'And you haven't radioed details to the station?'
'No. We thought we'd let you know first.'
Frost grunted his thanks. 'Good. Now forget all about it. Drive off and continue your patrol.'
They looked at each other doubtfully. 'I don't think we would get away with it, Inspector. Someone could have seen him; someone could be looking out of their window at us now.'
Frost did a quick scan of the nearby houses. All were in darkness. 'You didn't drag me out of bed just so I could watch you arrest the poor sod, did you? Do what I say — forget it. Any comeback and I'll take the full blame. You'll be in the clear.'
They looked questioningly at each other then gave a reluctant nod, knowing that if Frost said he would take the blame, then that's what would happen. 'All right, Inspector.'
Frost grinned happily. 'Thanks, lads. And if ever you murder your mother-in-law give me a bell — I owe you one.'
'But what about his wrecked car?' asked Bearsley. 'And there's a couple of thousand quid's worth of damage to that Nissan. How do we explain that away?'
'You know what I think happened here?' said Frost. 'I reckon a flaming joy-rider nicked Morgan's motor and caused all this damage. I'll report it the minute I get home.'
'A joy-rider?' exclaimed Wells incredulously, answering Frost's phone call. 'At this time of the morning?'
'His watch must have stopped,' said Frost. 'Morgan was round my place. We heard a car starting up and when we looked out of the window, this bloke was driving it off. We nipped down and tried to follow him, but he lost us in the fog.'
'Bloody convenient,' sniffed Wells. 'And what was Morgan doing round your place at four o'clock in the morning?'
'We were discussing ways to bring down the outstanding crime figures.'
'Now I know you're lying,' said Wells. 'All right, I'll report it as stolen. Any idea where we should start looking for it?'
'Just a shot in the dark, but try Saxby Street,' said Frost. 'And whoever finds it, tell them not to sit in the driving seat… the bloke I saw nicking the motor looked as if he was going to be sick all over it.'
'Charming,' muttered Wells. He lowered his voice. 'That Welsh bastard isn't worth it, Jack. Why are you sticking your neck out?'
'Because if I got into that sort of trouble I'd hope my mates would lie their flaming heads off for me, it's one of the few perks of the job.'
He hung up and yawned, rubbing sore and gritty eyes. Morgan had been left, snoring noisily in the back of his car outside. Let him sleep it off until morning. Morning! He was due to brief the search parties at eight, so with luck he might snatch three hours' sleep. One last look at the phone, daring it to ring. Half-way up the stairs it defied his dare, and rang and rang and rang…
He fumbled the receiver to his ear and stifled a yawn. 'Frost.' He braced himself for the worst. You didn't get good news phoned through in the wee small bleeding hours. But he was wrong.
'Inspector!' An excited PC Collier. 'We might have something on that car. Guess who owns a dark blue ten- year-old Astra?'
'Say it's Mr Mullett and you've made my night,' said Frost.
'Better than that,' crowed Collier. 'Bernie Green.'
'Not the Bernie Green?' said Frost, flipping through the record cards of his memory. 'Never heard of him.'
'Not in your league, Inspector. A small-time flasher. He's done time for assaulting kids — nothing serious, touching them up in the cinema, things like that… and he's going bald!'
'Eureka!' exclaimed Frost, his tiredness suddenly vanishing.
'We've still got quite a few names to check. He might not be the one.'
'Even if he isn't the right one, he'll bloody do for me,' said Frost. 'What's his address?'
'56B Gorge Street, Denton.'
He scribbled it on the wallpaper. Tm on my way. Meet me outside his house.'
Gorge Street was crammed with parked cars and he had to double park alongside the area car as Collier and Howe came over to meet him.
'Which house?'
Collier pointed to a dilapidated building with steps leading down to a basement area. 'Down there. 'B' stands for basement.'
'I thought it stood for bum-holes,' muttered Frost. They peered down the stone steps to the area where mist swirled around overflowing dustbins, soggy cardboard boxes and other junk. 'These bastards never live in rose- covered cottages, do they?' sniffed Frost. 'Is there a back way?'
'A yard of sorts and a broken-down brick wall,' Howe reported. 'We did a recce as soon as we got here.'
'Get round there,' Frost told Collier. 'He might make a run for it.' He pushed open the rickety iron gate to the steps, the rusty screech setting his teeth on edge and, with Howe following, descended the steps. A single sash window was almost opaque with the grime of ages and his torch beam bounced off the glass when he tried to see inside. He found his penknife and tried to manipulate the sash lock.
'What are you doing?' Howe whispered.
'I want to get inside,' whispered Frost. 'If he's got the kid in there, we need to get to her before he does. I don't want a bloody knife to her throat and the demand for a fast car and Concorde to Buenos Aires.' Sweat poured as he worked away with the penknife, but he had to admit defeat. The window was held tight in the iron grip of multiple layers of ancient paint. 'I think I'm going to have to accidentally smash the glass,' he said, looking round for something suitable. 'Don't want to wake the bastard though.'
'Guv!'
Frost froze and looked up. Morgan — bleeding Morgan — was swaying unsteadily at the top of the steps, peering blearily down. 'What are you doing, guv?'
Frost groaned and hissed for silence just as Morgan managed to kick a milk bottle and send it crashing down the stone steps.
'Have another go,' snarled Frost. 'I don't think the people in the next street heard you.'
'Sorry, guv,' said Morgan, then a yell as he missed his footing and went crashing down the steps.
A light came on from an upstairs window. 'What's going on down there?'
'Police,' called Frost, shining his torch on Howe so the man could see his uniform. Howe was groaning inwardly. Why did events with Frost all too often turn into farce? As the man's head withdrew another light came on — this time from the basement window.
'Shit,' said Frost, 'we've woken the sod up!' Not much element of surprise now. He hammered on the door. 'Open up — police!' He kicked the door and yelled again. 'Open up or we'll break the door down.' This proved easier said than done. The door was locked and heavily bolted and Howe's shoulder was getting numbed and bruised from charging at it in the confined space of the area. Frost's radio crackled. PC Collier. 'I've got him, Inspector. He was trying to climb over the back wall.'
Morgan was dumped back in the car. Frost and Howe hurried round to the rear entrance to find a triumphant Collier holding the handcuffed arm of red and white striped pyjamaed, bare-footed Bernie Green.
'Hello, Bernie,' said Frost. 'We were passing so we thought we'd drop in.' Green, teeth chattering, didn't answer. 'Get him in the house,' Frost told Collier.
He took a quick look round the yard which held an outside toilet and a brick-built coal bunker, and waited while Howe's torch explored the interiors. No sign of the girl. They followed Collier and Green down the stairs to the basement flat, a miserable room, cold and damp from the mist which had crept down from the open door. The single room held a bed, a table, two chairs and, in the corner, a tiny cooker and a sink. Nowhere to hide a body. Frost switched on an ancient electric fire which glowed dimly, but did little to raise the temperature. Green was still shivering violently, so Frost snatched the eiderdown from the bed and wrapped it round him. 'Don't want you dying of cold before we beat a confession out of you, Bernie,' he said.
Green looked up at the inspector, his face a picture of misery. 'I never touched him, Mr Frost. I swear to God I never laid a finger on him.'
Frost said nothing. He held his hands out to the electric fire and gave the man his disbelieving stare.
