“The Drug boys will take all the credit for this, Arthur,” said Frost, skimming through the statements, ‘just as you’re trying to take all the credit from me.”
The brothers, Trevor and Kevin Fowler, came from Poplar, east London, but were now of no fixed address and were continually moving around the country. Two weeks ago they arrived in Denton, taking a room in a bed and breakfast boarding house near the railway station. The metropolitan police knew them and had tele printed details of their past form, which included petty theft, robbery with violence, and possession of drugs.
“If they’ve only been in Denton a couple of weeks,” observed Frost, ‘then we can’t push all those petty housebreakings on them.” This was a big disappointment. He had been hoping to clear up his backlog of unsolved burglaries in one fell swoop.
“They only admit to the sovereigns, Jack, not to anything else,” said Hanlon. He showed Frost the recovered coins. Thirty-three of them.
Tipping them on to his desk, Frost counted them. He only made it thirty-two. Webster counted them for him and made it thirty-three, which, added to the five already sold to Glickman, made a grand total of thirty-eight. Mrs. Carey had reported seventy-nine stolen, so where were the other forty-one? “Turn out your pockets, Arthur,” he said.
Hanlon grinned. “The drug squad tore their place apart, Jack. There were no more sovereigns. Both the brothers say that’s all there was. Mrs. Carey must have been mistaken.” v The inspector shook his head. “She never makes mistakes about money.” He scooped up the coins and returned them to the bag. “Still, I’ve got more important things to worry about. Now take all this junk off my desk, Arthur, and get the paperwork tied up. This is your case now.”
“You’re letting him have it?” asked Webster when Hanlon had left. “He only came in on it at the death.”
“I’ve got more than I can cope with, son,” said Frost. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Something was worrying him. “Those two blokes were only in Denton a couple of weeks. Ma Carey lives in a shitty little house down a back street. How come they picked on that house to rob? How, did they find out she had all that money?”
“They could have overheard someone talking about her,” suggested Webster.
“I suppose so,” said Frost, but he still looked doubtful.
“You’re not suggesting they’ve confessed to a crime they haven’t committed, are you?” asked Webster.
“Of course not, son.”
Webster fed a sheet of paper into the typewriter. “Do you want me to do the report on the rape arrest?” He knew that if he didn’t do it, it wouldn’t get done.
“Yes please.” He gathered up the subscription list for Mrs. Shelby and took it out to Johnny Johnson in the lobby, where he received the sergeant’s congratulations on nabbing the “Hooded Terror’.
“You’ll be in all the papers tomorrow, Jack.”
“Unless something bigger breaks,” said Frost, ‘like Allen finding Shelby’s murderer.”
“Shouldn’t be long now,” said Johnson. “Stan Eustace can’t hide much longer.” The phone rang. He answered it. “And who is it speaking, please?” He offered the phone to Frost. “Lady for you, Jack. Won’t give her name.”
Even before he took the phone he knew it was Sadie Eustace, but he hoped against hope he was wrong.
“Jack?” she whispered.
He picked up the complete phone and moved as far away from Johnson as the cord would allow. “I can’t talk to you, Sadie,” he hissed into the mouthpiece. “I got in too much trouble last time.”
“You’ve got to help, Jack. Stan’s been in touch…”
He cut her short before she gave anything away. “Sadie, whatever you tell me, I am going to report it.”
“He’s frightened, Jack. The police have framed him for this killing and he’s terrified at what they might do when they catch him. He’ll give himself up to you if you meet him just you, no-one else.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s…” She broke off as a series of soft clicks cut into the conversation. “What was that?”
“No idea,” lied Frost, realizing that Allen had her line tapped.
But she knew what it was. “The bastards! They’ve bugged the phone!”
The line went dead.
He replaced the receiver and returned the phone to its original position. “Sadie Eustace,” he told Johnson. No point in keeping it a secret now. He thought for a second, then made his way to the murder incident room.
