'No, in a grey Ford Escort. There was a girl with him. She drove.'
'Did she come in with him?'
'No, she waited outside.'
'Then what?'
'I showed him the motor it was parked where the Rover is now and I gave him a test drive round the block. He had a look at the engine and gave the tyres a kick. He asked how much I'd knock off for cash as if I'd take a bleeding cheque! He told me he'd had a win on the horses. I said, Then it's your double lucky day because I'll let it go for six-five. He said, 'Done'. We shook hands and he fetched a plastic carrier bag from the Ford. I brought him in the house to give him the logbook and his receipt, while the wife tipped the money out and counted it. There was a fiver short, but I wasn't going to quibble over a lousy fiver. He took the log-book and his receipt, then drove off, followed by the tart in the Ford. End of story.'
The two uniformed men came in from the garden. 'Nothing,' they reported.
'You come back in a couple of days' time,' Mayhew told them. 'If I lay my hands on the bastard you'll find his body buried there.'
Burton also reported he had found nothing in the lounge, but Frost didn't seem too worried. 'If you gave him a receipt, you'll have his name and address?'
They followed Mayhew back to the lounge where he tugged open a sideboard drawer overflowing with papers. He gave Frost the carbon copy. 'Jack Roberts, 187 Kitchener Street, Denton.'
Frost passed it to Burton. 'See if we know him.'
Burton moved to the back of the room and whispered into his radio while Frost stubbed out his cigarette in the motor tyre ashtray. 'Describe him,' he said.
Mayhew thought for a moment. 'Twenty-five, twenty-six. Hair in a pony tail. Not much meat on him… slim build, about five feet eleven. He was wearing jeans… frayed cuffs, dirty trainers.'
'A bloody Beau Brummell,' said Frost. 'You weren't surprised he had six and a half grand on him?'
'Nothing surprises me in this game.'
'When we pick him up, I'll want you to identify him.'
'If I get to him first, he'll be the man with his dick ripped off.'
Frost grinned. Things were going right for a change. With luck they could make their arrest and have the kid back within the hour. He looked up expectantly as Burton clicked off the radio. But the expression on the constable's face sent his hopes nose diving to the ground.
'House numbers in Kitchener Street only go up to 92,' reported Burton. 'That name and address are as phoney as his money.'
Fourteen
Frost sat on the corner of the desk in the briefing room, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. He filled everyone in on the latest position with the kidnapping. 'I'm getting worried,' he told them. 'He's got the ransom money, he's spending it, but he hasn't returned the boy. This could mean that Bobby is dead.' There were nods of agreement. Most of the team were beginning to share this view.
He lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. 'We've got one bit of luck on our side. The kidnapper has no idea that some of the money is dodgy, so he's got no qualms about spending it. He's bought himself a red Honda Accord and we've got its registration number. He's local, and he's going to be driving it around, so everyone keeps their bloody eyes open.' He nodded at Arthur Hanlon who had his hand up to ask a question. 'Yes, Arthur?'
'How do we know he's local?'
'He spotted the ad for the Honda in the Denton Free Advertiser, which is only distributed locally. It only took him half an hour to reach the bloke who was selling it. We know a bit more about him. He's got a girlfriend who drives a grey Ford Escort, in which she is not averse to having it away, although, sadly, that probably applies to half the female population of Denton. Unless he's got a garage, the Honda could be parked out in the street, so go over every bloody street and back alley. Find the bastard. But remember, as much as we want him, more importantly we want to find the kid. If we spot him, don't pick him up… follow and keep me informed. Off you go…'
He watched them file out, then winced as Mullett came bowling in. 'Another lead fizzled out, then, inspector?'
'Yes,' grunted Frost. Go and gloat somewhere else, you vindictive sod.
'Pity you don't have the success Mr. Cassidy seems to be enjoying. It might not be a bad idea if you let him take over this case.'
Frost tightened his lips, but said nothing. He stood up and squeezed past Mullett. 'I think that's my phone ringing,' he said.
He barged past Mullett who strained his ears, but couldn't hear a phone.
Bill Wells grabbed him just as he was going out for a drive around. Anything to get away from Mullett. 'Sidney Snell wants to talk to you, Jack.'
'Not my case,' grunted Frost.
'He says it's very important.'
'Where's Cassidy?'
'Out somewhere.'
Frost shrugged. What the hell it wouldn't hurt to find out what Snell had to say. He followed Wells down to the cells and waited while the door was unlocked. Snell, sitting on the bunk bed, hugging his knees, looked up plaintively.
'I didn't do it, Mr. Frost.'
'You haven't dragged me down here just to hear that same old cracked record, I hope, Sidney. I know it off by heart. 'I didn't do it, Mr. Frost, honest, on my mother's grave.'
'Well, this time it happens to be true.'
'Even if it is, so what? You're a scumbag, Sidney… for that alone you deserve to be banged up.'
'But not for something I didn't do. I don't kill kids and I don't kill women.'
'But you do sign bleeding confessions,' said Frost.
'He made me, Mr. Frost. Mr. Cassidy kept on and on telling me I did it, and that I'd feel better if I got it off my chest. In the end I just signed the confession to get a bit of peace.'
'I reckon you'll get twenty-five years' worth of peace, Sidney perhaps a couple of days less for good behaviour.'
'I confessed, but I didn't do it,' Snell insisted.
'The Guildford Four, the Birmingham Six and now the Denton One. Face up to the facts, Sidney. One of the dead kids was stabbed, the way you stab little kiddies, your blood and chunks of flesh are over the plywood on the back door panel. You were seen running away afterwards. And if that wasn't enough, you're a slimy little bastard, and I hate the sight of you.'
'I was there that night, Mr. Frost, I don't deny that. I followed her about when she took the kids out to the park, and I used to stare at her through the windows… but I never killed her or the kids.'
'So why did you break in at one o'clock in the morning? To apologize?'
'All I intended to do was look through the window. As God is my witness, Mr. Frost, that's all I intended doing, but sometimes I can't control myself… The devil talks to me.'
'And what did the devil say 'Kill them all, just to spite that silly sod Mr. Frost who should have had you arrested, but was too bleeding lazy'?'
'He drew my attention to that loose sheet of plywood. He said I should push my hand through and unbolt the door.' Snell rubbed his bandaged hand. 'I just meant to look at them… I like looking at kiddies asleep in their cots.'
'I like looking at naked nymphomaniacs, but I couldn't promise I'd just look at them. You had your stabbing knife with you, and you bloody used it.'
Snell buried his face in his hands. 'Just enough to break the skin, Mr. Frost. I can't help myself. I don't know why, but I like it when I see the blood… tiny drops of red on their little arms.'
