Hard Frost

Six

"Any joy?" Wells asked as Frost mooched in.

"They had the bleeding joy nine months ago," said Frost. He filled Wells in on what had happened. "Fourteen years old. Too young to buy a packet of fags, but not too young to have a baby." He shook his head sadly and dug in his pockets for his own cigarettes. Only three left. Another forage into the superintendent's office was called for. "Is Hornrim Harry in?"

His question was answered by the booming voice of Mullett who came striding through the swing doors, beaming all over his face. "I understand Cassidy has cracked the Lemmy Hoxton killing. That's what I like to see, Frost, quick results something that is sadly lacking in other officers." He gave the inspector his meaningful stare which Frost pretended not to understand.

"Are you telling me Maggie Hoxton has confessed to killing her old man?" asked Frost.

"Not confessed as such, but it's just a matter of time. Mr. Cassidy tells me it's an open and shut case. She never reported him missing, she's been forging his name on cheques and if that wasn't bad enough, she's been buying young boys for immoral purposes. Even without a confession we've got the strongest possible case."

"I never knew she'd been forging his cheques," said Frost.

Mullett gave his thin sour smile. "Sergeant Hanlon found evidence of it in the house. You really should keep yourself up to date, inspector. You are supposed to be in overall charge." He spun on his heel to return to the old log cabin, tightening his lips and pretending not to hear what sounded suspiciously like a moist raspberry.

Frost hurtled down the other corridor to the incident room to find Arthur Hanlon sitting at one of the desks making a list of the contents of a large cardboard box which contained items found during the search of Lemmy's house. "Who's been crawling round Mullett telling him things I don't know, Arthur?"

"The forged cheques, you mean? I've only just found them, Jack. I haven't even had a chance to let Acting Inspector Cassidy know yet." He stressed the word 'acting'. "Look at this first."

He showed Frost a sheet of lined notepaper on which someone had been writing the signature "Lemmy Hoxton' over and over again, getting more like the real thing each time. Then he produced a white envelope and tipped out the contents a wad of cancelled cheques returned by the bank. Frost riffled through them. They were all dated later than the date of Lemmy's death. "Here's an old cheque," said Hanlon, pushing it across. "That is a genuine Lemmy. These later ones are forgeries."

Frost studied them and nodded. "Maggie must have been bloody sure Lemmy wasn't coming back to have tried this lark. What else have you got in the box? If it's worth having, we share it fifty-fifty."

Hanlon grinned and hauled out a carrier bag which he tipped on the desk. "This was poked behind Lemmy's cold water tank. A few old friends there from the stolen property list."

Frost poked through the pile of assorted bric-a-brac; necklaces, compact cases, dubious-looking strings of pearls, wads of family photographs, letters tied with ribbon. There was a rolled gold cigarette lighter which Frost flicked a couple of times, dropping it back when it refused to work. "Nothing worth pinching here. Hello, what's this?" A small, black rexine-covered case, the letters DFM in gold on the lid. He opened it. On a bed of blue plush was a medallion. He took it from the case and examined it. The Distinguished Flying Medal, awarded to Flight Sergeant J.V. Miller. Miller was the name of the old lady conned by the fake Water Board man. So Lemmy must have been involved in that scam, but he didn't match up to the description she had given. The man she described was small and thin with a moustache. He replaced the medal and pushed the case across to Hanlon. "Let her know we've got it back. It'll cheer the poor old cow up no end." He stood up. "Where's Hopalong Cassidy?"

"Still questioning Maggie in No. 2 interview room." "I think I'll stick my nose in if only to irritate him."

But he was too late. Cassidy had just left the interview room and PC Collier was about to escort Maggie Hoxton back to her cell. Frost beckoned him outside. "How's it going?"

"She hasn't cracked yet, but Mr. Cassidy is sure she will."

"Let's see if I have any luck," said Frost. He went back into the interview room with Collier. Maggie, seated at the table, arms folded, looked up at him defiantly as he flopped into the chair opposite her and treated her to his disarming smile which immediately, put her on her guard. He pushed across a cigarette and lit up for them both. "Things don't look too good for you, Mag."

She smirked. "If they look so bloody bad, why haven't I been charged? You've nothing on me, not a damn thing. Like I told that other git, we had a row, Lemmy walked out and I haven't seen him since."

