called Wells.
'Hard luck,' said Frost over his shoulder as he dashed past. 'I want Weaver in the interview room — now!'
Wells jerked a thumb to the constantly ringing phones. 'The press won't leave us alone. They're screaming for a statement.'
'They can bloody scream. Get Weaver.' And the swing doors slammed shut behind him.
Wells returned to the desk. Ignoring the outside lines, he picked up the internal phone. It was Mullett. 'Yes, sir, he's just this minute come back. Yes, I did tell him. I'm sure he will be with you soon.' He held the phone away from his ear as Mullett bleated his annoyance. 'Yes, sir, I'll tell him.' He banged the phone down and yelled for Collier to fetch Weaver from the cell, then turned his attention to the other phones. 'Yes. I can confirm we have found a body of a young girl. Sorry… no further comment at this stage…'
Weaver blinked at the light as Collier ushered him into the interview room, smoothing back his hair and rubbing his face as if he had just been wakened from a sound sleep. He gave Frost his 'always willing to help' smile. Frost stared at him, nose wrinkled with contempt as he flicked a finger to the chair. 'Sit!'
Weaver sat, looking hurt at the inspector's tone.
'You're interested in photographs, aren't you?' asked Frost, snatching a photograph from the file on the table and thrusting it in Weaver's face. It was the Forensic coloured Polaroid photograph of the dead Jenny Brewer, eyes bulging, blood trickling from her nose and mouth.
Weaver flinched and pushed Frost's hands away. He closed his eyes and refused to look.
'Recognize her?' demanded Frost, barely in control of himself. 'That's how we found her. Were her eyes open in terror like that when you raped the poor little cow? Seven years old, you bastard — seven years old.'
The colour seeped from Weaver's face. He slid his chair back from the table as if trying to get as far from the photograph as possible. 'You're trying to incriminate me,' he shrilled. 'You want a suspect, so you're framing me.'
'Did you give her one of your green sweets first? 'Here little girl, have a sweetie while nice Uncle Charlie rapes you then chokes the bloody life out of you'?'
Weaver started sobbing, then leapt to his feet, sending the chair crashing back to the wall. 'You framed me. You planted the body… you…' Then his eyes opened wide and his hand went to his throat, tearing open his collar. He was making deep wheezing noises as he desperately tried to suck in air. Frost sprang up and flung the door open. 'Bill! Get his bloody inhaler.' He looked helplessly at Collier, hoping the constable would know what to do as Weaver sank to his knees, fighting for breath. After what seemed ages, Wells returned with the inhaler. 'Get him a doctor,' said Frost, 'and bloody quick.' He snapped a glance at Collier. 'Interview terminated at 8.20.'
'8.24,' corrected Collier.
'What bloody difference?' snarled Frost as he stamped out.
Mullett waylaid him as he slouched back to the office. He was not going to let Frost get away this time. 'You've found Jenny Brewer? Why am I always the last to know?'
'Sorry,' mumbled Frost. 'I was on my way to see you now.'
'And she was found in a place that was supposed to have been thoroughly searched earlier?'
'Yes.' He was in no mood for a bollocking and had to suppress the urge to barge Mullett out of the way and get back to his office.
'So most of today's search, which involved sixty men and women, many on overtime, was a complete and utter waste of time?'
'No. We found her.'
'But if she had been found the first time that shed was searched we could have called off the teams hours ago. Have you any idea what this little lot has cost?'
'No,' answered Frost. 'Funnily enough, that was the last thing on my mind. All I was stupidly thinking of was trying to find the poor little cow.'
Mullett glowered. 'Don't try to be clever with me, Frost. We all wanted that, but everything has to be paid for. Who was supposed to have searched that shed?'
'No idea,' replied Frost, 'but I'm going to find out.' He did know, but wanted to talk to the man before dropping him in it with Mullett.
'I want his name the minute you find out. I'm throwing the book at him, Frost.' He spun on his heels, then realized he hadn't involved Frost in this foul-up. He jabbed an accusing finger. 'You were in charge, Frost. It was your responsibility to check and double-check. Your usual sloppiness had no place here.'
He turned and stamped back to his office, sped on his way by a two-fingered gesture.
Frost slumped in his chair and stared at his in-tray which was stacked high with reports from the officers interviewing prostitutes in connection with the serial killings. As he flipped through them, WPC Polly Fletcher, sandy hair, freckles and a snub nose, came in with another wad of paper. She had been manning the phones in the murder incident room and had taken messages from toms reporting clients who liked to indulge in rough sex play. Frost smiled at her. She looked so flaming desirable. Flipping heck, he thought, if I was twenty years younger and not so bloody tired, I'd show her what rough sex play means. He took the reports and glanced through them. 'Anything helpful here, Polly?'
She shook her head. 'Descriptions are all pretty vague and none of them seem really violent. A couple of possibles which I've marked.' She bent over to show him where she had circled some details. As she did so a wisp of sandy hair brushed his cheek and he could smell the perfumed soap she had been using on that freckled skin. Suddenly he didn't feel tired any more. 'Ta, Polly.' He watched as she walked out, her little bottom wiggling delightfully. Thank God Morgan wasn't here… he'd be chewing up the furniture. And that reminded him. Where the hell was Morgan? A quick cigarette as he waited for the doctor to see Weaver so he could continue the questioning. Fortunately, one was already on the premises attending to a drunk with a cut head, so it shouldn't take long.
Bill Wells came in. 'The doctor's seen him, Jack. Only a mild attack, nothing to worry about.'
Frost gathered up the files. 'Wheel him into the interview room.'
Wells shook his head. 'He's refusing to say another word until he sees his solicitor.'
Frost hurled the files down on his desk in disgust. 'How long will that take?'
'We're trying to track him down. His office is closed and we're getting no reply from his home number.'
'Get on to his staff. He might be on a flaming round the world cruise for all we know. Tell them it's urgent. I need to find out what Weaver's done with the other kid.'
'All in hand,' Wells assured him. He paused at the door. 'Is it true Taffy Morgan was supposed to have searched that shed where the kid's body was found?'
Frost nodded.
'He should be chucked out of the force… He's rubbish.'
'So am I,' grunted Frost, 'but I'm still here.' He pretended to busy himself with papers until the sergeant had left. He didn't want to talk about Taffy until the man had had a chance to defend himself.
The phone gave a little cough. He snatched it up on the first ring. Harding from Forensic. 'Preliminary findings on the shed and the girl, Inspector.'
Frost cradled the phone on his shoulder as he reached for a pen. 'Let's have it.'
'Still more tests to carry out, but things don't look too hopeful. Fibres and odds and ends on the kid's clothing and hair. I expect we can prove some of these came from Weaver's house, but I understand he admits she's been there?'
'She was raped. The DNA should put the finger on him.'
'It looks as if he used a condom, Inspector.'
Frost sighed a stream of smoke. 'Safe bleeding sex has got a lot to answer for. It can't be all bad, you must have some good news?'
'We might have. Does your suspect smoke?'
'No — he's a paragon of bleeding virtues: doesn't drink, doesn't smoke and always uses a condom when he rapes seven-year-old kids.'
'Then forget the good news — we found a fairly fresh cigarette end near the body.'
'Send it down. I'll smoke it later. Anything else to brighten up my day?'
'No, but we'll keep trying.'
