Hard Frost

Eleven

"He registered the guarantee!" said Burton triumphantly. "Douglas Cooper, 2a Merchant Street, Denton. And he's got form." He handed the inspector a photostat of the form sheet.

Frost didn't need to read it. "I know Duggie Cooper, son. I've nicked him a couple of times… breaking and entering, handling stolen goods, obtaining money under false pretences."

He looked at his watch. Ten past two. He shook his wrist with annoyance. He must have forgotten to wind the damn thing last night. "Have we got time to give Duggie a tug before the ransom caper?"

Burton checked his own watch. Six thirty-five. The ransom call was due to be made at eight. "Not really," he said.

"Let's do it anyway," said Frost.

Merchant Street, a narrow side road to the north of Denton, was jam-packed with parked cars, most of them without a current tax disc. Burton had to double park at the end of the street and they walked back to the house. A dark grey Ford transit van stood outside Duggie's house and this reminded Frost that he should get someone to keep an eye on the boyfriend of Tracey Neal with the light brown van.

Cooper answered their ring. A thin-faced, shifty-eyed man in his late thirties, he had a little toothbrush moustache with dark, greasy hair brushed straight back. His face fell when he saw who his visitors were. "Mr. Frost!"

"Just passing," said Frost. "Knew you'd never forgive us if we didn't drop in and say hello." He pushed past Cooper and went straight into the lounge. There it was, in the corner, gleaming and dominating the room, a large screen Panasonic television set. Frost plonked himself down on the settee and pulled out his cigarettes.

Cooper hurried in after them looking very agitated. "What do you want, Mr. Frost?"

Frost tutted reproachfully. "Since when do friends have to have a reason for calling on each other?"

"I ain't done nothing," said Cooper.

Frost cupped a hand to his ear as if he had difficulty in hearing what Cooper was saying. "You give us permission to search your house, did you say? That's damn decent of you, Duggie. It saves all that sodding about getting a warrant." He nodded to Burton, who scuttled up the stairs before Cooper could stop him.

A woman bounded into the room. Duggie's wife Jean hadn't started out as a redhead and the various colour changes she had gone through before reaching her present shade had left their mark on the final result. "There's a bloke going up our stairs," she shouted, stopping abruptly in mid-protest when she saw Frost. She screwed up her face in annoyance. "Oh no just what we bloody need!" Hand on hips, she glowered at her husband, then spun back to Frost. "Don't try and tell me he's done something, because he never does damn all. He sits on his arse in the house all day and never does a bloody stroke." The thudding of Burton's feet across the ceiling made her look up. "What's he looking for? There's nothing in the house that shouldn't be here.. " And then she saw the expression on Duggie's face. "At least, there bloody well had better not be!"

"Nice telly," said Frost, nodding at the set in the corner. "Must have cost a bomb."

"It's all legitimate," she snapped. "We've got the receipt." She darted across to the sideboard and pulled open a drawer. "It's in here …"

Duggie sprang across and pushed the drawer shut. "No, it isn't," he said.

She frowned. "What are you talking about? I saw it there this morning."

"No, you didn't," he hissed. "I lost it… weeks ago."

"But I saw…" And then the penny dropped. With an icy glare at her husband which said, I'll sort this out with you later, she turned to Frost, smiling sweetly. "Duggie's right. We lost it."

"Then it's lucky I called in," said Frost. "Because I've got a copy of the receipt here." Humming to himself, he unfolded the photostat and pretended to check the details. "Panasonic… Model No. TXT2228… serial number… call out the serial number, would you, Duggie it's on the back."

He waited as Duggie moved the heavy set with difficulty and read it out. "TXT2822311Y."

"Check," beamed Frost, folding the receipt and returning it to his inside jacket pocket. He stood up. "Sorry I troubled you, Lemmy…" He frowned. "Why did I call you Lemmy? Your name isn't Lemmy… I must be going bloody mad." He took the receipt from his pocket again as if to check the name.

"All right, all right," said Duggie. "It was bought with Lemmy Hoxton's credit card. He owes me, so he let me use it." He fumbled for a cigarette and lit up with a none too steady hand.

