‘I almost feel sorry for him,’ said Morgan.
‘Feel sorry for the poor girl he raped and killed on Christmas bleeding Day,’ said Frost. ‘Feel sorry for her mother, who was so grief-stricken she chucked herself off the top of the multi storey car park. Her father only lived a couple of years after that. The entire family, dead, and all because of that shit-bag.’
‘How the hell is he going to explain it to his wife?’ asked Morgan. ‘ “Sorry, love. I raped and murdered a girl umpteen years ago and I’ll probably go to prison for life. Sorry I haven’t mentioned it before.” ’
‘If he’d confessed at the time, he’d be out by now,’ said Frost. Yells and cries from the back of the house made him look up. ‘I think he’s making a run for it, Taff. Go and give Collier a hand.’ He lit up a cigarette and waited. After a few minutes the door opened and PC Collier led in a handcuffed Graham Fielding, followed by DC Morgan.
‘I forgot to tell you, son,’ said Frost. ‘Us cops are not very trusting, so I had a PC waiting round the back just in case you wanted to leg it.’
From the kitchen came the heart-rending sound of a woman sobbing bitterly and trying to comfort a crying baby. The dog, sensing something was wrong, was barking ceaselessly. Fielding, white-faced, looked as if he too was ready to burst into tears at any minute.
Frost sighed. There were times when this bloody job wasn’t a bundle of laughs. He wound his scarf round his neck and chucked his cigarette end into the empty grate. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’
Fielding paced up and down the holding cell. ‘I want bail,’ he told Frost. ‘I’m self-employed. If I don’t work the family get no money. I can’t let my customers down. I need bail.’
‘The magistrate might grant you bail, but I doubt it,’ Frost told him. ‘You rarely get bail in a murder case, even one as old as this.’
‘I never killed her,’ insisted Fielding.
‘I’m not the jury, son, just your bog-standard “don’t believe a word the bastard is saying” common or garden cop. Anyway, like I told you, this isn’t my case. Detective Chief Inspector Skinner should be here shortly. You can tell him you didn’t do it. He’s a miserable sod and could do with a good laugh.’
As he was closing the cell door, he thought of the man’s wife and kids. ‘Get a solicitor, son. He might wangle bail for you.’
Fielding, who had slumped down on the bunk bed, looked up, his face a picture of despair. ‘I can’t afford a solicitor.’
‘If you ask for one, we’ll get you one free,’ Frost told him. ‘We’ve got a whole list of dead-beat lawyers who don’t mind losing a hopeless case just to gain experience.’ Fielding’s abject expression almost made him feel pity for the man. ‘ joking, son. They’re all quite good. Just ask for one.’
He was mounting the stairs to the canteen when Wells came running after him.
‘Jack!’
‘Unless it’s a multiple murder or some big-busted tart streaking, it can wait. I’m having my dinner,’ said Frost.
‘More important than both of them, Jack. Beazley’s phoned about eight times. He’s doing his nut.’
Frost stopped in his tracks. ‘Shit!’ He had forgotten all about Beazley. With a wistful glance at the canteen door, Frost turned and descended the stairs. ‘Let’s go and break the good news that I let his blackmailer get away with a thousand quid.’
Beazley leant back in his chair and stared at Frost, wide eyed, mouth gaping in disbelief. ‘Am I hearing you right or do I need to get my bleeding ears syringed? You let the bastard get away with a thousand quid of my money? A thousand bloody quid? You don’t do a flaming thing right. That Fortress cheque you asked for – it would have taken four days to clear so I had to transfer the money electronically. You never told me that, did you?”
‘I’m sorry Mr Beazley.’
‘No, I’m the one who’s flaming sorry for listening to you in the first place. You were supposed to be watching the cashpoints. Where the hell were you?’
‘As I explained, Mr Beazley – ’ began Frost.
Beazley cut him short. ‘I don’t want your bloody explanations. That’s not going to get my flaming money back, is it?’
