A bitter night with very few toms still about and the ones they asked hadn't seen a grey Honda. Frost radioed to Burton to report they had lost the target.
It was Burton who spotted the car parked down a side street to the rear of the red light district. It was locked and empty. 'Shit!' said Frost.
'Now what?' Morgan asked.
'You and Burton take a walk around, see if you can spot him, I'll watch his motor. He's got to come back sometime.'
A cutting wind made him shiver and he was glad to get back to the warmth of his car. He found a half- smoked cigarette in his mac pocket and lit up, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the Honda straight ahead. The night had all the makings of one of his first-class cock-ups.
A tapping at the driver's window made him turn. A woman in silhouette against the street lamp behind her. He wound down the window and a tatty, ginger-tinged fur coat opened to show a low-cut dress and yards of cleavage. 'Want to see the twins undressed, love?' asked a husky, sex-promising voice. 'Twenty pounds as it's cold.'
Frost's eyes moved quickly from the unappetizing twins to the face, heavily plastered with make-up, and the dyed red hair poking out from under a knitted bobble hat… 'Still on the game, Sarah? Can't you live on your old age pension?'
Sarah jerked back in dismay. 'The fuzz, just my flaming luck.' She backed away, but he reached out and grabbed her arm. 'Get in.'
He opened the door and she thudded down on the passenger seat, filling the car with the overpowering smell of cheap, musky perfume. 'You ain't going to run me in, are you, Mr Frost?' she pleaded. 'Not on me birthday?'
'Your birthday? Show us your telegram from the Queen!'
'Very funny.' She took the cigarette he offered and sucked at it gratefully. The glow from his lighter lit up a raddled face, heavily caked with make-up, and the smoke she exhaled was tinged with the smell of gin.
'You're getting a bit too old for this lark, aren't you, Sarah?'
She shrugged. 'The landlord wants his rent and I've got to pay it somehow.'
'Ever been approached by a bloke, mid-forties, little moustache, stinks of aftershave and drives a Honda?'
She shook her head. 'All I get is old men in Reliant Robins stinking of wintergreen.' She paused. 'A Honda? You don't mean the bloke who was in that Honda over there?' She indicated the dentist's car.
'Yes,' said Frost. 'Why?' 'I offered him my services and he told me to piss off.'
'And you took that as a 'No'?'
'Supercilious bastard. Politeness costs nothing.'
'You didn't see where he went, by any chance?'
'Yes.' She pointed. 'In that house on the corner.'
Frost couldn't believe his luck. 'Are you sure?'
'Positive. He took out a key and let himself in.'
Frost beamed happily. 'I owe you one, Sarah.' He radioed for Burton and Morgan to return, then opened the car door for the woman to leave. 'On your way, love.'
She shivered as the cold hit her. 'I won't get much more trade tonight. I'm never going to get enough for my cab fare home.' She gave a pleading look. 'I suppose you couldn't see your way-'
Frost didn't let her finish. 'Sorry, love, you never paid me back the last time, or the time before that…' It was a waste of time giving the woman money. She'd go straight to the nearest pub and pour it down her throat.
She shrugged. 'Ah well. Thanks for the fag.'
He watched her lumber off into the darkness and waited for the two DCs to return.
'What do you reckon, then, guv?' asked Morgan for the eighth time. He was beginning to get on Frost's nerves. What did he expect — instant flaming solutions?
'We watch and when he comes out, we follow him.'
'What do you reckon he's doing in there?'
'How the flaming hell do I know?' Frost had taken a prowl around the house, but the curtains were all tightly drawn and there was nothing to be seen. He had squinted through the letter box into a darkened hall. Nothing to see, nothing to hear. He had asked the station to find out who lived there. The information supplied was that the premises were occupied by a Mr and Mrs F. Williamson who had lived there for some three years. Nothing was known about them.
'He could be in there with a torn now,' said, Morgan. 'Got her tied to the bed and torturing the poor woman.'
'I know, I bloody know,' Frost snapped. 'If we burst ' in and he's just popped in to use their toilet, we've blown it. I don't think that's where he takes them. It's too public. He'd risk someone seeing him.'
'But you can't be sure, guv.'
'I know I can't be sure. For all I know it could be packed floor to ceiling with dead toms. All we can do is wait until he comes out, then wherever he goes, we follow.' He yawned. 'No point two of us staying awake. I'm having a kip. Wake me in half an hour then I'll take over from you.' He pulled up his coat collar, hunched down in the seat and closed his eyes.
He woke with a start. Where the hell was he? The car. He was in the car. He brought his watch up to his eyes. 1.36. Flaming Taffy Morgan was supposed to wake him at 1.30. He stretched and looked round. Morgan, head back, eyes closed, was snoring softly. Frost snorted annoyance. Couldn't the silly sod do anything right? He jabbed the DC sharply in the ribs with his elbow. Morgan shot bolt upright. 'What's that?'
'Your early morning call,' began Frost and then his eyes widened and he swore violently.
The street lamp shone down on an empty parking space. The Honda had gone.
Morgan was rubbing his eyes. 'I nearly dropped off then, guv,' he murmured apologetically. He stared through the windscreen. 'Where's the Honda?'
'He must have driven it away when you nearly dropped off,' snarled Frost as he radioed through to Burton who was watching the rear of the house from a side street. 'You didn't spot Ashby driving off by any chance?' he asked hopefully.
'No,' replied Burton. 'You haven't lost him, have you?'
'Yes,' said Frost grimly. 'The lousy sod didn't have the decency to wake Morgan up as he left. Get over to his house and wait there. Let me know the minute he returns.' He radioed for all units to keep an eye out for the Honda, hoping and praying that Mullett wasn't listening in.
'I'm sorry, guv,' said Morgan again. Frost ignored him, his brain whirling. What had Ashby been doing in that house? Was some poor cow even now tied to the bed, or had he sneaked a body out while Morgan was snoring his flaming head off? Frost gritted his teeth and stiffened to stop himself screaming out loud as, for the hundredth time, Morgan asked, 'What now, guv?'
'We've got to take a look inside that house.' He opened the car door. 'Let's see if we can find a way in.'
A forlorn hope but he tried the front door, just in case Ashby hadn't closed it properly. No joy. Another look through the letter box, this time shining his torch inside. Nothing. What did he expect to find — a dead tom swinging from the coat rack? He straightened up. 'Let's try the back way.'
An unlocked gate from the back alley led to the rear of the premises. A small garden with a tiny lean-to greenhouse. The back door was locked and the downstairs window catch stubbornly resisted the efforts of Frost's penknife to open it.
Morgan stepped back and pointed to an upstairs sash window which wasn't quite closed. 'I reckon I could get in through there, guv.'
With visions of Morgan slipping, smashing every pane in the greenhouse and waking up the entire street, Frost firmly shook his head. I'll do it.' He dragged the dustbin over and climbed on top, but even on tiptoe, the sill was just beyond his reach. Reluctantly, very much against his better judgement, he let the slightly taller Morgan try. The DC hauled himself up, full of confidence, just managing to hook his fingers over the edge of the sill. With a foreboding of disaster, Frost turned his head away. 'I'm there, guv,' called Morgan triumphantly just before he fell, his feet kicking, trying to get a foothold in the brickwork as he crashed down, sending the dustbin flying and the lid rolling and clanging. 'Sorry, guv,' muttered Morgan, picking himself up.
'That's your bleeding theme tune,' hissed Frost. For a moment, by some miracle, he thought no-one had
