Winter Frost (55 page)

   
"It would be safer, Arthur, but it might blow the whole operation. At two in the morning there's hardly any traffic on the road. A cab with two cars following its every move could stick out like an eager dick. If our bloke has the slightest suspicion there's something funny going on, he won't play ball." He turned to Liz Maud who now had her hand up. "Yes, Liz?"

   
"When we get in the minicab, do we sit in the back or next to the driver?"

   
"That's a good point," said Frost. "I hadn't thought of that." He looked around. "Anyone got any views on this?"

   
"It's safer if they sit in the back," said Burton firmly.

   
"Yes," agreed Frost, "but we're not going for safety. We want the bastard to make his move." He shook the last cigarette from the pack and stuck it in his mouth. "Unless it's obvious he's expecting you to sit in the back, then take the seat next to the driver. Now, it's important you don't show your hand too soon. If he squeezes your titties, or ventures above the stocking top, don't flash your warrant card. Do what any self-respecting girl would do, knee him in the goolies and get out without paying. The odds are it won't be our bloke; titty-squeezing is small beer when you lust for stubbing fags out on a soft white belly."

   
Polly's hand shot up. "You say don't jump the gun, Inspector. At what point should we let him know we're policewomen?"

   
Frost expelled smoke. "At no point, Polly. He shouldn't know you're a cop until we make the arrest. We need hard evidence. He takes these girls somewhere, ties them up, tortures and rapes them. Unless we know where he takes them, we've got nothing. Ideally, we want to follow you right up to the point where he drags you into his hideaway. And then, providing Mr. Mullett doesn't decide we can't do any more overtime and calls us all back, we burst in and rescue you."

   
"Will we have radios?" asked Liz.

   
Frost shook his head. "They'd be a dead giveaway. You'll each have a mobile phone. Many toms carry them, so it won't look out of place. Any trouble, use it. I don't care if it means you blow your cover, your safety comes first. Any more stupid, time-wasting questions?" He looked around. "No? Right, we've got an hour before we need to move off, so let's all nip up to the canteen and get ourselves something to eat."

   
He watched them file out, chattering excitedly to each other, then took one last look round the empty incident room before switching off the light. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something was going to go wrong, he just knew it. Something was going to go terribly wrong.

Frost stifled a yawn and looked at his wrist-watch. Getting on for a quarter past three, time when all the decent toms were tucked up in their beds and the rubbish emerged to pick up any rough trade that might be going, jackals after the lion's leavings. Not much point spending Mullett's overtime money by hanging around any longer. Despite Frost's forebodings, everything had been going like clockwork; the girls made their phone calls, were picked up, tailed, to their correct destinations, then brought back again. Things had gone so well, he just knew nothing important was going to happen tonight and good-looking toms, swinging their handbags at this hour of the morning, were going to look very conspicuous.

   
DC Burton, at his side, was staring through the windscreen, watching Liz Maud who had just been dropped off by the tail car and was waiting a couple of minutes before making her next phone call.

   
"Let's call it a night," Frost began when Button's fingers suddenly tightened on his arm. Frost's head came up. "Yes, son, I see it." His radio paged him. The other surveillance car. They had seen it also.

   
A metallic grey Peugeot slithered round the corner, stopping at the end of the road. Its lights went out.

   
"Can you clock the registration number?" Frost asked, scrubbing at the windscreen with his coat cuff. Burton shook his head. It was too dark. Very slowly, the Peugeot began to inch forward. Frost frowned. "What's he up to?" The car shuddered to a halt by the phone kiosk and a burly man in a black zip-up jacket got out and approached Liz. They could see him talking to her, but she was firmly shaking her head. Suddenly, he grabbed hold of her arm and tried to drag her towards the car.

   
"This is it," exclaimed Frost excitedly, clicking on his radio. "All units stand by. Be ready to follow a metallic grey Peugeot 605, no registration details yet." He squinted through the windscreen, puzzled at what he saw. "What is she playing at?" Liz was resisting. She had pushed the man off and was walking quickly away. "Go with the nice man," pleaded Frost.

