full permission. But if this goes wrong, if it blows up in our faces, I'll come down on you like a ton of bricks."

Frost retrieved the photograph and slipped it into his pocket. Mullett, as usual, had covered himself both ways and couldn't lose. "I knew I could rely on your full support, super."

He looked in the murder incident room and yelled for Burton to come with him. Mrs. Roberts was a big woman and he didn't fancy tackling her on his own.

Mrs. Emily Roberts lived in a small, semi-detached house at the end of the road. A neat front garden fronted by a trimmed hedge led to a porch and a front door with coloured leaded lights. The bell push surround was polished brass which Frost smeared by jamming his finger on it. After a pause, the door opened suspiciously on a length of chain and even his warrant card wasn't enough to gain admittance. She snatched it from him and went off to phone the station to make sure they were not imposters. She still remembered the fake Water Board official, but even he looked the part while this scruffy individual who thrust a dog-eared warrant card at her looked nothing like a policeman.

She had demanded to speak to her friend Stanley Mullett, the Divisional Commander. Mullett, who had sounded a trifle edgy on the phone, confirmed that Frost was one of his officers, although he wasn't exactly sure what case the inspector was on at the moment.

They were ordered to wipe their feet, which Frost did very perfunctorily, and were marched into the living-room where a cheery coal fire blazed. She meant for them to sit in the hard chairs, but the scruffy one made for one of her large, leather armchairs. "Lovely chair," remarked Frost, sinking down. "Feels brand spanking new."

Her heart skipped a beat. Was it her imagination, or did he stress the word 'spanking'? She smiled bleakly. "How can I help you?"

The room looked exactly as it did in the photograph, but the woman, large, almost mannish, in her tweed trouser suit, seemed light years away from the baby-talking writer of the letter imploring 'teacher' to correci her errors. "You reported a robbery some months ago; Mrs. Roberts," said Frost. He wished she would sit down. She was standing, towering over him, making him crick his neck as he talked to her.

With an airy wave of the hand she dismissed the nonsense about the robbery. "Alia mistake, as I told your officer at the time."

"We're wondering if it was a mistake."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We think there was a robbery, which you reported, but you then realized he had taken certain items you didn't wish the police to know about."

She drew herself up to her full height, towering over him even more. "There was no robbery. Nothing was taken. I can't help you."

"Why don't you sit down?" said Frost. "Or is your little botsy-wotsy sore?"

She stared, mouth gaping. At first she thought she hadn't heard him correctly and then her eyes widened in stunned shock as he produced the envelope and the photograph.

"Not exactly full face," said Frost, 'but we're pretty certain this is you."

She tried to snatch it from him, but he drew his hand back. "How dare you!" she hissed. "How dare you." Her mouth opened and closed, but that was all she could think of to say.

"Sorry about this," said Frost, sounding as if he meant it, 'but when you lift stones, all sorts of nasty things come crawling out. I'd just like to get a couple of things sorted to help with our enquiries."

"I'm not saying another word." She dropped down in the armchair opposite him and folded her arms defiantly.

"Fair enough," smiled Frost. "Bank up the fire and get your hat and coat. We can continue this down at the station. It's not very private there, I'm afraid, but if you're not ashamed of what you've been up to, then what the hell…"

She said nothing, but the defiant look withered.

Frost took a folder from Burton and flipped it open. "On 5th August you telephoned your personal friend, Mr. Mullett, to report a burglary. A man posing as a Water Board engineer gained entrance to your house and after he had left you discovered valuables missing from your bedroom. Within twenty minutes of your phone call you received a visit from Detective Sergeant Hanlon. You gave him a list of stolen items brooches, pearl necklace, gold powder compact, silver bangle… total value nearly 2000."

He tugged out the list. "This is what you said were stolen." He held it in front of her. She stared straight ahead as if it wasn't there.

