'Wait,' said Bailey, ordering him back in the chair. 'Your recent clear-up rate isn't at all good — in fact its bloody lousy. We want it improved. We're going to return some of the men your Divisional Command kindly loaned us for the drugs bust operation, so you won't have the excuse of shortage of manpower. We want this killer of prostitutes apprehended before he carves up any more, and we want this child murder case cleared up, and damn quickly.' '
Right.' Frost stood up again. 'And if you can implicate Weaver in any way…'
'If he's guilty,' replied Frost, 'I'll implicate him.'
Wells tapped on the door and looked in on Frost, who was scribbling on a pad. Frost nodded him to a chair. 'Larry, Curly and Mo want me to do a report on your claim to have looked in on Weaver,' he murmured. 'How do you spell 'lying bastard'?'
Wells grinned. He had already been let off lightly by the investigation. 'You've got a visitor. Sandy Lane from the Demon Echo — says it's important.'
'Did he look as if he had any fags?'
'He'd just opened a fresh packet.'
'Then show him in.'
Sandy Lane, chief reporter for the Echo, bounded in, his dark blue duffel coat flapping. 'It's brass monkey weather out there, Jack,' he said as he tossed a cigarette over to Frost before taking one himself.
'If you think I'm going to break the Official Secrets Act for one lousy fag, you can think again,' said Frost, accepting a light. 'I never do it for less than two.'
Lane grinned and settled down in the chair. 'Jenny Brewer,' he began. 'The dead kid…'
'Yes said Frost guardedly 'What about her?'
'The whisper is that Weaver didn't do it.'
It's still an ongoing investigation,' said Frost, 'and he' still my number one suspect… but that is off the record.'
Lane pulled a notebook from the duffel coat, and flipped to a page scrawled with shorthand symbols does the name Henry Plummer mean anything to you?'
Yes, he's a he's a nutcase. He keeps getting on to us with his vague prophecies. 'You will find the body on something green, under something blue,' so she could be anywhere in the world except the Sahara desert or the North Pole.'
'He says he's seen her body in a dream.'
'I saw a girl's body in a dream — she was in bed with me. I told her not to speak with her mouth full. Did I tell you the joke about the bloke getting married?'
'Never seen a blue one before, yes, Jack, four times. Plummer says he can describe things about the girl that never appeared in the papers.'
'Like what?'
'Look, Jack, I want a story out of this. If he does lead you to the body, I want an exclusive.'
'Like what?' repeated Frost.
'On her right wrist — he says she was wearing a bangle.'
Frost stiffened. Vicky Stuart had been wearing a bangle, a fact that had not been released to the press.
'Is it true?' asked Lane.
'No comment,' said Frost. 'Did he say what kind of bangle — gold, silver, lucky charms that didn't bring the poor little cow any luck?'
'Solid plastic, green and yellow sea shells.'
Frost slowly exhaled smoke. An exact description. Only a few people knew about it and the details had never been released. 'Where is this clever bastard?'
'In my office.'
'Then trot him over here.'
He paced the office impatiently, waiting for Lane to return. He spun round as the door opened, but it wasn't the reporter. It was Detective Sergeant Authur Hanlon who handed over a small brown manila envelope. 'This was in the post, Jack.' Frost glanced at the handwritten address:
The Detective in Charge
The Jenny Brewer Investigation
Denton Police
There was something small and round inside. He ripped it open and pulled out a single folded sheet of cheap, lined notepaper. The message was in the same handwriting as the envelope:
You have made a mistake and arrested the wrong man. The body is in the shed at the back of the hospital. The button came from her dress.
He shook out a blue button which had a short length of black thread attached. A button was missing from Jenny's dress when they found her. The postmark stated the envelope had been posted at the main Denton post office, 3.15 p.m. the previous afternoon. He showed the note to Arthur Hanlon who skimmed through it.
'Whoever sent this, Jack, knew where the body was before we found it.'
'I love people who state the flaming obvious,' said Frost. 'Send the button over to Forensic and let's see if it matches the others — knowing my luck, it's bound to.' He shook his head. 'It doesn't make sense. If I'd done a murder I'd be over the bloody moon if the fuzz arrested someone else for it, I wouldn't try to clear him.'
'A murderer with a conscience?' suggested Hanlon.
'A murderer with a conscience doesn't rape seven-year-olds,' said Frost.
As Hanlon left, Bill Wells poked his head round the door. 'You in the mood for a bloke with second sight, Jack?'
'I'm in the mood for a sex-starved sixteen-year-old with a hundred fags to spare. I wouldn't kick her out if she only had fifty.'
'Then you're out of luck. It's Sandy Lane with that fortune-telling weirdo.'
'Wheel them in,' Frost told him. 'He reckons he can find Vicky Stuart for us.'
The tweed-suited man with Sandy Lane was in his late fifties, gaunt, and sporting a goatee beard. Frost took an instant dislike to him.
'You spurned my gifts in the past, Inspector,' said Plummer, looking cock-a-hoop, 'but at last you've come to your senses.' He declined Frost's offered cigarette. 'Alcohol and cigarettes deaden the mental powers, as I'm sure you've found out.' He produced a worn leather wallet from his jacket pocket and took out a newspaper cutting carrying a photograph of Vicky Stuart. 'This is the little girl I keep seeing, calling out to me in my dreams. You don't know where she is, do you, Inspector?'
'No,' grunted Frost, mentally adding, and neither do you, mate. This was going to be a complete and utter waste of time and he had so many other things to attend to. That bleeding skeleton for a start.
Plummer rubbed his hands briskly. 'I'd like a full-scale map of Demon, if you please.' Frost found him one and Plummer carefully unfolded it over the surface of Morgan's desk. He sat in Morgan's chair and took several deep breaths, slowly expelling air from his lungs. 'To purify the system,' he told the inspector.
Frost raised his eyebrows to Lane. He was getting fed up with this already. Plummer gave him a pitying smile. 'Patience, Inspector. These things can't be rushed.' He addressed Lane, who he considered a more receptive audience. 'Last night I had a dream, a vivid dream. A child was crying out.' He imitated a small child's voice: ' 'Help me… please help me…' I saw her face clearly.' His finger stabbed the newspaper cutting. 'It was that child.' If he was expecting a favourable reaction from Frost, he didn't get one.
'When is the big film going to start?' Frost asked. 'I'm getting bored with the Mickey Mouse.'
Plummer, looking hurt, ignored him. 'I immediately sprang out of bed and felt something drawing me to this copy of the Demon Echo. I opened it, and there was this picture… the little girl from my dream. I concentrated on it and could feel hatred, pain, violence. There were trees, grass, leaves…' Again he looked at Frost.
'So all we've got to do is to find somewhere where there's trees, grass and leaves, and we've got her. Thank you very much.' Frost rose to his feet, bringing the meeting to a close.
Plummer stayed in his chair. 'You have no faith in me, have you, Inspector?' He smiled knowingly. 'But I will change that. Do you have any item here that would have been in the girl's possession? Something actually handled by her?'
Frost opened the file and took out the school photograph of the smiling, gap-toothed Vicky. She had brought
