Frost 4 - Hard Frost Page 6

  Somehow I don't trust you, my love, thought Frost as he gave her his warm and friendly smile.

  "I want you to get these bastards," said Stanfield. "They've stolen my wife's jewellery and fur coats, they've subjected my daughter to hours of terror and they've blackmailed me into giving them £25,000."

  "Not your day, sir, was it?" said Frost.

  Stanfield opened his mouth to reply when he noticed Liz Maud who had followed Frost in. "Who the hell is she?"

  Liz took the warrant card from her handbag and handed it to him. He looked at it and gave a contemptuous sneer as he handed it back. "A bloody woman sergeant! I'm not being fobbed off with second best, am I?"

  "No," said Frost. "I'm second best - she's class. And it's her case." Stanfield's snort showed what he thought of this. He hadn't invited them to sit down, so Frost dragged the other armchair over to the fire and offered it to Liz while he sat on the arm. "Ask the gentleman your questions, sergeant."

  She opened her notebook. "Tell me everything that happened."

  "I've already told that police officer." Stanfield nodded at Simms. "He wrote it all down."

  "We can't read his writing," said Frost. "So tell it again."

  "My wife and I went up to London to see a show - The Phantom of the Opera."

  "Just you and your wife?" interrupted Liz. "Not your daughter?"

  "As she was bloody abducted while we were away, it's obvious we didn't take her."

  "I know you didn't take her," said Liz through clenched teeth. "I'm wondering why."

  "If I'd booked the tickets myself, I obviously would have included Carol. Friends of ours had two tickets but found they couldn't go, so they passed them on to us. Satisfied, darling?"

  She gritted her teeth at the 'darling' and nodded.

  "We left just after four yesterday afternoon, drove up to London, saw the show, had a meal, and came home."

  "What time did you arrive back?"

  "A little after three in the morning. I parked the car, Margie went upstairs to switch on the electric blanket and found the bedroom had been ransacked."

  "Perfume, make-up, dresses, just thrown anywhere," said his wife. "I screamed for Robert. He charged up and made for Carol's room to see if she was all right."

  "The bastards had got her," said Stanfield. "My first thought was to phone the police, but I couldn't find the cordless phone - it should have been by Carol's bed."

  "They threw it out of the window," said the girl. She spoke almost mechanically, staring straight ahead. Her mother put an arm round to comfort her.

  "Anyway," continued Stanfield, "I couldn't find it so I went to use the phone in here." He pointed to a phone next to the TV set. "A note and a photograph were propped up against it."

  "We've seen them," said Liz.

  "Then you know what the bastards threatened to do if I called the police. I had no choice. I did exactly what they wanted. We sat in here, staring at each other until the bank opened. It was the longest bloody night of my life. I drew out the money, chucked the case out in Clay Lane, then roared back here to wait. We were going mad with worry - and then your two officers brought her back."

  "£25,000? You had that sqrt of money in the bank?"

  "Yes - I run a used car business. Most of my suppliers insist on hard cash."

  Liz then turned to the girl, who had been staring down at the floor all the time her father was talking. "Right, Carol. Can you tell me what happened to you?"

  Carol drew Simms's greatcoat tighter around her and Frost realized she was naked underneath. Her voice was not much more than a whisper and they had to strain to hear what she was saying. She had gone to bed just after midnight and was just dropping off when she heard the sound of breaking glass from downstairs. She thought it might be her parents back early, so she clicked on the bedside lamp. Almost immediately the lamp went out. Then she heard men's voices from inside the house. She fumbled in the dark for the cordless phone and dialled 999, but nothing happened. The phone was dead. Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs . . .

  "I jumped out of bed and tried to wedge a chair under the door handle, but he burst in on me and there was this light in my eyes and the knife . . ." She started to shake. Her mother held her tighter.

  "Take your time, love," said Frost.

