Morgan lay in the bed, eyes closed, a white bandage round his head.
‘Someone to see you, Mr Morgan,’ said the nurse.
Morgan’s eyelids fluttered as he turned his head. ‘Hello, Guv.’
‘Not too long,’ said the nurse.
‘Most girls think it’s long enough,’ nodded Frost, dragging a chair to the side of the bed. He unhooked the chart from the foot of the bed and flipped through it. ‘What does “Do Not Resuscitate” mean?’
Morgan grinned, wincing as the effort hurt his head. ‘What do you reckon to that young nurse, Guv? I wouldn’t mind a bit of that in bed with me.’
‘No chance, Taff,’ said Frost, pretending to read from the chart. ‘It says here “Nil by Dick”.’ He tossed the chart on the bed. ‘So what happened?’
‘I’m sorry; Guv,’ Morgan murmured, putting on his shame-faced expression. ‘I let you down.’
‘Deja flaming vu,’ said Frost. ‘I get the impression you’ve said that a few times before. So what happened tonight?’
‘It was him, Guv. The blackmailer.’
Frost’s head shot up. ‘What? Are you sure?’
‘I nearly had him – I nearly bloody had him. I tried to stop him, but he had something in his hand.’
‘His dick?’
‘No, Guv. Something heavy. One of those long torches, I think. He welted me round the head and I went out like a light. Next thing I knew I was in hospital and that lovely nurse was leaning over me. I thought I was in heaven, Guv.’
‘You’re sex mad,’ said Frost. ‘A couple of tits stuck up your nose and you’re away. Now, start from the beginning.’
‘Right, Guv. I see him approach the cashpoint.’
‘What time was this?’
'Just after you phoned me to say you was jacking it in. Anyway, he walks past, looks up and down, then goes back. I press right back in the doorway so he can’t see me. He takes the card from his pocket, bungs it in the machine, takes out the cash. Another quick look up and down and away he goes.’
‘In what direction?’
‘The left, Guv. Towards the car park. As he turns the corner, I go after him. I grab his arm and yell, “I’m a police officer.” There was this flash of silver – must have been the torch. My flaming head splits open. I see red flashes, then black…’
‘Then a pair of nurse’s tits,’ snorted Frost. ‘You should have called in for some flaming back-up before going after him.’
‘I know, Guv. But I thought I could handle him.’
Frost heaved a deep sigh. ‘I’ve told you before, Taff. Never rely on your own flaming judgement. Describe him.’
‘About five foot eight or nine, dark zip-up jacket, dark trousers, balaclava and a cap, so you couldn’t see his face or hair.’
‘Marvellous, Taffy. That narrows our prime suspects down to around fifteen million. He went through your pockets and pinched your wallet. Did you know that?’
‘No, Guv. Wasn’t much money in it.’
‘He was probably after your condoms.’ Frost heaved himself up out of the chair. ‘I’ll look in to see you tomorrow if you last the night.’
His footsteps clattered down the darken ward. He waved goodbye to the young nurse, who was at a desk writing up some notes. ‘He said he’s ready for his enema now, nurse.’
In the background the same man’s voice whined on and on, ‘Nurse
… nurse…’
WPC Kate Holby made coffee as soon as they got back to the station. She seemed brighter and much happier than Frost had previously seen her, clearly glad to be involved and part of a team. He gratefully accepted the mug and savoured the steaming aroma. Most of the team still looked the worse for wear, but were slowly sobering up. They had killed a bottle of whisky between them.
Frost tipped sugar from a packet into his mug and stirred the coffee with his pencil. ‘Well,’ he said, taking a sip, ‘let’s look on the bright side. Thanks to Taffy we’ve now got a bloody good excuse why the bloke got away with the money. And if Taffy dies, we get the sympathy vote as well. First thing tomorrow I want all the CCTV footage you can get. If – which is bloody doubtful – the building society have put in a new tape and cleaned the tape head, we might get a clearer picture of a bloke in a balaclava and a cap, which will do us no sodding good at all. Now I’m banking on him coming to collect the dosh by car. He’s not going to risk walking the streets with five hundred nicker in his pocket.’
‘He could have come by cab,’ suggested Simms.
‘I don’t think he’d be that stupid,’ said Frost, ‘but check out all the cab firms anyway. I want details of everyone they picked up from, say, eleven thirty to half past one. One of you do that now.’
Jordan drained his coffee and stood up. ‘I’ll do it, Inspector.’
Frost grunted his thanks. ‘I’ll hang on here until you get back.’ He turned back to the rest of the team. ‘First thing tomorrow, I want CCTV tapes covering all roads in and out of Denton. There won’t be much traffic about at that time of night, so I want every vehicle checked out. We’re looking for vehicles coming into and leaving Denton at the right times.’ He took another sip of his coffee and scratched his head with the pencil. ‘Can’t think of anything else you should do, but if you think of it, do it! Go and get some kip. We’ll start bright and early tomorrow.’
Jordan shook him awake at half past four. No cab firm had any customers during the specified time span apart from a couple of prostitutes and their clients. Frost blinked gritty eyes as he took this in, then decided he was far too drowsy to attempt the drive home. He would sleep in his office and be ready for the CCTV tapes in the morning.
‘Get someone to wake me at eight,’ he yawned.
Chapter 8
Frost woke up suddenly and reached out for an alarm clock that wasn’t there, his hand flapping in empty space. Where the hell was he? His paper-strewn office desk juddered into blurry focus and he remembered the abortive stake-out of the night before. Gawd. He’d have to face Mullett and Godzilla Skinner about that – and flaming Beazley, of course. He’d forgotten that Beazley would be spitting blood at the news that another five hundred pounds of his money had found its way into the blackmailer’s pocket in spite of a police stake-out which was intended to prevent any possibility of such a thing happening.
He shuddered at the thought, then winced as his splitting headache went into overdrive. He had a stiff neck and it hurt him to move his head. The perfect start to the day.
From the corridor outside came the persistent sound of clanging buckets as the cleaners sloshed their mops down the corridor, making the station reek of bleach and pine disinfectant, punctuated by the yells of the drunks in the cells demanding to be let out on bail, and Bill Wells yelling for them to shut up.
‘The Denton-nick flaming dawn chorus,’ he muttered to himself as he stood up and stretched to relieve the aches and pains in his back. Then he staggered out to the washroom, where he splashed cold water over his face and gave his chin a quick buzz with the electric razor. He studied the dishevelled, crumpled face that peered back at him from the steamed-up mirror and rubbed an easily satisfied hand over his chin. ‘Close enough for jazz,’ he muttered.
Passing the door of the Incident Room, he could hear the buzz of many voices inside. He opened it a crack and peeked in. Skinner was addressing the assembled search party. He closed it quickly before he was spotted and hurried to the lobby, where Bill Wells, bringing his logbook up to date, looked up and nodded a greeting. ‘How did it go last night?’
‘A bleeding disaster,’ said Frost. ‘Taffy Morgan got clonked and taken to hospital, but that was the only laugh we had.’
‘Skinner’s been screaming blue murder, Jack. He wants to see you about unauthorised over time and taking the new girl away from the job he gave her.’
Frost sniffed. The siren aroma of sizzling sausages and bacon was fighting its way through pine disinfectant and bleach, trying to lure him up to the canteen for breakfast, but he thought he’d better make a move and get away before