Frost had been talking to the drug pushers. A right pair of sullen charmers who were determined to say as little as possible. They wouldn’t enlarge about the sovereigns. They stole them and that’s all there was to it. They were vague about the details, both apparently unable to remember where in the house they had found the coins. And as far as the quantity was concerned, if the old girl said there was more, then the cow was lying.
Webster had been dispatched to check with Lil Carey. She had no doubts at all about the number of sovereigns. Why, thought Webster, was Frost making such a meal of it? They’d caught the thieves and they’d got a confession.
There was no reason for the men to lie about how much they had stolen; the sentence for the theft would be trivial compared with their sentence for pushing drugs, and it would run concurrently anyway.
But Frost kept niggling away at it, chewing it over and over. It was a welcome diversion when Wells stuck his head around the door.
“Lady to see you, Mr. Frost,” said the sergeant in his official voice.
“I’m not undressed yet,” said Frost. “Who is it?”
It was Sadie Eustace. She looked a mess. She’d been crying and her hair was in disarray. She declined the offer of tea but accepted one of Frost’s cigarettes. “They’ve got Stan holed up in a house in Farley Street.”
“So I hear, Sadie. Nothing I can do about it, I’m afraid.”
“The bastards are out to kill him, Jack. They’ve no intention of letting him come out alive. You’ve got to help.”
Frost folded his arms and leaned forward on his desk. “It’s not my case, Sadie. It’s Mr. Allen’s. He may be a bastard, but he’s straight. He won’t let anything happen to Stan.”
“Look at me, Jack. I’m bloody desperate.” She held up her face, which was drawn and tear-stained. “Get him out of there, please!”
Frost opened his door and yelled to Sergeant Wells. “What’s the latest on the siege?”
“Stanley’s now threatening to kill the hostages one by one if his demands aren’t met by midnight.”
“He doesn’t mean it, Jack it’s just a bluff,” Sadie blurted. Frost waved her to silence.
“And what are his demands?” he asked Wells.
“A fast car, fully tanked up, no pursuit, and one of the hostages to go with him. There’s no way we’re giving him that.”
Frost closed the door. It was half past eleven. He retrieved an opened packet of salted peanuts from his in- tray and shook a few into his hand. There was nothing he could do for Stan, nothing at all. But he wished Sadie wouldn’t look at him like that. He sighed and shot the salted peanuts into his mouth.
“All right, Sadie, what exactly do you want me to do?”
“Get Stan out of there alive, Jack, and name your price.”
“My price is 20 for a short time, 50 for all night, but I’m willing to do it for free if you treat me gently.” He stood up.
“You’ll do it?” gasped Sadie.
“If I can, love, but a lot depends on Stan. If he blasts my brains out as I come up the stairs, then I might have to let you down.”
“No chance of that, Jack. He trusts you.”
“Then he’s a bigger fool than I take him for.”
He unhooked his mac from the coat peg, then slowly wound the scarf around his neck, hoping that Wells would come crashing in at the last minute, like the United States Cavalry, to announce that Eustace had given himself up.
“I’m going to get myself into trouble, son,” he told Webster as he fastened the final button. “If you want a laugh, come with me. If you want to keep your nose clean… stay here with Sadie.”
“I’m not bloody staying here,” said Sadie defiantly. “I’m going with you.”
“What’s your plan?” asked Webster.
“Plan?” said Frost. “Since when did I ever make plans? I shall just barge in and hope for the best.”
Webster reached for his coat. “I’ll come with you.”
“You’re a bloody fool, too!” said Frost.
The situation at Farley Street had suddenly worsened. Eustace was showing signs of cracking up. Allen’s last attempt to talk to him had ended with the gunman screaming abuse, waving the gun wildly, and showing all the signs of losing control. There was now serious concern for the safety of the hostages. Indeed, Eustace had reiterated his threat to kill them one by one if the car wasn’t ready and waiting at the stroke of midnight.
Allen was now pinning his hopes on a plan to get some men inside the house by hacking a way through to the roof space from the premises next door. This was proceeding very slowly, as the task needed to be performed silently, and the midnight deadline was fast approaching.
And as if there wasn’t enough to worry about, he now had that half-wit Frost to contend with. The man had barged in with some harebrained scheme involving his getting inside and talking Eustace out.
“No way, Frost. I don’t want any bloody heroes, thank you. The man’s trigger-happy and cracking up. He’s itching for an excuse to kill someone.”
He moved away and radioed the men working on the roof space for a situation report. “We’re getting there slowly,” he was told, ‘but we keep hitting snags. There’s pipes and steel joists all over the place.” When he turned around again, Frost had gone;
“Where’s Mr. Frost?” he demanded of the constable guarding the entrance to the back of the garden.
The constable pointed. “In the garden, sir. Trying to get to the house.”
“Why the hell didn’t you stop him?”
“Stop him, sir? He said you had given permission.”
“Mr. Allen!” Ingram was calling over the radio. “I can see someone in the garden, sir.”
“I know. It’s that bloody fool Frost!”
Frost was flat on his face, inching toward the back door. Stan wasn’t a killer. He knew he wouldn’t fire, just as he had known that doped-up kid at the bank wouldn’t fire, the one who had put the bullet hole through his cheek.
He was crawling through wet grass and wished he had never started this. Something tugged at his neck. He froze, then, very slowly, looked around. A rose bush had snagged his scarf. He unwound it from his neck and left it behind.
Inspector Allen was aware of someone hovering at his side, trying to attract his attention. “I’m busy,” he snapped. Then he saw the gleaming silver. “Sorry, Superintendent… didn’t know it was you.”
“What’s the position?… Is that Frost? You surely haven’t allowed Frost…?”
Allen cut him off. “I told him not to, sir… specifically told him not to. He disobeyed my order and now I’m wasting my time trying to prevent him, and the hostages, being killed through his own stupidity.”
Mullett’s jaw set. This was intolerable. This was the last straw. He could feel the nerve in his forehead starting to pulsate. “Get him out of there,” he snapped.
“We can’t, sir,” replied Allen. “He hasn’t got a radio. If we yelled out to him, it would attract Eustace’s attention.”
“I don’t give a damn about that,” said Mullett. “If he wants to risk his stupid neck, that’s his lookout, but I’m not having him risk the lives of the hostages. Call him back.”
Allen sighed but reached for the loud hailer and raised it to his lips. A car door slammed in the background. His radio paged him. He clicked it on and listened, then turned to the Superintendent. “The Chief Constable is here, sir… on his way over to us.”
Mullett pushed down the hand holding the loud hailer. “Hold it, Inspector. I don’t want the Chief to know we have dissension in the ranks.”
Allen put the loud hailer on the ground. Mullett began flicking invisible specks from his uniform and smoothing down his moustache. Allen ruffled his hair and loosened his tie. He thought the Chief Constable would be more impressed with a police officer who looked as if he had been working than with an immaculate tailor’s dummy.
The Chief Constable marched briskly over, slapping his gloves against his leg. “A quick update please, Mr. Mullett.” Mullett had just started to explain when the Chief caught sight of Frost. “Good Lord! Is that Inspector Frost?”
Frost, his body wet with sweat and all his limbs aching, had reached the back door. He stretched up until his
