Morgan nodded miserably. 'I thought I'd better mention it.'
'Flaming heck,' said Wells, dropping into the vacant chair. 'I've heard some stupid things in my time-'
'Yes,' cut in Frost, 'mainly about me. Your phone's ringing, Bill.'
Wells strained his ears. 'I can't hear it.'
'Whether it's ringing or not — go and answer it!'
Reluctantly, Wells left, taking his time, hoping to hear more, but Frost waited patiently until the sergeant was out of earshot.
'A bit of a balls-up, Taff, to put it mildly?'
Morgan nodded his dejected agreement.
'We all make balls-ups, son. I've been known to make the odd one myself, but when it's a murder inquiry you don't keep it a bloody secret.'
'I know, guv… I'm sorry, guv…'
The DC was the picture of misery. No point in nagging him any more, the damage was done. Frost chewed at his knuckles, trying to think of a way to salvage the situation. 'The thing is this, Taff. Are we dealing with a clever bastard who deliberately got in there first so there would be a reason for the blood on his jacket? He doesn't strike me as that clever, but you never can tell by appearances. Mullett doesn't look a complete twat, but he is.' He stared up at the ceiling. 'I think we've got to let him go.'
'Let him go?' echoed Morgan.
'We've got nothing to hold him on. When his solicitor turns up he'll tear our case to shreds.'
'I'm sorry guv. It's all my fault.'
'No. In a way, you've helped, Taffy. You've made me look at it from another angle. If he was that bloody clever, why would he run away? Why would he give us a fake name and address?' He stood up. 'I don't think he did it. We let him go. We can always pull him in again if we're hard up for another suspect.' He yawned. 'What a bleeding night; false gen about the missing kid, the pillow burglar strikes again, an armed robbery and a dead tom. If it wasn't for Mullett's car being smashed it would be a complete wash-out.' He snapped his fingers. 'Mullett! Let's see what he wants.'
Mullett was in the car-park examining what those drunken hooligans had done to his Rover. The wing was crumpled, the rear light smashed. It was in no state to be driven to County tomorrow. He'd be a laughing stock. He would have to borrow his wife's Honda. Ah, at last! Frost shuffling out of the station and coming over to him. The same scruffy mac, that same tired scarf. Hadn't the man anything else to wear? But that wasn't the main thing on his mind. He wanted to find out about the prostitute killing. He had the awful thought the victim could have been the harridan who approached him when he was stopped at the traffic lights. There weren't many blue Rovers in Denton. What if someone had seen her approach him? Headlines about kerb-crawling top policeman kept flashing in his mind.
'Nasty,' said Frost, nodding at the damage.
'Yes,' agreed Mullett through clenched teeth. That stupid Sergeant Wells. He was commanding a Division of incompetents.
'It must be hard to say no to a drink at these County meetings,' muttered Frost, bending to take a closer look himself. 'Your best bet is to say it was parked and some drunken sod ran into it.'
'That's exactly what did happen,' snapped Mullett.
'Good for you!' nodded Frost approvingly. 'I almost believe you myself and I can always see through a lie.' He straightened up, fingering the car expenses form in his pocket, anxious to gauge the opportune time to present it to Mullett for his signature. 'You wanted to see me, Super?'
'Ah… yes.' Mullett tried to sound disinterested. 'This prostitute killing. Was she young… old…?'
'Early twenties,' said Frost. 'Dark-haired, medium height. Why — do you think you know her? We're trying to trace her regulars.'
'No, no…' said Mullett hastily, relieved that she didn't sound at all like the same one. 'Of course I don't know her. I want this case cleared up quickly, Frost. We now have a second dead prostitute. We don't want panic because there's a serial killer on the loose.'
'We don't know it's the same bloke,' said Frost. 'The victims are toms but there seems no other connection.'
'I understand you've handed the case over to Acting Inspector Maud? You didn't think of clearing it with me first?'
'I didn't believe it necessary. The first dead tom was investigated by Inspector Allen and she's taken over from him.'
Mullett waved a dismissive hand. 'I know all about that, but we're talking serial murder. What are they going to say at County tomorrow when they learn that a woman — I mean an acting inspector is in charge of such an important case? No. I want you to take it over.'
'She can handle it,' insisted Frost.
'Allow me to be the judge of that,' snapped Mullett. 'She's an inexperienced woman officer.'
'Who's got to gain experience.'
'But not at our expense, Frost. If this blows up in our face it will be my head on the chopping block. She can work under you if you like, but you are in charge.'
Frost looked up as a grey Nissan bumped its way into the car-park. 'There she is, Super. Shall I call her over so you can tell her yourself?'
'No,' said Mullett hastily. 'Better if it comes from you. It will underline that you're in charge…' He tugged open the door of his Rover. 'Got to go… early start tomorrow.'
'Hold it, Super.' Frost grabbed the car door, preventing it from closing. 'Before you go, would you OK my car expenses?'
Mullett stared in annoyance at the claim form with its wad of scruffy petrol receipts attached. For some reason Frost never seemed to patronize petrol stations who provided a printed receipt. He fingered through them doubtfully.
'Got a minute, Liz?' called Frost, beckoning her over. Mullett snatched the pen from Frost's hand and scribbled his signature. 'Keep me posted,' he muttered as he slammed the car door and drove off.
She took the news badly, staring tight-lipped at Frost as if it was all his fault. 'I presume you'll be covering the post-mortem tomorrow then?' she asked icily, before spinning on her heel and marching to her office.
'Unless you'd like-' said Frost, his sentence cut off as the doors slammed behind her. 'I'll take that as a no,' he muttered. Shit. What a lousy bloody night. He looked at his watch. 3.15 in the morning. In five hours he would be watching Drysdale slice the dead tom up. But sod it. That was tomorrow. Mullett had gone. He had the station to himself. Nothing he could do about the dead tom until the morning. An Indian takeaway, a handful of Mullett's fags from the hospitality box and the recording of the big fight on the telly in the rest room. Things could be worse.
I'm sorry, guv,' mumbled Morgan. 'I'm truly sorry. I don't know how it happened.'
'It happened, you Welsh nit,' snarled Frost, 'because you recorded the wrong flaming channel. We're all sitting there like a load of prats, expecting the big fight, and what are we watching? The flaming singing nuns in The Sound of bloody Music.'
'Sorry, guv,' said Morgan again.
'Sorry, guv! That's your catch phrase. I can forgive you letting that drunk maul the corpse last night, but sodding up the recording of the big fight…'
Morgan hung his head in shame.
'Chance to redeem yourself. Go and get me a mug of tea and a bacon sandwich and bring it to the murder incident room. If you turn up with cocoa and a fairy cake, you're sacked.' Frost yawned. He'd had a rotten night. After the fiasco of the big fight video, he'd staggered off to bed just after four, but sleep had stubbornly eluded him. He just lay there, smoking, sucking hard on the cigarette from time to time so he could check the crawl of time on his wrist-watch in its red glow. When he finally drifted off to sleep he had dreams of the autopsy, but the body being hacked about by Drysdale was not the prostitute; it was Vicky Stuart, the little girl with the gap in her teeth, who suddenly sat up from the autopsy table and screamed, waking him in a cold sweat. And just as he was drifting off again, the flaming alarm clock shook him awake at 7.45, just in time to tumble out of bed, splash his face with water, a quick shave, then off to the mortuary to watch Drysdale slice open the unknown tom on an empty stomach.