"When he walked out on you, Mag, did he say, "Maggie, dearest, I'm never coming back, not ever"?"

"No. He slammed the door and went."

"He didn't even do a typical, lovable Lemmy thing, like putting your hand in the door frame as he slammed it shut?"

"No."

"Didn't it strike you as strange that he left his home, his clothes, his change of underpants and his bronze Toyota?"

Maggie shrugged. "Perhaps he didn't need them. Perhaps his new lady friend has lots of money."

Frost beamed. "Funny thing that, Mag. I was going to ask you about money. Did he leave you anything for the housekeeping?"

"No."

"Did he send you a cheque from time to time?"

"No. He didn't give a sod about me."

"Oh come, Maggie. You do that noble man an injustice. Lemmy was so concerned about your welfare that even though he was dead, rotting away and stinking the place out, he still insisted on signing cheques so you could entertain your toy boys." He produced the cancelled cheques from his pocket and dumped them on the table. "He's been dead for three months, yet there's one here dated last week."

She stared at the cheques, her mind whirring, trying to find an explanation that just wouldn't come. "AH right. So I forged his name. How was I supposed to live? The sod had walked out on me."

"If you believed Lemmy was still alive, you wouldn't have dared forge his name to his cheques. He'd have broken every bone in your body. You knew he was dead. You knew because you killed him, you and young Superdick." He gave her a sweet smile. "So I'm going to charge you both with murder."

She snatched the cigarette from her mouth and leant across the table. "You're not pinning this on me. I never killed him."

"Then who did, Maggie?"

"I don't know." She leant back and took a long drag at her cigarette. "All right, I'll tell you the truth. We didn't have a row. He went out one day and never came back. Well, you don't look a gift horse in the mouth. He'd been a bastard to me, knocked me about and kept me short of money. I didn't give a damn what had happened to him, I was just thankful he'd gone."

"What did you think might have happened to him?"

"At first I thought he'd been arrested. I knew he'd gone out that day to do a job."

"Nicking stuff from old age pensioners?" suggested Frost.

"Sounds his bleeding mark, but I don't know what it was. Anyway, he never came back end of story."

"So you started forging his cheques?"

"After a week. I had to live, didn't I?"

"Didn't it occur to you that Lemmy might be dead?"

"Occur to me? I was bloody banking on it."

"So why didn't you tell the police? If you and young Rent-a-dick didn't kill him, you had nothing to lose."

"If I told the police and they found his body, Lemmy's flaming wife would have copped the house and all his money."

Frost gaped. "His wife? I thought you were his wife?"

She shook her head. "He walked out on his real wife over ten years ago. The greedy grasping cow she'd have had me out of the house and on the street before the ropes came off the coffin handles."

"So he went out, never came back and you did sod all about it?"

She glared at him defiantly. "I don't think there's any law against that."

"There's a law against forging cheques," said Frost.

"I was his common-law wife. I had no money. I don't think any jury's going to convict me on that, do you?"

Frost tapped his empty cigarette packet on the table. "You might be telling the truth, Mag. Trouble is, you still fit nicely into our frame. We reckon Lemmy came home unexpectedly, found you and little Wayne having it away. There was a fight, you killed him and disposed of the body. You then proceed to lead a life of unlimited dick and luxury."

She snapped her fingers at PC Collier. "Give me my handbag." She opened it and took out a window envelope which she gave to Frost. "Have a look at that!"

He unfolded the printed sheet inside. It was a Visa credit card statement made out to Lemmy Hoxton. The amount outstanding was 699.99 covering a purchase from Supertek Discount Warehouses, Denton. He looked at it, then back at her. "So?"

"Lemmy never let his credit card out of his sight. It was in his wallet which he always kept on him. If he was dead in August, how come he spent "nearly seven hundred quid in October?"

Frost looked again at the statement. The date against the purchase was 12th October. "Are you saying you didn't buy this?"

"I didn't have his bloody credit card, so how could I? I reckon whoever killed him took his wallet. Check with the store they ought to remember who they sold seven hundred quid's worth of stuff to."

Frost refolded the statement and popped it back into the envelope. "OK, Maggie. I'll check it out."

He ambled back to the incident room where Arthur Hanlon was putting the finishing touches to a sheaf of schedules which he waved at Frost.

"Do you want to OK the arrangements for dragging the lakes and canals tomorrow, Jack?"

