repeatedly asked for…' It joined the others.
'Ah Frost, there you are! I've been waiting for you in my office.'
Heck! Hornrim flaming Harry! He had been putting off attending the old log cabin for his bollocking until he had some good news from Finch to take the edge off it.
'I was just coming, super.'
Mullett eyed the screwed-up balls of paper in the waste-paper bin. They looked suspiciously like the memos he had dictated earlier. 'I sent you some memos,' he said.
'Did you?' said Frost, all wide-eyed and innocent. 'I haven't come across them yet.' He jumped from his chair and footed the waste bin under his desk. 'What was it you wanted to see me about?' He followed Mullett to his office.
Mullett went on and on. Frost managed to shut most of it out, but the words 'fiasco', 'ill-conceived', 'sloppy', 'utter disgrace', kept filtering through. The old log cabin, like the hospital, was overheated and that, plus Mullett's droning, was sending him to sleep. His head began to droop, then snapped up as his auto-pilot told him Mullett was expecting an answer.
'Sorry, super… won't happen again,' he muttered, hoping it was the right response.
'Sorry! Sorry isn't good enough,' said Mullett, getting his second wind.
Isn't it, thought Frost, then what about 'balls'? How was this helping? He was just working himself up to the point where he was going to tell Mullett to stuff his flaming job when he was saved by the bell. The phone.
Annoyed at being interrupted, Mullett snatched at it. 'Mullett,' he barked. A look of alarm crossed his face. He clapped a hand over the mouthpiece. 'It's Sir Richard
Cordwell,' he hissed. Back to the phone. 'Hello, Sir Richard… Yes, I've just got into the office and I believe that what you say is correct. I know he gave his word… I shall look into it… I don't know the details… I wasn't involved, of course… No, disappointingly the man got away… No, regretfully we have no idea who he is.. He eased the phone away from his ear and the buzzing of angry invective crackled round the room. At a pause for breath from the other end, Mullett smiled ingratiatingly into the mouthpiece and asked, 'I suppose the kidnapper hasn't contacted you with news of the boy's release?' He winced and pulled the phone away again as another molten lava of abuse erupted from the earpiece. 'No contact from the kidnapper,' he hissed superfluously to Frost. Back to the phone. 'Yes, Sir Richard, but I don't really think you can blame us… Oh come.. that's hardly fair…' His feeble interjections were receiving short shrift.
The internal phone buzzed and, at Mullett's signalling, Frost, who was wondering if this might not be a good opportunity to slip out, answered it. An excited Burton. 'Mr. Finch has made an identification. We're checking it out now.'
'Is he sure?' said Frost, waving down Mullett who was signalling for him to be quiet.
'He says he's bloody positive.'
He put the phone down and waved to Mullett who again slapped his hand over the mouthpiece. 'We could have an identification. If so, we could make the arrest tonight.'
Mullett hesitated. 'Is he definite?'
'He says he's positive. I'm checking on it now.'
A deep sigh of relief from Mullett who conveyed this information to Cordwell. 'I'll be back to you very shortly,' he assured him. 'You'll be the first to know, Sir Richard.' He replaced the phone and gave it a little satisfied pat. 'I'll come with you,' he said.
He followed Frost back to the interview room where a smugly self-satisfied Finch was leaning back in his chair, his hand ruffling the neck of his dog. 'Definitely him,' he told Frost proudly. 'I'd know him anywhere. I never forget a face.'
Mullett beamed and gave the dog a couple of tentative pats while Frost studied the details under a photograph of a scowling youth. Richard Francis Hartley, aged twenty-four. Lots of petty of fences scaling up to robbery with violence for which he had served a two-year stretch. Not one of Frost's arrests, so he couldn't place him, but from his mug shot, he looked a real right charmer.
The door opened and Burton looked in. He caught Frost's eye and beckoned, at the same time giving the thumbs-down sign to signal it was not good news. A dismayed Frost went to sidle out but Mullett wanted to hear the good news first hand and called Burton in.
'A slight complication,' said Burton. 'The man Mr. Finch positively identified is in the remand centre at Bister. He's been there for the past two weeks.'
Mullett glared at Frost whose fault this clearly was. 'Typical,' he snapped. 'Damn typical!'
'I could have sworn it was him,' said Finch, completely unabashed. 'If it wasn't him, it was someone very much like him.'
'The courts don't go much on lookalikes said Frost. 'They insist on the real thing.'
'Sorry,' shrugged Finch, taking the dog's lead.
'Never mind,' smiled Frost through clenched teeth. 'We'll catch him.'
'When you do,' said Finch, 'just give me a shout. I'll identify him.'
'Or someone very much like him,' added Frost as the door closed. 'Stupid old sod.' He dropped into the chair vacated by Finch. The tiredness was back.
'Tonight's stupidity was not confined to him,' said Mullett significantly.
Frost was too tired to come up with an answer. He could barely make the V sign as Mullett left. From outside he could hear Finch's dog yapping. Bloody dog. It had the chance to bite Mullett and didn't do so. He took another look at the photograph Finch had identified. 'I suppose he hasn't got a twin brother who's done time for kidnapping?'
Burton grinned and shook his head. 'A sister on the game, that's all.'
A match flared as Frost scratched it down the side of the table and lit up. 'Not one of my better days, son. We don't know who the kidnapper is, we've lost the money and the kid isn't back. On the credit side, Mullett isn't very happy, but even that doesn't entirely cheer me up.' The interview door opened and Cassidy came in. Frost forced a smile of welcome. 'You've heard about Finch's identification?'
'Yes, rotten luck,' said Cassidy, in a tone completely devoid of sympathy. 'We've got Snell.'
'Good,' said Frost. He was too bloody tired to care. 'Where was he?'
'PC Jordan spotted him driving away from his mother's place. He went back to collect his things. They're bringing him in now.'
'Terrific!'
'I'd like to do the questioning.'
'Sure.' He wasn't going to fight over the questioning. All he wanted to do was go to bed. In any event, he wasn't sold on the idea that Snell had killed the woman and the kids. He stood up and wound his scarf round his neck. 'See you in the morning.'
'Yes,' agreed Cassidy. 'In the morning.'
A tap at the door. 'Do you want Snell in here?' asked Wells.
Cassidy nodded. He decided to ignore the lack of a 'sir' or 'inspector'. 'Yes, sergeant. Bring him in.' He quickly sat down in the chair vacated by Frost in case the inspector decided to stay after all, then smiled in anticipation as Jordan and Simms ushered in Snell. He looked frightened. None of his cockiness from the previous day remained. It was Frost he turned to.
'I didn't do it, Mr. Frost. I never touched them.'
Frost pointed to Cassidy. 'This is the gentleman you tell your lies to tonight, Sidney.'
Cassidy indicated the chair opposite him. 'Sit down.'
As Snell dragged out the chair, his coat sleeve rode up showing the edge of the bandage round his wrist. Frost grabbed his arm and pulled the sleeve back further. 'Hurt yourself, Sidney?'
Snell snatched his arm away. 'Cut myself,' he muttered.
'What with the edge of a sharp bible?'
Cassidy showed concern as Frost started to unwind his scarf as if he had decided to stay. There was no way he was going to let Frost elbow his way in for a share of the limelight. 'I'll see you in the morning, then, inspector.'
Frost took the hint and, with a brief nod, wandered out to the car-park. He heard hurrying footsteps clattering down the corridor behind: a grim-faced Mullett in his tailored overcoat was determined to get out of the station