"Ah," said Frost, sitting down again. "I knew there was a rational explanation. When did he give you his card?"

"The same day Iixnight the telly."

"You bought the telly and gave the card back to him?"

"Of course."

"What deodorant does Lemmy use?" asked Frost.

"Eh?" frowned Duggie. "What's that got to do with it?"

"It must be bloody strong stuff, because the day he lent you the card Lemmy would have been stinking the place out he'd been dead for two months."

"Dead?" Duggie's mouth gaped open, the lighted cigarette dangling from his lower lip.

Frost nodded cheerfully. "Dead the way Domestos kills ninety-nine per cent of known germs. You killed him and took his credit card."

"Killed him?" echoed Duggie, his face now a chalky white.

"Him? Kill Lemmy?" screeched his wife. "Don't make me laugh. He wouldn't kill a bloody fly."

"A bloody fly hasn't got a credit card, has it?" asked Frost. He looked up as Burton returned carrying a drawer from a dressing-table.

"Found this upstairs," said Burton. It was crammed with cheap jewellery, silver-plated photo frames, trinket boxes, tawdry stuff, most of which Frost recognized from the list of articles stolen by the phoney Water Board inspector.

"Dear, dear," said Frost. "I might have overlooked you murdering Lemmy, but stealing from old ladies… Douglas Cooper, I'm arresting you on suspicion of murder and robbery. Anything you say, etc. You know the rest off by heart."

"I never damn well killed him," cried Duggie.

"On being charged, the prisoner said, "It's a fair cop, guvnor, you've got me to rights," chanted Frost. "Come on, Duggie. We're off to the nick."

Duggie's wife was boiling with rage. "That bloody telly. You had to be clever and buy it. There was nothing wrong with the old one."

"You said you wanted a big one," answered Duggie, meekly.

"She didn't mean the telly," said Frost, hustling him out. "Come on I'm running late."

There was a sour, stale smell in the interview room. Someone had been sick in it recently and the lingering aroma was proving its superiority over the cheap pine disinfectant used to swab it out.

Burton fed a cassette into the recorder and announced who was present while Frost lowered himself carefully into the chair opposite Duggie.

"Right, Duggie," said Frost. "Time to make a clean breast of all your naughtiness. We found a quantity of items believed to be stolen in your house today. Would you like to tell us about them?"

"No comment," said Duggie.

"We also found a television set known to have been purchased with Lemmy Hoxton's credit card some two months after his death. Would you like to tell us about that?"

"No comment," said Duggie.

"Are you going to say "No comment" to everything I ask you?"

"No comment," repeated Duggie, stubbornly.

"Switch the bleeding tape off," said Frost. "Interview terminated at whatever time it is." He rammed a cigarette in his mouth. "You're a prat, Duggie. We don't need your statement. I've got enough evidence to convict you without it. I don't think you killed Lemmy you haven't got the bottle but I need an arrest and you are tailor made. As long as I get a conviction, I score the Brownie points and the fact that you didn't do it is neither here nor there." He jerked a thumb at Burton. "Take him back to his cell."

He wandered back to his office where Liz Maud was working diligently through a pile of returns, too busy to look up. He sat at his desk, trying to work out where he was with the cases they were handling. The dead Dean Anderson was connected with the Bobby Kirby kidnapping and, hopefully, this would be resolved tonight when they nabbed the kidnapper picking up the ransom. A message on his desk from Newcastle police stated there was no sign of Snell back at his flat, but they were keeping a close watch. So that case was in abeyance until they found him. Another sheet of paper on his desk detailed the findings of the lab who had analysed the contents of Lemmy Hoxton's stomach and were able to report that Lemmy had died within two hours of consuming a meal consisting of salmon fish cakes, chips and peas, washed down with a carbonated Coke drink.

He interrupted Liz and told her to check with Lemmy's wife and see if she had served up such a meal to Lemmy, remarking, "The fizzy drink sounds more like a meal she'd serve to her toy boy." He thought about it and liked the sound of it. "You know, that could be it. She had the meal all ready for her toy boy when Lemmy arrived home unexpectedly, so she has to pretend it was for him. After dinner, he spots the kid hiding behind the curtains, his dick dragging on the floor. There's a fight and they split his skull open."

