Weaver gave an understanding smile. 'You had your job to do, Inspector.'
'How long has your mother been in hospital?'
'Nearly three months… she couldn't swallow, but they've operated.' He obviously didn't want to go into any more details.
'I wish her well,' said Frost.
Back in the car with the sleeping Morgan making bubbling snoring sounds from the back seat, Frost lit up the cigarette he had been denied in the house and chewed things over. The old lady had been in hospital for nearly three months. An empty house, mother out of the way, the ideal opportunity to get up to all sorts of tricks just at the time Vicky Stuart went missing. He looked back at the house. The lights were still on, then a curtain twitched from an upstairs window. The sod was checking up to make certain they were leaving. He revved the engine and drove off, followed by the other two cars. Once round the corner he stopped and flagged the others down while he radioed through to the station. 'I want a twenty-four-hour surveillance on Weaver, starting from now.'
'Twenty-four-hour surveillance?' echoed Wells. 'That's going to make the overtime budget look sick. You've cleared it with Mr Mullett?'
'Yes,' lied Frost. He'd do it first thing in the morning. Mullett might not be in the agreeing mood if he was dragged out of bed yet again and he couldn't risk the sod saying no.
'All right,' sighed Wells, I'll get it organized. Tell Collier he's on the first four-hour shift.'
He was tired but his brain was whirling, spinning out ideas and possibilities, making it impossible to sleep. He made himself a cup of instant coffee and switched on the television and found himself watching a black and white early western where a very youthful John Wayne was beating a baddie to a pulp with punches that missed by yards. He closed his eyes, just for a minute. The next thing he knew was being jolted awake by the phone in the hall screaming at him. John Wayne, his white cowboy hat still in place, was massaging his knuckles and looking down at his opponent. He could only have been asleep for seconds. He staggered out to the phone.
It was Collier. 'I'm following Weaver,' he reported. 'He got into a car a couple of minutes ago. He was carrying something.'
Frost was now fully awake. 'What was he carrying?'
'I couldn't see. The fog's thickening and I had to park well down the street so he wouldn't see me.'
'What make of car?'
'A green Metro… I couldn't get the registration number.'
'Where are you now?'
'Bath Road. I'm going to need some back-up.'
I'll get back-up,' Frost told him. 'Whatever you do, don't lose him.'
Grabbing his coat, he phoned the station. 'We need back-up. Weaver's on the move.'
'All I've got is Jordan and Simms in the area car,' said Wells, 'and they're at Tomlin Street flats… the pillow case bandit has struck again.'
'Sod the pillow case bandit, he can wait. Get them over here… now!'
The fog was getting denser and the windscreen wipers on Collier's car were working overtime smearing the glass. Fog helped conceal him from Weaver, but made the Metro very difficult to follow. He could just make out the dirty red smears of the car's rear lights which would disappear abruptly as the Metro went through a patch of really thick fog. Suddenly the red flickered and vanished again and this time didn't come back. There was a junction ahead. Weaver had turned off on to the main road. Collier accelerated, looking left and right and seeing nothing. Which way had he gone? Damn. He'd lost him. He turned left, hoping against hope that this was correct. On and on through swirling mist, getting more and more anxious, and seeing nothing ahead. He should have turned right. He picked up the radio to tell Frost he had lost him when his heart quickened. Dimly, some way ahead, two red lights. The Metro. It had to be the Metro. The lights veered to the left. Collier spun the wheel to follow, feeling the tyres bump and judder over an unmade road. Where was he? He couldn't see a bloody thing. He had completely lost his bearings in the fog and was frantically trying to work out his location so he could report to Frost. He wound down the window to see better and suddenly heard the sound of water splashing down into water. The canal! Of course… he was on a little-used track which led to the canal. What was Weaver doing here?
Head outside the car, he could see a bit better. The splodges of red ahead were getting bigger — they weren't moving. Weaver had stopped. Collier swung his car over to the grass verge and switched off his lights. He radioed Frost and told him what was happening. 'Get out and see what he's doing,' ordered Frost.
Collier climbed out, shivering as the damp insinuated its way through his greatcoat. The mist was clinging tenaciously to the canal making visibility almost nil and he had to inch blindly towards Weaver's car, keeping well away from the edge of the tow path. He could hear the water, but couldn't see it. A car door opened and slammed shut. Weaver was getting out. A pause, then a splash. Something heavy thrown into the canal. Collier strained his eyes and could just make out the outline of a man, staring down into the water. It was Weaver, who turned and went back to his car. Collier hurried back to his own vehicle and radioed Frost. 'He's chucked something in the canal.'
'Did you see what it was?'
'No, quite a splash though. Hold on.' Collier could hear an engine starting up. 'I think he's driving off. Do I follow?'
'Yes.' But Frost instantly changed his mind. 'No. Stay there.' The boot, thought Frost despairingly. The bloody boot. He could have had the kid's body in the boot and we never searched the flaming car. The bugger sat there wearing a driving coat and we never thought to search his bloody motor!
Headlights from the Metro flared in the windscreen as Weaver drove past. 'He just passed me.'
'Let him go. Get down to the canal and try and find out what he chucked in — it might be the kid. I'll get some more bodies and we'll join you.' He radioed through to the station for the underwater emergency team.
'Has Mullett agreed this?' queried Wells.
'Sod Mullett, the kid could be drowning. Just do it, Bill, I'll square things with Mullett. And I need more men — all you can spare. The canal's going to be a sod to search in this weather.'
'They're all off duty, Jack. It'll mean extra overtime. Mr Mullett said-'
'Just bloody do it, Bill. I'll take the can — and tell all patrols to look out for Weaver's green Metro. I want to know where it goes.'
'Registration number?'
'I don't know, but there can't be many green Metros about at this hour of the morning.' He wound his scarf round his neck, steeled himself for the dash out into the cold and headed for his car.
The worsening visibility caused him to miss the turn-off and he had to waste valuable minutes backtracking and trying again. Bumping down the unmade road leading to the tow path he could just make out the flashing blue light of an area car which had got there before him. A burble of voices led him to some four or five men all thick- coated against the cold, poking and prodding the canal water with long sticks. Two cars were parked on the tow path, their headlamps trying weakly to push through the mist and give the searchers some light. Thick fog, like dirty clumps of cotton wool, rolled along the surface of the canal making it near impossible to make out where the tow path ended and the water began.
Frost grabbed Collier's arm. 'How's it going?'
'Not too well, Inspector. I never saw where he dropped it, I only heard the splash, and he might have dropped it near the bank or thrown it right in the centre. It's far too deep for anyone to wade in at this point.' He shook his head in self-reproach. 'I should have got closer. If it was the girl and she was alive when she went in, she'll be long dead by now.'
'We can only do our bloody best, son,' slashed Frost. 'We're not miracle men.' The whining growl of approaching vehicles. The underwater search team. 'About bloody time,' muttered Frost.
Within minutes floodlights were erected and a portable generator was chugging away. The team began donning frogmen suits as the duffel-coated sergeant in charge got his instructions from Frost. 'What are we looking for, Inspector?'
'A man who we suspect has abducted a seven-year-old kid has chucked something in the canal. It could be the kid.'
'When and where was it dumped?'
Frost shrugged. 'In this general area somewhere. The officer heard the splash, but didn't see anything. This
