Hard Frost (40 page)

   "I've already told '

   "Shut up!" Frost's voice rose to a bellow. "I'm tired, I've been up half the night and I'm not in the mood for any more sodding around. I don't give a toss what you say, I'm telling you what happened." He banged a finger on Bobby Kirby's photograph. "You kidnapped this kid and you killed the other one. You sent the ransom demand and you went with your slut of a girlfriend to the common to collect it. You knocked the old boy out and snatched the cash. You thought you would get away with it. You thought the money would be untraceable . . . but it wasn't. We've got you to rights so we don't give a sod about all your lies that you know nothing about it. We're not even bothering to record them any more."

   "Look, I don't know what you're talking about. I found that money. If you think you can prove otherwise - "

   "Shut up!" roared Frost again. "You won't know me, sonny. My name is Jack Frost. I'm not a very good cop and I'm not a very smart cop, so I have to cut corners. Sometimes I might even have to lie to secure a conviction, so I'm prepared to tell all the lies going about you, you toe-rag. I've got no compunction because I know you are guilty."

   To show his lack of concern, Hudson pulled a comb from his pocket and flicked it through his hair. Frost stretched out a hand. "Can I borrow that?"

   With a bemused smile, Hudson handed it over then watched in bewilderment as Frost tugged a few hairs from the comb and slipped them into a small transparent envelope which he tucked inside the folder. "What's that for?"

   "We've asked our Forensic Lab to do a thorough check of the dead kid's clothes to see if there is anything on them that would help us identify the killer . . . like hairs, for example." He patted the folder.

   The smirk had slid from Hudson's face. "You are going to fit me up, you bastard."

   Frost looked apologetic. "Only if I have to, son. You're guilty anyway, so I wouldn't lose any sleep over it."

   "You wouldn't dare."

   Frost smiled sweetly. "Just watch me."

   Hudson spun round to Cassidy, hoping for support. He sensed the antagonism between the two men. "You heard what he said. You're my witness!"

   Cassidy stared straight ahead, saying nothing. If this thing blew up, he would drop Frost right in it.

   Hudson's face was ugly. "You bastards!"

   "Sticks and stones," reproved Frost. "Where's the kid?"

   The man folded his arms and leant back in his chair. "All right. I'll tell you the truth. Yes, I nicked the money. I was with Cindy . . . she loves having it away out in the open. We see this green Nissan car pull up and a bloke nips out with a travel bag and hides it in the bushes. I thought I'd take a look-see, so after about a quarter of an hour - "

   "Why did you wait so long?"

   "First, because it was peeing down with rain and I was hoping it might ease up, two I had no trousers on at the time and three, Cindy was demanding seconds. By the time I got over there, this old boy was ferreting about. He pounces on the bag, so I nipped in quick and tried to grab it from him. He puts up a bit of a fight. I don't want no aggro so I welt him with a chunk of wood, grab the bag, nip back to the car and we sodded off back home. When I saw all that money inside, I just couldn't believe my rotten luck. That is all I am admitting to and I know nothing about no bleeding kids . . ."

Chapter 15

Frost was in his office gloomily staring at his ashtray with its mountain of fluffy grey ash studded with cigarette ends. The room was fogged with smoke, his mouth tasted horrible and his fingers glistened with oily nicotine. He had smoked himself sick and didn't want another cigarette, but the urge to punish himself for his lack of progress was overwhelming, so he lit up yet another of Mullett's specials as he waited for Liz to return from questioning Hudson's girlfriend. He just knew she would confirm Hudson's alibi and absolve him from any connection with the kidnapping and that yet another lead would come to a dead end.

   It hadn't been a good day so far. Mullett had finally stamped off home in high dudgeon when he realized he wouldn't be able to make his television announcement that the boy had been found safe and well, and the kidnapper had been arrested. On top of that, Snell had got himself a solicitor and had withdrawn his confession, saying it was obtained under duress, and for that Mullett and Cassidy definitely blamed Frost and had lost no time in telling him so.

   Liz came in, coughing and fanning the air with her hand against the smoke. "She's told you where the kid is?" asked Frost hopefully.