The room was empty except for Detective Sergeant Ingram crouched over a large Revox reel-to-reel tape recorder, looking tired and drawn as he listened through earphones to the replay of the conversation between Sadie and Jack Frost. Seeing Frost, he pulled the earphones off and rubbed his ears. Quickly, he scribbled a note on a pad and dropped it into an in-tray marked “Mr. Allen — Immediate’. “Pity she twigged,” he said. “She was going to tell us where Eustace was hiding.”
“A great pity,” agreed Frost, looking around the room. Empty desks, silent phones, and the wall map marked with red pins indicating the numerous Stan Eustace sightings. “Where is everybody?”
“Tea break. They should be back in a minute.” He shook his head at Frost’s offer of a cigarette. “We could do with a lead,” he went on, knuckling tired eyes. “He seems to have gone to ground.”
“Mr. Allen’s only looking for Stan, then?” asked Frost. “He isn’t keeping his options open?”
“Why should we look for anyone else?” asked Ingram in a puzzled voice.
Frost didn’t answer. He shuffled over to the other side of the room to look at the various notices fastened to the cork bulletin board: duty rosters; search areas; phone numbers of off-duty men, a list headed Police Marksmen with names and phone numbers. Frost saw that Ingram’s name was on this list. “Why police marksmen?” he inquired.
“Eustace is armed,” replied Ingram wearily. He wished the inspector would go. He was tired. He didn’t feel like talking or answering questions. He just wanted to go somewhere quiet. For the past three nights he had hardly had any sleep.
“I don’t want him killed,” said Frost.
Ingram nodded. “I’ll let Mr. Allen know.” A green light flashed and the spools of the Revox began to revolve. Another call coming through on Sadie’s phone. Ingram turned up the volume control. The ringing tone. A click as the receiver was lifted.
Sadie’s voice. “Demon 2234.”
A man’s voice, tired, despondent. “Sadie. It’s Stan. Did you talk to him?”
Sadie’s voice, shouting. “Hang up, Stan. They’ve tapped the line.”
Click. The dial tone. Silence. The tape recorder switched itself off.
Behind them the door opened and closed. They turned to see Detective Inspector Allen. “We’ve found Stan Eustace’s old car,” he told Ingram. “It was abandoned under the railway arches, so he’s obviously nicked something else. Advise all units.”
As Ingram was phoning through to Control, Allen gave Frost an unfriendly nod, then moved to his Immediate Action in-tray. “Phone call 16.37. Sadie Eustace to Inspector Frost. Tape Index 033.” He grinned mockingly at Frost. “What was that about, Inspector? Were you and Sadie arranging another clandestine assignation?”
“I wish you wouldn’t use such long words,” said Frost. “You know what an ignorant sod I am.”
Friday night shift
Ken Jordan gently coasted Charlie Alpha down the side street, past the public toilets and into the empty parking space alongside four other parked cars. Seven o’clock in the evening and time for an unofficial coffee break. He leaned back in the driving seat and stretched his arms as his observer, Ron Simms, unscrewed the top of a thermos flask and the smell of strong, hot coffee filled the area car.
Taking their plastic cups with them, they climbed out of Charlie Alpha to stretch their legs. The night was chilly and there was a fresh wind blowing. “Isn’t that where they found that tramp’s body?” asked Simms, nodding his head toward the red-bricked building with its creaking enamelled sign.
“Yes,” muttered Jordan, but he wasn’t looking in that direction. His eyes, ever alert, had detected a movement inside one of the parked cars, a grey Honda. It was as if someone had quickly ducked down because he didn’t want to be seen. Jordan drained his coffee, took a torch from the door pocket, and strolled across for a closer look. The beam of his torch flared on the wind-screen. A face jerked up. The engine coughed, then roared, and the Honda leaped forward, forcing Jordan to jump to one side. He spun around, catching sight of the driver’s face as the car sped past.
“After him!” he yelled to Simms, clambering inside Charlie Alpha.
