There were a few cars dotted about the station car-park. In its specially reserved parking space, sneering at Gilmore’s Ford, stood Mullett’s blue Jaguar. But making the Jaguar look like a poor relation was a gleaming black Bentley. Frost ambled over to it and peered through the tinted windows to the cream leather upholstery and polished figured walnut fascia. A jingle of keys and there was young Collier. ‘Why didn’t you tell me my new motor had arrived?’ asked Frost.
Collier grinned. ‘It’s Councillor Knowles’ car, sir. He went home by taxi. Mr Mullett wants me to drive it back for him.’
‘How can that bastard afford to run a bloody car like this?’ said Frost, walking around the vehicle and giving it his grudging admiration. He stopped in midstride. ‘Gilmore!’ Gilmore, waiting patiently by his own car, came reluctantly over. ‘Remember how Wally Manson told us he nicked those porno videos from an expensive motor?’
Gilmore nodded wearily. There were lots of expensive motors about. He hoped Frost wasn’t going to plunge head first in another of his wild, tenuous, proofless hunches.
‘And you remember how Wally said he jemmied open the boot?’ Frost pointed to the rear of the car. Gilmore moved forward to look. He had to agree. The boot had been forced open — and not too long ago.
‘And the bastard’s got a brief-case full of dirty money,’ Frost continued. ‘What’s the betting he’s been doing the rounds, flogging his dirty videos?’ Frost held out his hand to Collier. ‘Keys, son.’ He took them and unlocked the driver’s door. The aroma of rich leather and cigar smoke. He slid into the driver’s seat and rummaged about in the dash compartment. He found a button to press and a concealed drawer glided open. Inside were a dozen or more of the familiar pornographic videos. Triumphantly he showed them to Gilmore. ‘Proof enough for you?’
‘It’s a start,’ agreed Gilmore, reluctantly. He didn’t want to get involved. People like Councillor Knowles would always come out on top.
Frost told Collier to fetch the brief-case from Sergeant Wells. ‘Tell him I’m going to kindly deliver it in person.’
‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ asked Gilmore.
‘Yes,’ said Frost. ‘I’m risking my bloody job.’
Knowles lived in a large rambling house just north of the Bath Road on the outskirts of the town, standing in its own extensive grounds, completely hidden from the road by trees. Although it was well past three in the morning, lights still showed from the downstairs windows. They pulled up in front of a massive black oak door which was flanked by replica flaming torches lit by electric bulbs.
Up two stone steps, guarded on each side by stone watch dogs, to the door where the bell-pull, a heavy black iron ring on a chain, descended from the top of the porch. Frost tugged it and somewhere far in the bowels of the house a bell echoed. The ringing started a dog barking. A door slammed. Someone inside shouted angrily and the dog stopped in mid-bark.
Gilmore’s agitation was showing. Not only were they barging into someone’s house in the dead of night for the flimsiest of reasons, but it was the house of an important friend of the Divisional Commander who would have apoplexy if he knew they were there. Why the hell had Frost dragged him into this? Frost, striking a match on the rump of one of the stone dogs seemed blissfully unaware of the possible consequences of what he was doing.
They waited. Shuffling footsteps, then a light glowed through the coloured glass on either side of the door and a voice called, ‘Who is it?’
‘Police, Mr Knowles,’ said Frost. ‘You left your brief-case at the station.’
Bolts and chains clinked and the door opened wide enough for a hand to pass through. It closed round the handle of the brief-case. ‘Tell Mr Mullett, thank you.’ The brief-case vanished inside and the door jerked back. But it would not close. A scuffed, unpolished shoe prevented it.
‘What the hell!’ Knowles felt the door being pushed open. That damn, scruffy inspector, a cigarette drooping insolently from his mouth, was barging his way into the house.
‘If we could come in for a moment, sir,’ said Frost, kicking the front door shut behind him and snatching the brief-case back from Knowles who was clasping it tightly against a black and red silk dressing gown.
Knowles, the alcohol smell stronger than ever, quivered with rage and pointed dramatically to the front door. ‘If you aren’t out in thirty seconds I am getting on the phone to your Chief Constable.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Frost, not sounding it, ‘but this is a very serious matter.’ He opened the brief-case.
Knowles sobered up instantly. ‘What right have you to open a locked brief-case?’
‘No right at all,’ replied Frost. ‘It came open in the car and the contents fell out.’
Gilmore squeezed even further into the background, hoping Frost wouldn’t seek his corroboration.
‘In the brief-case was a large amount of money in used notes. Can you account for it, sir?’
Knowles took a red-banded cigar from his dressing gown pocket and lit it with a snap of his gold Dunhill. ‘I can, but I have no intention of doing so. You have far exceeded your authority and you will very soon suffer the consequences.’
Ignoring the threat, and the mute pleading for caution from Gilmore, Frost ploughed on. ‘We found a quantity of these in your car.’ He held up two tapes. ‘They are locally made, pornographic videos involving bestial and disgusting acts against children.’
‘Just what are you insinuating?’ asked Knowles, his voice soft and menacing.
‘I’m insinuating sod all. I’m stating that you are involved with a pornographic vice ring. So get your clothes on. I’m taking you back to the station.’
With a chilling smile Knowles drew deeply on the cigar, then flicked a cylinder of ash on to the carpet. ‘I’ll happily come to the station with you, Frost, and then you can kiss your career goodbye. Those videos were given to me by an outraged member of the public. If you check, you will find that I have already given notice that I intend raising this matter at the next meeting of the Denton Police Committee. I will also be raising the matter of your outrageous behaviour.’
Oh my God! thought Gilmore. This is it. The stupid fool’s done it now. Well, he’s not dragging me down with him. But he couldn’t help feeling a pang of pity for the inspector who was shaken rigid and looked older, even more shabby and useless than usual.
With the cigar clenched in a gloating grin, Knowles retrieved the brief-case and quickly checked through the contents. ‘I hope, for your sake, all the money is intact, Inspector. I suggest you leave now. I’ll be speaking to your Chief Constable first thing in the morning.’ He opened the front door. Outside it was raining again.
Defeated, Frost couldn’t think of a thing to say. Mullett would demand his resignation and he would have to give it.
But luck, which all too often deserted him in his hour of need, suddenly remembered it owed him a favour. Some where at the end of the darkened passage, a door opened and a rectangle of light fell out. ‘Is everything all right?’ a woman called. Then a scamper of feet and she yelled sharply, ‘No come back!’
But the dog bounded up the passage towards its master, wagging its tail happily and whimpering. An enormous dog. A Great Dane. A brown and white Great Dane. Its left ear was torn.
Frost stared, then grinned happily in warm, sweat-trick ling relief. He marched back into the house, closing the front door firmly behind him. ‘What a beautiful dog, Mr Knowles. He looks just like he did in the video.’
Dawn was scratching at the small window of the main interview room as Knowles and his wife were hustled in. They sat sullenly, refusing to say a word until their solicitor was roused from his bed. Outside, from a police van in the car-park, boxes and boxes of videos, raw tape, and video cameras were carted into the station.