She shook her head. 'Hardly know anything about him. I used to chat with his wife, but that stopped when she died.'
'Yes, I suppose it would,' said Frost.
'Killed herself,' she said confidentially. 'He never got over it.' Frost nodded sympathetically, then his nose began to twitch. A most foul aroma. He hated to suspect the woman, but the dog was looking very innocent.
'Oh dear,' said the woman, catching a whiff. 'He's not being naughty, is he? He suffers from the odd touch of flatulence.'
'He's not selfish. He shares it around,' said Frost. He lifted the dog off and stood up. 'I'd better make a move.' The woman followed him to the front door where he bent and gave the dog a pat to show he bore it no grudge. 'How does he get on with Mr. Finch's Jack Russell?'
'That's not Mr. Finch's dog,' she said. 'He's looking after it for someone while they're on holiday.'
He gave her a wave and returned to Finch's house. A glum-faced team awaited him. 'Nothing,' reported Burton. 'Not a damn thing.'
He sat on one of the bottom stairs and fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette to give him time to think. This was his last hope. There just had to be something here.
'I hate to say it,' said Burton, 'but it could be you've made a mistake about Finch.'
He shook his head. 'It's him,' he said, stubbornly. He was at his lowest ebb. The investigation had come to a dead end, it was peeing with rain and a seven-year-old was out there somewhere and he hadn't the slightest hope of doing anything about it.
'It's all a mess here,' said Liz. 'Shall we tidy up?'
'No,' he said. 'Leave it… Let's all go to the pub and get pissed.'
From the kitchen a salvo of barks. Something must have disturbed the dog. Frost stopped dead. The barking triggered the memory of what the next-door neighbour had said, something that didn't seem important at the time. 'It's not his dog!' he exclaimed. 'It's not Finch's bloody dog!'
They looked at him as if he was mad. 'Have I missed something?' asked Liz.
'No, but I nearly did,' said Frost, beckoning to Burton. 'Up on that pin board in his office there's a holiday postcard from Spain. Go and get it.'
With a puzzled shrug to the others, Burton galloped up the stairs and brought down the card which he handed to Frost. A highly coloured beach scene with towering hotel blocks in the background. He turned it over and read the message.' 'Dear Henry: Very hot here. We pity you shivering in Denton. Yes, please pay the phone bill for us and I'll settle up when we get back next week. Ethel and Wilf.'
He looked up at them expectantly, only to be greeted by a wall of blank stares. 'Flaming hell!' he moaned. 'I'm supposed to be the dim one.' He jabbed his finger on the card.'… please pay the phone bill for us…' Doesn't that suggest anything?'
They looked at each other, eyebrows raised in bewilderment. 'It means they want him to pay their phone bill,' said Jordan as if answering a stupid, self-evident question.
'So how would Finch know about their phone bill?'
It was Liz who saw what he was getting at. 'Finch is keeping an eye on their place while they're on holiday. He's checking their post for them.'
'Which means he's got the key… to an empty house. A perfect place to hide a kid.'
'Possible, I suppose,' said Liz, grudgingly.
'It's all we've got, so it had better be bloody probable. So let's find out where Wilf and Ethel live. Did anyone spot an address book?'
They all shook their heads.
'His computer!' said Frost. 'People keep names and addresses in their computers.'
'I tried to access it,' said Burton, 'but it's password-protected.'
'What does that mean?' frowned Frost.
'It means you've got to key in the password to gain access to the information. We could probably crack it, but it would take time.'
'Time is what we haven't bloody got!' He paced up and down pounding his palm with his fist. 'They must live in or near to Denton otherwise Finch couldn't keep popping in to check all was well.'
'If we knew their surname it would help,' said Burton.
'So would their bloody address,' said Frost, 'but we haven't got it.' Then his head came up slowly and he smiled. 'I know how we can find them. The electoral register.'
'How would that help?' Liz asked.
'The electoral register lists everyone living in the Denton area eligible to vote and I'm damn sure that anyone called Ethel and Wilf have got to be of voting age. All we've got to do is look through it until we find an Ethel and a Wilf living at the same address.'
'But there's thousands of names on the register,' moaned Burton.
'Then the sooner we start checking, the better. Let's go.'
A blue haze of cigarette smoke was rolling around the incident room, the silence broken only by the drumming of rain from outside and the rustle of turned pages from within. Everyone available had been dragged in to help, even patrols dropping in for their meal break had to take sections of the register up to the canteen with them.
'I've got a Wilfred and Elizabeth Markham,' called Jordan.
'Check it out,' said Frost, blowing cigarette ash from his sheet. 'People sometimes use a different name from that on their birth certificate.' But he wasn't optimistic. No-one changed their name to Ethel from choice.
'What is going on?'
Frost raised his eyes from the page and groaned. Mullett again, scavenging around, trying to find something to complain about. Still, he was an extra pair of hands. He quickly explained and pushed a section of the register across to the Divisional Commander.
'Delighted to help,' boomed Mullett. 'We are, after all, a team.' He settled himself down at an empty desk, which made Frost's heart sink as his stomach was rumbling and he was hoping to send out for another feast of fish and chips. 'You'd be more comfortable in your own office, sir,' he suggested hopefully.
'I'm quite happy here,' smiled Mullett. 'What were those names we were looking for… George and Mildred?'
'Wilf and Ethel.'
'Of course, of course.' Mullett coughed pointedly. 'I'm sure we'd all work a lot better if people didn't smoke.'
They had three false dawns. Two 'Wilfred and Ethel's that seemed promising, but were at home watching television when the car called to check. At the third, the house was empty, but the next-door neighbour said they were at the pub and would be back in half an hour.
Frost rubbed a weary hand over his face. The names were beginning to blur and wriggle in front of his eyes. At one stage he suddenly realized he had turned a page but hadn't consciously read any of the names on it. There must be an easier way.
'What names did you say again?' asked Mullett.
Bloody hell. The man had a memory like a bleeding sieve and how could he have been checking away for half an hour without knowing the names he was looking for? 'Wilf and Ethel,' said Frost patiently.
'I've got a Wilfred and Ethel here,' said Mullett, tapping the page with his finger. Frost dashed across and snatched it from him. 'Wilfred Percival Watkins and Ethel Maureen Watkins, 2 Wrights Lane, Denton.' He checked the map. Wrights Lane was a fairly exclusive area with a few detached Victorian houses in extensive grounds on the outskirts of Denton, not too far from the woods and the river.
After three disappointments, no-one got too excited; they plodded on with their own lists while Frost sent an area car to check this one out.
Within five minutes an excited radio message. 'Charlie Baker to Mr. Frost. Checked the Wrights Lane address. Lights are showing, but as you instructed we did not approach. Neighbours say the owners are a retired pharmacist and his wife, holidaying in Spain. They also confirm they have a Jack Russell terrier which is being looked after by a friend.'
'Bingo!' yelled Frost, throwing his list up in the air where the papers fluttered and autumn-leafed to the
