Slowly, Bell pulled his eyes away from Frost, away from the shoe. He drew deeply on the cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs, then gradually releasing it and watching the air currents catch it and tear it to shreds. Then he reached out a hand towards Frost. He wanted the shoe. He took it, turned it over slowly, then gave it back. ‘You have a witness who saw her in the house?’
‘Yes,’ lied Frost.
He crushed out the cigarette in an ashtray and buried his face in his hands. ‘I’d better tell you about it. Yes, Paula was here that day. I should never have kept quiet. It was stupid. But I was terrified you’d think I’d killed her. She was alive when she left here, I promise you.’ Again he looked in the cigarette box, again seeming surprised to find it empty. Gratefully he accepted another from Frost.
'When I got back from the cemetery, I was soaked to the skin. There’d been a cloudburst during the funeral.’
Frost nodded. This part, at least, was true.
‘To my surprise, Paula Bartlett was in the kitchen. All she was wearing was one of my dressing gowns and her shoes. She was putting her wet clothes in the tumble drier. She told me she’d been caught in the storm on her bike and had got absolutely drenched. She thought I wouldn’t mind if she dried off in my house. I could have done without it that day of all days, but of course, I agreed.’
‘How had she got in?’ Frost asked.
‘The back door wasn’t locked.’
‘Why was she out in the storm — she should have been at school?’
‘She said she intended skipping the first lesson — she didn’t like the relief teacher who was taking my place.’
‘I see.’ Frost signalled for him to continue.
‘We had a meal from the deep freeze in the kitchen, then she went upstairs to put on her dry clothes. She left here shortly after one. I thought she was going straight to school. I last saw her pushing her bike up that path.’ He pointed through the window. ‘And that’s the gospel truth, Inspector.’
‘I don’t think so, sir,’ said Frost, shaking his head sadly and sounding genuinely sorry. ‘You say she pedalled away into the sunset on her bike?’
‘Yes!’ insisted Bell.
‘Wearing only one bloody shoe?’ asked Frost, holding it accusingly under the man’s nose.
Gilmore, his pen hovering, held his breath. Frost was pushing his luck. If the schoolmaster remembered both shoes were on the body, he’d realize that there was no way the other shoe could have been found in the bedroom and that Frost’s case was built solely on a bluff.
But Frost’s luck held. Bell was confused. His expression kept changing as various alternatives to his story flitted across his mind and were hastily discarded. His best bet would have been to keep quiet. To say nothing. To let the police do the proving. But he’d kept quiet for too long. He had to tell someone.
‘The girl had sex before she died, sir,’ Frost gently prompted. ‘And we found her shoe in your bedroom.’
Bell shrank visibly, and stared down at the carpet. ‘I’d like to make a statement.’
Concealing his relief, Frost gave the statutory caution and signalled for Gilmore to start a fresh page. ‘When you’re ready, sir.’
‘We had lunch. I should have suspected something. Paula kept "accidentally” letting the dressing gown slip open. Then she went upstairs to get dressed. She called me. She was in our bedroom. Sitting on the bed. She was naked. She was wearing lipstick — thick lipstick. She looked like a child tart. The girl was offering herself to me.’ He paused, then glared defiantly. ‘What the hell! What the bloody hell! I suppose you think I’m some sort of animal?’
Frost said nothing.
The man’s shoulders shook as he covered his face. ‘When it comes down to it we’re all bloody animals.’ He stood up and stared out of the window. ‘We made love. Half-way through she began to struggle. She yelled for me to stop. Then she started screaming rape. I panicked. I grabbed her by the throat to stop her screaming. We struggled. She wouldn’t stop screaming. Suddenly she went still. I must have squeezed too hard. I didn’t mean it… as God is my witness, I didn’t mean it. I tried the kiss of life, I tried everything… but she was dead.’
‘Did you think of sending for a doctor?’ asked Frost.
‘A doctor?’ Bell frowned and his hand flicked away the question as futile. ‘It would have been no use. She was dead.’
He paused. The only sound in the room was the slight rustle as Gilmore turned the page of his notebook. Bell’s head twisted to the sergeant, as if suddenly realizing that every thing he was saying was being taken down. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I was so frightened… so appalled. I tried to think. I had to find somewhere to hide the body and I suddenly thought of that crypt. I thought it would at least be a Christian place of burial for the poor child.’ At this Frost gave an involuntary snort of derision, but Bell didn’t care what Frost thought. This was the statement that would be read out in court, the statement the jury would hear. ‘That night, I took the poor child’s remains out to the car and drove to the cemetery. As reverently as possible I put her in the crypt. I said a prayer for her. I never meant to hurt her.’
‘Before you did that, you reverently burnt the poor child with a blow-lamp,’ said Frost. ‘What sort of kindly, Christian act was that?’
He bowed his head. ‘Genetic fingerprints. I’d read some where you could positively identify a sperm sample. I was trying to destroy the evidence.’
‘The newspapers?’ prompted Frost.
‘I wanted it to look as if she hadn’t finished her round, so I took the newspaper she had brought and put it in her bag, meaning to dump it somewhere with the bike. As I was passing Greenway’s cottage, I noticed his paper sticking out of the letter-box, so I took that as well.’ He waited until Gilmore’s pen had finished writing this all down before adding, ‘I bitterly regret the pain and anguish I caused Paula’s family. It was an accident. I shall live with the scars for the rest of my life.’
Frost stood up and took him by the arm. ‘So will the poor cow’s parents, sir.’ They helped him on with his coat and led him out to the car.
Mullett was angry. He paced up and down Frost’s tiny office, shaking with rage. ‘I’ve told you time and time again, Frost, catching the criminal isn’t enough. We’ve got to be able to prove our case in court. What on earth did you think you were doing?’
‘I thought I was solving a murder case,’ answered Frost. He didn’t expect praise, but he was unprepared for Mullett’s fury.
‘By slipshod, unorthodox methods? By sneaking official evidence from the evidence cupboard? Planting it in a suspect’s house? For heaven’s sake, man, don’t you realize the risk?’
‘Risk?’ asked Frost.
‘What other solid evidence do you have against him apart from his own admission?’
‘Nothing yet,’ said Frost.
‘Has he signed the statement he’s given you?’
‘Not yet. It’s being typed now.’ He nodded towards Gilmore who was typing at speed and pretending not to listen to Frost’s bollocking. He ripped the last page from the machine and hurried from the room.
‘What if he refuses to sign?’ demanded Mullett. ‘What if he decides to plead not guilty in court and claims that the statement was obtained by means of a trick… by the planting of false evidence? If this all blows up in our faces, Inspector, I’m distancing myself from the whole affair. It was done behind my back, against official instructions and contrary to my specific orders. Don’t expect me to carry the can for your shortcomings. Don’t expect me to stand by you.’
‘I’d never expect that, sir,’ said Frost, and he had never sounded more sincere. He looked up anxiously as Gilmore came back, the statement in his hand. ‘Well?’
‘He signed it,’ said Gilmore, slipping the typescript in a folder.
‘He can still retract it,’ snapped Mullett, cutting short Frost’s audible sigh of relief. ‘And then we haven’t got a shred of legitimate evidence against him.’