  "I opened my mouth to scream, but he jabbed the knife at my throat and said if I made a sound he'd slice through my vocal cords. I must have passed out." The recollection made her shrink back inside the greatcoat. "The next thing I remember was being bumped about. I realized I was in the back of a van, being driven at speed. I was blindfolded and I was cold. They'd thrown a sack over me, but I was freezing. I tried to get up, but a hand pushed me down and a man's voice said, "I think she's with us again." Then they pulled the sacking back."

  "They?' queried Liz.

  "There were two of them in the back with me. They pulled the sacking back and they . . . they did things . . ."

  "The bastards," exploded her father.

  "What things?" asked Liz.

  The girl shook her head. "I'm not going to talk about it."

  "Did they rape you?" asked Liz.

  "No."

  "How many of them were there?" said Frost.

  She switched her gaze to him. "Four. Two in the back with me, the other two in the front."

  "And all men?"

  "I only heard men's voices."

  "How old would you say they were?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know - late twenties, early thirties."

  "And you didn't recognize any of the voices?"

  "No."

  Liz waited patiently for Frost to finish. "I'd like a doctor to examine you, Carol."

  "No."

  "If they raped you, there are DNA tests that would help us identify them."

  "They didn't rape me, I told you . . . I'm not going to talk about it any more."

  "All right," soothed Liz. "What happened then?"

  "The van stopped and they changed places . . . the other two men came in. I pretended I'd passed out, so they didn't do anything much, just sat and smoked. After what seemed such a long time, someone banged on the side of the van and called, "We've got the money." The van drove off, then it stopped and I was pushed out. By the time I'd got the blindfold off, it was out of sight. A car came . . . but it wouldn't stop . . . and then the police car picked me up." She wrapped the greatcoat around her like a cocoon.

  "I really would like a doctor to take a look at you," urged Liz.

  "No!" She screamed the word out. "I'm all right. Just leave me alone." With an abrupt shrug she shook off her mother's arm. "Just leave me alone."

  "She's upset," said her mother.

  "That's right," exploded Stanfield sarcastically, 'explain it to them. They wouldn't bloody know otherwise." To Frost he said, "Right inspector, you've had a nice sit-down - now go and catch the bastards!"

  "Just a few more questions," said Frost. He smiled at the girl. "You heard breaking glass. You switched on the bedside lamp and tried to dial 999. The lamp went out and the phone was dead - '

  "Because they'd switched off the current," said Stanfield, as if explaining to an idiot.

  "Exactly. Between the time you heard the sound of glass breaking, which was them getting into the house, and the phone going dead, how much time elapsed?"

  "I don't know . . . seconds . . ."

  Frost nodded. "They were bloody quick, weren't they? They knew exactly where the meter was."

  "It wouldn't take a bloody mastermind to work that out," exclaimed Stanfield. "Most people have their meter cupboard under the stairs."

  "Yes," agreed Frost, 'but these people had to be sure. They had to do it bloody quickly otherwise Carol would have made her phone call. There's only one way out of here - along that four mile lane. The police would have been waiting for them. How did the gang know that the phone in Carol's bedroom was cordless?"

  "I've had this house up for sale for the past four months," said Stanfield. "We've
had estate agents in and out measuring up, we've had prospective buyers and every nosy sod imaginable poking and touching everything with their grubby fingers . . . any of them could have been casing the place."

  "We'll need names," said Liz.

  "Then get them from the estate agents, darling. They didn't leave flaming visiting cards, just sticky bloody finger marks on the wallpaper."

  "When did your friends offer you the tickets for the show?" asked Frost.

  "The day before yesterday. He had to go to Paris on business. Why?"

  "I'm wondering how the crooks knew Carol would have been alone in the house last night."

  "They could have been watching the place and picked their moment. We do go out at night from time to time."

  Frost pulled a face. He didn't think much of this explanation. Before he could ask another question, Jordan was beckoning from the doorway. "Sorry to disturb you, inspector, but it is urgent."

  Frost stood up. "What was the value of the jewellery they nicked?"

  "I haven't added it up - around £50,000," said the woman.

  "But you are insured?"

  "It's not the money, is it it's the sentimental value."

  "Of course," said Frost.

