'Yes. No wonder we found no evidence in Argylle Street.'
'Then who moved it?'
'I'm not sure,' said Frost, 'but I've got a bloody good idea…'
His windscreen wipers had cleared a hole through the snow-plastered glass. It was still snowing heavily and everything was blanketed in white. Danes Cottage with its lop-sided 'For Sale' sign was the only property in Fern Lane. A brown estate car was parked outside.
He scrunched over thick snow to the front door and knocked. He hadn't expected anyone to be inside, and had been prepared to smash a window if necessary.
The door was opened by an old woman. Mrs Maisie White, little Charlie boy's Aunt Maisie. At first she appeared disconcerted, then resigned, to see the inspector. She knew why he had come. 'You've left it too late,' she told him.
He stepped inside. The place had been stripped bare. Furniture removed, carpeting taken up, floorboards swept and scrubbed clean. She followed him as he wandered from empty room to empty room, no lampshades, no curtains, nothing. In the kitchen a large chest freezer stood alone and forlorn. He lifted the lid and looked inside. It had been defrosted and it, too, was empty.
'You've done a bloody good job of removing all the evidence,' he told the woman. 'Where did you find the kid's body?'
It took a long time for her to reply. 'Upstairs,' she said at last, leading him up the stairs to a curtainless room. 'In here.' She stood by the door. 'This was his mother's bedroom. If she knew what her darling son had been doing…' She shook her head. 'Charlie was her little angel, he could do no wrong.' She walked into the room and shivered. 'That poor little mite.' She closed her eyes and screwed up her face. 'The terrible things he had done to her!'
'Why did you cover up for him?' asked Frost.
'I always covered up for him,' she said. 'It would have broken his mother's heart if she knew what he was really like. There were photographs… filthy photographs… Charlie and children…'
'Where are they?'
'I burnt them.'
'And you sent the anonymous letter with the button?'
'Yes.'
Now Frost was shivering as he looked round the room where Jenny and Vicky had spent the last few terrible moments of their short lives. 'I want you to come back to the station with me and make a statement.'
She shook her head firmly. 'No. I told you for your own peace of mind, Inspector Frost, but I'm not making any statements. I shall deny everything I've told you.'
'Why?' asked Frost. 'Charlie's dead, his mother's dead.'
I'm not bringing shame on the family.'
'Sod the family! In half an hour's time I'm going to be pilloried in the coroner's court for hounding an innocent man to death. I could be kicked out of the force.'
She lowered her head. I'm sorry, Inspector, but that is how it has got to be.'
Frost stared at her. She raised her head and stared back, lips tight and determined. She wasn't going to change her mind. Without her statement and without a scrap of evidence in support, he had nothing.
'All right,' he said bitterly. He was about to go when he saw it. On the window ledge, the window ledge of the room where she had found Jenny's body. A toilet roll. He walked across and picked it up. Nearly new, just a few sheets torn off. He smiled. 'On the other hand,' he said cheerfully.
Outside it was now blowing a blizzard. He was going to be very late for the inquest. But he didn't care.