"Your very good friend, Mr. Mullett, then called me in and ordered me to pull out all stops to apprehend the criminal. But the very next day you phoned, and subsequently signed a statement… this statement," another sheet of paper was waved in front of her, 'which states that it was all a mistake and nothing was taken… you had misplaced the articles and had then found them in another drawer. Mr. Mullett then instructed me to take no further action and I immediately complied." He replaced the papers in the folder. "My fault. I don't look for work, but I should have followed it up. I should have asked to see the items you now claim to have found." He beamed at her. "If I asked nicely, could you show them to me now?"

She stared at him, then lowered her gaze to the floor. "No."

"The stuff was stolen?"

"Yes."

"So what happened to make you tell us it wasn't?"

She stood up and went over to a small coffee table where she took a cigarette from a black and gold lacquered box, lighting it with an onyx cigarette lighter. Before she turned round, Frost had lit up one of his own. "That night I received a telephone call. A man. He read me a part of that letter and described the photograph. He said he was thinking of sending them to the press, but wondered if I would like to buy them back." She dragged deeply at the cigarette. "I asked how much. He wanted 500 in used notes. I said I would pay." She crushed the barely smoked cigarette out.

"And…?" prompted Frost.

"He said there was a litter bin next to the bus stop in Stacey Street. I was to hide the envelope containing the money between the bin and the wall. If I returned there the next day, in its place would be the letter and photograph."

"And?"

"I did what he said. I left the money. But when I returned the next day, the money was still there. It hadn't been picked up… The following day the same. So I retrieved the money and waited for him to phone again. I never heard another word from him."

"And what did you do with the money?"

"I paid it back into my bank account."

"Do you have copies of your bank statement?"

She glared and went over to an oak-veneered bureau where she took some papers from the top drawer. These she handed to Frost who passed them to Burton.

"Do you think I am a liar, inspector?" she asked, icily.

"People do lie to us," said Frost. "They tell us robberies haven't taken place when they have." He looked across to Burton, who nodded. The payments in and out were recorded exactly as she said.

He showed her Lemmy's mug shot. "Was this the man who robbed you?"

She studied it carefully. "I think so… I can't be sure. I didn't pay a lot of attention to him at the time… one doesn't when it's workmen."

"And the last time you saw him was when he left your house on…" He consulted the file. '5th August, the day you reported the robbery, and the day before you then reported it never took place?"

"Yes."

"We think he might have come back here… the next day," said Frost. "We think he demanded money and threatened to send the photograph and the letter to the press if you didn't pay."

"I've already told you what happened."

"But are you telling me the truth?"

"I'm not used to having my word questioned and I'm not going to say another word unless you have the common courtesy to tell me what this is all about," she snapped.

Frost smiled his reasonable smile. "Of course. The man I asked you to identify is Lemmy Hoxton, a known criminal. We found your letter and the photo with other stolen goods, hidden in his house. We also found some jewellery that might be yours were it not for the fact that you had told us it hadn't been stolen."

"My reason for silence no longer applies, inspector. Yes, I was robbed, as I have admitted."

"What I didn't tell you," said Frost, as if suddenly remembering something not too important, 'was the reason we went to Lemmy's house in the first place. Would you like to know why?"

"Not particularly, but I imagine you are going to tell me anyway."

Frost took a long drag at his cigarette. "It was because we had found his decomposing body feeding the maggots in someone's back yard. Someone perhaps to avoid being blackmailed had murdered him."

She stared at him, open-mouthed, the colour seeping from her face. "Murdered? You surely don't think that I…?"

"Why not?" asked Frost. "If I was in your position I would cheerfully have murdered the bastard, especially if I thought I could get away with it."

She picked up the poker and began be labouring the coals on the fire as if it was Frost's skull she was smashing. "I've told you what happened. I've nothing more to say. You have property of mine. I'd like it back."

"All in good time, Mrs. Roberts." He studied her through narrowed eyes. A hefty woman, as strong as an ox. One blow from that poker would certainly make Lemmy's eyes water and she wouldn't have too much difficulty humping the body out to her car. But it might not have been so easy to carry Lemmy from her car to the coal bunker on her own. She might have needed help. Then what about her bottom-smacking chum in the mortar-board?

