Hard Frost (44 page)

   "I'll see what I can do," promised Frost, leaving her thinking what a nice man he was.

Grover kept fidgeting in the car, gazing blankly out of the window, not listening to Frost's aimless chatter. He frowned and turned to the inspector. "Are we going the right way?"

   Frost had deliberately detoured to go down Cresswell Street. "Just wanted to take a look," said Frost. He drove slowly past the house, where a mass of wreaths and floral tributes from neighbours were laid out in the front garden. One wreath was in the heart-rending shape of a teddy bear. Grover swallowed hard, then snatched his eyes away and shuddered. "I'm never going back in there again. I couldn't."

   Frost nodded sympathetically, but he'd achieved what he wanted Grover to be emotional and unprepared for the little surprise he had in store for him.

   "What exactly do you want me to identify?" Grover asked.

   "Won't take long," said Frost vaguely as he turned the car into the station car-park, pulling up by the large storage shed at the rear. He opened the shed doors and ushered Grover in. "This way," he said. The smell greeted them as he switched on the fluorescent lights. They flickered on and Grover stepped in to face the large section of exclusive Bonley's carpeting hanging to dry by the end wall, covered with chalked circles to outline the siting of the bloodstains located by Forensic. Grover stood stock still, his mouth gaping open, then he turned, shouldering Frost out of the way as he charged out of the shed and into the car-park.

   "Don't be a twat," yelled Frost making no move to follow. "Where can you go . . . where would you hide?"

   Grover faltered, then stopped and slowly turned, shoulders slumped, his face the picture of despair. He was trembling violently. "My God," he said. "Oh my God!"

   Frost ambled over and took his arm. "Let's talk about it, son. It'll make you feel better."

   Mullett, who had seen Frost arrive and had learned of the unauthorized overtime, met Frost in the corridor. "I want to see you," he snapped.

   "Later," said Frost, moving him to one side so Grover could pass.

   "Now!" shouted Mullett, quivering with rage.

   "Later!" snarled Frost. "Bloody later!"

He sat Grover down in the small interview room which smelt stalely of sweat and unwashed socks. Burton brought in mugs of tea, then started up the recorder while Frost lit up a cigarette and shook out the match. "Right, Mr. Grover. You've been cautioned. You know you don't have to say anything, but let me tell you how I see it. You had a row with your wife. You were sick and tired of her and the kids. You went off to Bonley's, but returned later with the chunk of carpet you had nicked and your wife was waiting, ready to start the row again. Something snapped. You grabbed up a knife and you killed her. The kids saw you do it and started screaming, so you had to silence them, so you killed them as well."

   Frost knew this fitted few of the facts, but his intention was to stir the suspect up and it worked.

   "No!" Grover was standing up and shouting at Frost. "I wouldn't harm my kids. I loved them."

   Frost took another deep drag and continued doggedly. "Her blood was all over the nice carpeting you'd brought, so you had to get rid of it. You dumped it in the canal on the way to the railway tunnel where you chucked your wife's body in front of a train to make it look like suicide. Then you went back to work to earn an honest crust and establish your alibi."

   "No!"

   Frost beamed up at him. "Sit down, son, you'll be more comfortable." He waited for Grover to sit. "I'm open-minded. If you've got a better story, I'm willing to listen, but if not, I'm perfectly happy with my own version."

   "It didn't happen like that," Grover turned to Burton, who seemed to have a more sympathetic face. "It didn't happen like that."

   "Then tell us how it did happen," said Burton.

   Grover wiped hair away from his forehead. "Yes - we'd been rowing. We were always bloody rowing - that was our life, one long bleeding row! She said the kids were getting her down and I was never there when she wanted me. I told her I had to earn the bloody money for her to spend and I couldn't do that sitting at home all day. Then we had this rush job at Bonley's. That really got her going. She said that if I went out and left her on her own, she'd kill herself. I said, "Good - then we'll have a bit of peace and bloody quiet." I stormed out, slamming the door."

   "Had she threatened to kill herself before?" asked Frost.

   "It was her bleeding theme song. She'd get hysterical . . . the kids would cry . . . she'd shout at the kids and I'd shout at her. Happy bloody Families! It used to end up with me saying, "Kill your bloody self then - it'll do me and the kids a big favour."