  Stanfield sprang to his feet. "And just what are you insinuating?"

  Frost switched on his look of injured innocence. "Nothing, Mr. Stanfield. Nothing at all. Now, if you'll excuse me . . ."

  He followed Jordan into the hall, closing the door behind him. "What is it, son?"

  It was a radio message from Control. A woman had just phoned in reporting her eight-year-old son had been missing since the previous afternoon. Her description matched the dead boy.

  Frost swore softly. "I suppose no-one's given the poor cow any hint that he's dead?"

  "No, sir," said Jordan.

  "We'll go in your car," said Frost. "Sergeant Maud can stay and finish up here." He went back into the lounge and quietly explained the position to Liz. "Got to go," he told Stanfield. "Something important has come up."

  Stanfield stared incredulously. "Something more important than this?"

  "Yes," sighed Frost. "Something more important than this."

  Jordan negotiated the car round the twists and turns of the narrow lane with much more care and skill than Liz had done. Frost was sitting alongside him, smoking, lost in his thoughts. If the dead boy was her son, how was he going to break it to her? Eight years old . . . God . . . He had radioed for Burton to meet him outside the house. He would have preferred to have a woman police officer with him, but they were all out helping with the search for Bobby Kirby. Still, breaking news like this was a job he had done many times before. Too many bloody times.

  Jordan dragged him back from his brooding thoughts. "What do you reckon is behind this abduction, inspector?"

  Frost took the cigarette from his mouth and dribbled smoke down his nose. "I'm not even sure there was an abduction, son."

  Jordan frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "I've come across Stanfield before. He runs this second-hand car business. About four years ago the Customs and Excise were suspicious that he was working some VAT fiddle. The day before they were due to examine his books' there was a mysterious and very convenient arson attack on his office. All his receipts and records were destroyed."

  "And you believe he started the fire himself?"

  "I bloody know he did, son, but I couldn't prove it." He wound down the window and chucked the cigarette end out. "If you want my utterly biased opinion, last night's escapade was an insurance fiddle . . . hide the furs and jewels and claim the insurance."

  "But if it was an insurance fiddle," protested Jordan, 'the girl would have to be in on it as well."

  "Ten out of ten," said Frost.

  Jordan spun the wheel and the track wriggled before turning into Hanger Lane. "This is where we found the girl . . . standing in the middle of the road, starkers."

  "You're only saying that to make me jealous," said Frost. A thought hit him. "Stop the car!"

  The car coasted to a halt and Jordan watched as Frost poked and prodded amongst the undergrowth of the grass verge, then disappeared from view as he squeezed through a gap in a hedge. Rustling sounds, then a whoop of delight and Frost emerged carrying something grey. He climbed back into the car. "What do you reckon to this, son?"

  "A blanket," said Jordan. "From a single bed."

  "Exactly."

  Jordan stared at it blankly. He hadn't the faintest idea what the inspector was on about.

  "Listen," explained Frost. "You're a fifteen-year-old girl, all throbbing thighs and tits. You've been dumped in the road by your father to flag down a car. You're starkers and it's freezing and Dawn's icy fingers are toying with your privates. So what do you do? You take a blanket with you to keep yourself warm. When you hear a car, you chuck the blanket behind a hedge, step in the middle of the road and waggle your dugs. If the car doesn't stop, you retrieve the blanket and wait for the next one."

  "It's possible," said Jordan, begrudgingly.

  "Sniff it," said Frost.

  Jordan lifted the blanket delicately to his nose. "Perfume?"

  "And what's the betting that if you sniffed Simms's greatcoat where it was wrapped round her naked, hot, rampant little body, you'd smell the same perfume?"

  "But the gang could have taken the blanket from her bed and wrapped it round her."

  "So why wasn't it still wrapped round her naked little figure when she was flagging cars down?" He sighed. "But that little mystery must wait, son. We're putting off the pleasure of telling a mother her son has been murdered." He tossed the blanket on to the back seat and smoked silently until they reached the address given to them by Control.