"Then why did they cut the top of his fingers off?" asked Liz.

"It could have happened during the fight," said Frost lamely. He sighed. "I don't know." He pushed himself back from the desk, his chair scraping the brown lino with a teeth-setting squeal. "AH this talk of stomach contents is making me hungry. I'm off to the canteen."

Arthur Hanlon spotted Frost in the canteen and waddled over carrying his tray of food. He sat down opposite him and dolloped sauce on his egg and chips. "Everything laid on for tonight, Jack?"

"I hope so, Arthur. The phones are tapped and the suitcase should be bugged."

"How many men will you need?"

"Don't confuse me with numbers, Arthur," said Frost, forking a chip from Hanlon's plate. "One man watching the phone booths, one keeping an eye on Cordwell and tailing his car in case the homing device conks out, two area cars on call, the SAS, the United States Cavalry… two or three hundred should do it at a pinch. How many can I have?"

"Twelve if you're lucky."

"As long as one of them is Arnold Schwarzenegger, we should manage." He dipped one of his own chips in Hanlon's egg, then had to leave when the tannoy called him to the phone. Duggie Cooper had decided to make a statement.

On his way down to the interview room he spotted Cassidy and Mullett in cosy conversation, both frowning and nodding curtly to him as he passed. Cassidy had handed the superintendent a wad of completed progress reports and Mullett was beaming all over his face. "You haven't done them already, Cassidy!" he exclaimed delightedly. "Good man!"

"You wanted them, so I did them," said Cassidy.

Frost squinted at the returns. They were the ones he had seen Liz Maud filling in earlier. Liz had done the work and Cassidy was unashamedly taking the praise. The man hadn't changed since he was last in the division.

Duggie Cooper was already in the interview room, waiting for him. "I hope you're not going to waste my time, Duggie," grunted Frost, settling down wearily in the same uncomfortable chair. "I've got important things to do… I can always frame you later."

"Look, Mr. Frost. I didn't kill Lemmy. I'll cough for a few bits of nicking if it makes you happy, but I haven't killed anyone."

Frost signalled for Burton to bung in a tape. "You're on the air, Duggie, so sing."

"Me and Lemmy Hoxton were working together. He was the brains. He had this idea about conning our way into people's houses, and while they were busy downstairs, nicking their stuff upstairs. Sometimes we got rubbish, but now and again we hit the jackpot."

"So how did it work?" asked Frost,

"We'd pretend to be men from the Water Board. We'd case some likely places mainly old dears living on their own then one of us would put on overalls and pedal up to the house on an old bike. We had various scams. One was to turn the water off at the hydrant outside, then knock and say we'd had complaints about the water supply, and would they check their taps. So they'd do it and the tap would run dry. "Never mind," we'd say. "I'll fix it for you." We'd turn the hydrant back on again and give them another knock. "Try it now." And of course, now it works fine. "You watch the tap," we'd say, "and I'll go upstairs and flush the toilet. Let me know if it makes any difference to the flow." They were tickled pink to help. While we were upstairs, we'd nip in the bedroom for a quick rummage. You'd be surprised at the stuff people stow in their dressing-tables… some of them had hundreds of pounds in cash. Anyway, we'd stick the loot in our tool bag, toddle off downstairs, refuse the cup of tea the grateful old dear would offer and get the hell out of there on the bike. One of us would be waiting in the van. We'd stick the bike inside and rip off the overalls. If the cops are on the lookout, they're after a man on a bike in overalls, not two men in a van in suits."

"Speed it up, Duggie," said Frost. "I want to get to the bit where you kill him."

"I never killed him," insisted Duggie, 'though the sod was swindling me left right and centre. Everything I found we'd split fifty-fifty. If Lemmy found anything good, he'd pocket it and say there was nothing there."

"You should have complained to the police," said Frost. "That's what we're here for. All right, fast forward to the bit where you nick his credit card."