   Liz shook her head and sat at her desk. "No. She bears out everything Hudson said. They were both having it away when they saw the money being dropped. They nicked the money, but that's as far as they were involved. She also confirms that the night the boy was taken, she and Hudson were at a disco in Levington until gone midnight. She's given me a string of names who can confirm this." Liz offered him the list, but he wasn't interested. "Check it out," he said, but he knew it would confirm their statements.

   Frost yawned. He felt deflated. The third day of the investigation and they were exactly nowhere. He tossed a screwed-up Mullett memo in the air and headed it into the wastepaper bin. "Do you like fish and chips?" he asked.

   She blinked her surprise. "Yes - why?"

   He pulled his scarf from its hook. "Let's go and get some."

The door to the incident room crashed open and Frost came in clutching a greasy brown paper carrier bag to his chest. He pulled packages from it and tossed them around the room . . . "Cod and chips . . . plaice and chips . . ."

   Bill Wells, who had wandered in for a chat, was appalled. "Fish and chips? You know Mullett has forbidden them in the station. They stink the place out."

   "No more than his poncey after-shave." He held up a package. "I take it you don't want this it's cod and chips."

   Wells hesitated, then grabbed it. "As you've bought it - but open the windows afterwards."

   Frost perched himself on the edge of a desk and began eating with his fingers as he addressed his team. "Fish is supposed to be brain food, so let's see if it does anything for us. Now, we're checking their alibi, but it looks as if Hudson and Miss Twin Peaks are out of the frame."

   "Which puts us right back in square one," said Cassidy who had been staring sullenly out of the window. Thanks to Frost his case against Snell wasn't looking as strong as it did, and he was now being associated with another of

   Frost's abysmal failures. He hadn't demeaned himself by ordering fish and chips and now regretted it. His stomach was rumbling and the heady bouquet of chips and vinegar was making him drool.

   "More or less," grunted Frost, spitting out a fish bone. "Just in case we have missed something, let's go over it again. The kid was snatched for the sole purpose of obtaining the ransom money. Dean Anderson, the first kid he snatches, dies, so he calmly goes out and grabs another one. Why didn't he pretend Dean was still alive? He would still have got the ransom money. Don't tell me he was worried about contravening the Trades Descriptions Act."

   "The kid had to be alive to make the taped message for the press," said Burton.

   Frost nodded. "I'll buy that. Which convinces me we are dealing with a methodical sod, not a tear away like Hudson. His plan demanded a taped message, so there had to be one, even if it meant going after a second kid." He opened his mouth and tipped in the crumbs from the chip bag, then threw away the greasy paper and wiped his hands down the front of his jacket. "OK. Puzzle number two. Everything proceeds as planned, all his demands are met. But he doesn't turn up to collect the money - why?" He scratched his chin in thought as he sent his cigarettes on the rounds.

   "Something must have happened that prevented him?" suggested Liz.

   "It must have been at the last flaming minute," said Frost, 'because he was on the phone to Cordwell almost as soon as the money was dropped."

   "A heart attack?" offered Burton.

   "Don't be a fool!" snarled Cassidy.

   "Hold on," said Frost. "That could be it. You get a phone call telling you there's a quarter of a million quid waiting to be picked up . . . you could either wee yourself of have a heart attack." He pointed to Burton. "Phone Denton General and find out if anyone suffering from a heart attack was admitted last night."

   "Why just a heart attack?" said Cassidy, sourly. "He might have got run over - or broken his leg."

   "Or had his dick cut off." Frost nodded his agreement and told Burton to check with the hospital for details of everyone admitted as an emergency last night. Collier came in and handed Frost a sheaf of papers. They included carbon copies of the statements made by Hudson and his girlfriend. He shuffled through them. There was a list supplied by Denton Council of the people who used to live in the old shacks where Lemmy Hoxton's body was found. A name on it screamed out at him. He jabbed it with his finger and showed it to Liz.

   Liz whistled softly. "Millicent Fleming? The woman from Primrose Cottage."

   "It's a small world, isn't it!" commented Frost. "Strange she never mentioned this when we called on her. We'll pay her another visit tomorrow."