Frost shook his head. "No thanks, Arthur. If you did it, I'm sure it's impeccable." He yawned. "I'm going to get my head down for a couple of hours. If any more bodies turn up with limbs or dicks cut off, let Mr. Cassidy handle them."

He drifted into his office on his way out. Liz Maud's things, following her expulsion from Allen's office, were neatly stacked on the spare desk. He took a cursory glance through his in-tray. More piddling little memos from Mullett and a wad of returns demanding to be filled in. In the middle of his desk Liz had left a list of the jewellery and furs allegedly stolen from Stanfield's house, together with a copy of their claim to the insurance company which suggested they had been robbed of the Crown Jewels. He skimmed through it and put it back on her desk. There were more important things to think about than that at the moment.

He almost made it to his car. As he was unlocking it Wells charged out, yelling his name and waving a message sheet. "Another kiddy stabbed in his cot, Jack."

"Give it to Liz Maud," said Frost. "It's her case."

"She's off duty. Mr. Mullett wants you to deal with it."

"Me? Why?"

"You're an inspector. The kid's father is a friend of his."

"Any friend of Mullett's is an enemy of mine. Tell him you just missed me." But as he spoke he could see the Divisional Commander watching them both from his office window. He heaved a sigh of resignation, took the message sheet from Wells and climbed into his car.

The address was an expensive-looking bungalow with a large garden whose rear boundary backed on to Denton Golf Course. A police car was outside. As he slid in behind it another car skidded to a stop behind him and Liz Maud got out, her hair all over the place. She had heard the call over the radio and driven straight over.

PC Jordan let them in. They could hear angry voices. "That's the father," explained Jordan. "He's throwing his weight about… a real right bastard."

"Of course he is," agreed Frost. "He's a friend of Mr. Mullett's." Not feeling an immediate desire to go inside to be shouted at, he asked Jordan to tell him what had happened.

Jordan flipped open his notebook. "Family name is Wilkes. Him and his wife were down the golf club — the annual dinner and dance or something leaving the nanny to put their four-year-old daughter to bed. Around half-past eleven the nanny hears the kiddy screaming. She tried to get into the nursery, but the door was jammed. Anyway, she managed to give it a kick and burst in. The nursery window was wide open, the kiddy screaming with blood all over her pyjamas. Nanny looked out of the window and saw someone scrambling over the garden fence on to the golf course."

"How's the little girl?" asked Liz.

"No real damage, thank God. She's gone back to sleep now, I think." He frowned his disapproval at the angry shouting still coming from the other room. "Assuming she can sleep through that damn row."

"Show me where he got in," said Frost. Jordan led them round the back of the bungalow, past the patio windows of the lounge where they could see the father striding up and down and yelling at PC Simms. He glared at them as they quickly scuttled past.

The end casement window was wide open and outside it the SOCman was closing up his case of equipment. He shook his head to Frost. "No prints other than the mother's and the nanny's."

"You're bloody useless," said Frost, looking through to the nursery which was decorated in pink and white. A pink and white wooden chair lay on its side in front of the open door. The matching pink and white bed by the wall was empty. "Where's the kiddy now?"

"In the nanny's room."

Frost turned to look across the garden to the golf course. "She saw him clambering over that rear fence?" It wasn't a very high fence.

He swung his leg over the sill and dropped into the nursery. Liz and Jordan followed. "He wouldn't have to be much of an athlete to get in here, would he?" muttered

Frost as he padded over to the bed. He looked at the circus motif counterpane. One of the grinning, white faces of a clown was freckled with tiny drops of blood. Frost peered at it closely, then nodded. He had seen enough. "I can't put it off any longer let's go and talk to Mr. Mullett's mate."

The mother, an ash blonde in her mid-thirties, wearing a low-cut emerald green evening dress, was sitting hunched by the electric wall fire. Her husband, dark-haired, with a trim black moustache, wore a white dinner jacket and a black bow tie. His face was flushed and he spun round angrily as they entered. "It's too damn late now. He's miles away. If you'd have got here sooner instead of sitting on your fat arses doing nothing, you might have stood a chance of catching him."

Frost dropped uninvited into a vacant chair and beamed up at him. "I would hardly describe my lady colleague as having a fat arse, sir it's smaller than yours."

