Weaver had gone the colour of chalk. He hung his head and mumbled to the table top. 'All right, Inspector. Yes, they are mine. To my deep shame I get pleasure from studying photographs of children…'
'Naked children,' corrected Frost.
'Yes. It sounds bad, but it's harmless. I just like to look at photographs, that's all. After you called here yesterday I was concerned you would find them and get the wrong idea, so I decided to get rid of them.'
'Did you take any of them yourself, sir?'
A quick shake of the head. 'Oh dear me, no. I bought them.'
'From a man in a pub you'd never seen before?'
Weaver gave a thin smile. 'Something like that. I paid cash. I don't know his name.'
Frost nodded as if he accepted this. 'Fair enough, sir. But something puzzles me. If I liked to dribble over photographs of bare young flesh, like you, I don't think I'd turn away a seven-year-old girl who knocks at my door and begs to be photographed. I'd have her stripped off and my Box Brownie out before you could say 'Cheese'.'
Weaver flushed angrily. 'You can believe what you like, Inspector, but I told you exactly what happened. She never came into the house.' The sound of nails wrenched from wood coming from above made him start. 'What is that?'
'That's the floorboards coming up — in case you forgot to tell us about the body.'
Weaver smiled. 'You can tear the place apart, Inspector. There is no body here.'
It doesn't have to be a body,' Frost told him. 'We'll settle for a single hair, a shred of clothing. DNA can do the rest.'
The mention of DNA had the same effect on Weaver as it had on Bernie Green. He began twitching in agitation. 'DNA?'
'One hair, that's all they need, sir — they'll be disappointed if they find a body. They get paid extra for doing DNA tests.'
Weaver pulled the dressing-gown tighter around him. He was shaking, but not from the cold. 'There's something I should tell you.'
'My ear-hole is at your disposal, sir.' Frost sat in the chair opposite him and pulled out a cigarette, but remembering Weaver's asthma, reluctantly shoved it back in the packet.
'I'm afraid I didn't quite tell you the truth…'He paused. Frost said nothing. He knew when to keep his mouth shut. Weaver's tongue moistened dry lips. 'I did let her in. It was foolish of me, but she seemed such a sweet little girl. I did take her photograph — fully clothed, of course — and then she left. Even though it was innocent and harmless, when I learnt she was missing, I panicked and threw the photographs away.'
'And the film?'
'I threw that away as well.'
Frost stared hard at him. Weaver wouldn't meet his I gaze. 'And what about the other little girl, Vicky Stuart?'
'I know nothing about her. I've never seen her. It was just Jenny, I swear it.'
'Inspector!' PC Simms was calling from the top of I the stairs. 'Would you come up and have a look at this, please.'
Frost thudded up the stairs. Simms, in Weaver's bedroom, had pulled the wardrobe away from the wall. Sellotaped to the back was a large manila envelope. Frost felt it. There seemed to be photographs inside. He yelled for Weaver to be brought up. 'Any idea what this contains, sir?'
Weaver collapsed on the bed and buried his face in his hands. Frost removed the envelope and shook out the contents. A series of black and white photographs of a young girl, some semi-clothed, others in the nude. The girl was Jenny Brewer.
Frost rammed the photographs in Weaver's face. 'You couldn't bear to part with them, could you? All| right, you bastard, where is she? What have you done to her?'
Weaver flinched and sniffed back tears. I've done nothing with her. She was alive when she left I here.'
'You're lying,' snarled Frost. 'You lie until you're found out, and then you lie some more to cover up your lies. Where is she?'
Weaver shook his head, knuckling his eyes.
'Charles Edward Weaver,' intoned Frost, I'm arresting you on suspicion of being involved in the disappearance of Jenny Brewer…' He tailed off. He I never could remember the words of the new caution and had to step back so Simms could finish it off for him.
'This is a nightmare,' blubbed Weaver. 'I'm innocent.'
'Take the innocent bastard away,' said Frost.
The cleaners had given the interview room a flick over. Its permanent smell of sweat, old socks and stale cigarette smoke was now tinged with pine disinfectant. Frost squeaked a chair across the brown lino and plonked himself down opposite Weaver. As he waited while Simms set up the cassette recorder, he rammed a cigarette in his mouth and lit up without thinking. One puff before Weaver was coughing, spluttering and flapping his hand to clear away the smoke. 'Please, Inspector — my asthma.'
Frost pinched out the cigarette and dropped it back in the packet. 'Sorry. Tell me about Jenny.'
'She saw me in the street with my camera and wanted her photograph taken…'
'When was this?'
'A few weeks ago. I told her no, but she kept knocking at my door. In the end, I let her in.'
'Why?'
'She looked so pitiful. I felt sorry for her. I didn't intend taking those photographs. It just happened.'
'She just happened to strip off and you just happened to have your camera handy?'
Weaver bowed his head and didn't answer.
'Did she do it for free?'
'I gave her sweets. I bought her little gifts, annuals, toys…'
'Clothes?'
'A red dress. She kept it at my place.'
'Why?'
'Jenny didn't want her mother to know.'
'And you didn't want her mother to know what you were doing with her daughter. So you paid the kid? You bought her presents to entice her to come?'
Weaver stared at the wall behind Frost and shrugged. 'If you want to put it that way.'
'Where is the red dress?'
'I burnt it.'
'What time did Jenny arrive on the day she disappeared?'
'A little after four. She came straight from school.'
'What time did she leave?'
'About a quarter to five. She said she had to get round to her grandmother's house. It was raining, so if gave her a pound for the bus fare.'
'How did she leave — the front way… the back way?'
'The back way. She said she didn't want any of her school friends to see her.'
'And you didn't want the neighbours to see her either.'
Weaver gave a wry smile. 'You know how neighbours talk.'
'With good bloody reason in this case. Let's pretend you're telling the truth. What do you reckon happened to her after she left you?'
Weaver spread his hands. 'I don't know, but if I were you, I'd start questioning her mother's boyfriend. Jenny told me he used to hit her. I saw bruises.'
Frost brought out the photo of the first missing girl. 'I'm showing the suspect a photograph of Vicky Stuart,' he told the tape. 'Tell me about Vicky.'
Weaver sighed. 'How many more times… I have never, ever in my life seen or spoken to that child. Jenny was the only one and I never so much as laid a finger on her.'
'Call me a sentimental old fool, if you like,' said Frost, 'but I think you're a bleeding liar. I think know damn well where they are.'
Weaver shook his head as if in sorrow. 'I'm sorry you don't believe me, Inspector. I can only tell the truth and
