“The men were asking about their overtime,” said Wells, abruptly changing the subject.
“It’s my number-one priority,” said Frost, swinging his scarf around his head like a lasso and heading for the interview room and Miss Julie King. He almost made it.
“Mr. Frost!” It was Mullett, his face sombre.
What now? thought Frost. He dived in first with the good news. “We’ve learned Roger Miller wasn’t driving the hit-and-run car, sir. It was his girl friend. We’ve brought her in for questioning.”
Mullett twitched a smile. “That’s excellent news, Inspector. Sir Charles will be delighted.” The smile twitched off. “Did you see Mrs. Shelby?”
“Yes, sir. I broke the news.”
“How is she taking it?”
“She’s shattered, sir. I’ve arranged for a man to stand guard outside the house to keep the TV and press away.”
Mullett’s lips tightened. “Of course, Frost, quite right.” He bowed his head sadly and studied his shoes. “We’ll miss him, Frost. A damn fine officer.”
“So everyone keeps telling me, sir,” said Frost, thinking of all the colour photographs, most of which were taken when Shelby was supposed to be on duty. He turned to go, but he wasn’t quick enough. Mullett still had one more bullet left to fire.
“Did the crime statistics go off?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Frost, instantly regretting the lie. Mullett was in such a good mood about Roger Miller he might well have overlooked the truth.
In the interview room Julie King, wearing orange slacks, a yellow jumper, and a white beret, sat on the edge of one of the hard chairs, her fake leopard-skin coat slung over the back. She smouldered, her cigarette smouldered, and her orange-painted nails seemed ready to claw at the slightest provocation. And provocation was the only thing not denied her. They wouldn’t let her phone Roger, they wouldn’t tell her what it was about, and this bearded wonder wouldn’t even talk to her. He just stood leaning against the wall, his eyes half closed, ignoring all her questions. She was all ready to explode when in came Scarface, as scruffy as ever, a long scarf sweeping the floor as it trailed behind him.
“Why am I here?” she demanded. “No-one’s said a damn word. What is this, the bloody Gestapo?”
“A few questions, fraulein,” said Frost, settling himself down at the table and arranging his cigarettes and matches within easy reach.
She consulted her jewelled wristwatch. “I’m due at the club in thirty-five minutes.”
Frost flicked a match into life with his thumbnail and lit up. “I don’t think you’re going to make it, Miss King. We’ve found out you’ve been telling us fibs.”
She dug into her handbag for a nail file and began rasping away a couple of inches of orange nail. “Everything in my statement was true. Roger was with me all the time.”
A theatrical sigh from Frost. “You’d better tell her, Constable. I don’t like breaking bad news to girls with moles on their behinds.”
Webster dragged a chair over and sat beside her. “You were driving the Jag, miss, not Roger Miller.”
She studied her nails and decided some minor adjustments were necessary. She filed carefully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You were seen driving the Jaguar.”
“Was I?” She blew away a puff of orange dust.
“Yes,” said Webster.
She gave him a sweet, pitying smile. “You must think I’m bleeding stupid. No-one saw me getting in the car for the simple reason I wasn’t in it.” She dropped the file in her handbag and snapped it shut. “I’m not obliged to stay here, and you have no right to keep me.” She stood up. “I’ll find my own way out.”
Frost stuck out a leg, barring her way. “We haven’t got time to sod about, miss,” he snapped. “You were seen by your next-door neighbour, Paula Grey. She yelled out, hoping for a lift. But you couldn’t have heard, because you roared straight off. I’m not bluffing. She’s given us a signed statement.” To prove it, he waved a piece of paper at her. It was only a typed request from County for the crime statistics, but it looked important.
Slowly, she sank back in her chair. Her mind seemed to be racing. “That’s right,” she said at last, “I remember now. I went out for some cigarettes. I bought some and came straight back.”
Frost was doing a trick with his chair, rocking it and making it balance on its two back legs. He beamed her a paternal smile of complete understanding. “I knew there would be a perfectly logical explanation. Where did you go for the cigarettes?”
She hesitated. “A pub. The Black Swan.”
“A twenty-minute round trip,” said Frost. “Ten minutes there, ten minutes back… plus the time it took for you to get served.”
“So?” she said warily.
“I’d have thought it was bloody obvious,” said Frost. During those twenty minutes, the hit-and-run took place. It was you who knocked Hickman down. It was you who killed him.”
She shivered and rubbed her arms, then pulled the fur coat over her shoulders. “It’s cold in here.”
“It’s colder in the morgue,” said Frost. He dribbled smoke through his nose. “Why prolong the agony, love?
There’s no way you can wriggle out of this. Get it off your lovely chest. Tell us the truth.”
He settled back in his chair while Webster took it all down in his notebook.
“I had never driven a Jag before. I asked Roger if I could take it for a thrash down the Bath Road. He said yes and gave me the keys. At about ten minutes to eleven I left. Roger stayed behind in the flat.
“I might have been going a bit fast round the old people’s flats, but I’m sure I was within the speed limit. It was dark, and as I turned a corner I felt a bump. I never saw anything and didn’t know I had hit anyone.
“When I got back to the flat Roger started moaning because the headlamp was broken. Then we saw the blood on the wing. I got frightened. Roger said he would report the car as stolen, so we hid it down a side street and then went back to the flat, where Roger phoned the police. I never knew at the time I had hit anyone, otherwise I would have stopped. And I hadn’t been drinking. I didn’t have a drink all night.”
When she had finished, she looked to Frost for his reaction. He showed none.
“Is that it?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Right, we’ll get it typed, then you can sign it. In the meantime, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait in the cells.” Seeing her dismay, he added, “Not for long, only until we fix bail.”
After the girl was taken out, he yawned and stretched. “Right, son.
Let’s go and pick up Master Roger and see if he confirms her story.”
At first Roger Miller blustered, demanded to be released, and threatened all kinds of lawsuits that would leave Frost and Webster jobless, penniless and prospect-less. But when they told him that Julie King had made a statement admitting she alone was driving the Jaguar, he calmed down and without further prompting gave them a statement that confirmed the girl’s story in every detail.
Webster borrowed the station Underwood from Collier, dumped it on his desk on top of the crime statistics, and started pecking out the statements. Frost, who had found some salted peanuts left over from the previous night, was slouched in his chair, his crossed feet up on his desk, hurling peanuts in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth.
Mullett swept in without knocking. Frost flung his feet off the desk, managing to knock a file on the floor, splashing papers everywhere. But there were no frowns from the Divisional Commander, who was in a most affable mood. “Well done, Frost. I’ve’just put the phone down after speaking to Sir Charles. He is absolutely delighted to learn that you have been able to clear his son. In fact, he’s coming over to see me right away. Are the statements ready yet?”
“On the last one now,” said Webster, rubbing out a mistake and blowing away the rubber dust.
“Excellent,” said Mullett, smiling, “I’ll take them with me.”
The warning light at the back of Frost’s brain blinked on and off. What was the sly old sod up to now? “Take them with you, Super?”