you in when I get back.'
'Snags?' roared Mullett. 'What snags?'
But Frost had switched off.
The junior house doctor, looking dead tired, came into the waiting-room. 'Inspector Frost?'
Frost stood up, pinching out the cigarette and dropping it into his mac pocket. 'How is he?'
'He's had a nasty knock. Mild concussion, nothing serious. We'll keep an eye on him tonight, but he can go home tomorrow.'
'Is he conscious?'
'Yes, but I'd prefer it if you didn't question him tonight.'
'Your preference noted, doc, but I've got a missing seven-year-old kid…'
The doctor shrugged and pointed to the end bed where a young nurse was twitching back the curtains. He yawned again. He was too tired to argue.
Frost shuffled over to the bed. He too was tired. It had been a long day and the adrenaline that had kept him hyped up while they were waiting for the money to be collected was now drained by failure and he felt ready to drop. The little nurse smiled. She recognized him. The number of visits he had made at night to the hospital. The times they had called him in because they hadn't thought his wife would last out until the morning, but she had hung on. There was an empty bed in the centre of the row, its clean white sheets folded back. He wished he could just climb in and go straight off to sleep. But Mullett was waiting for him back at the station. There was a bollocking to be got through before he could enjoy the luxury of sleep.
The clipboard at the foot of the bed read: 'Henry Alan Finch, aged 66.' There were figures for temperature and blood pressure and a scribbled prescription for pain killers.
Finch looked older than when he had climbed out of the car. His face was grey, his eyes were closed and his breathing heavy, almost a snore. A rectangle of plaster covered the wound on his forehead. Plumpish, with thinning, gingerish hair and a cupped, ginger moustache, he had the appearance of a retired army officer.
Frost dragged a chair up to the bed and dropped down into it. He loosened his scarf and unbuttoned his mac. The ward was hot and he had to fight off the urge to close his own eyes and drift off to sleep. 'Mr. Finch?'
The eyes fluttered open and he winced as he swivelled his head to look at Frost. 'Who are you?'
Frost held up his warrant card. Fincn blinked at it. 'Where's my dog?'
'At the station. He's being looked after. How do you feel?'
'I'm all right. I want to go home.' He squinted down the darkened ward. 'Where's the nurse?'
'A couple of questions first. What were you doing on the common at that time of night?'
'Taking the dog for a run.'
'In the peeing rain?'
'I do it every night. There's no law against it, is there?'
'Do you always go to the common?'
'Yes.' His eyes were still focused down the ward. 'Nurse!'
'What happened tonight?'
'Some bastard attacked me knocked me out.'
'Let's take it step by step. We saw you pull up in your car.'
Finch's eyes narrowed. 'What were you doing there?'
'Never mind why we were there. You're lucky we were. You could have been lying unconscious all night and ended up with pneumonia. You pulled up in the car. You took your time getting out why?'
'The rain suddenly came down heavily. I was wondering whether to give it a miss.'
'But you didn't?'
'The dog was all excited. I didn't want to disappoint him.'
'Did you see anyone else about?'
'No.'
'There was another car parked under the trees. Did you see that?'
'No.' He gritted his teeth as he wriggled his back and tried to make himself comfortable. 'Do you want me to tell you what happened?'
'Please.'
'I was throwing the ball for the dog when it went into those bushes. I tried to get him to fetch it, but he wasn't interested, so I put him in the car and went off to look for it.'
'In all that rain? A lot of trouble for a ball.' Frost fished the well-chewed, almost bald tennis ball from his pocket and placed it on the bedside locker.
'Have you got a dog?'
'No,' admitted Frost.
'Then you don't bloody know! It was his favourite ball. If you had a dog you'd understand.'
'OK. You went behind the clump of bushes…'
'I looked for the ball when I saw this travel bag. It looked new and felt heavy. It was still fairly dry so I guessed it hadn't been there long. I decided to lug it back to the car and hand it in to the police station in the morning.'
'Very commendable,' said Frost. 'You weren't at all curious as to what might have been inside?'
Finch sighed. 'All right. I was going to take it home and force the lock. If it was full of drugs, I'd take it to the police, but if it was money.. He twitched his shoulders. 'Well, I don't know. But I never had the chance to find out how honest I was. Suddenly this lout is there. He says, 'Ah, you've found my bag… thanks very much,' and tried to get it off me.'
'Did you give it to him?'
'No, I damn well didn't. So he threatened me. He said, 'If you don't want to get hurt, grand ad just hand it over,' and he balls his fists as if he's going to hit me. Me I was in the war. I fought for bastards like him. 'Just you try it, sonny,' I said. So he shrugs as if to say 'You win' and makes to go. Like a silly sod I turned my back on him and, wham!' he's belted me with a brick or something. I hit the ground with a thud. The next thing I knew I was in the ambulance.'
'Can you describe him?'
'About five foot nine, clean-shaven and a sneer on his bloody face.'
'How old, do you reckon?'
'I don't know mid-twenties, I suppose.'
'Colour of hair?'
'Couldn't see he wore one of those anorak things with the hood up.'
'What colour anorak?'
'Dark blue, red lining and sort of rabbit's fur round the hood.'
'Trousers?'
'Dark darkish… didn't pay much attention to them. But I'll tell you something. I'd recognize him anywhere. Let me get near him when he hasn't got a brick in his hand, I'll show the little swine.'
Frost was now beaming. 'You'd recognize him?'
'Like a bloody shot!'
Frost jumped up. He wasn't tired now. 'Nurse get this gentleman his clothes. He's coming with me.'
The dog, sensing its master was in the station, was yapping almost hysterically. Sergeant Wells let it into the interview room where it went mad, jumping up at Finch, its stumpy tail a blur. Finch was settled down at the table with a cup of tea from the vending machine and the books of photographs placed in front of him. 'Take your time,' said Frost. 'If you're not sure, just say so.'
'If he's in your books, I'll spot him,' said Finch, firmly. He took a swig at the tea, patted the dog which was now stretched out on the floor at his feet, and turned the first page. Frost left him with Button and went into his office.
Another batch of paperwork had been heaped in his in-tray, most of it nagging rubbish from Mullett. Didn't the sod have anything better to do? He flopped heavily into his chair, lit up a cigarette and pulled the tray towards him, at the same time dragging the wastepaper basket over with his foot. The first three were Mullett memos beginning 'When may I expect…?' 'You can expect whenever you flaming well like,' he muttered, 'but you're not going to get.' He screwed them into a ball and flipped them into the bin. The fourth was again from Mullett: 'I have