The man's face darkened. "Don't come that tone with me, inspector. Some perverted maniac has broken into my house and stabbed my four-year-old daughter. Instead of sending twenty men to surround and search the place, we get two men in a car. It's pathetic… bloody pathetic'

"We couldn't send twenty men even if we wanted to, sir," replied Frost. "At the moment, all we have got is eight men covering the whole of Denton. The rest have been out all day from early this morning, searching for a missing boy. They only stopped when it was too dark to continue. They are now getting some sleep and will be out again early tomorrow morning."

The man wasn't interested in facts and figures. "Someone's going around stabbing babies," he yelled. "Get some more police in…"

Frost held up his hands in mock surrender. "Let's calm it down, shall we, sir? You want him caught, we want to catch him. We won't achieve that by yelling at each other. You and your wife were out when it happened, so let's have a word with the nanny. She, at least, saw him."

Frost had imagined the nanny to be a grey-haired little old lady in a nurse's uniform, reeking of wintergreen, and was pleasantly surprised when a strapping Swedish blonde in her late teens came in carrying the sleeping child wrapped in a blanket.

"Flaming hell," he whispered to Liz. "She can breast feed me any time she likes!"

Liz pretended not to hear and hoped the family hadn't heard either. Frost had a genius for tasteless jokes at the wrong time.

"Helga's English is not too good," said the man.

I bet she knows how to say, "Yes please," thought Frost. He smiled encouragingly. "So you heard a noise, Helga, and you ran to the nursery?"

She nodded, eyes glowing at the chance to recount her adventure. "I hear Zoe cry. I run to nursery, but door is jammed. I kick and it opens. There is blood on Zoe. I look out of window and there is man climbing fence into golf field."

"Can you describe him?" asked Liz, pen poised.

"No. Too dark. Too far. I phone Mr. Wilkes at golf place."

"That's right," nodded Wilkes. "I called the police from there and we came straight over."

"If it was too dark and too far, could it have been a woman?" asked Frost.

Her eyes widened in astonishment at such a question "Would a woman do such a thing to a little child?"

"They want equality with men," said Frost. "How bad was Zoe hurt? Did you call a doctor?"

"Three little stab marks on her bottom," said Helga. "I put on sticking plaster." She pulled down the child's pyjama trousers to show them the plastered wound. It didn't look too serious and the sleeping child hardly stirred.

"I shudder to think what that pervert might have done if Helga hadn't disturbed him," said Wilkes. He turned to his wife. "First thing tomorrow security bars on all these windows."

"It will make it look like a prison," she objected.

"I don't give a damn. Until these plods catch him I'm taking no chances."

Frost ignored the 'plod' jibe. "These aren't the pyjamas she was wearing in bed?"

"No. They had blood. I changed."

"Perhaps you'd get them for me," smiled Frost.

She returned in a few minutes after putting the child back to bed. She held a small bundle of Care Bear pyjamas. Her breasts bounced delightfully as she crossed the room and Frost wished he could think of more things for her to bring back. He took them and held them up. There were blobs of blood on the bottoms corresponding to the stab wounds. He examined them closer. The cloth was intact no sign of tear marks made by the knife point. "When you got into the bedroom, were these trousers pulled down?"

She shook her head and her blonde hair shimmered from side to side. "No. Bedclothes pulled back. Zoe lying on her face, but pyjamas not pulled down."

Frost smiled his thanks. "I see." He passed the pyjamas to Liz. "We'll take these with us if you don't mind." He stood up. "We'll see ourselves out."

"And that is it?" demanded Wilkes. "You're not going to search the area?"

"For what?" asked Frost. "For a man whose description we haven't got?"

"So what are you going to do?"

"We've got a few promising leads, sir. We'll follow them up and let you know."

"I'd like to remind you that I'm a personal friend of

Police Superintendent Mullett," said Wilkes.

"Don't worry, sir," said Frost. "We won't hold that against you."

Outside the house he said to Liz, "Those other kids that were stabbed… were their wounds the same as this one little jab marks?"

"Yes," replied Liz.

"I thought they were stabbed slashed?"

"No," said Liz. "It's all in my report on your desk."

"You know I don't read bloody reports," said Frost. "Were any of the others stabbed in the buttocks?"

"Two in the buttocks, one on the upper leg and three on the upper arm."

Frost opened his car door and slid into the driver's seat. "And did he ever stab them through their clothes?"