  Kenton Street consisted of large, three-storeyed houses, converted into flats. Burton_was waiting outside number 3a. Frost steeled himself and reached for another cigarette. A few quick delaying drags before he would have to confront the mother. But like Bobby's mother the night before, the woman had seen the police car draw up and was already on the doorstep. Frost gave a deep groan and poked the cigarette back in the packet. "They can't wait for bloody bad news, can they?" He nodded at Burton. "Come on, son. Let me do the talking."

  Joy Anderson, a plump, bouncy little brunette in her twenties, anxiously watched them approach, trying to read some sign of hope from their expressions. "Have you found him?"

  "Give us a chance love," said Frost. "We've only just got your message."

  They followed her up the stairs to a largish room which overlooked the street. It was basically furnished like a hotel room, with few signs of personal belongings. Two large suitcases stood beside the two-seater beige moquette settee.

  Frost parked himself in a chair by the window. "How long has Dean been missing?"

  She sat opposite him, staring out of the window as she answered, leaning forward hopefully every time someone turned the corner, slumping back when it wasn't her son. "About half-past two yesterday afternoon."

  "But you didn't report him missing until this morning," said Burton.

  She took one of Frost's cigarettes. He lit up for both of them. "It's all my bloody fault. I thought he was in bed." She held the cigarette up vertically and watched the smoke wind up to the ceiling.

  Frost didn't prompt her. He let her take her time.

  "I've got this job at the Coconut Grove. It's a casino near Denton Woods."

  "Yes," nodded Frost. "We know it."

  "I'm one of the dealers on the blackjack tables - eight in the evening until four in the morning. Not much of a job, but you've got to grab what you can get." A cylinder of ash fell from her cigarette. She blew it off the polished table top. "Dean gets himself to bed. I usually look in on him when I get back, but I didn't this morning. I . . ." She hesitated, then lowered her eyes. "I brought a bloke back here." She glared at Frost defiantly. "I'm not a prostitute - just now and then. I need the money."

  "Sure," said Frost. Baskin at the Coconut Grove employed plenty
of girls like her. Punters went to the casino for a gamble, then some sex, and Baskin provided both. He probably owned this flat. Frost nodded for her to go on.

  "I didn't let him know I had a kid . . . it puts some people off. They don't even know at the Coconut Grove that I've got Dean. Me and the bloke went to bed. He left just after six this morning and I was so bloody tired, I went straight off to sleep. I didn't wake up until half an hour ago, I staggered into Dean's room to see if he wanted any breakfast. His bed hadn't been slept in." She smashed the cigarette out in a heavy glass ashtray. "He's got himself lost, that's what's happened. We've only been in Denton for two days. He doesn't know his way around yet."

  "When did you last see him?"

  "Yesterday afternoon. He was fed up being stuck in here on his own, so I gave him the money for the pictures. He went off about half-past two."

  The cinema! Of course, thought Frost. That would be where he bought the hamburger. Probably ate it as he watched the film. "Weren't you worried he hadn't returned home before you left for work?"

  "I had to have my hair done and be fitted for my uniform. I left here just after five. He knows how to work the microwave if he wants anything to eat."

  "How was Dean dressed when he left here?"

  "Black trousers, Jurassic Park T-shirt and a red and white zip-up shell jacket and blue trainers."

  Burton noted the details. Frost showed her a photograph of Bobby Kirby. "Would your son know this boy?"

  She dragged her gaze from the window to look at it. "I don't think he knows anyone yet. He hasn't even started school here. Why do you ask?"

  "It's not important," lied Frost, crushing out his cigarette alongside hers in the glass ashtray. He took a deep breath. Now for the moment of truth. "Do you have a recent photograph of Dean, Mrs. Anderson?"

  "Miss," she corrected, 'not Mrs." She reached for her handbag which hung from the back of her chair. "Taken about three months ago. He's filled out a bit since then."

  Frost looked at it, then passed it to Burton. Burton's eyes flickered, but his expression didn't change as he handed it back. Not the slightest doubt about it. It was the dead boy.