Screwing his eyes against the stinging smoke drifting from his cigarette, he stared unseeing at the large-scale map on the wall of the incident room. The cigarette tasted hot and bitter, and his head ached from smoking too much, but it was something to do while he waited for an elusive, long absent, flash of inspiration to whisper in his ear, telling him what to do next. A tramp of footsteps as the team he had sent to search the spot where the handbag was found returned. As he feared, they had found nothing, but at least it had given him some respite, some relief against them all sitting staring at him, waiting for him to come up with the magic answer. He was all out of magic answers.
To add to his misery, an angry, all bright and shining Mullett brisked in. 'Four Divisions have men standing by, Inspector, all on overtime to our account, and no-one has told them what to do.'
Frost barely gave him a glance. 'As soon as I know what they can do, I'll tell them,' he snapped. Sod Mullett, sod the budget and sod everyone.
Mullett glared and stamped out.
Frost turned to the wall map and studied it closely, scratching his chin in thought. 'The bag with the phone was found here.' A nicotined finger marked the spot. 'Vernon slows down, unclicks his seat belt, gets out and picks it up. Back to the car, a quick nose in the bag, seat belt back on and away. That should take him what — thirty seconds?'
Burton shrugged. 'Depends how quickly he did it.'
'Of course it does,' said Frost, 'but he's got a hot bit of choice nooky in the car and he wants to get his leg over, so he's not going to dawdle. She wants him to go after the other car, so he puts his foot down — the foot on the end of the leg he wants to get over. He drives like the clappers, but no sign of the other motor.' Back to the map. 'Once you get round the bend here, the road runs straight as a die. You should be able to see the rear lights of the other car for miles.'
'What are you getting at?' asked Hanlon.
'If he didn't see it or overtake it, the other car must have turned off down one of the side lanes.' He indicated them on the map.
'There's a hell of a lot of them,' said Burton.
'But if it was out of sight before Vernon turns the bend, then it's got to be one of the early ones otherwise Vernon would have seen it.' He pointed this out on the map as they crowded round. 'This gives us three side road possibilities. This one, which leads to those farms and smallholdings where old mother Nelly Nipples lives. This one, which ends up at the new estate, or this one which goes through to the factory area. I'm going to call in all our resources from other Divisions and saturate these three areas, house-to-house, the lot.'
Burton, leaning over his shoulder to study the map, was doubtful. 'If he took the road to the factory area' he could have gone straight through and out on to the Bath Road at the back and be miles away by now.'
'He was on the Bath Road to start with, son. If he'd wanted it, he wouldn't have come off it in the first place.' Burton was beginning to get on his nerves. Maybe this wouldn't work, but it was all they had. 'We're going to have to get people out of bed and search their premises. They're not going to be very pleased. Lie to them if you like and tell them it's a three-year-old kid we're looking for — they might be more helpful than if we said it was a police officer. And if they still refuse to let you in to search, tell them that under the 1997 Police Act you have unlimited powers of entry and if they resist they will be arrested and charged.'
'What Police Act is that?' Jordan asked.
'Any bloody Police Act you like,' said Frost. 'It doesn't exist. If that doesn't work, knee them one in the groin and go in anyway. I'll carry the can for any come-backs. If you knock and get no reply, smell gas and break in. I want every single property searched.'
'It could take hours,' said Burton.
'Then don't hang about,' said Frost. He picked up the phone and told Bill Wells to call in the other Divisions. 'Of course it's authorized by Mr Mullett, but whatever you do, don't bloody tell him.'
The lorry that passed them was travelling at speed down the wrong side of the road to overtake. Frost's convoy of four cars had turned the bend, just past the point where Vernon found the handbag, and the dead straight stretch of road was ahead of them. Frost watched the rear lights of the lorry dwindle to pinpricks of red, but still clearly visible. Vernon was right.
If the cab had stayed on the road, he would have seen its rear lights. It was the lorry driver's lucky night, speeding on the wrong side of the road past four carloads of coppers and getting away with it. Then he blinked. The red lights suddenly disappeared then, after a brief pause, appeared again. He went cold. Shit! He should have realized. As the map showed, the road went dead straight, but it also went up and down. Was that why Vernon didn't see the cab? Perhaps it hadn't turned off one of the three side roads he was going to search after all. It could have taken any of the many other side roads further ahead. He shot a quick look at Burton who was driving the car, but he hadn't given the lorry more than a passing glance. Frost's brain churned. They didn't have enough men to search all the possible side lanes. Right or wrong, he'd have to stick to his original plan and concentrate on the three nearest, but all the optimism he had when they set out had now evaporated.
They parked on a piece of scrubland and huddled round the inspector, coat collars up, getting drenched in the heavy, thudding rain. Even the weather was conspiring against him.
The area they were to search was bleak and remote with isolated ramshackle houses and bungalows, some empty and decaying, a few smallholdings and a couple of farms struggling to survive. In the distance, silhouetted against the night sky, they could see the house where old Nelly Aldridge lived with her idiot son. Not much point searching there but just to be thorough they'd give it a going-over after everywhere else had been covered.
'We look everywhere, houses, barns, sheds, the lot. When you've searched, radio Sergeant Hanlon and he'll tick it off on the map to make sure we don't miss anywhere. Start with the most likely — places with a good access for a car. He's going to have to drive his victim right up to the door not drag her half a mile up a hill. Off you go, and good luck!'
Frost, accompanied by PC Collier, began a search of some deserted farm buildings, all rusting corrugated iron, rancid hay and oily puddles. He had a feeling of having been here before, then remembered he had — when they were searching for the missing Vicky Stuart. Rain trickling down his neck, he shone his torch through a shattered window — broken floorboards, rotting rubbish and the scurrying and squealing of rats. He moved away. He couldn't see their killer bringing his victims here.
His radio called him. PC Collier from the rear of the farmhouse reoporting signs that someone had been in there recently. Collier met him outside and took him into a room, pointing out a dirty mattress, some empty bottles and cans, and the remains of a fire in the grate. Frost shook his head. 'Some tramp's been using it. Have you checked upstairs?'
Collier nodded. 'Nothing. The rain's pouring in through the roof.'
Frost wrinkled his nose. The tramp had been using the corner of the room as his toilet. 'Hardly a love nest, is it, son? More like a sewage worker's beano site. Let's get out of here… and mind where you tread.'
As they were leaving, a radio call from Jordan: 'At a house now, Inspector. We've been hammering at the door. A dog's barking inside, but no-one answers.'
'Kick it in,' Frost told him. 'I reckon there's drugs on the premises.'
And then reports started coming in thick and fast, all negative, intensifying his doubts that they were looking in the wrong area, but, right or wrong, he was committed.