She thought for a while. "No. He pulled the nightdress or the pyjamas away and jabbed their bare flesh."

"This little girl tonight…" He was rifling through the dashboard compartments hoping to find the treasure trove of a cigarette end. "The bloke must have pulled down the elasticated bottom of those pyjamas while he stabbed her, then let it zip back." To his delight he found a sizeable butt which he poked into his mouth, frowning at the heavy nicotine staining of his fingers.

"Is all this significant?" asked Liz, straightening up, her back aching from bending to talk to him in the car.

"It could be," said Frost. "Follow me back to the station as quick as you can."

A fuming Acting Detective Inspector Cassidy was hovering in the corridor outside his office when they returned. "A word, please, inspector," he snapped, marching into Allen's office and waiting for Frost to follow.

"Sure," called Frost, going into his own office and waiting for Cassidy to join him there. After a couple of minutes of waiting, Cassidy twigged what had happened and barged in. "You will excuse us, please, sergeant," he barked at Liz.

"Chase Bill Wells up on those files, would you, love," smiled Frost. When she had gone he spun his chair round. "What's up now?"

"I was in the middle of questioning Maggie Hoxton about the death of her husband. I take a break and when I come back, what do I find? I find that you have had the nerve to carry on questioning her on evidence that was not made available to me."

"You weren't there," replied Frost.

"But that doesn't give you the right to take over my case, to question my suspect, to use my evidence."

"Sorry, son," said Frost. "I never seem to have time for the niceties. You're right. It is your case and I won't interfere again."

Cassidy sank down into the spare chair. He had expected Frost to bluster and had intended hauling him before Mullett, but the man's contrite apology had thrown him completely off balance. "It's not good enough," he said weakly.

"Quite right, son in fact it's bloody diabolical," said Frost, warming to his theme.

Cassidy's mouth opened and closed. He couldn't think of anything else to say and was glad of the distraction when Liz Maud returned, followed by Bill Wells, each bearing a stack of dusty folders which they dumped on Frost's desk.

"They should be in alphabetical order," explained Wells, 'but they got mixed up when we had the burst tank and the flooding in the old records room."

"You've always got a bloody excuse," said Frost. "If you had any respect for the job, you'd come in on Christmas Day and sort them out."

"I'm already due to come in on Christmas Day," said Wells, taking the bait. "Every bleeding Christmas I'm on that rota."

"So you are," said Frost. "I forgot… you should have mentioned it." He split the files into four piles and handed them around. "We're looking for Sidney Snell's file."

Cassidy's head came up. "Who?" The name had rung a bell.

"Sidney Snell Slimy Sid child molester. Used to pretend he was a doctor."

Cassidy snapped his fingers. Now he placed him. "He called at the house and told the mother he was from the Health Department. Said the kids had to be vaccinated."

"Vaccinated?" asked Liz.

"Yes, sergeant. He was a pervert. Liked sticking needles in little bottoms or little plump arms. It gave him a kick to see them bleed, to hear them cry."

"He injected the arms and buttocks?" said Liz, still not taking it in.

"He only had water in the syringe," said Frost. "The object was to make them bleed. He did it to about six or seven kids before we caught him. Prior to that he used to expose himself to mothers with kids in push chairs

"We had a couple of complaints this morning," said Wells, 'about a bloke exposing himself to women in the park."

Liz leant back and snatched up a sheet of typescript from her desk. She waved it angrily at Wells. "I asked you for a list of all known sex offenders against children. This is what you gave me. Why isn't Snell's name on it?"

"Because he's ancient history," retorted Wells. "This all happened some ten… eleven years ago '

"Even so Liz cut in.

"If you would kindly let me finish," sniffed Wells. "Snell doesn't live in Denton any more. When he came out of prison about five years ago, he moved up north. Too many parents in Denton had threatened to do him over if they ever saw him back here."

"Oh!" said Liz, crestfallen. She had really thought

Frost was on to something. She transferred her annoyance to him. "Then why are we wasting our time looking for his file?"

"I've an idea the sod might have sneaked back to Denton," Frost told her. "I think I saw him yesterday."

"And you didn't think it worth mentioning to anyone?" asked Cassidy sarcastically.

