he had to grab the Bentley for support.
Kitty threw back her head and laughed. 'You're too bloody drunk to drive. Hop in my car. I'll park your heap down that side street, then I'll take you back to my place and try to sober you up.'
Her place was down a murky side road leading off Vicarage Terrace. From the outside it looked down at heel and scruffy, just like Frost, but the front door was fitted with the most sophisticated security lock, a lock which looked as if it cost more than the house.
'Through here, Jack.' The hall light was on and the inside was a revelation, everything new and expensive… very expensive. She took his arm and steered him through to the lounge where she sat him down on a deeply cushioned chesterfield and pushed a solid silver cigarette box towards him. She retired to the kitchen while he sat, feeling warm and happy, savouring the rich coffee smell that floated through the open door. Kitty emerged carrying a tray holding cups, saucers and a percolator. Two cups of hot, steaming black coffee were poured and then she settled down in the armchair opposite him, sipping from her cup and watching him drink.
'It's flaming hot,' said Frost.
'Stop your bloody moaning- just drink it.'
He spooned in a shovelful of sugar and stirred. He hated black coffee. 'So you packed the old game in then, Kitty?'
'I had to, Jack. I was getting past it.'
He sipped and swallowed. 'I'm well past it, but I'm still carrying on.'
'My,' she said, pulling a face, 'we are feeling sorry for ourselves, aren't we?'
A wry grin. 'I was, but not any more.' He unwound his scarf and unbuttoned his mac, then drained his cup in one gulp and shuddered as if he had taken a dose of medicine. To his dismay she leant over and immediately refilled his cup. He ladled in more sugar and took a sample sip. 'Whatever men found irresistible about you, Kitty, it certainly wasn't your lousy coffee… It tastes like horse pee.'
'You're always moaning. Just drink it down and sober up. I'm not sending you back to your wife in that state.'
'My wife's dead.'
Her expression changed. 'Oh Jack, I am sorry. It must be lonely for you without her.'
'I was lonely with her, love. We didn't get on too well, I'm afraid.' He loosened his tie and tugged at the tight, petrified knot. The heat was counteracting the sobering effects of the coffee.
She shook her head sadly. 'You poor old sod. You can stay here tonight if you like.'
'Eh?' said Frost, feeling everything coming back to life again.
'If you're going deaf, Jack, forget it. I don't sleep with deaf men.' Rising from the armchair she collected the coffee cups and carried them back to the kitchen. When she returned, she studied him, her head to one side, hands on well-padded hips. 'You wouldn't look so bad if you got yourself a decent suit.'
Frost looked down at his jacket and scrubbed away a patch of spilt coffee. 'I thought this was a decent suit. I paid a bomb for it.'
'When before the First World War? Look at it — frayed cuffs, your trousers all shiny. And there's a button coming off your sleeve. I'll sew it on for you if you like.'
He fingered the loose button. 'You sew as well?'
She gave a smile full of meaning. 'You'd be surprised at the little services I can perform.'
He was in the mood for being surprised. Sod the kidnapper. Sod Mullett. Sod everything. He stood up and moved towards her and that was the moment Control chose to page him.
'Control to Inspector Frost. Come in, please.'
The sudden strange voice made Kitty start. 'What the hell is that?'
Frost fished the radio from his pocket and sighed deeply. 'It's an electronic chastity belt.' He pressed the transmit button. 'Frost here, over.'
'Can you come back right away, inspector. We've got a man on the phone claiming to be the kidnapper. He's demanding to speak to the investigating officer… Hold on.' There was a brief pause, then Lambert was back sounding excited. 'We've traced the call to the public phone box outside the main post office. He's still on the line. Jordan and Simms are investigating.'
'I'm on my way,' said Frost. He stuffed the radio back in his pocket, then looked regretfully at the Woman. 'Sorry, love. It's not only my button that's going to be left dangling. Duty calls.'
'Well, you know where I am,' she said, helping him on with his mac and brushing cigarette ash from the collar.
But as the front door closed behind him, she knew he wouldn't be back.
The kidnapper call was a hoax. The caller was blind drunk and was being egged on by his equally drunk mate. They were both brought back to the station and charged with wasting police time.
A disappointed Frost drove back home and tried to get some sleep, but Kitty's black coffee kept him awake until just before the alarm went off.
Thirteen
He arrived at the station early, anxious to check progress and then get well out of the way before Mullett arrived. Liz had beaten him to it and was already at her desk, hunched up over a stack of reports and a complicated-looking form which she was meticulously filling in. The office smouldered with her resentment.
Frost peeked over her shoulder. She was doing the quarterly crime clear-up rate statistical return. 'I thought Mr. Cassidy was doing this?'
'No,' she snapped. 'I've been ordered to do them.'
Frost rasped a match down the front of the filing cabinet. He offered a cigarette to Liz, who refused. 'Too much to hope the boy's been returned?'
'I wouldn't know I'm only the clerical assistant.' She fanned away the smoke which was drifting over her figures.
He thought he'd better take a chance and give Cordwell a ring in case the kidnapper had made contact, but at that hour of the morning, all he got was the answer phone He hung up, frowned and then yelled, 'The answer phone Of course the bloody answer-phone!'
'Eh?' said Liz tetchily. She'd hoped that by coming in early she could get the return done without interruption.
'The answer phone repeated Frost. 'Something's been bugging me about Graver's alibi and I've just realized what it was.'
'Oh yes?' she said, flatly. He should be telling Cassidy, not her. She was only fit to fill in forms. 'Don't forget we're going to see the woman in the cottage this morning.'
'What woman?' frowned Frost.
'Primrose Cottage where Lemmy Hoxton was supposed to have pulled his last job.'
'Later,' said Frost, impatiently. 'One case at a time. You spoke to their boss about his phone call to the store that night, didn't you? What did he say?'
She paused, pen hovering over a column of figures, and sighed. How many more times was he going to go over the same ground? She put the pen down and checked her notebook. 'He spoke to Mark Grover just before midnight, which was round about the time his wife was killed and round about the time the neighbours heard the sounds of a quarrel.' She snapped the notebook shut and went back to the return where she was trying to transfer some of Frost's figures to the main sheet. 'Is this a three or a five?'
Frost squinted at it and shook his head. 'Could be either. Does it really matter?'
Another sigh. Frost's figures were probably spurious anyway, so what the hell did it matter. She made it a five.
'The point is,' Frost continued stubbornly, 'on the night the kids were killed I asked young Collier to phone the store to check with the security guard. But all he got was the answer phone The phones are switched off at night. So how could their boss phone them?'
Liz tapped her teeth with her pen. 'But why should he he?'