"The last job we did together was back in August… 6th August I think. We had a few jobs lined up for that afternoon. The first was a cottage near Alderney Cross… two women living alone. Lemmy reckoned it was ideal… remote and looked as if there would be rich pickings. Before the job we had lunch in a pub."

"What pub?"

"Forget its name little country pub just off the main road."

"What did you have to eat?"

"Bloody hell, Mr. Frost, this was months ago. I can't even remember what I had for dinner last night."

"Did Lemmy have anything to drink in the pub?"

"Nothing alcoholic. We made a point of it… these old dears get suspicious of workmen with beery breaths. We stuck to soft drinks."

Frost exchanged glances with Burton. This tied in with the analysis of the stomach contents. "Then what?"

"I parked down a side lane. Lemmy changed into his overalls and pedalled off. I read the paper, smoked a fag and waited… and bloody waited. He never came back. I waited over an hour then thought, bloody hell, he's been nicked, so I roared off back home and sat indoors in fear and bloody trembling expecting the Old Bill to knock any minute. But nothing. Nor the next day. I phoned his house, but his old lady said he'd gone away for a few days and she didn't know when he was coming back."

"And…?" asked Frost.

"That's it. I never saw him again."

"You must have seen him to nick his credit card."

"His suit jacket was in the van. He'd gone off in his overalls. I stuck the jacket in my wardrobe for when he came back, but he never did."

"What did you think had happened to him?"

"I reckoned he'd probably struck bloody gold at the cottage he did over that day."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I reckoned he'd found the old girl's life savings in the bedroom a few thousand quid and decided he wasn't going to share it, so he did a runner. So I thought to myself, "You lousy bastard, Lemmy," and I took the wallet from his jacket, helped myself to the few quid in it and bought myself a telly with his credit card."

"You didn't buy anything else with it?"

"I wasn't going to push my luck any more. I chucked it away after that."

Frost leant back and puffed a salvo of smoke rings up to the ceiling. "Not a bad story, Duggie, but I prefer my version… that you quarrelled over the split-up of the loot and you killed him."

"On my life, Mr. Frost

"What was the address of that cottage he was going to do?"

"It was called Primrose Cottage you can't miss it, it was painted yellow like custard."

Frost flipped open his burglary file and checked. No-one had reported a robbery or an attempted robbery at that address. He snapped the file shut. "I don't believe a word you've said, Duggie, but you know me heart of gold so I'll tell you what I'm going to do and you can abase yourself in gratitude later. I'll try and check out your story. But first, I want you to put your hand up to all the jobs you and Lemmy did all of them."

"Right, Mr. Frost." Duggie couldn't pour out the details quickly enough. "First there was '

Frost quickly restrained him. "No not to me, Duggie, I haven't got time. Hold on a minute…" He was out of his seat and looking up and down the passage. The unlucky passer-by was Arthur Hanlon.

"Congratulations, Arthur," called Frost, grabbing him by the arm. "You've just solved a whole batch of burglaries… Mr. Mullett will pee himself with pleasure when you tell him."

"Eh?" said Hanlon as Frost steered him into the interview room.

"You know how I hate paper work, Arthur. You can have all the credit and be Mr. Mullett's blue-eyed boy." He jabbed a finger at the prisoner. "OK, Duggie cough!"

PC Collier, wearing plain clothes, drove slowly to the end of the road where he parked silently and switched off the lights. Rain was bucketing down and visibility was limited, but the floodlit drive to Sir Richard Cordwell's front door made it easy to keep tabs on what was going on. As soon as Cordwell drove out, he would radio to let Frost know, then, at a discreet distance, follow.

In the crowded shopping mall leading to the Savalot supermarket, Burton jostled his way to a wooden bench that gave him an unrestricted view of the clump of four public telephone boxes. Syrupy music oozed from overhead speakers, interrupted from time to time by a chirpy voice advising shoppers of the latest bargains to be had in the store. The four kiosks all had "Out Of Order' notices on their doors and the phones had been fixed so no outgoing calls could be made. This had been done by Cordwell's security officers to ensure the phones were not being used by the public when the kidnapper tried to make contact.