"I wasn't sure," said Frost, shuffling through his stack of files. "It's been ten years since I last saw him." He looked up as Wells cried, "Bingo!" He held aloft a file and flipped it over to Frost. Frost blew off the dust, then turned the cover so he could see the photograph affixed to the inside. The photograph showed a podgy-faced man in his early thirties scowling at the camera. Frost jabbed it with a nicotine-stained finger. "I was right. It was Snell I saw."

"Are you sure?" asked Liz, getting excited at the thought of an arrest.

"I'm positive," said Frost. "It's been ten years, but he's still got the same little piggy eyes."

"He used to live with his mother," said Wells. "Proper little mummy's boy." He leant over Frost's shoulder and pointed to the address on the file. "Ten years ago it was 39 Parnell Terrace. I don't know if she's still there."

Liz picked up her handbag and checked that the street map was inside. "I'll go and find out."

"Hold it!" Now Cassidy sounded excited. He was staring at a typed sheet in the folder. "You've overlooked something, inspector." He held out the arrest sheet.

"What's that?" asked Frost, quickly skimming through it.

"Snell used to carry a genuine medical bag around with him when he posed as a doctor."

"I know," said Frost.

"Do you remember what was in it?"

Frost shrugged. "Syringes, bandages, — iodine…"

"And a bottle of chloroform," said Cassidy with a smug smirk. He pointed out the entry on the arrest sheet.

Frost whistled softly. "Bloody hell! You're right. I'd forgotten about that."

"Chloroform?" asked Liz.

Frost nodded. "No evidence that he used it at the time. Apparently he had an uncle who was a doctor. The uncle died and Slimy Sid pinched his bag." He chewed at his thumb as he thought this over. "Chloroform! I can't see our luck running that way, but it would be bloody handy if it was Sidney who stabbed the kids and killed Dean Anderson." He stood up. "I'll drive."

"Hold on!" Cassidy was buttoning up his jacket. "I'm coming with you." There was no way he was going to miss out on this. "Two more cases solved," he would tell Mullett with studied modesty. "I spotted the reference to chloroform and put two and two together…"

"It doesn't need three of us," said Frost.

"Sergeant Maud can stay here and look after the administration," said Cassidy.

Liz was indignant. "This is my case!"

"The murder of the boy takes precedence," said Cassidy. "You'll be more useful here, helping Sergeant Wells put these files in alphabetical order."

She looked in mute appeal to Frost who shrugged and went out followed by Cassidy. She picked up a file and hurled it with all her strength against the wall where it fluttered papers all over the place. She looked to Wells for support. Wells's delight at the smug cow's frustration fought with his hatred for Cassidy. His hatred won. "The bastard!" he said.

Cassidy swung the car into Parnell Terrace, pointedly fanning his hand to drive away the smoke from the stale cigarette Frost had found in the torn lining of his jacket. The car crept between a double row of identical and ugly terraced buildings made of preformed concrete. Not a light showed anywhere. The houses stood sullenly silent and an unnatural stillness hovered over the street. Cassidy's heart sank. The street was derelict. Every house was empty and boarded up with contractors' chalked notices saying "Gas Off… Electricity Off… Water Off…"

"All that's missing is "Piss Off'," said Frost gloomily.

"What the hell."began Cassidy.

"Concrete cancer," explained Frost. "The same as the houses in Rook Street where the fourteen-year-old had her baby." He now remembered the article about it in the local paper. "They've re housed everybody."

Muttering audibly about the complete and utter waste of time, Cassidy drove to the end of the road where he could reverse and head back to the station.

If Frost hadn't been looking up at that precise moment, he would have missed it. A flicker of light from one of the houses as a curtain was twitched back and quickly closed. A brief glimpse of a white face looking down at them.

"What light from yonder window breaks," whooped Frost, nudging Cassidy and pointing. "There's someone in that house."

It was the only house in the street where the doors and windows were not boarded up. It was number 39.

Four empty milk bottles stood in a line on the doorstep, waiting vainly for a milkman who no longer called. Frost jammed his thumb in the bell push and leant his weight on it. A bell inside shrilled edgily. He gave the door a couple of kicks and yelled, "Open up police!"

A light clicked on inside and showed dimly through the grimed fanlight over the front door. The sound of someone stumbling down the stairs.

"Who is it?"

"The Avon Lady," said Frost. "Come on, Sidney, open up… you know damn well who it is."