"I'd like you to give me the name and address of your gentleman friend in the photograph."

"No!" She was firm on this. "I'm not having him involved."

Frost considered insisting, but decided against it. He thought about getting Forensic in to give the place a going over, but decided against that also. Too much time had gone by and, in any case, she wasn't denying that Lemmy had been here. Forensic had plenty of better things to do so he decided just to let her sweat for a while.

"What size television set have you got, Mrs. Roberts?"

"Television set?" She stared at him as if he was mad. "I haven't got a television set. I wouldn't have one in the house."

"Then you won't mind if my colleague takes a look." Frost nodded to Burton, who left the room. He stood up. "I'll want you to go down to the station some time today and give us a full statement about the robbery and the blackmail attempt."

She coloured a deep crimson and pulverized another piece of coal with the poker. "A statement? Is that really necessary?"

"You needn't be specific some of our young officers are easily shocked. You can just refer to a letter and certain activities it mentions you would prefer were not made public'

Burton returned, shaking his head. No TV set of any size in the house. They showed themselves out; leaving her looking decidedly uneasy.

At the station Mullett was flapping about in a state of high agitation awaiting their return. He grabbed Frost and hustled him into his office. "Well?"

"She could be involved," said Frost. "But I haven't got any hard evidence, yet." He filled Mullett in on the details.

"There were other compromising letters and photographs have you checked to see if those people were being blackmailed by Hoxton?"

"It's on my long list of things to do," replied Frost, who hadn't got round to thinking of that aspect.

"The sooner we can clear Mrs. Roberts…"

"As I am sure you would wish, sir, clearing Mrs. Roberts is right at the bottom of my list of priorities," said Frost.

"Of course, of course. The letter and the photograph — you didn't tell her I'd seen them?"

"She never asked."

"Good." Mullett dabbed at his brow with his handkerchief. "It would be very embarrassing if she thought I knew." He rearranged the blotter on his desk to show he was changing the subject. "What's the procedure for the ransom han dover tonight?"

"We've got all the public telephone kiosks in the shopping mall bugged, so whichever one the kidnapper calls we'll be able to hear everything he says. I've also arranged for a homing device to be slipped inside the suitcase with the money."

"How did you manage that?"

"Remember Tommy Dunn used to be with us in CID?"

Mullett pulled a face. He did indeed remember Dunn, an inefficient officer with a drink problem and the strongest of hints that he took irregular payments. Dunn had been arrested on a charge of driving while well over the limit, but Mullett had managed to get the charge dropped in exchange for Dunn's resignation. A pity, he thought wistfully, he couldn't do something similar with Frost. He also recalled that Dunn was one of the investigating officers four years ago when Cassidy's daughter was killed and there were vague whispers he was bribed by the hit and run driver. "I remember Dunn. What about him?"

"Tommy works for Savalot as a security guard. He's going to slip the homing device in the suitcase for us."

"Why should he do that? He owes us no favours."

"He's doing it for three bottles of Johnnie Walker and the cancellation of a couple of parking tickets." It was six parking tickets actually, but he wasn't telling the superintendent this.

"I don't want to know," said Mullett hurriedly.

"I'll bung the cost of the whisky on my petrol expenses," said Frost blithely, 'so don't query it if it looks a bit high." He was also going to sneak in the cost of petrol bought while he was on holiday which would make it higher still.

Mullett flapped a hand. "Spare me the details. I'm not happy that Dunn is involved in this, Frost. You can't rely on him."

"He's all we've got," said Frost. But he shared Mullett's concern. Tommy had sounded half cut when he agreed to doit.

"So," continued Mullett, 'if things go as you hope and Dunn runs contrary to past form, we will have a homing device hidden in the ransom money?"

"Yes. We'll be able to track Cordwell to the han dover point and then keep tabs on the kidnapper after he's picked it up."

"What about his claim he can monitor police radios?"

