Winter Frost

'Missing isn't the same as absconding,' explained Burton.

Frost handed the file back to Morgan. 'He was milking the petty cash. The auditors are coming which means he's bound to be found out, so he empties the safe and legs it, pausing only for that last fatal grumble and grunt with big-nippled Nelly and her creamy white belly. But what happened to the six thousand quid and how did big-nippled Nell suddenly find the money to buy the smallholding? Do we see some sort of a connection?'

'You're saying she took it?' Morgan asked.

'Yes, I am,' said Frost. He stood up. 'Come on, Taff. Let's go and ask her.'

She was in the kitchen, still preparing vegetables, chopping them into small pieces with a knife.

'We've found out who your last client was,' Frost told her. 'Derek Fernley, assistant manager of a supermarket.'

Her eyes flickered briefly, then she concentrated on dicing the vegetables. 'I didn't know his name.'

'He paid a bit over the odds for his last bit of the other, didn't he? And he didn't even get a cup of tea afterwards.'

She kept her eyes down, the blade of the knife chopping, dicing, missing her fingers by a hair's breadth. 'Don't know what you mean.'

'Where did you get the money to buy this place?'

'Don't remember.'

Frost dragged a chair out to sit down, saw the state of the seat and decided against it. 'I'll jog your memory, shall I? He comes round for his usual Friday night nooky, but this time he's got a suitcase with him. After his unfortunate demise, you take a look inside and there's more money than you've ever seen in your life, over six thousand quid. So here's a chance to move out, to hide away somewhere, to keep little Sonny Boy under wraps in case he blurts out about the naughty man he and mumsie planted in someone's garden. You buy this place for cash, poke Sonny Boy under the stairs and if anyone asks about him, you dab away a tear and say the angels grew lonely and wanted him for a sunbeam. Is that it?'

She shrugged. 'I don't know nothing about any money.' Chop, chop, chop.

The door creaked open and Boy lumbered in. He started at the sight of the two detectives.

'Go and chop some wood, Boy,' she snapped.

Obediently, like a well-trained dog, Boy went to the sink and pulled out an axe from under it. He shouldered it like a rifle. 'I'll chop some wood,' he announced, as if he had just thought of it. They watched him march out.

'You told us your son kept hitting Fernley on the head again and again.'

'That's right.'

'The pathologist reckons he was only hit once.'

'It was a long time ago. I don't remember it clearly.'

'Did you know Derek had the money with him when he came?'

'I don't know nothing about no money.' She scooped up the diced vegetables in a gnarled hand and dropped them into a saucepan.

Frost sighed. They weren't going to get anything out of her. 'All right, Mrs Aldridge. We'll leave it for now.' He jerked his head for Morgan to follow him out.

'You let her off the hook pretty easily, guv,' said Morgan.

'Maybe,' grunted Frost.

Outside, near the coop of squawking chickens, Boy was chopping a fallen tree trunk into sizeable pieces, the axe blade flashing in the dying sun as it hissed through the air. Morgan nudged Frost. 'I reckon I could get him to talk, guv.' He wandered over to the man, who stopped his chopping and eyed him suspiciously.

'Go away. Mustn't talk to you.'

'Just a couple of questions,' wheedled Morgan, but Frost tugged him away.

'Leave it, Taffy.'

'But, guv-'

'I said leave it!'

Frost spun on his heel and marched off to the car, leaving a puzzled Morgan trailing behind him.

'So she wouldn't admit to taking the money?' asked Mullett when they reported back to him.

'We pushed her as hard as we could, Super,' said Frost. 'She denied all knowledge of it.'

'What about her son? Did you question him?'

'No, we didn't — Aww!' said Morgan, cut off in mid-sentence as a well-aimed kick from Frost hacked his ankle.

'We really put him through it,' said Frost. 'He says he knows nothing about any money and I don't think he's capable of lying. My guess is that Fernley hid the cash somewhere and we'll never find it.'

Mullett nodded his satisfaction. 'A loose end that needn't concern us unduly. Now, we know his name, I can forward the papers to the CPS. Like you, I very much doubt that they will prosecute, but that is their concern.' His hand reached out for the phone. 'If you'll excuse me, I'll let the Chief Constable know of my — er, our success.'

'I don't understand, guv,' said Morgan when they got back into Frost's office. 'You told Mr Mullett we talked to the son and we didn't.'

Frost kicked the door shut behind them. 'We didn't talk to the son, Taffy, in case he told us something we don't want to hear.' 'Like what, guv?'

'Like what really happened with Fernley.'

'We know what happened. The son killed him.'

'No, Taff. I reckon the old girl killed him.' He flopped down at his desk and lit up a cigarette. 'Did you clock the knife the old girl was using to dice up the carrots?'

'Yes, guv. It looked very similar to the one she stuck into me.'

'And it also looked very similar to this.' Frost opened his desk drawer and took out the plastic bag containing the rusty knife that had been found buried near the skeleton. 'In fact it could be its bloody twin, the same ring at the end of the handle for hanging it up.'

Morgan examined the knife carefully. 'It does look similar,' he admitted grudgingly.

'Similar? It's flaming identical. One of a pair, I reckon.'

'So what are you suggesting?' Morgan asked.

I'm suggesting, Taffy, that this knife, which we found buried with the skeleton, came from her kitchen. Now why would she bury a perfectly good knife? She's too bleeding mean to throw anything away; she probably uses her toilet paper on both sides. She chucked it because there was blood on it, and not chicken's blood… Derek Fernley's blood.'

'You're saying she stabbed him?'

'Yes, I am. She said there was blood everywhere. You don't get that amount of blood from a crack on the nut. The boy might have been involved somehow, but she killed Fernley, probably to get the money, and that makes it murder.'

Morgan stared at him. 'Where's your proof, guv?'

'I haven't got any proof, son. I just know she did it.'

'Then why didn't you let me question her son? I could have got the truth out of him.'

'And suppose he told you that mummy stabbed the naughty man with her knife? Mullett wouldn't let it rest and we'd then have to start wasting our bloody time investigating an ancient murder case that would be thrown out of court, and I've got better things to do.'

'But you can't turn a blind eye to murder,' protested Morgan.

'Just watch me, Taffy. That old cow kept her son hidden away for years just to save her own skin. I'd like to get her for that, but she's too old and it happened far too long ago and I'm too flaming tired to care.' He exhaled smoke. 'Let this be a lesson to you, Taff. Stay away from women with big nipples and long knives.' He yawned. 'Let's get our heads down. I get the feeling we're going to be in for a rough night.'

21

PC Collier yawned and knuckled his eyes. Three in the morning, his fourth consecutive night on overtime and it was hard to keep awake. This was going to be yet another boring night with nothing happening. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and wished he was back home in bed, then his eyes snapped open as he became aware there was someone in the seat next to him. Jordan back with the big Macs? No. It was Detective Inspector Jack Frost.

'Sorry, sir,' Collier muttered, trying to look alert. 'Must have closed my eyes for a few seconds.'

'About two hundred and forty bleeding seconds,' said Frost. 'I know it's a bore, son, but there's little point to the exercise if you fall asleep just as the killer picks her up.' He took a look through the car window.