before midnight this morning, but couldn't be sure if it was coming from this bungalow or not. Oh the woman at number 22 said she was getting undressed a couple of nights ago when she saw a man staring in at her through the window.'
'Did she report it to the police?' asked Cassidy.
'No she didn't think we'd do anything about it.'
'How well she knows us,' grunted Frost. 'Any description?'
'No. She screamed and he legged it.'
Frost nodded. 'Thank you, constable. You've been sod all help.' He looked up as Collier returned to report he had tried to phone Bonley's but could only get the answer phone
'Send a car round,' ordered Frost. 'I want to know what time Collard and the husband arrived and what time they left and check that they were there all the time.'
'You're surely not suggesting they've got anything to do with this?' asked Hanlon.
'Just being thorough,' replied Frost. 'Mr. Mullett suggested I gave it a try in case the novelty appealed to me.'
Cassidy finished his tea in silence, staying aloof from the others, then went back into the children's bedroom. He wanted to take a thorough look around. He was bending over the body of the three-year-old Dennis when he spotted something that Frost, in his usual slapdash manner, had missed. On the upper arm of the pyjama jacket, a small stain. A bloodstain. His eyes glinted. Very gently, he lifted the arm and tugged back the sleeve until he could see a small blob of blood from a recent wound on the upper arm. It looked as if Dennis Grover had been jabbed with something sharp, exactly the same as the little girl in the other bungalow.
He pulled the pyjama sleeve down and lowered the tiny arm. What to do about it? He smiled grimly and decided he would keep this titbit to himself for the time being. He began feeling happy for the first time since he arrived in Denton.
Cassidy walked back to the dining-room where Frost was staring moodily up at the ceiling. 'I'll take over now,' he said.
'Thanks,' said Frost, trying not to sound too grateful. This was the sort of case he was only too happy to give up. Not much satisfaction in arresting a poor bitch of a mother who just couldn't take any more and getting her locked away in a mental institution.
He bumped into Liz Maud in the hall. 'Sorry I'm late getting here,' she told him. 'I lost my way. I couldn't find Cresswell Street on my map.'
'Apologize to the bloke who kicked you out of your office,' said Frost. 'He's in charge now.'
He walked back to his car, deaf to the questions of the waiting reporters. Then everyone's attention was diverted by the arrival of a gleaming black Rolls-Royce. Flash guns fired as Drysdale and his secretary walked into the bungalow. They flashed again when the bodies were brought out, bodies so tiny the undertaker was able to accommodate all three in a single coffin shell.
Frost drove back past the golf course, all silver and black in the moonlight. The flag on the club house was whipped out stiff and straight by the wind. No longer any sign of police with torches looking for the mother. The search had proved fruitless.
He detoured to skirt Denton Woods, a place where the mother might make for. His headlights picked out the odd small animal furtively crossing the road, but no sign of the woman. He shivered and turned up the heater. Something white caught his eye, something moving behind one of the bushes. He braked sharply, but it was only a plastic carrier bag blown by the wind.
As he turned into Bath Street he caught sight of the blue lamp outside the police station. He reversed and drove into the car-park. It would be warmer there than in his cold, empty house. He found the station a relaxing place to be in the wee, small hours when the phones were quiet, the office empty, and he could prowl around and read the contents of other people's in-trays to see what was going on. And best of all there was no Mullett to keep finding fault with everything he did.
'Nasty business with those kids,' said Wells, taking the offered cigarette.
'Yes,' grunted Frost. 'Any tea on the go?' He was munching away at the tuna fish sandwich Wells had brought in for his own consumption. The canteen wouldn't open until five so the night shift had to fend for themselves.
Wells clicked on the wall switch with his foot. The kettle was already plugged in. 'Did I tell you that Mullett's got me working here on Christmas Day again?'
'Yes, I believe you did mention it,' said Frost. It was Wells's sole flaming topic of conversation these days. Frost was not really sympathetic. He always got the Christmas Day shift, but didn't mind. It was just like any other day to him with the added bonus of the absence of the Divisional Commander.
'I'm going to have it out with him,' continued Wells. 'I can be driven just so far.' He picked up a written message. 'We've had two more sightings of the missing boy one in Manchester and one in Sunderland.'
'Thanks,' grunted Frost gloomily, stuffing the message in his pocket. 'In a couple of hours we start dragging the canals and the lakes. God knows how many dead dogs and horses we're going to turn up.' He watched Wells drop a tea-bag in each of two mugs and fill them with hot water and his mind drifted back to the bungalow. 'That place was spotless. The nippers were well nourished… clean… bags of toys.' He sighed. 'Poor cow. Better if we do find her dead. How can you carry on living knowing you've killed your own kids?'
Wells nodded sympathetically as he brought out the carton of milk. Then he stiffened. He had heard something. A car door slamming in the car-park. 'That sounds like Mullett's car.'
'You're just trying to frighten me,' said Frost.
But it was Mullett, shiny and polished in his uniform, chin pink and smooth and freshly shaved. 'I've just come from Cresswell Street.'
'Ah!' Frost gave a knowing nod. Cassidy must have told the publicity-hungry Mullett that the press and TV boys were there in force with half a million quid's worth of Japanese cameras. 'Get your photograph taken, did you, super?'
Mullett smoothed his moustache. 'I thought it advisable to take advantage of the TV cameras to appeal for help in tracing the mother.' He flashed a smug smile. 'I think it went very well. It'll be shown on breakfast television.'
That should put people off their cornflakes, thought Frost.
'Ah, tea!' beamed Mullett. 'You must have known I was coming, sergeant.' He picked up the mug Wells had poured for himself. 'I'll take it with me.' His smile clicked off abruptly. 'And I'd like a word in my office, Frost… now!' He spun on his heels and marched up the corridor.
'He's found out about the fags,' said Frost, horrified.
'Don't implicate me,' called Wells. 'I had nothing to do with it.' He looked at the cigarette smoking in his hand and quickly stubbed it out.
But it wasn't about the cigarettes. 'Sit down,' began Mullett, but he was too late, as usual. Frost had already slumped into one of the visitor's chairs, putting his mug of hot tea on the polished top of Mullett's desk. Mullett hastily put a sheet of blotting paper under it.
'Cassidy seems to think these unfortunate children might not have been killed by their mother.'
'Oh?' said Frost. 'First I've heard about it.'
'He detects strong similarities between these killings and the spate of child stabbings we've had over the past weeks.'
'Stabbings?' said Frost. 'The kids were asphyxiated.'
'There was a stab wound on the eldest boy's upper arm.'
Frost frowned. 'I never spotted it.'
'But Cassidy did. We're fortunate in having him, Frost, otherwise goodness knows what vital clues might be missed.'
'Kids always get knocks and scratches,' said Frost.
'This was definitely a stabbing wound… and the Home Office Pathologist says it was inflicted after death.'
That bastard Cassidy, thought Frost. He's deliberately kept this from me. 'No doubt when we find the mother she'll tell us what happened.'
'If the mother was responsible. Cassidy is beginning to suspect Sidney Snell.'
'Snell? Rubbish!'
