The girl's mother had slapped make-up on and done something with her hair. Her eyes, half closed against the smoke from her cigarette, narrowed when she saw it was Frost at the door. 'You found her yet?'
'Not yet,' said Frost. 'A couple more questions.'
She led him through to the living-room where an older version of herself, a woman in her late sixties, sat at a table, sipping a cup of tea. 'My mother,' she explained. 'Jenny's Nan.'
Frost nodded a greeting and sat at the table. 'Jenny never turned up round your place then, Mrs Brewer?'
'I never knew she was supposed to be coming.' She scowled up at her daughter. 'Why didn't you let me know?'
Her daughter shrugged dismissively. 'Why should I? I knew you wouldn't mind.'
'Of course I wouldn't mind. I just want to be told. If you'd told me she was supposed to be coming I'd have been round to the police last night.'
'So it's all my fault now, is it?'
'Yes, it flaming is. It certainly isn't mine.'
'I don't give a sod whose fault it is,' said Frost wearily. 'We just want to find her. It's dark, it's bloody cold and she's been gone too long.' He jabbed a finger at Mary Brewer. 'A couple of questions.'
She raised her eyes to the ceiling. 'More bleeding questions!'
'Yes, more bleeding questions,' snapped Frost. 'You told me Jenny was wearing greeny blue dress when she went to school yesterday. The school tell us she was wearing a red woollen dress.'
She tugged the cigarette from her mouth so she could cough better. 'A red dress?' she spluttered. 'The silly sods don't know what they're talking about. she hasn't got a red dress.'
'The poor little mite has only got one dress,' put in the Nan. 'When did you last buy her anything new?'
'She don't go without, and if she had a red dress I'd be the first to know.'
'Was she wearing the blue dress when she came home for her lunch yesterday?' asked Frost.
'I suppose so.'
Frost stared up at her. 'What do you mean, you suppose so?'
'I wasn't here when she came in for lunch. I was at Bingo.'
'You told me the last time you saw her was yesterday lunchtime.'
'I didn't actually see-her. I left her money for chips. When I came back the money was gone, so I knew she'd been home.'
'But you are sure she was wearing the blue dress when she went off to school yesterday morning?'
'She must have done, it's the only dress she's got. I've been trying to save up for something new, but money's tight.'
'Not tight when it comes to bloody Bingo,' said the Nan.
Frost knuckled the weariness from his eyes. 'Must have done?' he echoed. 'You saw what she was wearing, surely?'
'I didn't actually see her. I was still in bed. She gets her own breakfast.'
Frost stared in disbelief. 'She gets her own breakfast? A seven-year-old kid gets her own breakfast while her mother pigs it in bed?'
She folded her arms defiantly. 'You're here to find my kid, not give me a moral bleeding lecture.'
'Just for the record,' said Frost, 'when did you last see your daughter?'
'Night before last. She watched telly, then went up to bed.'
'As recently as that?' shrilled the Nan in mock disbelief. 'It's a wonder you'd still recognize her. Why did you pack her off to my place yesterday? I suppose that lousy boyfriend was coming round again.' She turned to Frost. 'That bastard was always hitting that kid — the times she's come round to me, crying her eyes out.'
Frost turned to the mother. 'His name and address?'
'No,' she shrieked. 'He doesn't want to get involved.'
'Well, he bloody well is involved,' yelled Frost back. 'Name and address, please.'
'Dennis Hadleigh, Flat 2, Peabody Estate.'
'And what does he do, apart from hitting seven-year-old kids?'
'He's a lorry driver.'
Frost scribbled the details down on the back of his cigarette packet and stood up. 'I want to search the house.'
'Search the house?' Her voice went up an octave. 'Do you think I've done her in?'
'She could have got herself locked in a cupboard, or something,' explained Frost. 'It has happened.'
'Don't you think I'd know if she was in the house?'
'You don't know where she is half the time,' sniffed the Nan. 'You and that bastard could be having it away while Jenny was dying in the loft.'
Hands on hips, the woman glared down at her mother. 'I've just about had enough of your innuendoes, mother,' she snarled. 'Either you keep your mouth shut or you get out of my house.'
Shutting his ears to the in-fighting, Frost went to the front door and called in the rest of the team who were waiting in cars outside and got them to search the house and the small back garden. Jerking his head for Morgan to follow, he returned to the two women. 'Which is Jenny's room?'
It was at the top of the stairs. They squeezed past Jordan who was heaving Simms up through a trap door into the loft. A small room, still decorated with Little Bo-Peep nursery paper. There was a single bed, neatly made with folded pyjamas on the pillow, a pink-painted chest of drawers on which stood a twelve-inch black and white television set and, on the other side of the bed, a white Melamine wardrobe.
Frost lit up a cigarette and parted the curtains to the sash window to look down on the small back yard where a uniformed officer, his torch cutting through the darkness, was prodding amongst the long, uncut grass. He shuddered at the feeling he had had so many times before. A cold, empty room. The room of a child who was not coming back.
Morgan pulled out the bed to make certain there was nothing underneath, then opened up the wardrobe where a few items of child's clothing swung from hangers. On the floor of the wardrobe were some down-at-heel shoes and a pile of well-read children's books.
Frost went through the chest of drawers. More clothes, all neatly folded, balled pairs of socks, handkerchiefs, knickers, everything he would expect to find. A nagging buzzing at the back of his brain was telling him he was missing something, but he couldn't think what it was.
Morgan had dragged the wardrobe away from the wall. 'Guv, look at this.' Hidden behind the wardrobe were some expensive children's annuals. They looked brand new. 'Get Fanny up here,' he told Morgan.
The woman came up and leant, arms folded, against the door frame. 'Found her in the wardrobe, have you?'
Touching them only by the edges, Frost held up the books. 'Did you buy her these?'
She fanned away cigarette smoke and squinted at them. 'No, I didn't. Where did they come from?'
'Stuck behind the wardrobe.'
'The little moo — she must have nicked them.'
'Perhaps,' said Frost, laying the books carefully on the bed. He snapped his fingers, suddenly realizing what it was that had been worrying him. He flung open the wardrobe door and waved a hand at the hangers. 'You said she usually wore this greeny blue dress… Is it any of these?'
She stared at the row of coats and cardigans and sniffed disdainfully. 'Do they look like flaming blue dresses?'
'When she came back from school the day before yesterday, was she wearing the blue dress then?'
'Of course she was.'
'You actually saw her with it on?'
'Yes. Why are you asking?'
'Because it's not here,' said Frost, 'that's why.' She didn't understand what the hell he was talking about, but sod her. 'Where would she have put it if it wanted washing?'
'In the linen basket next to the washing machine.'
'Go with her and see if it's there,' Frost told Morgan. He sat on the bed and waited, but he guessed what the answer would be. He looked round the room, bed made, pyjamas folded… The poor kid must have done all that