‘As I explained,’ repeated Frost patiently, ‘the man whose card had been stolen had a spare card which he hadn’t told us about. When we got the message that the card was being used, we naturally went after him.’
‘He was probably a bloody decoy,’ said Beazley, ‘and you fell for it.’
‘No, Mr Beazley. It was just our rotten luck this stupid sod presented his card a few minutes before the blackmailer.’
‘Talking of stupid sods, what are you going to do about it?’
Before Frost could answer, there was a timid tap at the door.
Beazley scowled and grunted, ‘Yes?’
A grey-haired lady wearing steel-rimmed glasses and carrying a shorthand notebook came in. Beazley completely ignored her. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’ he repeated.
‘We’re resuming the stake-out tomorrow night. We’ll get him this time.’
‘Tomorrow night? What about tonight? Are you just going to let him help himself to more of my money?’
‘He’s already collected today’s five hundred pounds so he’s got to wait until tomorrow.’ Beazley glared at Frost and tugged his lower lip. ‘No. I’m pulling out. I’ve no faith in you. Get the rest of my money back.’ Then he realised the woman was standing there. ‘What the hell do you want?’
‘You asked me to come in for dictation at twelve, Mr Beazley.’
‘How can I give you dictation when I’ve got the bleeding plod here, you stupid cow? Piss off!’
As she left and Beazley turned his attention back to the DI, Frost’s mobile rang.
‘You asked me to ring you, Guv,’ whispered Morgan.
‘Bloody hell!’ Frost exclaimed loudly for Beazley’s benefit. ‘I’m on my way.’ He clicked off. ‘Sorry, Mr Beazley, we’ll have to talk about this later. We’ve got a paedophile on the loose.’
‘If you’re after him, it’s his lucky day. He’s as safe as bloody houses,’ sniffed Beazley. ‘And I want my money back.’
But Frost had gone.
In the outer office, the grey-haired lady was hammering away at a keyboard. She paused and smiled up at Frost as he was passing through. The door to Beazley’s office crashed open and Beazley jabbed a finger at the woman. ‘You, Fanny. In here. I want you.’ He glared at Frost. ‘And stop wasting my staff’s time. She’s here to work, not to listen to your rubbish.’ The door slammed.
‘I keep getting the urge to smash your boss in the kisser,’ Frost told the woman.
She gathered up her shorthand notebook and smiled sweetly. ‘In the kisser, Inspector? What’s wrong with in the goolies?’
He clattered down the stairs to the car park. His stomach was rumbling. A foot-down drive back to the station and up to the canteen for dinner.
He was opening the car door when his mobile rang again. It was Taffy Morgan. ‘It’s all right, Taff,’ he said. ‘It worked. I’m on my way back to the station.’
‘No, it’s something else, Guv,’ said Taffy, sounding serious. ‘The embankment next to the railway tunnel just before Denton station. A bloke’s just phoned in. He reckons he’s found a body.’
Chapter 6
The man who had found the body – sharp-nosed, in his late fifties and wearing a scruffy railway-company jacket and cap – was waiting for them at the side of the road on the bridge crossing the railway line. He flagged them down. ‘Are you the police? I’m Fred Daniels. It’s down there.’ He pointed over the side of the bridge, down to the overgrown railway embankment that hugged the railway line. He was excited, anxious to make the most of his moment of fame. ‘As soon as I opened my eyes this morning, I knew something awful was going to happen, I just knew.’
I don’t want your bleeding life story, thought Frost, shutting his ears and staring down at the track. He shuddered. He was sharply reminded of an earlier occasion when he’d clambered down this very embankment to view a woman’s decapitated body, and the farce of having to call the police surgeon in to certify death. They never found the head. It must have been pulverised by the engine. He couldn’t remember any other details – one of so many cases – but the picture of that mangled, headless body was embedded in his brain.