"Never seen him before in my life. Why?"
"We caught him running out of your premises a couple of minutes ago. He must have broken in."
Sammy frowned. "Broken in? Impossible."
"He came running out of here, straight into the constable's arms," insisted Hanlon.
Sammy dug into his dressing-gown pocket and found an enormous cigar which put Frost's to shame. He lit it carefully. "Well, nothing seems to have been taken…"
"We don't know that for sure, sir. We'd better take a look around."
The bookmaker caught the crook's eye and they both stiffened.
"No! There's no need for that."
But Frost was already half-way up the stairs. "Up here, is it, Mr. Jacobs-your living quarters?"
"Yes, you can look if you like." The note of relief was so strong that Frost came straight down again. He nodded to the room behind the counter. "What do you keep in your office, Sammy? He could have nicked something from there."
The fat shoulders shook with laughter. "A few pencils and some betting slips. If he took them, he's welcome."
"You're too charitable, Sammy, but we'll look, just in case. We owe it to you as a rate-payer and an upright citizen."
The safe, painted gray, was cemented into the wall. Sammy tested the handle. "It hasn't been touched. Without the key it's impossible. Look-it's late. Let him go. I won't prefer charges."
"Won't hurt just to look inside," murmured Frost.
This was inconvenient. The key was upstairs, somewhere. And it was so late. If they'd care to come back in the morning…
"Nip up and get it, Sammy, there's a good chap."
The bookmaker took the cigar from his mouth and studied the glowing end. "I don't have to."
"No," agreed Frost, cheerfully, "you don't have to. It's a citizen's privilege to sod up the police, but it means we'd have to go to all the bother and expense of getting a search warrant, which all comes out of the rates, and they're high enough already."
Sammy shrugged expansively. "So. I pay my rates. You get your search warrant."
"Please yourself, Sammy, but it means a couple of my men would have to stay here, by the safe, until we got it. And you'd be all on edge, up and down to the toilet. We're definitely going to see what's inside, so why prolong the agony?"
The cigar was hurled to the ground and trampled to death. "You lousy bastard, Jack. You know, don't you?"
Frost beamed affably. "I'm afraid I do, Sammy. One of my rare infallible days. I think the key's in your right-hand pocket."
It was. With shoulders slumped in defeat, Sammy moved to the safe, but Frost stopped him. "Hold it a minute, Sammy." He asked Hanlon and the constable to wait outside with the prisoner. "I want a quick word in private with Mr. Jacobs."
Hanlon gave the inspector a searching look as he closed the office door.
"So what is it," asked the bookmaker, the key poised in front of the lock.
Frost stuck his hands in his pockets and looked up at the ceiling. "It's a bloody serious offense, bribing and corrupting young police officers, Sammy. You'd cop at least double the sentence you'd expect just for robbery. But as it's my birthday, and it's near Christmas, I'll be generous. You keep your fat mouth shut about a certain member of the Denton police force, and I'll keep mine shut about bribery and corruption charges. How does that sound?"
"You lot look after your bloody own," snarled Sammy. Then, with a shrug, "But what have I got to lose. It's a deal, Jack."
"Let's have his I.O.U., then."
The safedoor swung open and Sammy thrust his arm past the neat heaps of expensive jewelry and watches lying on top of a folded police uniform, and pulled out an envelope which he handed to Frost. The inspector checked the contents, took out his lighter, and burned it to ashes. Then he called the others in.
As he climbed back into his car the church clock chimed four times. He backed out of the side street and headed for home. He'd told Detective Sergeant Hanlon to take over the entire case. "I wasn't there, Arthur. I've already had two arrests of my own tonight, which is more than my fair share of glory and form-filling. Grab this one with both hands. You've got kids and a fat stomach to support. Just say you were acting on information received. Sammy will keep me out of it, as it's my birthday."
He jerked his head and blinked. God, he was falling asleep at the wheel. He'd never done that before. Where was he? He stared unbelievingly through the windscreen at his house. He'd been driving in a trance, turning corners, crossing traffic lights without knowing it. If anyone had been in his path… He shuddered and thought of that miserable eighteen-year-old kid in the lobby. He wound down the window to let the cold air jerk him back to life. That poor kid. He just didn't have the luck.
Switching off the engine, he staggered to his front door. He didn't remember getting undressed, but was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. He could have dreamed of death and decay, but he dreamed of Shirley.
When he went out the next morning he found he'd left the car unlocked, with the window down, and the keys swinging in the ignition. Anyone could have pinched it, but his luck had held out just a little while longer.
WEDNESDAY-1
Wednesday morning at 8:05, Station Sergeant Bill Wells leaned across the inquiry desk and studied the morning paper, a look of intense pity on his face.
"What's up?" asked Frost, pausing on the way to his office with Clive.
Sadly shaking his head, Wells jabbed a thumb at the front page. "I've seen some terrible things in my time, Jack, but this is awful. The poor devil-you'd think they could do something with plastic surgery."
Frost snatched the paper and looked at a photograph of himself taken at the time he'd received his medal at the palace.
"God, what a handsome brute," he exclaimed. "Who is it-Errol Flynn?"
The banner headline bellowed
SKELETON OF SHOT BANK ROBBER FOUND IN 32-YEAR-OLD GRAVE. Tucked away at the bottom was a tiny, blurred photo of Tracey, captioned "Hopes fading for missing girl". Frost shuddered. The snow had stopped and the search parties would be out in force and he wondered if it would be today that he'd have the rotten job of taking the mother to the mortuary.
"Hear about the arrests Arthur Hanlon made last night?" asked Wells.
"Yes," snapped Frost, already on his way to the office, "he's a good chap. He doesn't waste his time reading bloody papers."
They made an early start and were well stuck into the Bennington's Bank robbery file when Frost let out a sharp groan and reminded Clive they should have been at the briefing meeting ten minutes ago. Mullett stared pointedly as they clattered their shamefaced way to their seats, mumbling apologies.
"I suppose I'll have to start again for the benefit of the latecomers. I was suggesting we should extend the area of the search."
"It's no use extending it until we get some more men," said Frost. "We haven't even got enough to cover the more likely places as thoroughly as we should."
"Agreed," purred Mullett, "but if you had been here when the meeting started, Inspector, you would have known that I intend to ask the Chief Constable for more help."
Game, set, and match to Hornrim Harry, thought Frost, and didn't say another word until the divisional commander left when he blew a soft raspberry at the closed door. That courtesy out of the way, he heaved himself to his feet and sidled over to Detective Sergeant Martin. "You don't need me, do you, George? I'll be over at the bank solving the case of the three-eyed skull. If anything exciting happens, give us a buzz on the radio." He stopped at the door. "Oh-one other thing. Mrs. Uphill will be waking up in a strange bed without the mirror in the ceiling this morning. Better get one of the policewomen to take her home. What's the name of that one with the mole on her stomach?"