Burton eased the radio from the inside pocket of his jacket and made a call to the incident room to test that the scrambler was working as it should.

"I can hear you, and that bloody music, loud and clear," Frost told him. He checked his watch. Coming up to a quarter to eight. Cordwell should be leaving the house any second.

"Can I have a word, inspector?"

Hopalong flaming Cassidy! And the edge to his voice meant he was going to have a moan about something. "What is it, my son?"

"I'm not your son, I'm an inspector, if you don't mind," corrected Cassidy. "Could we go outside?"

"Call me if anything happens," said Frost to Lambert as he followed Cassidy out to the corridor. "So how can I help you, inspector?" He kept his eye on the door, ready to dash back any minute.

"You can help me by letting me handle my own cases," snapped Cassidy. "Lemmy Hoxton. Am I handling it or not!".

Oh shit! thought Frost. He's found out about Duggie Cooper, and I never told him about Mullett's mate, Mrs. Roberts. "Do you mean Cooper?"

"Yes, I damn well do. Not only have you questioned him without bringing me in on it, you've let that fat sergeant take all the credit for clearing up the robberies."

"Sorry, son," said Frost, 'but I knew you wouldn't want to take the credit for things you weren't entitled to." Cassidy's eyes flickered at the shaft. "Anyway, it's your case from now on." Cassidy still wasn't satisfied and was ready with the next moan, but Frost was spared this by the door opening. "Radio message, inspector," called Lambert.

He dashed back inside. PC Collier was on the radio reporting that Cordwell had left the house.

"Which car was he in?" asked Frost, hoping it wasn't the inconspicuous pearl grey Rolls-Royce with the peronalized number plate. They'd have half of Fleet Street following if it was.

"It's a dark green Nissan," reported Collier. He gave the registration number. "Shall I follow?"

"Yes, but keep well back. We know he's coming to the store, so you needn't hug his tail. Once he's in the store, park in a side street off the Market Square. We'll contact you when he comes out." He radioed through to Burton to let him know Cordwell was on his way. "Should be with you in five minutes."

"Right," acknowledged Burton.

Frost was lighting up when Liz came in. "We've located the pub where Cooper says he and Lemmy went to. It's the Green Dragon. They serve pub lunches. The menu changes every day, but every Friday it's salmon fish cakes, and 6th August was a Friday."

"I used to like salmon fish cakes," said Frost, 'but not since I saw them swimming around inside Lemmy's stomach. Funny how little things like that can put you off." He spun his chair round as the radio speaker crackled, but it was only static. "Did you check out Custard Cottage?"

"Primrose Cottage. Two sisters, one around forty, the other in her mid-thirties. I haven't spoken to them yet, though."

"Good. We'll do it together tomorrow morning. Remind me." His smile died when he saw Bill Wells making his way over to him. The sergeant's face shouted "Trouble." Something had gone wrong.

"Were you going to get Tommy Dunn to plant that homing device, Jack?" Wells asked.

"Yes-why?"

"I wouldn't count on him doing it.",

"Why not?" asked Frost, very concerned.

"Tommy's got himself arrested."

Frost's stomach screwed into a tight ball. "Arrested?"

"PC Simms is bringing him in. He was caught nicking two bottles of whisky from Savalot's liquor store."

Frost stared at Wells, hoping and praying he had misheard. "Stealing?"

"Savalot want him charged. And they want his flat searched. They think he's been making a habit of taking their stock home and they'd like some of it back."

Frost stared at the ceiling and swore softly. "Bloody, bloody hell." He punched his palm with his fist and thought quickly. "All right change of plan. Tell all cars engaged in the exercise that due to circumstances beyond our bleeding control, we won't have the homing signal, so it's vital we don't lose track of Cordwell's car. Circulate the description and registration number to all mobiles. If they sight it, let me know. And tell all mobiles not in the exercise to stand by. We might have to call them in as well if we lose him." He groaned audibly as Mullett marched in. "Oh no!" The bleeding vultures were descending.

"What's this I'm hearing about Tommy Dunn, Frost?"

He obviously knew all about it, so Frost was terse.