   
Burton, his hand on the door handle, was getting ready to run across to her assistance. "No," ordered Frost. "Wait!" As he spoke the man chased after Liz and grabbed her again and again Frost had to restrain Burton. "Wait, son." He couldn't make out why Liz wasn't going quietly. She knew they would be tailing. Then a shrill, animal-like scream of pain shivered the air. Liz and the man were struggling and he hurled her to the ground.

   
"Sod tailing him," said Frost. "Get him." He chased after Burton, yelling into the radio for assistance as he did so. A second man had now got out of the Peugeot. Something silver flashed in the moonlight. A knife. Another bloody knife! Two in one night.

   
Burton put on a spun of speed. "Drop it" he screamed

   
The second man spun round, seeing the DC for the first time. He jabbed the knife menacingly. "Stay out of this, sonny!" Then he gave a grunt, his eyes rolled upwards and he dropped like a stone as Frost's torch cracked down on his head.

   
They didn't give him a second glance as they ran over to the black-jacketed man, who was straddling Liz and had his fist raised ready to smash into her face. Burton grabbed the wrist, feeling with his free hand for the handcuffs in his pocket. As the man threatened to buck Burton off, Frost grabbed a handful of hair, yanked the man off Liz, then smashed his face hard against the pavement. As Burton snapped on the cuffs, Frost gave it another bang for luck, before turning his attention to Liz Maud. "You all right, love?"

   
"I'm fine." She rose to her feet and brushed down her clothes, then she prodded the black-jacketed man with her foot. "Do you see who it is?" Frost rolled him over and shone his torch on a bruised and blooded face. "Mickey Harris!" he said. "Nice to see you again." Frost looked at the other man who was rising unsteadily to his feet, shaking his head and rubbing the bump on his scalp. Harry Grafton. "Which of you bastards hit me?" he demanded.

   
"No-one hit you, Mr. Grafton," beamed Frost. "You tripped and fell."

   
Burton had dragged Mickey Harris to his feet. The man was spitting blood and wincing with pain. "I want a doctor. That bloody cow kicked me in the goolies."

   
"Was it you screaming?" asked Frost. "I thought it was her."

   
"And I'm suing for assault. You handcuffed me then you smashed my face on the pavement."

   
"Tut, tut," reproved Frost. "Policemen don't do things like that. We tried to stop you falling but you tripped and accidentally banged your head on the pavement three times." His expression hardened. "I thought I told you to leave the toms alone, Mickey?"

   
"She offered me her services and I refused. That's why she kneed me." He spat out bloody saliva. "My tooth's broken."

   
"There's a coincidence," said Frost. "That young tom you beat up, her tooth was broken as well." He turned to Liz. "What happened, love?"

   
"He threatened to cut me up if I didn't move off of Harry Grafton's territory," said Liz.

   
"Just a minute," called Grafton, pushing his way between them. He tugged a wad of notes from his wallet and stuffed them in the pocket of Liz's coat. "There's a hundred quid there, darling. Keep your mouth shut, stay stum and I'll double it."

   
Frost snatched the wad of notes and shook his head in mock reproof. "Oh dear, oh dear, you've done it this time, Harry. Bribing a police officer to withhold evidence, in front of witnesses too."

   
Grafton blinked in astonishment. "Police officer?" He peered at Liz, who pulled off the wig. "Remember me?" she asked Mickey Harris.

   
Grafton turned to Frost in protest. "There's no way you'll get away with this, Frost—this is entrapment."

   
"We are going to get away with it," Frost replied. "We didn't entrap you. We were here on an entirely different case."

   
"Anyway, I never knew she was a police officer."

   
Frost "tut-tutted" again. "She called out, 'I'm a policewoman.' " He pointed to the group of police officers who were now watching the proceedings. "In the earshot of all those unimpeachable, unbiased witnesses who will swear on stacks of bibles
—"

   "
You're a bastard," snarled Grafton.

