'Yes,' nodded Frost. 'We know it.'
'I'm one of the dealers on the blackjack tables eight in the evening until four in the morning. Not much of a job, but you've got to grab what you can get.' A cylinder of ash fell from her cigarette. She blew it off the polished table top. 'Dean gets himself to bed. I usually look in on him when I get back, but I didn't this morning. I …' She hesitated, then lowered her eyes. 'I brought a bloke back here.' She glared at Frost defiantly. 'I'm not a prostitute just now and then. I need the money.'
'Sure,' said Frost. Baskin at the Coconut Grove employed plenty of girls like her. Punters went to the casino for a gamble, then some sex, and Baskin provided both. He probably owned this flat. Frost nodded for her to go on.
'I didn't let him know I had a kid… it puts some people off. They don't even know at the Coconut Grove that I've got Dean. Me and the bloke went to bed. He left just after six this morning and I was so bloody tired, I went straight off to sleep. I didn't wake up until half an hour ago, I staggered into Dean's room to see if he wanted any breakfast. His bed hadn't been slept in.' She smashed the cigarette out in a heavy glass ashtray. 'He's got himself lost, that's what's happened. We've only been in Denton for two days. He doesn't know his way around yet.'
'When did you last see him?'
'Yesterday afternoon. He was fed up being stuck in here on his own, so I gave him the money for the pictures. He went off about half-past two.'
The cinema! Of course, thought Frost. That would be where he bought the hamburger. Probably ate it as he watched the film. 'Weren't you worried he hadn't returned home before you left for work?'
'I had to have my hair done and be fitted for my uniform. I left here just after five. He knows how to work the microwave if he wants anything to eat.'
'How was Dean dressed when he left here?'
'Black trousers, Jurassic Park T-shirt and a red and white zip-up shell jacket and blue trainers.'
Burton noted the details. Frost showed her a photograph of Bobby Kirby. 'Would your son know this boy?'
She dragged her gaze from the window to look at it. 'I don't think he knows anyone yet. He hasn't even started school here. Why do you ask?'
'It's not important,' lied Frost, crushing out his cigarette alongside hers in the glass ashtray. He took a deep breath. Now for the moment of truth. 'Do you have a recent photograph of Dean, Mrs. Anderson?'
'Miss,' she corrected, 'not Mrs.' She reached for her handbag which hung from the back of her chair. 'Taken about three months ago. He's filled out a bit since then.'
Frost looked at it, then passed it to Burton. Burton's eyes flickered, but his expression didn't change as he handed it back. Not the slightest doubt about it. It was the dead boy.
'How old are you, love?' asked Frost.
'Twenty-four.'
Twenty-four. She would have had the boy when she was sixteen. 'Where's Dean's father?'
'With his wife back in Birmingham.'
'Does he support the boy?'
'No. He claims Dean isn't his. I can't even be sure myself.'
'Any friends, or family, who can help you?'
'No!' She stood up and glared down at him. 'Look — I don't want any help. I just want you to find my son.'
Frost stood up and took her hand. 'I've got some bad news for you, love,' he said.
She looked at him. 'How bad?'
'Bloody bad,' said Frost. 'As bad as it bloody well could be.'
She shook her head. 'No!'
'He's dead, love,' said Frost. 'We found him last night, but we didn't know who he was.'
'No,' she whispered. And then she shuddered and tears streamed down her face. 'No…'
Frost took her and held her close to him. 'You poor cow,' he said. 'You poor, poor cow…'
Four
A blown-up photograph of eight-year-old Dean Anderson, wearing the red and white zip-up shell jacket and bright yellow Jurassic Park T-shirt he was last seen alive in, grinned down at them from the wall of the murder incident room. It was a skilful combination of two photographs using another eight-year-old boy. Next to it was the enlarged school photograph of the missing Bobby Kirby.
As Frost breezed in, people swarmed around him with messages. He warded them off with a fried egg sandwich. 'I'm having my dinner.' He found an empty desk. 'Right. What have we got?'
'No luck with the missing boy, yet,' said Burton.
'I guessed that,' said Frost, digging in his pockets for a cigarette for his dessert, 'otherwise someone would have told me. What else?'
'Stacks of phone calls,' said PC Lambert, offering him a heap of scribbled messages.
Frost eyed them with distaste. 'You don't expect me to read them, do you? Anything positive?'
'All of them, if you want to believe the twenty-three people who claim to have seen him. Trouble is, there were a lot of kids just like Bobby out with guys last night. We've had so-called positive identifications all over Denton. We're following them all through.'
Frost took another bite at his sandwich. 'Right. Until something definite breaks, we've just got to pin our hopes on one of the search parties finding him. So let's concentrate on the dead kid.' He stood up and waved his sandwich at the blow-up. 'As most of you know, we've had a positive identification. Dean Anderson. His mother, Joy Anderson, is a single parent, a blackjack dealer and, for the want of a better word, a 'hostess' at the Coconut Grove. They've only been in Denton two days. The kid knew no-one here and barely knew his way around the town, although apparently he knew how to get to the cinema.' He gave them the details, pausing as the phone rang and Liz answered it.
'Search party three covering sector two. Nothing found. Now moving to sector three. Denton Woods.' She shifted a coloured pin to a new position on the wall map.
Frost went cold, remembering an earlier occasion when they were combing the woods, then in deep snow, for a missing girl, eight years old, who was dead when they found her. He uttered a silent prayer that the pattern wouldn't repeat itself with Bobby… surely one dead kid was enough? But his prayers were seldom answered these days. He turned back to the photograph. 'The first thing to do is see if the mother's story checks out. In the absence of anyone else, she's our sole suspect.'
'What possible motive would she have for killing her own son?' queried Liz.
'He could have been getting in the way when she brought men home,' said Frost. 'It puts a man off when he's half-way up a woman's leg and the kid comes in for an ice lolly.'
You callous bastard, thought Liz.
'It may not be very probable,' continued Frost, 'but let's check her out. Did anyone see the boy leave the house at the time she said? Did anyone see her leave for the Coconut Grove? What time did she get there… what time did she leave? And we'll need to question her client.'
'They don't usually leave their name and address,' Liz pointed out.
'The Coconut Grove is a gambling club you've got to be a member. And knowing the way they work, the punter probably paid for her services by credit card so he could clock up some air miles. There'll be no difficulty getting his name and address.' He shuffled through his notes. 'Someone was going to check with the cinema.'
Jordan elbowed his way through. 'I did it. They think they remember seeing Dean yesterday afternoon. They often get kids in the afternoon who have sneaked off from school. The ticket seller thinks she sold him a ticket about three-ish. The tart in the hamburger kiosk says Dean could have been one of the kids who bought food… but all kids look alike to her.'
'Right.' Frost took a last bite at his sandwich before hurling the crust in the bin. He wiped his fingers on his jacket and lit up the cigarette before sitting down again. 'Let's assume he went to the cinema around three and saw