"I don't believe him, but just in case he does we'll be scrambling all our radio messages."

"The safety of the boy is paramount," insisted Mullett.

"We won't make a move until we know where he is and are assured he's safe."

Mullett scratched his chin thoughtfully. It sounded foolproof, but when Frost organized things, nothing was foolproof. "Well, I'll leave the details to you," he said, so he could deny any knowledge of them should things blow up in their faces. "The only stipulation I make is that things must not go wrong."

"That's a bloody good stipulation!" said Frost in mock admiration as he walked to the door. "I'll bear it in mind."

While Mullett was trying to determine if there was a tinge of sarcasm in this, he heard an indignant squeal from Miss Smith, his secretary, then a cry of "How's that for centre?" and a guffaw from Frost. He shook his head sadly. How could you work with a man like that? He looked up in sympathy at the scarlet face of Miss Smith as she burst in to complain.

Liz was waiting in his office and pushed a pile of reports over to him. Without looking at them, he pushed them back. "Just tell me what they say, love. My lips get tired when I read."

She took them and gave him a precis of each. "I saw Mark Grover in hospital and broke the news of his wife's death."

"Shit!" said Frost. "I should have done that. Sorry to dump it on you, love how did he take it?"

"He took it very well. He said it served the cow right."

"You didn't tell him we suspect it was murder?"

"No. I just said it looked as if she had fallen in front of a train. He told me she had kept threatening to kill herself- the doctor had prescribed her pills for depression."

"They don't seem to have worked all that bloody well," sniffed Frost. "I'll check it out with her doctor." He scribbled a reminder on his pad. "What else?"

"You told me to take his clothes to the lab. They're still doing tests, but if there's any blood, they haven't found it yet."

"Did you ask him about the row the neighbours heard?"

"He says it wasn't him. He never left the store until nearly two o'clock. I've spoken to his work mate who again confirms this. Then I checked with the security man at the store. No-one can get in or out until he operates the electronic locking system and he's definite that he didn't operate it at all that night. And just in case you might still have doubts, I contacted their boss at the shop fitting firm. He phoned at twenty past midnight to find out how the job was going and Mark Grover answered the phone."

Frost chewed this over. There was not a lot of support for his theory that Grover killed his wife. But he was only giving Liz half his attention. His mind was still on the ransom han dover He didn't want another of his usual cock-ups on this one.

"Which means," Liz continued, 'that we can concentrate on our number one suspect Sidney Snell, who seems to have done a runner."

"I just can't see Sidney killing anyone," said Frost. "The mother was killed in a frenzied attack. Sidney might stamp his foot and say "knickers" but he wouldn't get into a frenzy."

"Three children, all in one room that could have worked him up to a sexual state where he'd do anything."

"A bit of bare thigh does the same for me," sighed Frost. He saw there was more to come.

"We've got a key witness. An old boy walking his dog who swears he saw someone running from the house and driving off in a blue car."

Frost's head jerked up. "What time was this?"

"About ten minutes before two o'clock."

"In the morning? What was the silly sod doing walking his dog at that time?"

"He used to be on shift work before he retired and old habits die hard."

Frost tugged the man's statement towards him and read it. The old boy seemed pretty definite as to what he saw. "He's sure the man he saw came out of the Grovers' house?"

"He's positive… And to back it up, Mark Grover says that when he came home last night the front door was wide open."

Frost dug in his pocket and found a half-smoked cigarette hidden in the lining that had been there a long time. It was stale, but better than nothing. He lit up. "And what colour is Snell's car?"

"Dark blue," replied Liz.

He sucked in smoke and coughed, shaking ash all over a memo from Mullett complaining about the inadequacy of his daily call reports. "Could be a clue there, somewhere." He heaved himself up and snatched his scarf from the hat-stand. Something was nagging away at him, something just out of reach, something he knew he should have picked up, but the more he tried to remember, the more it crept back to cower in the dark, inaccessible recesses of his mind. He had to get out of the office and think. "I'm off to see her doctor. Let's find out if he agrees with the husband about her suicidal tendencies."

