“In the slip road, about four hundred yards southwest of you.”
They cut across until they could see the sodium lamps and the flashing blue of Kenny’s patrol car, which was sprawled across the road, hemming in a metallic silver D-registered Mercedes. The windows of the Mercedes were misted with streaming condensation.
Kenny had a man in an arm-lock, bent across the bonnet. The man was not quite naked. He wore red socks and black shoes.
“You dirty bastard!” snarled Webster.
Frost moved to block Webster, who seemed ready to lunge at the man. “Put the cuffs on him,” he said. Kenny spun the man round, then snapped handcuffs on his wrists.
“Well, well, well,” commented Frost, running his eye over their captive, who was about thirty-five, short, plumpish, and looking absolutely terrified. “Is this him, Sue?”
“I don’t know, sir. I didn’t see him at all.”
“Would you mind telling me what this is all about,” squeaked the man, bringing down his handcuffed wrists to cover himself.
“Don’t you know, sir?” asked Frost, mockingly. Then his eye caught a movement inside the Mercedes. “Who’ve you got in there?” The misted windows blocked his view. He yanked open the rear door. “Flaming heck!”
In the back seat, frantically trying to get into a dress, was a young woman, naked except for a pair of briefs. The heater had been going full pelt and the interior was overpoweringly hot and thick with the lingering cloy of cheap perfume and sweat. The woman snatched up the dress and bundled it to cover her breasts. “Shut that bloody door,” she hissed.
Frost slammed shut the door. The first doubts crept in. “Who is your passenger, sir?”
“None of your business, officer. Would you please allow me to get dressed. I’ll end up with pneumonia.”
Frost risked the passenger’s wrath and opened the rear door again.
“You’re not being raped by any chance, are you, madam?”
“No, I bloody-well am not,” she snapped. “Now piss off, all of you!”
The inspector closed the door yet again. “Your friend has a charming way with words, sir. Would you care to explain what you are doing here?”
The man raised his eyes to the dark, moonless sky. “Are you sure you’re a detective? We’re in the car. I’m stripped. She’s stripped. What do you think we were doing, playing bingo? What I’d like to know is what the hell you are doing here?”
“Attempted rape, sir. About five minutes ago.”
“Well it certainly wasn’t attempted by me, Inspector. It’s taking me all my time trying to keep up with that nymphomaniac in the back seat. Now, can I please get dressed?”
Frost shook his head. “You weren’t in the car when my officer first saw you, sir. You were running, stark naked, from the area where the attempted rape took place.”
The man snorted with exasperation. “All right. If we have to go into detail then I’ll go into detail. I left the car because I felt the need to relieve myself. I also felt the need for a bit of a break. It’s like working a treadmill trying to satisfy her in there. I’m having a nice, quiet restful pee under the stars when suddenly there’s someone charging up on me. I think it’s her husband so I race back to the car to get the hell out of there. Next thing I know I’m in a scene from “Starsky and Hutch” sirens… skids… police. I pull over and I’m yanked out of the motor and spreadeagled all over the bonnet. I’ve committed no offence and I don’t see why I should be treated like this.”
Frost signalled for Kenny to unlock the handcuffs. The man rubbed his wrists, then snatched up his clothes from the front seat and started dressing as quickly as he could.
“Who is the lady, sir?”
The man looked to left and to right, then lowered his voice. “She’s my secretary. We’re both married so, for God’s sake, be discreet.”
“Of course, sir.” Frost stepped back so Kenny could take down names and addresses and details of the man’s driving licence.
“Can I go now?” asked the man, zipping up his trousers. Frost turned inquiringly to Kenny, who was on the radio to Control, checking the driving licence details with the central computer. Kenny nodded. The details all tallied.
The man stuffed the driving licence back into his pocket and peeked inside the car where the misted windows were now clearing. “Look at that,” he hissed. “She’s not even bothered to get dressed. Well, if she expects me to carry on where we left off after this fiasco, then she’s got another think coming.”
He hurled himself inside the Mercedes and slammed the door. A querulous babble of conversation, followed by a snarl from the man, and the car jerked into gear and shuddered off.
“We’ll hang on to her address,” murmured Frost, watching the dwindling taillights. “It might come in handy if time drags one night.” He pushed his hands deep into his mac pockets and stared up at the night sky. Operation
Mousetrap was back to being a disastrous balls-up — the rapist clean away, a policewoman knocked about, the farce with the couple in the car, and to cap it all, he had no bloody fags left.
A se aching wind found where they were and punched away at them. Susan shivered. It was cold and everyone was feeling dejected. Frost told Kenny to take Sue and Webster back to her flat. He would go home in his own car.
He was trying to find the Cortina when Collier called him on the radio.
In the excitement he had forgotten all about the rest of his team.
“We’re still searching, Inspector. Haven’t spotted anyone yet.”
At first he considered telling them to pack it in. But, what the hell, there was nothing to be lost by letting them rummage around for a while longer. He radioed Jordan and Simms, asking them to join the other two and do a sweep of the section. If they found nothing in an hour, they should report back to the station. As senior officer he supposed he should really show willing and join them, but he wasn’t in the mood.
The patrol car drew up outside the flat. Webster helped Sue out and slipped his arm around her. She was shivering. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” She smiled. “I’ll take a couple of pain killers when I get in and I’ll be as right as rain.”
He took the flat key from her shoulder bag and opened the door for her, turning to wave to Kenny who had been summonsed to a reported break-in at Beech Crescent. His wave was acknowledged by a toot on the horn.
The flat was warm and cozy. She had left the gas fire on and the bed had been made, the covers invitingly pulled back. No sign of a nightdress. Susan slumped into an armchair and held her hands out to the fire. She looked all in.
“I’ll do you some hot milk,” said Webster, opening the fridge. There, on the rack, chilled to perfection, was a bottle of white wine, and on the shelf, a cold roast chicken. Everything laid on for a marvelous night that now wasn’t to be.
She shook a couple of aspirins on to her palm and swallowed them down with the hot milk. She was hunched in front of the fire, still trembling, unable to get warm. “Run me a hot bath, please.”
He turned on the taps and swished in the bath crystals. She was in the bathroom with him, peering at the steam-misted mirror, which she wiped clean with her hand. “Don’t I look a fright?”
He wished he could say she didn’t. But she did. Her face was swollen, all greeny-black around the eyes.
“You can stay if you like,” she said, testing the water and pulling off her T-shirt. “But I just want to sleep.”
“Yes, of course,” said Webster.
He let himself out.
Rot in hell, Frost. Rot in bloody hell.
Jack Frost sat in the car. His hands explored the door pockets, but there were no cigarettes. Damn. He scavenged the ashtray for a decent-sized butt and lit it, almost burning his nose with the match. The smoke from the resurrected cigarette tasted hot and bitter, but it suited his mood.