   The phone rang. Hanlon answered it and relayed the message to Frost. "Jordan and Simms have contacted three of the people who were at the disco. They all confirm that Hudson and Cindy were there until gone midnight. The girl threw up on the lobby so it rather sticks in their mind."

   Frost shrugged philosophically. He had written them off as suspects anyway. He took a quick look through Hudson's statement before deciding to call it a day when he suddenly straightened up. He flapped his hand for silence as he read it through again, then he beamed. "Our unanswered question was, why didn't the kidnapper pick up the ransom money?" He slid off the desk top and started striding around the room. "The answer is so bloody obvious, even Mullett could have spotted it, but we've all missed it!"

   "And what have we missed?" asked Cassidy, his tone implying that whatever it was, it was a load of rubbish.

   "The kidnapper did pick it up," said Frost. He paused dramatically. "But it was taken from him."

   He was met with blank stares, everyone trying to work out what he meant.

   The penny dropped for Burton first. "You mean Finch the - old boy with the dog?"

   Frost nodded.

   "Just because he happened to be there," scoffed Cassidy.

   "It was peeing down with rain. No-one with any sense would have been out in it, but he was chucking a ball for his dog."

   "I checked with his neighbours," said Burton. "They confirm he's been taking the dog out for a run every night, come rain, hail or shine."

   "Building up a pattern," said Frost. "We know the kidnapper is methodical."

   "Thousands of people are methodical," said Cassidy. "That doesn't make them kidnappers."

   "Thousands of people don't chuck the dog's ball at the very spot where a quarter of a million quid is stashed."

   "Coincidence!" said Cassidy dismissively.

   "I don't believe in coincidences," said Frost, 'not unless it suits me . . . and this time it doesn't suit me. Finch is our man!"

   "You'll have to come up with something a lot more than this to convince me," said Cassidy. He was looking at the cigarette Frost had given him. It was not the inspector's usual brand. It was the expensive brand Mullett reserved for special visitors.

   "Then how about this?" said Frost, and he read aloud part of Hudson's statement: " 'I saw this bloke wandering around to where the bag had been dumped, so I nipped across there smartish. He was kicking at the grass, looking for something. He picks up this bag from out of the long grass. He hadn't heard me coming, so I tried to grab it . . .' " He looked up at blank faces and frowned. "I'm supposed to be the dim twat here. How come I'm the only one to spot it?"

   "To spot what?" asked Cassidy.

   "Hudson says he saw Finch kicking at the long grass, looking for something."

   "The dog's ball," said Cassidy, as if explaining to a child.

   "But when we found poor Mr. Finch, knocked out cold, he already had the dog's ball in his pocket. So if he'd already found the ball, what the hell was he still looking for?"

   "The money!" exclaimed Burton.

   "Yes, son," agreed Frost. "He was looking for the money."

   Cassidy chewed this over, testing it for weaknesses, but he grudgingly had to agree it held water.

   "It was bloody clever," continued Frost. "If the police weren't watching, he'd pick up the money and no-one would be any the wiser. But if the Old Bill was there, he could claim he found it by accident and who the hell could prove otherwise?" He turned to Burton. "You chatted up the neighbours. What do we know about him?"

   "He's a self-employed accountant does the books for some small businesses in and around Denton. His late wife used to work for Savalot on the check-out. She was with them for fifteen years, but when they moved to the big new super-store, they sacked all the old check-out girls."

   "Why?" Frost asked.

   "They wanted youngsters they could train to the new system from scratch. The neighbour said her job was her life. She got depressed and eventually took an overdose about eighteen months ago."

   "So Finch would have a very good reason for hating Cordwell?"

   Cassidy shook his head. He couldn't accept this. "You're not suggesting this whole kidnap was done for revenge? She died over eighteen months ago."

   "Revenge has to smoulder before it bursts into flame," said Frost. "It's all coming together."

   "All you've got at the moment," objected Cassidy, 'is a theory - and you're bending the facts to support it."

   "That's the way I always work," said Frost. "And if Finch isn't our man, then it's hard bleeding luck, because I am going to give him the works." Back to Burton. "What else do we know about him?"

   "Not much . . . He keeps himself to himself and he hasn't had the dog long."