The waiting room was crowded, people hunched up coughing, snuffling and groaning in counterpoint to children running around, screaming unchecked. If you weren't ill when you went in, you certainly would be after a few minutes of this.

The receptionist was flustered. Patients were annoyed with her because the doctor was running late, the phone was ringing nonstop, and this scruffy man, claiming to be a detective, wanted to nip in in front of people who had been waiting for nearly an hour. "I don't know when he will be able to see you. We're very, very busy," she said.

"That makes two of us," said Frost.

She looked up as a patient emerged from the surgery clutching a prescription form and was about to ask the next patient to go in when this scruffy man scooted in before the surgery door closed and before she could warn the doctor.

"I thought I was next," said one of the women indignantly. "I'm writing to the General Medical Council about this."

The doctor, a plump young man in his early thirties, was at his desk, scribbling something in a register. He didn't look up as Frost entered. "Please sit down, Mrs. Jenkins. What's the trouble?"

"The sex change operation didn't work," said Frost, sitting as requested.

The doctor looked up startled. "I thought '

"I'm not a patient," said Frost, sliding a warrant card across. "Police."

The doctor stared at the warrant card as if Frost had just dumped a hand grenade with the pin removed on his desk. "Look, officer. I think my solicitor had better be present. I never touched that girl. She stripped to the waist, I gave her a normal examination. I know she was only fifteen '

"Hold it," interrupted Frost. "This is nothing to do with that… I wish it were, it sounds quite juicy. I'm enquiring about another patient of yours Mrs. Nancy Grover, Cresswell Street."

In his relief, the doctor couldn't have been more helpful. He dragged a file from his filing cabinet and opened it up. "Yes those poor children. I had no idea she would do anything like that."

"What were you treating her for?"

"Depression paranoia. She imagined people were following her everywhere she went, watching her, staring at her through the windows of her bungalow at night when her husband wasn't there."

"And the bastard rarely was there, was he? Shouldn't she have had specialized help?"

"Yes. I wanted to send her to a consultant psychiatrist, but she wouldn't go. I prescribed tranquillizers, but I don't think she took them."

"You say she was imagining she was being watched… that a man was looking through her window. Could this really have happened?"

"It's possible. It's difficult to be certain with patients like her. They are convinced that things that only happen in their own minds are actually occurring. She was so upset because her husband didn't believe her."

"What do you think brought it all on?"

The doctor gave a sad smile. "Three children, another on the way. A husband who worked most of the day and was then out drinking most of the night. No relatives or close friends she could confide in. It was all getting too much for her."

Frost stared at the desk in silence. He felt so sorry for the poor cow. He stood up. Thanks, doc."

Angry faces sped him on his way out of the waiting-room. Outside in the darkened street, the first heavy drops of rain were splattering the pavement.

"Penny for the guy, mister?"

He froze. The small boy standing in front of him with his palm outstretched, a misshapen Guy Fawkes propped up in a push chair at his side, was the spitting image of Bobby Kirby. But it wasn't Bobby, of course.

"You didn't ought to be out," said Frost.

"You tight-fisted old sod," said the boy, trundling off with the push chair

Frost watched him go and wondered if parents should be warned of the dangers. He'd have a word with Mullett when he got back.

As he turned the key in the ignition and his engine tried to cough itself into life, the radio called him. Burton sounding excited. At first Frost couldn't take in what he was saying, his mind was still on that poor woman and her kids, terrified because someone had been staring in the house. Her husband didn't believe her and had left her all alone. Could the face at the window, the face that everyone thought was only in her mind, have been the face of Sidney Snell? He shuddered, then realized Burton was still talking.

"Sorry, son — I didn't catch that."

Burton told him again, slowly and clearly as if the poor old sod was going deaf. This time Frost was able to share the DC's delight. The first stroke of luck they had had in the Lemmy Hoxton case.

The television set bought posthumously with Lemmy's credit card had been registered for the guarantee.

They had a name and address.