A chain clinked and the door opened a fraction so a bleary eye could study the warrant card held out by

Cassidy. The chain was unhitched and the door opened wide. A meek-looking man in his early forties, wearing a dressing-gown over red-striped pyjamas, thinning brown hair falling over his eyes, blinked at them. "What is this all about?"

"Hello, Sidney," beamed Frost. "Long time, no see."

Snell peered at the inspector. "Sergeant Frost!" He shivered and drew his dressing-gown more tightly around him. "I'd hoped I'd never meet up with you again."

Frost pulled a face. "I don't seem to endear myself to people, do I?" He stepped into the hall and kicked the door shut behind them. "Can we come in?"

There was a musty smell to the house. Snell led them to the lounge, a cold room with old, worn furniture. Two battered suitcases and a pile of bulging carrier bags stood on the floor. A picture of Snell as a young boy, in the garden with his mother, stood in the centre of the sideboard. He switched on a two-bar electric fire and motioned them to chairs. "I'm sure, if I wait long enough, you'll tell me what this is all about."

"We were passing, we saw your light and we knew we'd get a friendly welcome and a fairy cake," said Frost. "But I'm forgetting my manners. How's your mother?"

Snell's lower lip quivered. "My mother is dead."

"My sincere condolences," said Frost, remembering that this was the old cow who used to provide Sidney with watertight alibis all those years ago.

Snell knuckled his eyes. "On the generous assumption that you are being sincere, I thank you." He sighed. "It's hard coming to terms with it."

"Sudden, was it?" asked Frost.

Snell shook his head. "She'd been in hospital for nearly two months. Three weeks ago they phoned me to say she was dying. I came straight away. She died half an hour before I got there." He covered his face with his hands. "We never said goodbye."

"Three weeks ago? And you've been in Denton ever since?"

He nodded. "Don't worry. I'm not staying. I couldn't, even if I wanted to. The Council are tearing this entire street down."

"That's a bit drastic, just to make you move on," said Frost.

Snell ignored him. "Mother was the stumbling block. She wouldn't leave. As soon as they heard she was dead she wasn't even buried the Council slapped a demolition order on the place. I'm disposing of her effects, not that she had much, and I go back to Newcastle tomorrow." He nodded towards the suitcases and carrier bags. "So you needn't concern yourself with what I might do."

"It's not a question of what you might do," said Cassidy, deciding it was about time to make his presence felt. "It's a question of what you've already done."

Snell stared at Cassidy, his eyes blinking in puzzlement. "Perhaps you'd kindly explain yourself."

"The day after you returned to Denton, we had complaints of a man exposing himself to mothers and children. Isn't that what you used to do?"

"Coincidence."

"Coincidence has a long arm, but a very short dick," chipped in Frost. "Two of the mothers said it was the smallest they had ever seen, which immediately made us think of you."

Snell flushed brick red. "Now you are being insulting."

"And then," continued Cassidy, raising his voice to let Frost know he was doing the questioning, 'we had instances of children being stabbed in the arms and buttocks, just as you did when you pretended to be a doctor."

Snell slowly stood up, trembling with outrage. "I committed my crime ten years ago. I was caught and I was punished. I've learnt my lesson." He turned to

Frost. "They don't like child molesters in prison."

"Not too keen on them myself," said Frost.

"I got beaten up buckets of filth thrown over me. I'm not going to risk that again."

"Where were you this morning around half-past eight?" asked Cassidy.

"In here, sorting out mother's things."

"And where were you earlier tonight from about ten o'clock onwards?"

"In here. I never went out."

"Got a girlfriend, have you?" asked Frost.

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

"No."

"So if you're not sticking pins in little kids, hearing them cry, watching the blood spurt out of chubby little arms and bottoms, what do you do for kicks?"

With a disdainful smile, Snell opened the sideboard drawer and took out a bible which he waved in the inspector's face. "Nothing you would understand, Mr. Frost, but I get my kicks, as you call them, from the Good Book. I'm a born again Christian."

"It wasn't your bible you were waggling at those women this morning," said Frost. "It was your little winkle."

"How many times do I have to tell you I never went out this morning… I'll swear to it on the bible if you like."

"I bet you would, you bastard!" snarled Cassidy.

Snell glowered. "I don't have to put up with this harassment. You haven't got anyone for these crimes, so you're trying to fit me up, even though I've gone straight for the past ten years."

