‘Yes, you have, Wally,’ said Frost, grimly. ‘The old girl you discouraged by caving in her skull died in hospital.’
‘Come off it, Inspector,’ said Wally, grinning to show that he had seen through Frost’s bluff. ‘There’s no way a little tap would.. ’ And then he saw Frost’s expression and knew he was serious. ‘Oh my God!’ The grin froze solid and his face drained of colour. ‘Dead?’
Frost nodded.
‘Bloody hell, Mr Frost. She came at me — with a knife. I had no choice — it was self-defence.’
‘Were these self-defence?’ asked Frost, smacking his hand on the photographs.
‘You’re not pinning them on me, Mr Frost. I’ll cough to the old girl, but that’s all.’
Frost gave him a disarming smile. ‘Fair enough, Wally. Tell you what — as we’re mates — cough to the others and I’ll give you self-defence on the first one.’
‘I never bleedin’ did the others. How can I make you believe me?’
‘I’d consider an alibi, Wally. Where were you Tuesday night?’
Manson looked appalled. ‘I can’t give you an alibi without incriminating myself. I was doing another job.’
‘Don’t be a twat, Wally. We’re talking murder and you’re talking petty burglary.’
Manson gave a hopeless shrug. ‘I can’t bloody win, can I? All right, on Tuesday night I did some cars over at Forest View — I got a CD player from one and a couple of cassette players from the others.’
‘What about Sunday?’
‘I did a house in Appleford Court. Got away with around?80. Then I tried a car round the back but the flaming alarm went off.’
Frost nodded. He knew about the Appleford Court burglary and he’d check on the cars. But this was Sunday night. Mary Haynes was killed in the afternoon. ‘What about Sunday afternoon?’
‘I stayed in. I had it away with Belle.’
‘Let’s say that took a minute — half a minute if you kept your boots on. What did you do with the rest of the time?’
‘I stayed in until six — Belle will vouch for me.’
Frost gave a snort. ‘She’s as big a liar as you are. You’ve got no alibi for the time of the killing, and we’ve found a pair of your jeans soaked in blood.
‘That was my blood, Mr Frost…’ Wally was almost in tears. ‘You’ve got to believe me.’
‘The court has got to believe you, Wally, not me.’ Frost scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘Feel like doing a deal?’
Manson regarded Frost warily. ‘What sort of a deal?’
‘A bloody good one, Wally. We’ve got a whole stack of outstanding burglaries and car thefts on file. I want you to cough to every single one that’s down to you…’
‘Now hold on, Mr Frost,’ Manson protested.
‘Do yourself a favour and listen, Wally. Whatever sentences you get will run concurrently: one burglary or a hundred, you won’t even feel it. In return, I’m prepared to tell the court how helpful you’ve been and to recommend to the DPP that we accept your plea of manslaughter in the case of Alice Ryder. To help you make up your mind, if you say no, we’re going for murder.’
Manson chewed at his finger while he thought this over. ‘What about them two?’ He pointed to the photographs on the table.
‘Call me a sentimental old sod, Wally, but providing nothing happens to make me change my mind, I’m prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt over them two.’
Wally sighed. ‘All right, Mr Frost. You win.’
‘Good boy,’ smiled Frost, scooping the photographs back into the file and standing.
Behind the prisoner, Gilmore’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. The inspector had given almost nothing away — the DPP would probably have settled for manslaughter anyway — and in return a whole stack of out-standings would be cleared in one go and Denton’s ‘Crime Return’ would start looking healthy again. Anxious to share the undoubted credit this would accrue, he dropped into Frost’s vacated chair, ready to start taking Manson’s statements. His scowl deepened when Frost informed him that the little fat slob, Hanlon, would be taking over from now and it was with the greatest reluctance he vacated the chair.
At the door, Frost stopped and smote his forehead with his palm. He had almost forgotten the videos. ‘Where did you get them?’
Wally hung his head. ‘I nicked them from a car. Wouldn’t have touched them had I known what they were like. Blimey, I like a bit of the old sex and violence as much as the next man, but I draw the line at dogs… they may be man’s best friend, but that one was being too bloody friendly.’
‘Details, Wally.’
‘I’m driving in the van the Saturday night before last, about ten o’clock, and I spots this big flash motor parked round the back of the Market Square.’
‘What sort of car?’ Gilmore asked. ‘What make?’
‘I don’t know. An expensive motor, all gleaming. Black, I think … the seats looked like real leather. Anyway, I wasn’t there to admire it. I jemmied open the boot, grabbed this box and I’m back in my van before anyone spots me.’
Frost prodded Manson for more details, but there was nothing else he could tell them, only that it was an expensive set of wheels.
Outside in the corridor, Gilmore’s anger boiled over. ‘You’re letting Hanlon take his statement? We get a confession on the Ryder murder and Manson is going to cough on all his other jobs. We do all the work and you’re going to let Hanlon take all the credit!’
‘I can’t be sodded about with all that paperwork,’ said Frost. ‘We’ve got enough on our plates without having to take yards and yards of statement down.’ He yawned. ‘I don’t know about you, son, but I’m going home for some kip.’
Gilmore, still angry, watched the old cretin shuffle off down the corridor. Just his lousy luck to be stuck with that apology for a policeman. He was being associated with Frost’s many failures, but wasn’t getting the chance to be involved with his all too few successes. Just because the fool had killed all his own promotion prospects, there was no need to deny them to everyone else. Damn and blast the stupid burk. He stormed off to the car-park.
As he was settling down in bed, Frost remembered he hadn’t reported back to Mullett about Wally Manson. Ah well, he’d worry about that in the morning.
The jangling of a bell woke Gilmore up. He fumbled for the alarm, but the bell rang on. The bedside clock tried to tell him it was ten o’clock but he felt as if he had only been asleep a couple of minutes. The ringing went on and some one was banging at the front door. He pulled on his dressing gown and staggered downstairs.
A motor-cycle policeman holding a crash helmet asked him if he was Detective Sergeant Gilmore and told him to pick up Inspector Frost immediately.
There had been another Ripper killing.
‘Why knock me up?’ growled Gilmore. ‘Haven’t you heard of the telephone?’
‘Haven’t you heard of putting it back on the hook?’ called the policeman, kick-starting his bike and roaring off.
Yes, the damn handset was off. Mentally cursing Liz, Gilmore replaced it and dashed into the bathroom for a quick cold shower which he hoped would jar him into consciousness. He had finished dressing when the front door slammed and Liz returned from shopping, the bottles clinking in her carrier bag.
‘You’re going out again?’ she shrilled. ‘Out all night and now you’re going out again?’
He patted on aftershave, then knotted his tie and adjusted it in the bathroom mirror. ‘I’ve got to. There’s been another murder.’ His head was aching from not enough sleep and he could have done without any more aggro.
She pushed past him, her face ugly, not saying a word.
He slipped on his camel-hair overcoat and made sure he had his car keys. ‘I’ll get back as soon as I can — I promise.’
‘Don’t bloody bother,’ she snapped, slamming down the shopping. ‘Don’t bloody bother.’
Frost, looking as gritty and crumpled as he had done the night before, was waiting outside his house and he grunted thankfully as he slumped into the front passenger seat. ‘Another old girl slashed,’ he told Gilmore. ‘Haven’t
