door swung ajar. Frost pushed it gently, then flapped his hand for the torch to be extinguished. Floorboards creaking above. Someone was moving about upstairs.
A muffled voice. Then a scream. A long, chilling, almost animal-like scream of pain.
'Come on!' yelled Frost.
They rushed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. A crack of orange seeped out weakly from under a door on the landing. They charged through it, into a room, its windows boarded, the darkness eased only by a candle stuck on the mantelpiece. In the flickering light they could just make out the back of a man bending over someone on the floor. A girl. A young girl. The room still echoed from her screaming.
At their entry, the man swung round, candlelight glinting off the knife in his hand.
Shit! thought Frost. Not another bloody knife!
He advanced gingerly, jerking back as the knife blade slashed the air, just missing him. The man's eyes were wild. He didn't seem to be in control of himself. 'Keep back or I'll rip you open…'
'Drop it.' Liz had managed to work her way behind him and had grabbed the knife arm. Furiously, he tried to shake her off, but she hung on with bulldog tenacity and forced the arm back. 'Drop the knife or I'll break your arm.' With a howl of rage he again tried to shake her off. A sickening cracking sound and a shriek of pain, then a clatter as the knife dropped to the ground. Frost, for the second time that day, scooped it up.
'Leave him alone, you bitch,' screamed the girl from the floor.
'Police,' announced Frost, flashing his warrant card. 'Are you all right, love?'
The girl was lying on the floor covered with a couple of coats. Her face was glistening with sweat and her lip was bleeding where she had bitten it.
A yelp of pain from the man as Liz snapped handcuffs on his wrists. 'You've broken my bloody arm.'
Frost ignored him. He was more concerned with the girl. 'What did he do to you, love?'
Her lips moved as if she was going to answer, then her eyes widened and she opened her mouth and shrieked, arching her back, almost shaking off the coats that covered her.
Frost yelled to Liz, 'Get an ambulance.' As she radioed through, he bent over and pulled the coats from the girl, then his jaw sagged. 'Shit!.. She's having a bloody baby!'
Liz stood frozen to the spot, still gripping her handcuffed prisoner. The girl was now in convulsions, sweating and shaking from the pain and the terror at what was happening to her fourteen-year-old body. Her head thrashed from side to side as convulsion after convulsion racked her.
Frost moved back. He felt helpless. He didn't know what to do. He didn't even want to stay in the same room. He beckoned to Liz. 'Help her!'
Liz's face drained of colour. She went as white as
Frost. 'I don't know anything about having babies.'
Frost buzzed Burton on the radio. 'She's having a baby. Can you help?'
'Yes,' said Burton.
'Then bloody get up here and quick.' The airless room was becoming hot and suffocating, smelling of blood and sweat and burning candle. Liz looked ready to pass out.
'Take him to the car,' yelled Frost. He didn't want another patient on his hands. He turned back to the girl, who was gripping his wrist, her nails digging into his flesh, hurting as the pain forced another scream out of her. 'Come on, Burton,' pleaded Frost aloud. 'Come on…!' The sound of the baby crying coincided with the approaching siren of the ambulance as it turned into the street.
Six
'Any joy?' Wells asked as Frost mooched in.
'They had the bleeding joy nine months ago,' said Frost. He filled Wells in on what had happened. 'Fourteen years old. Too young to buy a packet of fags, but not too young to have a baby.' He shook his head sadly and dug in his pockets for his own cigarettes. Only three left. Another forage into the superintendent's office was called for. 'Is Hornrim Harry in?'
His question was answered by the booming voice of Mullett who came striding through the swing doors, beaming all over his face. 'I understand Cassidy has cracked the Lemmy Hoxton killing. That's what I like to see, Frost, quick results something that is sadly lacking in other officers.' He gave the inspector his meaningful stare which Frost pretended not to understand.
'Are you telling me Maggie Hoxton has confessed to killing her old man?' asked Frost.
'Not confessed as such, but it's just a matter of time. Mr. Cassidy tells me it's an open and shut case. She never reported him missing, she's been forging his name on cheques and if that wasn't bad enough, she's been buying young boys for immoral purposes. Even without a confession we've got the strongest possible case.'
'I never knew she'd been forging his cheques,' said Frost.
Mullett gave his thin sour smile. 'Sergeant Hanlon found evidence of it in the house. You really should keep yourself up to date, inspector. You are supposed to be in overall charge.' He spun on his heel to return to the old log cabin, tightening his lips and pretending not to hear what sounded suspiciously like a moist raspberry.
Frost hurtled down the other corridor to the incident room to find Arthur Hanlon sitting at one of the desks making a list of the contents of a large cardboard box which contained items found during the search of Lemmy's house. 'Who's been crawling round Mullett telling him things I don't know, Arthur?'
'The forged cheques, you mean? I've only just found them, Jack. I haven't even had a chance to let Acting Inspector Cassidy know yet.' He stressed the word 'acting'. 'Look at this first.'
He showed Frost a sheet of lined notepaper on which someone had been writing the signature 'Lemmy Hoxton' over and over again, getting more like the real thing each time. Then he produced a white envelope and tipped out the contents a wad of cancelled cheques returned by the bank. Frost riffled through them. They were all dated later than the date of Lemmy's death. 'Here's an old cheque,' said Hanlon, pushing it across. 'That is a genuine Lemmy. These later ones are forgeries.'
Frost studied them and nodded. 'Maggie must have been bloody sure Lemmy wasn't coming back to have tried this lark. What else have you got in the box? If it's worth having, we share it fifty-fifty.'
Hanlon grinned and hauled out a carrier bag which he tipped on the desk. 'This was poked behind Lemmy's cold water tank. A few old friends there from the stolen property list.'
Frost poked through the pile of assorted bric-a-brac; necklaces, compact cases, dubious-looking strings of pearls, wads of family photographs, letters tied with ribbon. There was a rolled gold cigarette lighter which Frost flicked a couple of times, dropping it back when it refused to work. 'Nothing worth pinching here. Hello, what's this?' A small, black rexine-covered case, the letters DFM in gold on the lid. He opened it. On a bed of blue plush was a medallion. He took it from the case and examined it. The Distinguished Flying Medal, awarded to Flight Sergeant J.V. Miller. Miller was the name of the old lady conned by the fake Water Board man. So Lemmy must have been involved in that scam, but he didn't match up to the description she had given. The man she described was small and thin with a moustache. He replaced the medal and pushed the case across to Hanlon. 'Let her know we've got it back. It'll cheer the poor old cow up no end.' He stood up. 'Where's Hopalong Cassidy?'
'Still questioning Maggie in No. 2 interview room.' 'I think I'll stick my nose in if only to irritate him.'
But he was too late. Cassidy had just left the interview room and PC Collier was about to escort Maggie Hoxton back to her cell. Frost beckoned him outside. 'How's it going?'
'She hasn't cracked yet, but Mr. Cassidy is sure she will.'
'Let's see if I have any luck,' said Frost. He went back into the interview room with Collier. Maggie, seated at the table, arms folded, looked up at him defiantly as he flopped into the chair opposite her and treated her to his disarming smile which immediately, put her on her guard. He pushed across a cigarette and lit up for them both. 'Things don't look too good for you, Mag.'
She smirked. 'If they look so bloody bad, why haven't I been charged? You've nothing on me, not a damn thing. Like I told that other git, we had a row, Lemmy walked out and I haven't seen him since.'
'When he walked out on you, Mag, did he say, 'Maggie, dearest, I'm never coming back, not ever'?'
'No. He slammed the door and went.'
'He didn't even do a typical, lovable Lemmy thing, like putting your hand in the door frame as he slammed it
