'No-one in, guv,' said Morgan.
'She's in all right, Taffy — probably straining over the slop bucket even as we speak.' He rattled the door handle and yelled again. 'Open up, Mrs Aldridge — police.'
A bitter wind suddenly roared round the house. Morgan shivered. 'Let's leave it until the morning, guv. This place gives me the willies.'
'Talking of willies,' said Frost, 'yours is going to have a rest tonight. I've booked you in for overtime.' He banged the door again. 'Sod it,' he grunted. After coming all this way I'm not going back without chatting up the old cow.' He shook the door. 'I don't think it's bolted.' He tugged a key ring from his Pocket and, with a bit of wiggling, the second key he tried did the trick. The door swung open. 'Oh, look,' he exclaimed in a loud voice. 'This door's been left open. We'd better check to see if the occupant is all right.'
They stepped inside, Morgan's torch beam probing the darkness. 'I'm not happy about this, guv.'
You didn't join the force to be happy,' Frost told him as he led the way through to the hall. He pushed doors open and steered Morgan's torch inside. Miserable, dank rooms stacked with junk.
'Guv!' Morgan, at the room nearest the front door, was calling him over. 'I think there's someone in here.'
The room was pitch dark, but there was the sound of breathing and the smell of a recently extinguished oil lamp. Tentatively, Morgan stepped inside. 'Mrs Aldridge?' called Frost, following him in.
Suddenly a cry from Morgan as the torch was knocked from his hand. Pitch darkness. Another cry from Morgan as he was sent crashing to the floor. A plea for help: 'Guv!'
Frost couldn't see a damn thing. Frantically he scrabbled for the light switch and as he realized there wasn't one, he was sent crashing against the wall as two bodies cannoned into him. His torch! Where the bloody hell was his torch? It had slipped through a hole in the lining of his mac and was refusing to come out. At last he yanked it free and clicked it on. It flickered fitfully, dimly lighting up the figure of a wild animal of a man, all matted beard and greasy hair, stinking to high heaven. He had Morgan in a bear hug and was crushing the life out of him.
Morgan's face was distorted with pain and he was gasping for breath. Frost crooked an arm round the attacker's neck and tried to yank him back, but was smashed against the wall as the man effortlessly shrugged him off. Frost grunted as all the air was forced from his body. 'Police!' he croaked, as if he expected that to make the man immediately surrender. He just managed to jerk his head to one side as an elbow missed him by inches and smashed into the wall.
Frost gripped the torch and brought it down with all his might on the man's head. A cry of pain as the torch went out and the sound of a heavy body crashing heavily to the floor. Pitch dark again. He shook the torch and, to his surprise, it flickered back on illuminating the lifeless form sprawled out on the floor, a big, dirty, hairy smelly beast of a man. The beam moved to Morgan who was staggering to his feet and rubbing his ribs. 'You all right?'
'Just about, guv.' Morgan looked down at the man. 'Who the hell is he?'
'He didn't say,' said Frost, rubbing his own bruises. 'Get the cuffs on him quick before he comes round.'
The man, whoever he was, was out cold.. Morgan knelt down and, with an effort, rolled him over so he could lock the handcuffs behind his back. He glanced up and his eyes widened as he saw something behind Frost. 'Look out, guv!'
Frost spun round. Eyes dimly accustomed to the dark made out the figure of the old girl charging towards them. Her arm was raised, holding something that flashed silver. A knife. The wickedly sharp, long-bladed knife she had used to dismember the chicken. She screeched and lunged, looking like the mother from Bates Motel. Frost flung himself to one side as the knife hissed through the air, missing him by a hair's breadth. Morgan leapt across to take the knife from her, then gasped with pain as she wildly jabbed and the blade slashed through the sleeve of his jacket. She raised the knife again, but Frost managed to grasp the skinny wrist and shake it from her grasp. As it thudded to the ground he kicked it well out of reach. What are you playing at, you silly, bloody cow?'
She glared at them, hatred spilling from her eyes, then backed away out of the room.
Frost shone the torch on Morgan's arm where a sticky red stain was spreading fast over the upper sleeve of his jacket. 'You all right, Taff?'
The DC squeezed his. arm to stop the flow of blood. Just a flesh wound, I think, guv. Nothing serious.'
'You were right, for once,' said Frost. 'This wasn't a good idea.' He shone the torch down and swore violently. 'Oh shit!' The handcuffed man was no longer on the floor. 'Where did the bastard go?'
They raced to the back door just in time to see a dark figure disappearing into the night.
'Shit,' said Frost again. He leant against the wall and pulled out his packet of cigarettes.
'Aren't you going after him, guv?' asked Morgan.
'No fear,' said Frost. 'The bastard would kill me. He won't get far. We'll let the uniformed boys earn their keep for a change.' He pulled his radio from his pocket and called the station, requesting urgent assistance. Back to Taffy. 'And we'd better let the doctor look at your arm — you're dripping blood all over the lady's nice shitty floorboards.' The old lady! She was in the house somewhere and she could tell them who the hairy bastard was. Then he saw Morgan's face was chalk white; he had lost a lot more blood than Frost had realized. The old girl could wait, he'd winkle her out when the area car arrived. 'Come on, son.' Supporting him with an arm round his waist, he sat Morgan down in a chair, then poked a cigarette in his mouth, lighting up for them both. They smoked silently as they waited.
The car was heard whining up the incline long before the torch beams flashed at the window.
'We're in here,' called Frost. Simms and Jordan stumbled in, their boots and trouser legs muddied from their scrambling up the lane. Frost quickly filled them in, then steered them to the back door. 'He's out there somewhere. Go out and get him.'
'What does he look like?' asked Jordan.
'Like flaming King Kong only hairier. You can t mistake him., he's wearing handcuffs.'
He watched them make their way out into the bleak, moonlit landscape wher leafless trees shivered in an icy wind, then returned to check on Morgan before going to look for the woman.
She was in a cold, upstairs room, lit by the flickering orange flame of a smoky oil lamp, seated in an ancient rocking chair which creaked a loose floorboard as she rocked forwards and backwards. She was humming tunelessly to herself, her vacant eyes staring at nothing. She didn't turn her head as he approached. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder. 'Sorry, love. You've got to come back to the station with me. There's lots of questions to be answered, like who's that hairy sod?'
No reply. Just the tuneless drone and the creaking of the floorboards.
'I'm arresting you for assaulting a police officer,' he began, reeling off the standard caution. He tailed off, leaving it unfinished. Why was he bothering? She wasn't listening and probably wouldn't understand a word if she was. 'Come on, love,' he urged. He gently gripped her arm. She snatched it away.
He had noticed a drab grey coat hanging from a nail in the passage and went down to fetch it. 'Put this on, love, it's cold.' She looked at him, then held out an arm like a child waiting to be dressed. He slipped the coat over her shoulders, put her arms through the sleeves, then buttoned it up. 'You got a scarf?' She shook her head. He took his own off and wound it round her neck. It was freezing out there. He didn't want another prisoner to die on him.
Footsteps and muffled voices from downstairs. 'Inspector!' called Simms. 'We've got him.'
'Coming.' He dashed down the stairs. 'Did he give you any trouble?'