In the corridor outside the interview room Cassidy was pacing up and down. He watched Grover being led out, then angrily marched over to meet Frost. 'Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on? This is supposed to be my damn case, don't forget.'
'It's still your damn case,' said Frost. 'He's confessed. She killed the kids and he killed her. His mate Phil Collard is an accessory after the fact.' He handed Cassidy the cassette. 'It's all on tape get it typed.'
He never made it back to his office. Bill Wells came running up to him. 'Jack. We've got a couple in the front office who reckon they know where the kidnapped boy is being held.'
Frost was unimpressed. They'd had so many false leads from people absolutely positive they had seen Bobby.
'These two sound genuine,' Wells assured him.
'All bloody nutters sound genuine,' grunted Frost. Sod it. It was probably another time-waster, but he daren't ignore it. 'All right, I'll see them.'
They were eagerly waiting for him in the spare interview room. The man, in his late fifties, was small and sharp-featured, his head constantly moving from side to side like a terrier looking for a rat. His wife, a few years younger, was short and plump; her light brown hair, worn with a little girl's fringe, and her short-skirted dress revealing tubby legs, made her look like a retarded schoolgirl. Frost introduced himself and sat down. He glanced at the information sheet Wells had given him. 'Mr. and Mrs. Mason, 18 Fullers Lane. You reckon you have information about this missing boy.'
'It's not the reward,' said Mason. 'I want you to understand it's not the reward.'
'Of course it isn't,' said Frost, thinking, I bet it is, you bastard.
'We should have come sooner, but one hates sneaking on one's neighbours… and they used to be so good to me.'
'When were they ever good to us?' asked his wife.
'Well, he lent me his lawn mower.'
'His old rusty one he wouldn't let you have his precious new one. And those tight clothes his wife wears… you can see her nipples.'
Frost cleared his throat. 'If you could get to the point…'
'Yes, of course,' said the man. 'This missing boy.' He looked from side to side, as if checking on eavesdroppers, then leant over the table, lowering his voice. 'They'd be the last people on earth I'd suspect of doing anything like this, but '
'Who are they' asked Frost.
'Oh sorry. I'm talking about Mr. and Mrs. Younger… 20 Fullers Lane.'
'Mrs. Younger she's the one with the nipples?' asked Frost, wishing it was her who was sitting opposite him.
'That's right. We live at number 18 they live next door,' explained the woman. 'They've got this shed…'
'Let me tell it, dear,' said her husband, glaring her to silence. Back to Frost. 'It's a shed at the end of their garden. Nice little shed he keeps his lawn mower and stuff in it.' He hesitated and looked at his wife. 'No dear, we must be wrong… They're such a nice couple. They wouldn't hurt a fly.'
'All right,' snapped Frost. 'They're living bloody saints and she's got terrific nipples. Now, for Pete's sake tell me why you think they've got the boy.'
Mason exchanged hurt glances with his wife, but decided to overlook Frost's outburst.
'This shed. Last week he ran an extension lead from the house so he can have electric light in it. And yesterday I noticed they'd put curtains up.'
'It was me that noticed it,' corrected his wife. 'I told you about it.' She turned to Frost. 'Curtains in their shed! And they're kept drawn so you can't see inside. So what I want to know is, what has he got to hide?'
An enormous dick, thought Frost wearily, slumping down in his chair.
'The light comes on at all hours of the day and night,' added her husband.
'So?' asked Frost, getting fidgety. This all seemed a waste of time.
'I've seen him taking food down there,' said the woman. 'Hot food on a tray.'
'Food?' Now Frost was interested. He sat up straight and gave them his full attention. 'Go on.'
'The last couple of days, just before he goes to work and just after he comes home at night, he sticks his head out of the back door checking that no-one's watching, then he scurries off down the garden as fast as he can with a tray of food and he's inside that shed with the doors shut and the curtains drawn.'
'And you reckon he's taking food there for the boy?' asked Frost.
'Well, he's not feeding his bloody rusty lawn mower,' said the man. 'And apart from the food, he's taken bedding down there… a big heap of bedding, I saw him,'
Gleefully, Frost rubbed his hands. This was getting more and more promising. 'And what does Mr. Younger do for a living?'
'He's a paramedic… drives around in an ambulance treating people for strokes and helping girls who have babies on buses.'
'If you swallow your false teeth, he's the man to call on,' added his wife. 'There was that woman round the corner- the one who had her womb scraped…'
Frost winced and held up a hand in protest. It was too early in the morning for scraped wombs. 'You've actually seen him taking food down to the shed?'
'Come down to our house now and you can see for yourself,' said the man. 'He does it half-past eight on the dot.'
Frost checked the time. Quarter past eight. He drummed his fingers on the table with excitement. Bedding, food, drawn curtains, and, as an ambulance driver, Younger would have access to chloroform or ether. Knock out the kid and bung him in the back. Who would suspect an ambulance?
Frost smiled at the couple. The dislike he had felt when he first met them had almost gone. 'Hold on a moment be right back.'
He raced off to the incident room. 'Got a strong lead on the kid. A couple of nosy neighbours reckon he's hidden in a shed in the garden of 20 Fullers Lane.' He gave them the details.
'So it looks as if you were wrong about Finch?' said Liz.
'Infallibility is not my strong point,' answered Frost. 'I've been wrong before and I'll be wrong again.' He moved over to the wall map. 'Where the hell is Fullers Lane?'
Burton showed him.
'Right.' He studied the location. 'One car round the front and one round the back ought to do it. Burton — you take the back-up car. Liz, Collier you come with me.'
They were in the Masons' bedroom with its cute pictures of puppies on the wall and zip-up pussy cat pyjama cases on both pillows of the bed. Two large windows overlooked the rear gardens and a comfortable chair was already in position at each. Hanging from the back of each chair was a pair of field glasses in a case. Between the chairs was a coffee table holding fruit, snacks and a thermos flask. 'The complete nosy bastard's outfit,' commented Frost, picturing the Masons, side by side each night, spying on the neighbours through the Terylene curtains, chomping away at their snacks and nudging each other when something tasty clicked into focus. Frost sat in one of the chairs and picked up the field glasses. Liz sat in the other.
A creaking of stairs and the chinking of crockery as Mr. Mason came in with mugs of tea on a tray and a plate of chocolate digestive biscuits. 'Thought you might like this.' He peered through the curtains and pointed. 'That's the shed, there!'
At the end of the next garden, a shed about eight feet by six, in creosoted wood with a green felt roof. The drawn, thick red curtains looked incongruous. Frost swung the glasses to the door. It was fitted with a heavy padlock which looked new and far too hefty for a garden shed.
'How long has that padlock been there?'
'We saw him putting it up last week,' said Mason. 'Probably frightened someone will steal his lousy lawn mower that's too good to lend people.'
Frost slowly panned across the window, but nothing at all could be seen through the curtaining.
'Look out! He'll see you.' Mason jerked Frost back, letting the lace curtain drop into place. 'He's coming out.'
By pressing his face close to the window pane Frost was able to see the back door of the adjoining house
