His personal radio crackled. 'Frost to Burton. Any joy?'
'Not a damn thing, Inspector. Quiet as the grave.' But as he spoke a light came on briefly in the hall. 'Hold it, something's happening.' The light went out, then the front door opened. Burton's eyes flicked down to his watch. 'Time 23.59. Target leaving house… opening garage doors.'
A metallic grey Honda Accord rolled down the sloped driveway and coasted out into the road where the engine coughed into life and the car moved off. Burton waited a few seconds before following at a discreet distance, making sure he didn't lose sight of the Honda's red tail lights. Back to the radio. 'He's proceeding north towards die town centre. Am following.'
'Don't let him know he's being followed and don't lose him,' ordered Frost.
Burton grinned. What the hell did Frost expect him to do? But he knew the inspector was under pressure with Mullett breathing down his neck as the overtime figures mounted up. 'Target turning into Bath Road,' he reported, spinning the wheel to follow.
'We're in Bath Road,' said Frost, 'Drop back, we'll take over.' With so few vehicles on the road at that time of night it was important Ashby didn't realize the same car was behind him all the time.
Morgan slowed down to let the Honda get ahead of them. The night mist that had hampered previous operations was creeping back again, so he didn't want the dentist to get too far in front.
They drove in silence, Morgan squinting through the dirty windscreen of Frost's Ford, keeping the pin-pricks of red in sight At one point, just approaching a turn-off, he thought he'd lost him, but spotted the lights again in the distance. 'He's put on a bit of speed, guv,' he muttered.
'Eager for the bleeding kill,' grunted Frost. He frowned and scrubbed at the windscreen with his cuff. 'That's the wrong bloody car!'
'It can't be,' said Morgan.
'Well, it bloody well is,' snapped Frost as the mist thinned a little. 'It's a green Citroen.'
'Knickers!' spluttered Morgan, slamming on the brakes. 'He must have taken the turn-off. I lost him for a while, saw the rear lights and assumed it was him.' He squealed into a U turn and headed back to the side road. 'Sorry, guv.'
Frost sat fuming. Bloody Morgan. They reached the turn-off. A long, clear road with no other vehicle in sight. 'Sorry, guv,' mumbled Morgan again.
'If he's after toms, let's try the red light district,' said Frost.
A bitter night with very few toms still about and the ones they asked hadn't seen a grey Honda. Frost radioed to Burton to report they had lost the target.
It was Burton who spotted the car parked down a side street to the rear of the red light district. It was locked and empty. 'Shit!' said Frost.
'Now what?' Morgan asked.
'You and Burton take a walk around, see if you can spot him, I'll watch his motor. He's got to come back sometime.'
A cutting wind made him shiver and he was glad to get back to the warmth of his car. He found a half-smoked cigarette in his mac pocket and lit up, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the Honda straight ahead. The night had all the makings of one of his first-class cock-ups.
A tapping at the driver's window made him turn. A woman in silhouette against the street lamp behind her. He wound down the window and a tatty, ginger-tinged fur coat opened to show a low-cut dress and yards of cleavage. 'Want to see the twins undressed, love?' asked a husky, sex-promising voice. 'Twenty pounds as it's cold.'
Frost's eyes moved quickly from the unappetizing twins to the face, heavily plastered with make-up, and the dyed red hair poking out from under a knitted bobble hat… 'Still on the game, Sarah? Can't you live on your old age pension?'
Sarah jerked back in dismay. 'The fuzz, just my flaming luck.' She backed away, but he reached out and grabbed her arm. 'Get in.'
He opened the door and she thudded down on the passenger seat, filling the car with the overpowering smell of cheap, musky perfume. 'You ain't going to run me in, are you, Mr Frost?' she pleaded. 'Not on me birthday?'
'Your birthday? Show us your telegram from the Queen!'
'Very funny.' She took the cigarette he offered and sucked at it gratefully. The glow from his lighter lit up a raddled face, heavily caked with make-up, and the smoke she exhaled was tinged with the smell of gin.
'You're getting a bit too old for this lark, aren't you, Sarah?'
She shrugged. 'The landlord wants his rent and I've got to pay it somehow.'
'Ever been approached by a bloke, mid-forties, little moustache, stinks of aftershave and drives a Honda?'
She shook her head. 'All I get is old men in Reliant Robins stinking of wintergreen.' She paused. 'A Honda? You don't mean the bloke who was in that Honda over there?' She indicated the dentist's car.
'Yes,' said Frost. 'Why?' 'I offered him my services and he told me to piss off.'
'And you took that as a "No"?'
'Supercilious bastard. Politeness costs nothing.'
'You didn't see where he went, by any chance?'
'Yes.' She pointed. 'In that house on the corner.'
Frost couldn't believe his luck. 'Are you sure?'
'Positive. He took out a key and let himself in.'
Frost beamed happily. 'I owe you one, Sarah.' He radioed for Burton and Morgan to return, then opened the car door for the woman to leave. 'On your way, love.'
She shivered as the cold hit her. 'I won't get much more trade tonight. I'm never going to get enough for my cab fare home.' She gave a pleading look. 'I suppose you couldn't see your way-'
Frost didn't let her finish. 'Sorry, love, you never paid me back the last time, or the time before that…' It was a waste of time giving the woman money. She'd go straight to the nearest pub and pour it down her throat.
She shrugged. 'Ah well. Thanks for the fag.'
He watched her lumber off into the darkness and waited for the two DCs to return.
'What do you reckon, then, guv?' asked Morgan for the eighth time. He was beginning to get on Frost's nerves. What did he expect — instant flaming solutions?
'We watch and when he comes out, we follow him.'
'What do you reckon he's doing in there?'
'How the flaming hell do I know?' Frost had taken a prowl around the house, but the curtains were all tightly drawn and there was nothing to be seen. He had squinted through the letter box into a darkened hall. Nothing to see, nothing to hear. He had asked the station to find out who lived there. The information supplied was that the premises were occupied by a Mr and Mrs F. Williamson who had lived there for some three years. Nothing was known about them.
'He could be in there with a torn now,' said, Morgan. 'Got her tied to the bed and torturing the poor woman.'
'I know, I bloody know,' Frost snapped. 'If we burst " in and he's just popped in to use their toilet, we've blown it. I don't think that's where he takes them. It's too public. He'd risk someone seeing him.'
'But you can't be sure, guv.'
'I know I can't be sure. For all I know it could be packed floor to ceiling with dead toms. All we can do is wait until he comes out, then wherever he goes, we follow.' He yawned. 'No point two of us staying awake. I'm having a kip. Wake me in half an hour then I'll take over from you.' He pulled up his coat collar, hunched down in the seat and closed his eyes.
He woke with a start. Where the hell was he? The car. He was in the car. He brought his watch up to his eyes. 1.36. Flaming Taffy Morgan was supposed to wake him at 1.30. He stretched and looked round. Morgan, head back, eyes closed, was snoring softly. Frost snorted annoyance. Couldn't the silly sod do anything right? He jabbed the DC sharply in the ribs with his elbow. Morgan shot bolt upright. 'What's that?'