The door clicked open and Mullett looked up in annoyance as Frost shuffled in. Late again. ‘Ah, Frost,’ he said, putting his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘The Chief Constable wishes to know what progress you have made with the Paula Bartlett case.’
‘Bugger all,’ said Frost, dragging a chair over to the desk and sitting down wearily. ‘You told me to leave it for Wonder Boy’s return.’
Mullett’s smile flickered on and off like a dying neon tube. He held it unsteadily in place as he spoke into the phone. ‘Detective Inspector Frost reports no further progress at present, sir. However things should improve when Mr Allen returns from the sick list.’ He glared at Frost who unabashed, seemed more intent on trying to read, upside down, a private and confidential memo in the superintendent’s out-tray. Mullett pulled the tray towards him and turned the memo face down, then he flashed his gleaming white teeth into the receiver’s mouthpiece. ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. You can depend on me, sir.’ He grovelled his good- byes, then replaced the phone.
He smoothed down his moustache. ‘Trouble, gentlemen. County have been hearing rumours that those gypsies — or travellers as they prefer to be called — who were involved in the fighting in the town centre last Friday are out to seek their revenge on our Denton lager louts. The Chief Constable wishes us to ensure that we have a sufficiently large police presence here on Friday night to nip any such trouble in the bud.’
‘How many men is he sending us, then?’ asked Wells between coughs.
Mullett treated the sergeant to one of his thin, superior smiles. ‘County are stretched to the limit, Wells.’
‘And we’re not, I suppose?’ said Frost, flicking ash all over the carpet.
‘Everyone’s in the same boat,’ snapped Mullett. ‘I am not giving County the impression that we will go whining to them each time we have a minor problem. I want them to see that Denton can cope. So tomorrow, all leave will be cancelled. All off-duty men will be called in. And the sick list is closed.’ He stared hard at Wells, letting him know that the last comment included him. ‘I have assured the Chief Constable that the maintenance of public order will be our number one priority.’
‘Priority even over our murder investigations?’ asked Frost in his deceptively innocent voice.
‘Of course a murder case takes precedence,’ barked Mullett, ‘but you will manage with the barest minimum.’ He jerked his head away from Frost and gave Gilmore the full benefit of his white flashing smile. ‘The Chief Constable was delighted when I told him of your success in the Compton case, Sergeant.’ He beamed. ‘There was some mention of him writing you a personal letter of commendation.’ He noticed that Frost looked unhappy at this. Jealousy, of course. His assistant had succeeded where he had failed. ‘That will be all, gentlemen.’
In the corridor outside, Frost grabbed Gilmore’s arm. ‘Has the Bradbury bird confessed yet, son?’
‘No,’ Gilmore told him. ‘But we don’t need a confession. The forensic evidence is overwhelming. The death threat letters definitely came from that magazine… they even confirm they were cut out by her own scissors. We’ve found identical notepaper and envelopes in her flat and the marks on the garage floor are definitely consistent with cans of petrol being stored there. We’ve got motive, opportunity and strong evidence. What more do we want
‘I’m not happy about this one,’ said Frost.
Gilmore bit back the urge to say ‘tough’. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Inspector, I’m on my way to see Mrs Compton. I want to tell her the good news.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Frost.
‘Why?’ asked Gilmore, icily. It was his case. He didn’t want Frost along.
‘Just for the ride, son. I haven’t seen a decent pair of nipples all day.’
Ada Perkins wasn’t very welcoming. Her vinegar expression and sharp sniff of disapproval showed them exactly what she thought of them barging in on her patient. She marched them into the living-room where a washed-out-looking Jill Compton in a thick towelling dressing gown sat staring into, a roaring fire.
‘Good to see you up and about,’ said Frost, sinking into the other comfortable chair.
Gilmore dragged a hard kitchen chair over and sat opposite her. ‘How are you feeling, Mrs Compton?’
‘It hasn’t really sunk in yet. Everyone’s being so kind.’