Cassidy pulled two photographs from his inside pocket. The first was of the missing boy. He handed it to Snell. "Where did you pick him up?"

As Snell studied it, Frost watched him closely, noting an expression of puzzlement followed by relief. If you're acting, you're bloody good, he thought.

"I've never seen him before."

"Then what about him?" Snell took the photograph of the dead boy, but his eyes were on Frost who had got up from the chair and was now mooching about the room, pulling open drawers, rummaging inside. "Do you have a search warrant? "he called.

Frost flashed a beaming smile. "Of course not, Sidney. This is just a courtesy call."

"The photograph," snapped Cassidy, tapping it with his finger.

Snell gave it hardly a glance before returning it. "Never seen him before."

"He was chloroformed," said Cassidy.

"So?"

"There was chloroform in the medical bag you used to carry around with you."

"Was there? If there was, I never used it and that was ten years ago. I've taken my punishment and I've turned to the Lord. If he can forgive me, why can't you?"

"Perhaps the Lord didn't know you had these," called Frost from the sideboard. He was holding up a coloured photograph he had found in the drawer. Two young children, aged about five, hand in hand and crying. They were both naked. He thrust it at Snell's face. "Given it up, have you, Sidney?"

Looking disgusted at the suggestion, Snell snatched the photograph from Frost. "A perfectly innocent snapshot of two sweet young children. What sort of mind have you got to see something dirty in that?"

"The sort of mind," replied Frost, 'that looks at a born again Christian and sees a dirty lying bastard!"

Snell moved forward indignantly. "I don't have to put up with this." He spat out the words. "This is sheer harassment."

"Shut up!" barked Frost, poking Snell in the chest.

"And sit down!" Snell flopped in the chair. "Now listen and listen carefully. You are a hypocritical bastard, trying to hide behind the bible. But you've been up to your old tricks again, haven't you, Sidney?"

"No, I '

"Yes, you bloody have! Exposing yourself, stabbing little kiddies. Sadly for us, Sidney, this is your lucky day. At the moment we are so flaming busy we haven't got time to put trash like you away. When are you going back to Newcastle?"

"Tomorrow."

"Then make it first bloody thing in the morning, because if one more kid is molested, one more mother sees a man with a microscopic dick exposing himself, I am going to throw the bloody book at you, whether you did it or not. Do I make myself clear?"

"Now hold on a minute!" said Cassidy, rising angrily from his chair.

"Shut up!" Frost waved him to silence. "Well, Sidney?"

"I swear on the bible that I have committed no crimes since I've been in Denton, but as you wrongly and unjustly suspect me, I shall return to Newcastle first thing tomorrow. I hope that satisfies you."

A curt nod from Frost. "OK. We'll show ourselves out."

Cassidy hurled himself into the driving seat and punched the dashboard in rage and frustration. Why did Frost always interfere at the critical time? "I was questioning him '

"He had nothing to do with the boys," said Frost. "They were far too old for him. Anyone over six is old and wrinkly to Sidney."

"How can you be so damn sure?"

"I was watching his face when you showed him the photographs. He looked so relieved that you were veering away from the stabbings. He did the stabbings all right, but he knows nothing about the two boys."

"So why don't we arrest him?"

"We've got no proof."

"We can find proof."

"We haven't got the time, son. We're struggling with a missing boy, two murders and an alleged robbery with violence."

"We can get him for exposing himself," insisted Cassidy. "The woman should identify him."

"It's too bloody petty to worry about."

"Was the hit and run killing of my daughter too bloody petty to worry about?"

Frost ignored this. "Tomorrow morning he'll be gone and he won't be our problem any more."

"And the minute he gets back he'll be up to his filthy larks again."

"Don't worry. I'll tip Newcastle CID the wink. They can do all the work and when they nab him, he'll confess to our crimes as well."

"And they'll get the credit."

Frost shrugged. Credit didn't interest him.

"I'd like to put on record that I disagree utterly with what you have done."

Frost shrugged. "If you like, son. It's a free country." He yawned. "Take me home, would you."

Cassidy drove in frigid silence to Frost's house.

Frost yawned again. "I shall go off to sleep the minute my head hits the pillow. You're in charge. Don't wake me unless it's bloody urgent."

He was woken at three o'clock in the morning by the insistent ringing of his phone and someone banging at his front door.

It was bloody urgent.