   Frost's expression must have registered. Grover lowered his head and stared into his empty tea mug. "I know. I was a bastard. She hadn't been well. She'd go to the doctor's, then she wouldn't take his bleeding pills -said he was trying to poison her. I suppose I should have felt sorry for the poor cow."

   "I don't suppose she got many kind words," said Frost.

   A door slammed outside somewhere. Footsteps clattered up the passage. The motor of the cassette deck whirred as Frost shot smoke up to the ceiling and waited for Grover to continue.

   "There was this chunk of carpet over. Some silly sod had messed up the measurements. It was good quality stuff and would only go to waste, so we did a deal with the security guard. Half for him and we would keep the rest. Phil Collard didn't want his share, but the kids had messed up our old lounge carpet so we were going to drop it into my place. Just before midnight we took one piece round to the security bloke's place, then went on to my house. I didn't want any nosy gits to see us, so we went in round the back way. The house was all dark so I thought Nancy was in bed. I got a knife from the kitchen to cut the string and me and Phil carried the carpet through to the lounge. I switched on the light and spread it on the floor to see how it looked. Then I realized Nancy was there. She'd been sitting in the dark. She had a smug, sort of self-satisfied expression on her face and she was giggling away as if she cnew something funny that I didn't. I said, "What's the joke?" She said it was a very funny joke. She said, "We won't have to shout at the children any more because they are all dead." He shook his head, registering the disbelief he felt that night. "I said, "What are you talking about, you silly cow?" And she pointed to the kids' room and giggled. I charged into their bedroom . . ." He stopped. He couldn't go on. He buried his face in his hands and his body shook convulsively.

   Frost waited. The cassette recorder counter clicked to its next number. Burton raised his eyebrows, tacitly suggesting they should break off the interview at this point. Frost shook his head. A break could give Grover a chance to compose himself, to change his story. He lit up another cigarette and waited. The shuddering subsided. Frost pushed a cigarette across to Grover who snatched it up gratefully, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief.

   "Thanks." He leant across to receive a light.

   "You went to the kiddies' room," prompted Frost.

   Grover knuckled his eyes and nodded.

   Frost waited.

   Grover stared at the glowing end of his cigarette, swallowing hard.

   "And . . . ?" prompted Frost again.

   Grover glared angrily. Then he was shouting. "You know bloody well what I saw . . ." He sniffed back the tears.

   "The children?" said Frost softly.

   Grover nodded, suddenly calmer. "They were lying in their cots, still and quiet. I thought they were sleeping. I prayed that they were sleeping. But . . ." Again he couldn't go on. His body shook and he screwed up his face as if in intense pain. "It was a bloody nightmare."

   "They were dead?" asked Frost.

   "Of course they were. She killed them. That bitch had killed them. Aren't you listening?"

   "I'm listening," said Frost.

   "I could hear her in the lounge, laughing. I charged in there. She was sitting in the chair, rocking from side to side and sniggering. She said, "I told you I would do it . . . you wouldn't believe me." She said it as if it was something to be proud of. I still had the knife in my hand. I went berserk."

   "You stabbed her?"

   "Yes. The next thing I knew, Phil was dragging at my arm, yelling at me to stop. But it was too late. She was dead."

   "Where had he been all this time?"

   "Out in the kitchen. He saw there was going to be a row and didn't want to get involved."

   "He went out there, when?"

   "Immediately after we brought the carpet in. When he heard her screaming he came running back."

   "And she was already dead?"

   "Yes. There was no pulse . . . nothing. I said call the police. He told me not to be a bloody fool. He said they'd bang me inside for murder. She kills my kids and I end up in the nick for life. He brought me some clean clothes and made me wash and change. He said if we dumped her in front of a train it would look like suicide."

   "And the carpet?"

   "It had her blood all over it. He said we should chuck it in the canal."

   "And you did what he said?"

   "I was in no state to argue. He poured me a couple of brandies and we manhandled her out to the van. Then we rolled up the carpet and Phil put some bits of patio slab in to make sure it sunk. We dropped it in the canal on the way to the railway cutting."

   "What happened to your bloodstained clothes?"