"He's been arrested for theft. We won't have the homing device."

Mullett's eyes glinted and he smirked in self-justification. "I warned you about using rubbish like him, but you wouldn't listen and now you must pay the consequences. Can we still go ahead with this without alerting the kidnapper? If that child is harmed because of your incompetence '

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sod all, "grunted Frost.

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

"Yes," said Frost.

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

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

Twenty past eight.

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

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

Frost dragged a phone towards him and dialled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't know."

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

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

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

"So what are you going to do?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell him to move outside," said Frost.

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

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

"Burton to Control receiving? Over."

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

"On his own or with the security men?"

"On his own… He's driving out now."

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

"Yes… I see him… I'm following."

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

"I'll try.!

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

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

"Subject turning into Bath Road," reported Collier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where are we going?" asked Cassidy.

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

"That area is bloody big," said Cassidy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know son. I know."

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

"He didn't actually see the accident?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He says he told you," said Cassidy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just passing Sandown Road."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Burton braked. He was getting too close. A short way back he had lost sight of the Nissan and had jammed down on the accelerator only to have to slam on the brakes to avoid shooting up its backside. Luckily

Cordwell had other things on his mind and did not seem to notice.

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

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

"Whereasked Frost.

"The big oak alongside Forest Common."

"What's he doing now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Looming ahead of them, creaking in the wind, was the large oak tree where Cordwell had parked. Frost slowed down, squinting through the windscreen for Burton's car. He spotted it just round the next bend and bumped up on the grass verge to park behind it. He and Cassidy climbed out and peered into rain and darkness. No sign of Burton. "Where are you, son?" Frost whispered into his radio. Burton blinked his torch a few times and they homed in on his signal.

It was an uncomfortable walk in the dark over bumpy and puddle-ridden ground fighting against the wind and the rain, and it was making Cassidy's stomach hurt like hell. Was this why Frost had asked him along to show up his damn weakness? If so, and he winced as a flame of pain rippled across his stomach, if so, Frost was going to be disappointed.

Burton was crouched behind the trunk of a stunted tree. Not much of a place to hide, but better than nothing. He pointed to a dark mass ahead and handed Frost the night glasses. "The money is behind there somewhere."

Frost shook off the rain and raised them to his eyes. "I can't see a bleeding thing."

Cassidy took the glasses. "Those bushes?" he exclaimed. "They're seventy yards away. Can't we get any closer?"

"It's all open ground," said Burton. "We'd be seen."

"So where's the money?"

"Round the back somewhere," Burton told him.

"Somewhere? Can't you be more precise?"

"I saw him go behind with the money and come back without it."

"So it could be any of those flaming bushes and we're on the wrong side seventy yards away."

Burton indicated the sprawling terrain. "There's nowhere on the other side to hide. We'd be seen miles away."

"What about those bushes there?" Cassidy pointed.

Frost gave them a glance, then shook his head. There was too much open ground between them. "This is as good a place as any."

The call light on the receiver flashed. Burton turned the volume down and listened. Charlie Baker reporting in. Cordwell had made one stop on the way back at a phone box. As he approached it, it rang. He spoke briefly, then drove straight home.

"The kidnapper wanting confirmation the drop had been made," said Frost. "He must have phoned from a call box. Where's the nearest one from here?"

"The one in Forest Row," said Burton.

"If that was the one he used, he should be here in less than ten minutes," said Frost to Burton. "Get back to your car and wait and be ready to tail him after he collects the money."

"He might not have used that one," objected Cassidy. "He might have a mobile phone. For all we know he could be standing in those trees over there, watching."

"If he had a mobile phone and was standing in those trees," said Frost, 'he'd have seen Cordwell drop the money and wouldn't have needed to make the phone call." He nodded Burton on his way.

Burton hurried off while Frost panned the area through the night glasses to see if he could spot anyone watching them. A radio call from Burton. He was back in his car awaiting further instructions.

Frost consulted his wrist-watch. Nine forty-six. His clothes were sodden and rain was beating down on them. Too wet to smoke and nothing to do but to wait.

They waited.