The phone at the other end went down with a bang and he could hear mutterings and echoing footsteps and then silence. He thought they had forgotten him and started whistling into the mouthpiece. Someone picked up the phone, said, 'Be with you in a minute,' and immediately put it down again.
He hunched up a shoulder to hold the phone to his ear while he fished out his cigarette packet. Before he could light up, Harding was back. This time he wasn't apologetic. He was downright jubilant. 'You were right, inspector. Those hairs come from the dead boy, Dean Anderson.'
It was so long since he had heard good news, he didn't know how to take it. 'Are you sure? Lie to me if you're not… but please say you're sure.'
'Positive. Absolutely positive.'
A hot surge of relief flooded his body. 'You're not so bloody useless as I thought.' He spun round in his chair and yelled in triumph. 'We've got the bastard! We've got him!'
He bumped into Mullett, nearly spinning him round, as he sprinted down the corridor to the interview room. 'You look absolutely ravishing tonight, super,' he cooed to a puzzled and gaping superintendent. 'We've got the bastard!' he explained. 'I'm going to charge him now.'
Finch was sitting, looking bored, as he waited to sign his statement, when Frost burst in. Right, thought Frost, now we wipe the smile off your face, you supercilious sneering sod.
He crashed down in the chair opposite Finch and leaned forward. 'It's the end of the line, you sod. Man's best friend has let you down. There are hairs from the dead boy all over it.'
Finch flinched as if he had been hit. He struggled to keep his face impassive, but he was clearly shaken. 'I don't think I want to say anything,' he said.
'Is Bobby still alive?'
Finch didn't answer.
'Don't sod about,' said Frost. 'It's all over. We've got you. Where is the boy?'
Finch sank his head and squeezed his chin in thought. Then he straightened up. 'I want the tape recorder switched off.'
'Why?' asked Frost.
'Turn it off and I'll tell you.'
Frost nodded to Liz who stopped the recording and removed the cassette tapes.
'I would now like the young lady to leave,' said Finch. 'What I have to say is for your ears only.'
Frost nodded and waited until Liz went out. 'Well?'
'You believe me to be the kidnapper.'
'I bloody know you are!'
'But your first concern is for the boy.'
'So?'
'Only the kidnapper would know where the boy was, and in telling you, he would be sealing his guilt.'
'Go on,' urged Frost.
'If I were the kidnapper, I would want a deal. An assurance, in writing, that if I reveal the boy's whereabouts, all charges would be dropped and any evidence you might have against me would be destroyed.'
'We don't make deals,' said Frost.
Finch shrugged. 'Well, in that case the boy will most certainly die.' He looked up to the ceiling, through which the rain bucketing down on the roof could be heard. 'Such shocking weather. If that poor boy is out in it, he'll be dead by the morning.'
'You're telling me he is still alive?'
A thin mirthless smile from Finch. 'Only the kidnapper would know that, inspector.' He moved his chair closer to the table. 'You've got nothing on the kidnapper. If he kept his mouth shut, the boy would die and the kidnapper would walk free. Do a deal and the kidnapper would still walk free, but the boy would live. As they said in The Godfather, surely an offer you can't refuse?'
'But you wouldn't walk free,' said Frost. 'We have evidence.'
The supercilious sneer returned and Frost began to worry again. What had the swine up his sleeve? 'Are you talking about the hairs from the boy you say you've found on the dog? I hardly think that would stand up in court.'
'It's good, solid, forensic evidence.' But even as he said it, he saw the flaw, the gaping hole in the evidence that he realized Finch had spotted first.
'It is only evidence that the hairs taken from the dog came from the dead boy. But how did they get there? You were at the scene of the crime when the boy's body was found… You could have picked up the hairs and when the dog jumped up on your lap, they could have been transferred. I wouldn't be at all surprised if many of the constables who have been in contact with the dog were also at the crime scene. The hairs could even have been picked up from the car that took the dog to your laboratory. Hardly good, solid evidence against me, inspector, especially as it is all you have.'
'You bastard!' said Frost.
'Do we have a deal?' asked Finch.
'I'll see,' said Frost.
He went out to find Mullett.
Nineteen
He barged out of the interview room, crashing into Cassidy who was hovering outside and moved to block him. 'I want a word,' he said.
'Later,' said Frost.
'It's about my daughter,' hissed Cassidy, 'and it's got to be now!'
'Your daughter's dead,' Frost snapped. 'Bobby Kirby might still be alive.' He pushed Cassidy out of the way and almost ran down the corridor to the incident room. Cassidy, his eyes spitting venom, followed him.
Hanlon was hanging up the phone. He didn't look very happy. 'The other search party, Jack. They want to pack it in. In this weather it's hopeless.'
'The kid's still alive,' said Frost. 'They've got to carry on. I'll talk to them.'
Before he could do anything about it, Mullett charged in, his tongue hanging out for the good news about Finch. Frost told him.
Mullett felt for a chair and dropped into it. 'He admitted he had taken the boy?'
'Off the record, no witnesses, with the tape switched off. He'd deny it in open court.'
'And he said the boy was alive?'
'Yes, but probably wouldn't last the night.'
'Do you believe him?'
'Yes.'
Mullett knuckled his forehead, trying to think. 'You haven't enough evidence to charge him?'
'Nothing that would stand up in court. The choice is that we do a deal, let him go and the boy lives, or no deal, we still have to let him go, but the boy dies.'
Mullett turned to Cassidy. 'What would you do?'
Cassidy was only too eager to tell him. 'I wouldn't have got myself in this position in the first place.'
'Quite,' said Mullett before turning angrily on Frost. 'This is all down to you. I absolve myself from all responsibility for this mess.'
'I'll take all the bloody blame if it makes you happy,' snarled Frost, 'but what are we going to do about the kid?'
'I've no authority to do deals,' said Mullett. 'That's a matter for the Chief Constable.'
'Then ask the flaming Chief Constable.' Frost picked up the phone and banged it down in front of the superintendent.
Mullett looked at the phone as if it was a live bomb, then, steeling himself, stretched out his hand. Then he flinched, anticipating what the Chief Constable would say. He snatched his hand back. 'No, Frost. You goi us into