   "Phil burnt them. He's got a coal-fired boiler."

   Frost scratched his chin. "Good old Phil."

   "She killed my kids," said Grover defiantly.

   "I know," said Frost.

   "She was pregnant. She wanted an abortion. I said no. I didn't want an unborn child killed." The irony of this made him bow his head and sniff back more tears.

   Frost said nothing. Whatever the reason, whoever was to blame, the poor sod had lost his wife and his children. "We'll get this typed up, then you can sign it."

   Suddenly Grover looked small and helpless. "Will I be let out for the funeral? The kids - not her. I want them buried with their favourite toys."

   "I'm sure that can be arranged." Frost stood up. This was a mucky case. Nothing would bring the kids back and there was no satisfaction in cracking it.

   "What happens now?" asked Grover as Burton took his arm to lead him out.

   "I think you'd better get yourself a solicitor," said Frost. "You're going to need one . . . and so is good old Phil."

   In the corridor outside the interview room Cassidy was pacing up and down. He watched Grover being led out, then angrily marched over to meet Frost. "Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on? This is supposed to be my damn case, don't forget."

   "It's still your damn case," said Frost. "He's confessed. She killed the kids and he killed her. His mate Phil Collard is an accessory after the fact." He handed Cassidy the cassette. "It's all on tape get it typed."

   He never made it back to his office. Bill Wells came running up to him. "Jack. We've got a couple in the front office who reckon they know where the kidnapped boy is being held."

   Frost was unimpressed. They'd had so many false leads from people absolutely positive they had seen Bobby.

   "These two sound genuine," Wells assured him.

   "All bloody nutters sound genuine," grunted Frost. Sod it. It was probably another time-waster, but he daren't ignore it. "All right, I'll see them."

   They were eagerly waiting for him in the spare interview room. The man, in his late fifties, was small and sharp-featured, his head constantly moving from side to side like a terrier looking for a rat. His wife, a few years younger, was short and plump; her light brown hair, worn with a little girl's fringe, and her short-skirted dress revealing tubby legs, made her look like a retarded schoolgirl. Frost introduced himself and sat down. He glanced at the information sheet Wells had given him. "Mr. and Mrs. Mason, 18 Fullers Lane. You reckon you have information about this missing boy."

   "It's not the reward," said Mason. "I want you to understand it's not the reward."

   "Of course it isn't," said Frost, thinking, I bet it is, you bastard.

   "We should have come sooner, but one hates sneaking on one's neighbours . . . and they used to be so good to me."

   "When were they ever good to us?" asked his wife.

   "Well, he lent me his lawn mower."

   "His old rusty one - he wouldn't let you have his precious new one. And those tight clothes his wife wears . . . you can see her nipples."

   Frost cleared his throat. "If you could get to the point . . ."

   "Yes, of course," said the man. "This missing boy." He looked from side to side, as if checking on eavesdroppers, then leant over the table, lowering his voice. "They'd be the last people on earth I'd suspect of doing anything like this, but - "

   "Who are they" asked Frost.

   "Oh sorry. I'm talking about Mr. and Mrs. Younger . . . 20 Fullers Lane."

   "Mrs. Younger she's the one with the nipples?" asked Frost, wishing it was her who was sitting opposite him.

   "That's right. We live at number 18 they live next door," explained the woman. "They've got this shed . . ."

   "Let me tell it, dear," said her husband, glaring her to silence. Back to Frost. "It's a shed at the end of their garden. Nice little shed he keeps his lawn mower and stuff in it." He hesitated and looked at his wife. "No dear, we must be wrong . . . They're such a nice couple. They wouldn't hurt a fly."

   "All right," snapped Frost. "They're living bloody saints and she's got terrific nipples. Now, for Pete's sake tell me why you think they've got the boy."

   Mason exchanged hurt glances with his wife, but decided to overlook Frost's outburst.

   "This shed. Last week he ran an extension lead from the house so he can have electric light in it. And yesterday I noticed they'd put curtains up."

   "It was me that noticed it," corrected his wife. "I told you about it." She turned to Frost. "Curtains in their shed! And they're kept drawn so you can't see inside. So what I want to know is, what has he got to hide?"