the swing doors and into the lobby. From the raucous sounds seeping from the incident room the celebration party was already in progress. Bill Wells on the front desk beckoned him over.
'Finch wants to see you.'
'What about?'
'He didn't say,' said Wells. 'No-one takes me into their confidence.'
He left the bottles on the front desk, reminded Wells he had counted them, then went down to the cells.
Finch was lying on his bunk. He got up when Frost entered. 'You bastard!' he hissed.
'Sticks and stones…' said Frost, waggling a finger.
'You framed me. You fitted me up!'
'Fitted you up?' said Frost, his face a picture of injured bewilderment.
'That petrol receipt.'
'What about it?'
'You planted it. You found it with my credit card and you planted it.'
'My Divisional Commander found it not me.'
Finch stood up and pushed his face close to Frost's. 'I don't care who found it you planted it to be found.'
Frost shook his head. 'I know you like to think of yourself as infallible, Mr. Finch, but you slipped up this time. The receipt must have fallen from your pocket as you were stuffing the poor little git up that drainage pipe.'
'There's a flaw in your reasoning, inspector, an insurmountable flaw. I drove to the river, I hid the child and I filled up with petrol on the way back. So how on earth could that receipt have got there?'
Frost shrugged and gave an enigmatic smile. 'One of life's little mysteries.' He paused. 'Do you want to make an official complaint?'
Finch barked a scornful laugh and sat down again. 'What use would it be? You'd lie your head off.'
'How well you know me,' said Frost.
Twenty
He woke with a raging headache, feeling stiff, cold and uncomfortable. The alarm was shrieking, chewing through his brain like a rip saw. He fumbled to switch it off, but his hand floundered about in empty space. One eye creaked open to a confusion of images. He wasn't in his bedroom. The window was in the wrong place. And he wasn't in his bed, he was curled up on a hard, rigid-backed chair. Slowly, realization filtered through to his alcohol- deadened brain. The party last night. He was in the incident room and the ringing was the phone. He squinted at his watch, moving his arm to bring it into focus. 8.30 a.m. Reaching for the phone sent his headache throbbing anew. 'Frost,' he winced into the mouthpiece.
'Wakey wa key campers,' chirped a disgustingly cheerful Bill Wells.
'What do you want?' growled Frost, his eyes crawling round the incident room. Ashtrays overflowed with half-smoked broken-backed cheroots, empty glasses and bottles everywhere, on desks, rolling about the floor. Jordan and Arthur Hanlon were asleep on separate desks, snoring loudly. The atmosphere was thick with stale tobacco smoke and whisky and… God, his stomach churned at the thought of it… jellied eels. At five in the morning someone was sent to an all-night stall which sold sea food and came back with containers of cockles, whelks, winkles… jellied eels.
A fourteen-inch colour television set in the corner was playing with the sound off. It was the early morning news and, in eerie silence, Cassidy, carrying the child, was seen dashing into the hospital… being hugged by the mother… making modest speeches to the press.
He snatched his attention back to the telephone. 'Sorry, Bill… what was that?'
'I said the good news is that the kid is pulling through. The bad news is that Mullett is in.'
'You haven't woken me up just to tell me that?'
'No, Jack. The solicitor for those two women who killed Lemmy Hoxton is here. He wants to see you.'
'It's Cassidy's case, not mine.'
'But it's you he wants to see.'
Frost sighed. 'Right. I'll be along.'
He staggered into the washroom, kicking aside an empty jellied eel tub on the way, and splashed cold water on his face. His rumpled hair was smoothed back, a cigarette stuck in his mouth and lit. His first cough of the morning, then he ambled out into the corridor.
The door to Mullett's office was swinging open. He could hear the Divisional Commander, oozing false modesty as he spoke on the phone to the Chief Constable, so he paused, ears cocked, hoping to pick up some tit bits to pass on to Bill Wells. '… I know the overtime level had been exceeded, sir, but my only concern was for the missing boy, so I took the risk in the belief that a human life was worth it, no matter what the outcome might be for me… You're too kind, sir, I was just doing my duty… Thank you, sir… Thank you very much.' A click as the phone was replaced.
Frost tiptoed a few steps back the way he had come, then, rather noisily, resumed his walk.
Mullett called him in as he was passing. 'Frost!'
He shuffled in and dropped into a chair.
'Take a seat,' said Mullett, too late as usual. He gave an ingratiating smile. 'You'll be pleased to learn that I've managed to get you off the hook regarding the excessive unauthorized overtime.'
'Thank you very much, super,' mumbled Frost. 'I don't deserve you.'
He said this with such sincerity that Mullett saw no double meaning and beamed happily. 'Cassidy did well.' He tapped the Denton Echo on his desk. A large picture of Cassidy, the boy in his arms, under the headline 'Policeman Hero Saves Child From River'.
'Didn't he just?' said Frost.
'Unfortunately, Lexford Division want him back again.'
'Tough,' grunted Frost.
'So I might have some good news for DS Maud regarding a temporary promotion.'
'She deserves it,' said Frost.
George Perry, the solicitor for the two women, was white-haired and stooped. He looked benign, but he was shrewd. Very shrewd.
Frost led him to his office. As he opened the door he nearly tripped over a heap of clothes. Liz and Burton were asleep on the floor near the radiator, locked in each other's arms. Neither was wearing very much. Frost backed out, closing the door firmly. 'We'll try next door,' he said.
They went into the office Cassidy was using. Frost sat at the empty desk and offered Perry a chair. 'So what can I do for you?'
Perry unzipped his solid leather briefcase and pulled out two typed statements. 'I am acting for Miss Millicent Fleming and Miss Julie Adams. You took statements from them yesterday?'
'Not me,' said Frost. 'My colleague Inspector Cassidy.'
'The statements were taken without a solicitor being present.'
'They were asked if they wanted one. They both declined.'
Perry smiled. 'I am sure everything was explained to them. The thing is, my clients would like to withdraw their statements.'
'Can't be done,' said Frost.
Another smile. 'Come now, inspector. All things are possible. They admit the crime but the prurient details… the sexual relationship
… the photographs… They are going to cause such a stir.'
'I'm afraid so,' nodded Frost.
'They have families… friends. They are respected members of the church. They would much prefer that these details were not part of the case against them.'
'So what are you suggesting?'
'Hoxton came to rob them. He tried to rape Julie. Millicent hit him to stop him and he died. That is not in
