Teeth gritted, Mullett raised his eyes to the artex ceiling and sighed loudly. Frost never knew when it was the wrong time to act the fool. ‘What progress have you made?’
‘So far, sod all. This bloke’s bloody lucky. No-one sees him, no-one hears him and he leaves no prints. Unless Forensic can come up with something spectacular we might have to wait for him to make a mistake. His bleeding luck’s bound to run out sometime.’
A derisive snort. ‘Wait? You mean until he kills again? No way! I want these killings stopped!’
‘Oh?’ muttered Frost. ‘And how do we achieve that, Super?’
‘By finding the killer and arresting him.’
‘Oh! Make a note of that, Gilmore,’ said Frost, the gin making him reckless. ‘Any other bright ideas, sir — I’m always ready to learn.’
Mullett glared angrily, his jaw twitching. The man’s insouciance always infuriated him. He jerked his head at Burton and Jordan. ‘Wait outside, would you, please.’ He waited until they had gone. ‘You made a damn fool of me last night, Inspector.’
‘Did I?’ asked Frost, sounding very interested. ‘How did I do that?’ His tone implied he would mark it down for future reference.
‘That Ripper suspect. You led me to believe you had a water-tight case against him, and I now understand that your big due, the knife, belonged to the victim all the time.’
‘I’m afraid so, Super,’ agreed Frost, ruefully.
‘And you left me dangling. You didn’t even come in and tell me what had happened. I was waiting for your report and the Chief Constable was waiting for my report.’
‘Sorry about that,’ mumbled Frost. ‘I forgot all about you.’
Mullett’s mouth opened and closed. He was almost speechless. ‘Forgot?’ he spluttered. ‘Forgot to inform your Divisional Commander about a suspect in a major murder investigation?’
‘I have got a lot on my plate,’ snapped Frost. ‘We’re going flat out, we’re working double shifts and we get lots of stupid interruptions.’ He hoped Mullett might take this subtle hint and go, but the superintendent hadn’t finished yet.
‘Detective Sergeant Hanlon works under the same conditions as you, Frost, but he managed to get results. He’s obtained a murder confession from Manson and confessions on at least thirty burglaries. Excellent work that will put us right at the top of the league for crime rate figures this month. It’s results that count, Inspector, not excuses. It seems to me,' and here his glare of displeasure clearly included Gilmore, ‘that you may not be up to the task, in which case I will have no hesitation in replacing you.’ With that he spun on his heel and marched out, oblivious to the near-audible raspberry that followed him out.
Now it was Gilmore’s turn to be angry. If he were to share in Frost’s failures, he wanted to share in his few triumphs. ‘Why didn’t you tell him about Hanlon? He was the one who sodded up the knife and Manson was our collar, not his.’
‘We’re supposed to be a team, son,’ said Frost, ‘not all fighting for Brownie points.’
Gilmore’s reply was stifled by the return of DC Burton and PC Jordan. But all right, he muttered to himself, if it takes Brownie points to get on, I’ll give the bastard Brownie points.
Desmond Watson scooped up the post from the mat and closed the front door behind him. He dumped his brief-case by the hall stand and checked through the letters on his way through to the living-room. Two bills, a bank statement and a commission cheque from his firm. Watson was the Northern Area Sales Representative for a double-glazing company. In the living-room the little green light on his telephone answering machine told him there were messages waiting. He fast-forwarded on cue and review, his ear able to recognize from the high-pitched gabble the girl from his firm passing on sales leads which he would note down later, and then the familiar sound of his mother’s voice. He released the button and listened as he opened up the envelope to check that his firm hadn’t yet again made a mistake with his commission payment.
Hello, son. It’s mother. You needn’t worry any more about… Just a moment, there’s someone at the door… A pause. A long pause. And then the automatic cut-off operated.
He raised his head from his checking of the commission payment and waited for the next message which should have been his mother phoning back. But it was a strange voice. A man’s voice. It asked him to ring the Denton Police Station. The commission cheque fluttered from his fingers. His stomach churning with foreboding, he reached for the phone.
Thursday afternoon shift (1)
Gilmore spooned sugar into a cup of hot, strong tea and placed it in front of Watson who was still in a state of shock after formally identifying his mother’s body. The cup clattered on the saucer as his shaking hand raised it to his mouth. He tried to concentrate on what the scruffy inspector was saying.
‘I know it’s been an awful shock, sir, but if you could answer one or two questions.’
The cup was rattling against his teeth. He lowered it back to the saucer, the tea untasted, and pushed it away. ‘Yes… anything.’
‘We’ve been listening to a tape from your answering machine, your mother’s last message. You said she made the call at 9.35 p.m. If you weren’t at home, how do you know that?’
‘My answering machine logs the time and date of all calls.’
‘I see, sir. And where were you at 9.35 last night?’
‘Me?’ His head jerked up. ‘You suspect me?’
‘I’d be happy if I had anyone to suspect, sir,’ said Frost, wearily. ‘I just want to eliminate. Your mother was a nervous woman. She kept her front door chained and bolted and yet someone calls at 9.35 at night and she cheerfully lets them in. It had to be someone she knew and trusted… some one like you, sir. So where were you?’
‘I was in Birmingham. The Queensway Hotel.’ He pulled a receipt from his inside pocket and handed it across. ‘You’ll want to check, of course.’
Frost glanced at it and passed it to Gilmore who went out to phone.
‘I’d like it back,’ said Watson. ‘I need it for my expenses claim.’
Frost nodded. He knew all about expenses claims. ‘On the tape, sir, your mother starts by saying, “You needn’t worry any more about..” Any idea what she meant by that?’
‘I think she was referring to a new security chain. The one on her front door was inadequate. After hearing about those burglaries and then those two women killed, I’d been on to her to get a stronger one.’
‘Can you think of anyone your mother would be happy to admit into her flat at 9.35 at night?’
‘No-one. She was a very nervous woman.’ He looked up as Gilmore returned with the receipt and murmured some thing in the inspector’s ear.
‘The hotel confirm your visit, sir.’ Frost handed the receipt back and stood up. ‘Thank you for your help. We’ll let you know how our enquiries progress… and, of course, you have our deepest sympathy.’ As the door closed behind Watson, Frost’s solemn expression changed to a grin. ‘So he had a double room and a woman and he asked the hotel for a single room receipt?’
‘Yes,’ confirmed Gilmore.
‘The crafty bastard,’ said Frost, shaking his head in admiration. ‘He gets his firm to pay for his nookie. I wish I could wangle something like that. Anyway, Sonny Boy’s in the clear.’ He picked up the cassette from the answering machine. ‘Let’s find out if this can tell us what we want to know.’
The Murder Incident Room was swirled with a fog of duty-free cigarette smoke. Frost sat on the corner of the front desk watching Gilmore slot the tape into the Yamaha cassette deck. He clapped his hands for silence.
‘Right. As you know, we’ve had another Ripper murder.’ He held aloft some enlarged colour prints where red was the predominant colour. ‘We’ve got photos of the victim, but unless you get a kick out of steaming entrails, I suggest you take them as read. The bastard almost disembowelled her.’ He stood up, the cigarette waggling in his mouth as he spoke. ‘The victim is a Mrs Doris Watson, aged seventy-six, a widow with one son. She rarely went out, except to the twice-weekly senior citizens’ afternoon sessions at the Reef Bingo Club. The poor cow was terrified of being attacked so she had extra bolts, a spy-hole and a security chain fitted to her front door. Last night,