Gilmore moved his chair closer. ‘I’ve some news for you. We’ve arrested Mrs Jean Bradbury for the murder of your husband.’
She stared at him in total disbelief. ‘Bradbury? You mean the wife of that man who tried to pick that fight with Mark?”
‘Yes. She moved into Denton some weeks ago.’
‘But why should she want to harm Mark?’
Gilmore looked at Frost, hoping the inspector would want to tell her of her late husband’s infidelity, but, for a change, Frost seemed content to lean back and listen. He took a deep breath. ‘Your husband was having an affair with her.’
She shrank back as if he had struck her, and stared wide-eyed, uncomprehending. ‘No,’ she whispered at last. ‘Oh no!’
‘I’m afraid it’s a fact,’ continued Gilmore doggedly. ‘He even promised her he would divorce you and marry her. When he broke off the relationship, she began this hate campaign. Jean Bradbury started the fire last night. She killed your husband.’
Jill Compton shivered even though the room was sweltering. ‘No,’ she said firmly, as if trying to convince herself. ‘I don’t believe you. My husband would never look at another woman.’ Then she covered her face with her hands and hers body shook. ‘This is more than I can stand. I’ve lost every thing… my home… my husband … and now you tell me he was unfaithful.’
Gilmore turned his head away in embarrassment. He didn’t know how to handle crying women. Frost leant forward to pat her arm sympathetically. ‘There were lots of, things your husband didn’t tell you, Mrs Compton. This may come as a bit of a shock to you, but did he tell you that your business was bankrupt?’
Her expression was one of utter bewilderment. ‘Bankrupt? That’s nonsense. We had a thriving business.’
‘It was thriving so much,’ Frost told her, ‘that your husband had to borrow small sums of money from his mistress… and then paid her back, with cheques that bounced.’
She shook her head defiantly. ‘You’re wrong. We had no secrets. Mark would have told me.’
‘I’m afraid I’m right.’ Frost patted her arm again. ‘I was in Bennington’s Bank today. One of the cashiers there owes me a favour and he accidentally left your business file on his desk and then went out for a few minutes. He must have completely forgotten what a nosy bastard I am.’ He dug deep in his pocket and fished out a crumpled scrap of paper. ‘I’ve scribbled down the details. The Old Mill is in hock to the bank as security for unpaid loans, your current account is?17,000 in the red and creditors galore are breathing down your neck.’ He stuffed the paper back in his pocket. ‘My friend in the bank is a bit of a cynic. He said the only thing that could have saved your bacon was an insurance policy and a bloody good fire. Well, we’ve had the fire. Do you know the details of your insurance, Mrs Compton?’ He offered her his cigarette packet.
‘I know nothing of the financial side of the business. Mark handled all that.’ Distractedly, she accepted a cigarette, looked at it in puzzlement and pushed it back in the packet.
‘Then I can enlighten you,’ said Frost, striking a match against the fire surround. ‘A mate of mine works for your insurance company. He tells me that the building and the contents are insured against fire, theft, explosion, earthquakes and stampeding cattle for the sum of?350,000.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Neither could I,’ said Frost. ‘I doubt if there was more than a couple of thousand pounds’ worth of stock in the entire house… and, even that wasn’t paid for.’ Again he patted her hand. ‘You’re a very lucky woman, Mrs Compton.’
‘Do you think I give a damn about the money?’ she asked incredulously. ‘I want my husband. I want my home. That spiteful bitch of a woman…’
‘I’ve got more bad news for you,’ said Frost. ‘That spiteful bitch had nothing to do with the fire.’
Jill Compton shifted her gaze from Frost to Gilmore who was seething in his chair. Why the hell was the swine undermining him like this?
‘Your husband started the fire,’ continued Frost. ‘It was an insurance fiddle. One last throw to clear all the debts and make a dirty great profit. It was your husband who was sending all the death threats and the wreath and doing all the damage.’
‘This is ridiculous. Why would he do that?’