   
"You're upset," smiled Frost, "so I shall put that down to a momentary lapse of good taste." He jerked a thumb. "Take them to the nick: armed with a deadly weapon, assaulting a police officer, attempted bribery of a police officer and dropping blood and bits of broken tooth on a public footpath." He watched Jordan and Simms bundle them into the car and drive off. "Well, not a bad result, even if it wasn't the one we were after. Let's call it a night and try again tomorrow."

Police Superintendent Mullett studied the overtime claim form Frost had presented and winced. The third consecutive night without a result and the overtime bill was soaring. "This isn't good enough, Frost. All this money expended and nothing to show for it."

   
"We can only dangle the bait," said Frost. "We can't force him to swallow it . . . he picks his own time."

   
"Well, he's now left it too late. I'm pulling the plug on Operation Decoy as of now. Heaven knows what County is going to say when they see this bill."

   
"County knows we can't give guarantees," said Frost. "One more night. I've got a feeling in my water that tonight's the night."

   
"No," said Mullett firmly. "You've had that same feeling the past three nights."

   
"I'll cut out one of the cars and use mine instead," Frost offered. "Just think of the praise you'll get from County if we pull it off . . ."

   
"And the flak I'll get if we don't . . ." Mullett wavered. If Frost could pull it off and he could get on the phone to the Chief Constable to modestly announce that Denton Division had done it again . . . "All right, Frost. One more night . . . but this is the limit and if your lack of success continues, then I'm taking you off the case." He skimmed through the wad of receipts Frost had handed over to support the claimed expenses. Some of them looked decidedly dubious. Many of the cab fare receipts seemed to be signed in the same hand although the names were different. He stared hard at Frost, but the man seemed completely unconcerned. Damn. If only he could prove it. He pulled out his pen and signed the authorization. Frost, face impassive, suppressed a sigh of relief and snatched the authorization back before Mullett could go through it more thoroughly. "I'll get this off to County now, Super." He had a few more receipts to slip in and a final total to alter now that Mullett had obligingly signed the covering authorization. He rose to go.

   
"Wait," ordered Mullett. "Where do we stand with the murder of the two little girls?"

   
"We stand nowhere," Frost told him. "My only suspect topped himself."

   
"I am only too aware of that," sniffed Mullett. "The inquest is coming up next week and your job is on the line. I suggest you find yourself a more likely suspect and fast."

   
A half-hearted nod from Frost. He had reached an impasse on this. No other suspects, no more clues, no helpful witnesses coming forward. You're working so hard on this one, Inspector, Vicky's mother had said, and he was doing sod all.

   
"And the skeleton," reminded Mullett. "I'm still waiting to learn his name."

   
"Still working on it," lied Frost, who had better things to do.

   
"My patience is wearing thin, Frost. I want a name . . . today . . . without fail . . ."

"Stitches come out today, guv," announced Morgan when he returned to the office.

   "They should have stitched up the flies on your trousers while they were about it," grunted Frost.

   
"So I'll need time off to go to the hospital . . ."

   
Frost stared at him, light dawning in his eyes. "The bloody hospital. Of course!"

   
"Guv?" frowned Morgan, puzzled.

   
"Mullett wants us to name that skeleton! We know the poor sod broke his ankle a couple of months before putting his leg over for the last time. Here's your starter for ten. Where do you go if you break your arm?"

   
"Hospital, guv."

   
"Precisely, and Denton Hospital keeps records back to the year dot . . ." He snatched his scarf from the hook. "Get the car out." On the way past the incident room he yelled for Burton. "Come on, son, we're off to Denton Hospital."

The hospital porter, a miserable-looking man in dirty overalls, led them down endless flights of stone stairs and unlocked an olive green door. A musty smell of damp papers wafted out to greet them. He fumbled for the light switch and clicked it on. A long, narrow room, almost like a corridor, its sides lined with ceiling-high racks jam-packed with ancient files running far into the dark distance, all gradually coming into view as light after light clicked on.