naked girl and the dog moved jerkily backwards at high speed.
‘Watch,’ ordered Frost, releasing the rewind. The dog, panting with excitement, again approached and straddled the girl.
‘For the last time, Inspector…’ roared Mullett.
Curtly jerking his hand for silence, Frost jabbed the pause button. On the screen, in full close-up, the vacant face of the girl froze, quivering slightly as the video head passed over and over the same section of tape.
‘The pigtails and blonde hair are a wig, son,’ said Frost, his hands moving to block them out.
Gilmore stared hard at the girl’s face, her lips slack, eyes glazed and unseeing, tiny flecks of sweat on the forehead.
‘Recognize her, son?’
Gilmore nodded. Yes, he recognized her. The suicide. The Snoopy watch. The Mickey Mouse night-shirt. Fifteen-year-old Susan Bicknell. The marks of the beating were now explained.
Frost straightened up. ‘Come on, son. I think we should ask her stepfather a few questions.’
‘I demand to know what this is all about!’ shrieked Mullett. But they were gone, the door slamming firmly shut behind them, leaving him alone in the room. Behind him the dog had worked itself up into a frenzy. He tried to switch it off, but none of the buttons, seemed to work. He pushed the door open and thundered down the corridor. Tomorrow. He would see Frost tomorrow. And then it would be his turn. The lobby wall suddenly zipped upwards and the ceiling stared down at him as his back hit the floor. His feet had found a slippery patch of vomit.
‘Whatever you do,’ hissed Frost to Wells, just before he darted out to the car-park, ‘don’t laugh.’
A cold black night, made blacker by purple rain clouds that covered the face of the moon. They didn’t have to drag anyone out of bed. A downstairs light was still on at the house and a shirt-sleeved Kenneth Duffy, tired and drawn, opened the door to them.
‘Remember me, Mr Duffy?’ asked Gilmore, showing his warrant card.
Duffy stared through the card and nodded.
‘We’d like to come in, please,’ said Gilmore. ‘Just a couple of questions.’
Duffy twisted his head. ‘It’s for me, love,’ he called, ushering the two detectives into an unheated lounge. ‘I don’t want my wife troubled,’ he explained. ‘She’s broken up about this. We both are.’ He dropped into a chair and stared at the drawn red curtains. He shivered. ‘Sorry there’s no heat.’
Frost sat down on the settee, facing Duffy. ‘You’re up late?’
‘My wife can’t sleep. I stay up with her. I don’t like leaving her alone.’
Frost gave a sympathetic nod and looked up for his sergeant to start the questions.
‘We’re worried at the absence of a suicide note,’ Gilmore said.
‘Oh?’ He tried to rub some warmth into a shirt-sleeved arm.
‘You’re quite sure there was no note?’
‘Positive.’
Silence, broken only by the measured ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Then another sound. Frost had taken something from his mac pocket and was tapping it on his knee. It snatched Duffy’s attention away from his study of the curtains.
The object was black, made of plastic, and Frost, a half-smile on his face, was tapping it slowly and regularly, again and again, on his knee.
At first Duffy couldn’t make out what it was. Then his eyes widened and he sucked in air. It was a video cassette.
‘Woof woof,’ said Frost, and grinned.
‘You bastard!’ With a howl of rage Duffy hurled himself across the room at the inspector, his fists swinging wildly. Gilmore leapt forward to grab his wrists and fling him back into the chair.
‘Was it something I said?’ asked Frost in pretended puzzlement.
‘You bastard,’ repeated Duffy, this time near to tears. He shrank down into the chair and covered his face with his hands and his body convulsed with the sobbing he was no longer able to hold back ‘Don’t tell my wife. It would kill her.’ His voice was muffled by his hands.
Gilmore turned away. Raw emotion embarrassed him. Frost dribbled smoke and tried to look as if he knew more than he did
Kenneth Duffy knuckled his eyes dry. ‘What do you want to know?’
Frost waved the video. ‘Tell me about it.’
Duffy bowed his head. ‘I watched a few seconds — that was enough.’
‘Where’s the suicide note?’
The man shivered again and folded his arms around him self. ‘I destroyed it.’
‘Why?’ snapped Gilmore who was standing behind him. ‘Because it incriminated you?’
He twisted his head round and looked up at the sergeant. ‘No. Because Susan asked me to. The note was addressed to me.’
Frost lit up a fresh cigarette from the stub of the old. ‘What did it say?’
‘It said, “The letter will explain. I can’t face mum after what I’ve done. Please help me. Destroy this. She must never know.”’
‘Letter? What letter?’
‘It was with Susan’s note. An anonymous letter.’
Anonymous letter! Frost started, as did Gilmore. ‘Tell us about it.’
Duffy paused to control his agitated breathing. ‘It was addressed to my wife. Susan must have known it was coming so she waited for the postman. She opened it, read it and…’ He shrugged as if referring to something trivial. ‘… and killed herself.’
‘I want that letter,’ said Frost grimly.
‘I’m sorry. I haven’t got it. I burnt it with the suicide note.’
‘Shit!’ said Frost vehemently. ‘Describe it. The notepaper, the handwriting.’
‘Is it important?’ asked Duffy wearily.
‘Yes, it bloody is.’
‘Blue notepaper. Typed. Posted in Denton.’
Frost nodded grimly to Gilmore. ‘What did it say?’
‘What do you bloody think it said?’ replied Duffy again near to tears. ‘It said, “Dear Mrs Duffy. Did you know that your dear darling, pure daughter Susan has taken part in depraved, bestial practices with men, with other women… even with animals, and is so proud of what she did that she allowed herself to be filmed. If you doubt me, I’m sending you a video.” ‘He paused and listened to the clock tick.
‘And did he send a video?’ prompted Frost.
‘Yes. It came the next morning… the day after Susan died. Imagine the effect on my wife if she’d received it. I waited for the postman, just like Susan must have done.’ He shuddered. ‘It was the one with the dog.’
All heads turned to the door as it clicked open. Mrs Duffy came in, a shrunken, stooped figure, face tired and lined, eyes red. Duffy rose from his chair. ‘It’s the police, love. Just asking a few questions.’
‘Routine,’ muttered Frost, avoiding her eyes. She’d have to know, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.
She forced a smile. ‘I’ll make some tea.’
‘We can’t stop, I’m afraid,’ said Frost. ‘Lots of things to do.’
‘I won’t be long, love,’ said Duffy, helping his wife out of the room. ‘You go in the warm.’ When he came back he said, ‘How old does she look? Sixty?’ Not far short, thought Frost. ‘She was forty last month and she never looked her age. Losing her only daughter was bad enough, but when this other business comes out, it’ll kill her. You’ll have another death on your hands.’
‘You’ll have to tell her,’ said Frost.
‘You bloody tell her,’ said Duffy. He went to the side board and opened a drawer where he took out a small box. ‘You see these?’ He rattled it. ‘The bloody doctor’s put her back on the same tablets Susan took.’
Frost looked away. There was nothing to say.
Outside, in the car, Gilmore said, ‘That video. Did you notice Susan’s feet?’
‘Her feet were the last thing I thought of looking at,’ said Frost. ‘Why?’
‘The ground was rough so she was wearing shoes,’ said Gilmore. ‘Stark naked, but wearing shoes… just like
