'We know what happened. The son killed him.'
'No, Taff. I reckon the old girl killed him.' He flopped down at his desk and lit up a cigarette. 'Did you clock the knife the old girl was using to dice up the carrots?'
'Yes, guv. It looked very similar to the one she stuck into me.'
'And it also looked very similar to this.' Frost opened his desk drawer and took out the plastic bag containing the rusty knife that had been found buried near the skeleton. 'In fact it could be its bloody twin, the same ring at the end of the handle for hanging it up.'
Morgan examined the knife carefully. 'It does look similar,' he admitted grudgingly.
'Similar? It's flaming identical. One of a pair, I reckon.'
'So what are you suggesting?' Morgan asked.
I'm suggesting, Taffy, that this knife, which we found buried with the skeleton, came from her kitchen. Now why would she bury a perfectly good knife? She's too bleeding mean to throw anything away; she probably uses her toilet paper on both sides. She chucked it because there was blood on it, and not chicken's blood… Derek Fernley's blood.'
'You're saying she stabbed him?'
'Yes, I am. She said there was blood everywhere. You don't get that amount of blood from a crack on the nut. The boy might have been involved somehow, but she killed Fernley, probably to get the money, and that makes it murder.'
Morgan stared at him. 'Where's your proof, guv?'
'I haven't got any proof, son. I just know she did it.'
'Then why didn't you let me question her son? I could have got the truth out of him.'
'And suppose he told you that mummy stabbed the naughty man with her knife? Mullett wouldn't let it rest and we'd then have to start wasting our bloody time investigating an ancient murder case that would be thrown out of court, and I've got better things to do.'
'But you can't turn a blind eye to murder,' protested Morgan.
'Just watch me, Taffy. That old cow kept her son hidden away for years just to save her own skin. I'd like to get her for that, but she's too old and it happened far too long ago and I'm too flaming tired to care.' He exhaled smoke. 'Let this be a lesson to you, Taff. Stay away from women with big nipples and long knives.' He yawned. 'Let's get our heads down. I get the feeling we're going to be in for a rough night.'
21
PC Collier yawned and knuckled his eyes. Three in the morning, his fourth consecutive night on overtime and it was hard to keep awake. This was going to be yet another boring night with nothing happening. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and wished he was back home in bed, then his eyes snapped open as he became aware there was someone in the seat next to him. Jordan back with the big Macs? No. It was Detective Inspector Jack Frost.
'Sorry, sir,' Collier muttered, trying to look alert. 'Must have closed my eyes for a few seconds.'
'About two hundred and forty bleeding seconds,' said Frost. 'I know it's a bore, son, but there's little point to the exercise if you fall asleep just as the killer picks her up.' He took a look through the car window.
'Where is she?'
With a start of panic Collier snatched up the night glasses and scoured the area near the phone box. Polly wasn't there! He'd missed the pick-up, he'd bloody missed it! Then he saw her, leaning against the railings in the shadow. 'There, sir!' He passed the night glasses to Frost, trying to sound as if he knew all the time.
Sensing she was being watched, Polly moved forward to the light-splash from the lamp post and gave her bottom a little wiggle for Collier's benefit. He blushed, but Frost gawped with delight. 'Cor, I couldn't half give her one.' He turned to the PC. 'Shouldn't there be two of you? Where's Jordan?'
Before Collier could think of an excuse, Jordan appeared clutching two yellow polystyrene containers. His dismay showed when he saw Frost. 'Just popped out for some refreshment, Inspector.'
Frost took one of the boxes and looked inside. A beefburger, oozing fat and reeking of fried onion. 'You should have got one for Collier as well,' he said, sinking his teeth into it. His head jerked up. 'What's this?'
A flare of headlights as a beige minicab marked 'Dave's Taxis' drew up by the phone box and honked its horn. Collier consulted his list. 'The right cab, sir.' He focused the night glasses. 'And the right driver. He's picked Polly up a couple of times before.'
'OK, son. Follow it, then take her back to the station. I'm calling it a night.' He climbed out of the car, fatigue and depression weighing him down. He was so sure tonight was going to be the night. Now he'd have to face Mullett again in the morning and talk the cheese-paring bastard out of stopping the exercise. He took another bite at the beefburger but realized he didn't want it and chucked it into the gutter, giving it a savage kick as it fell. Round the corner to his own car and off to the other phone box. He had left Morgan watching Liz Maud but wasn't too happy at leaving the DC on his own in spite of the man's earnest protestations. 'You can rely on me, guv.' Taffy was the last bleeding bloke you could rely on.
Half-way there when his radio squawked. 'Control to Mr Frost. Urgent. Come in, please.'
He lifted the handset. 'Frost.'
'Urgent assistance required. Ram raid in progress at Conway's Jewellers in the High Street. One officer injured, ambulance on way. We need all your men, now!'
He radioed his team as he spun the car round. 'All units, abandon operation. Ram raid, Conway's Jewellers, officer injured. Get over there now.'
Morgan radioed back. 'I'm watching DI Maud, guv. There's a cab pulling up for her now. Can't see the registration number, but it's a woman driver. Looks all right. Safe to leave?'
'No, not safe to bloody leave,' snapped Frost. 'Might be a man in drag. Follow, pick her up at the other end, then both of you get over to Conway's pronto.'
Skidding round the corner, he was the first on the scene, the other two cars close on his heels. A Panda car was slewed across the road. The pavement outside the jewellers sparkled with broken glass and the alarm was shrilling with no-one to take any notice. He ran over to the still shape of a uniformed officer sprawled in the gutter, his head in a puddle of blood.
A slamming of car doors and the clatter of footsteps behind him. He knelt by the officer and touched the icy cold, chalk white face of twenty-year-old Peter Adams who had been with the Division a few months only. 'Get a blanket or something. The poor sod's freezing.' He moved to one side as WPC Polly Fletcher shucked off her tart's fur coat and gently laid it over the injured constable. Frost could smell the incongruous aroma of the heady scent she had been using.
'Hey!' A man was running towards them from a house opposite. 'It was me who phoned your lot,' he told them proudly. 'I saw it all.'
Frost took the man's arm and moved away. 'What happened?'
'I was watching a film on the telly when I heard this crash. I looks out the window and I sees this van ramming through the jeweller's plate glass window. There were three of them, youngish, in their twenties I'd imagine, all with balaclavas hiding their faces. They were scooping jewellery from the window when the cop drives up. He charges over and one of them welts him with this baseball bat. Poor sod went down like a stone. They ran back in the van and roared off.'
'Which way did they go?' asked Frost.
He pointed. 'Down the Bath Road, speeding like the clappers.'
'What sort of van?'
'Little grey delivery van. There had been a name on the side but it was blacked out.'
'Registration number?'
The man shook his head. 'Couldn't get it. The plates were covered in mud.'
Frost called for all units to be on the look-out. He had no sooner clicked off when Morgan radioed through, very excited. 'That van. It just passed me by the Denton roundabout going towards Exley… light grey, three men. Am in pursuit, assistance required.'
