Harte

by Robert Innes

  Theresa looked as though she wanted to argue, but no words were coming. She just continued staring around as the cameras continued to zoom in on her.

  “Because when Helen Beauchamp was murdered, Frost wasn’t even out of the prison, was he?” Blake went on. “Oh, he was hidden, because the last place anybody was going to look for him was in Strangeways where millions of viewers had seen him leave. All he had to do, thanks to the head of the prison, who you blackmailed with enough money to pay for his wife’s life saving operation, was wear a prison guard’s uniform so he could slip out the back door and step out in plain sight while the rest of the world searched the rest of Manchester for him. Helen’s dead by that point, leading us to believe that he had been out since you faked that first news report.

  “Do you know, Theresa, it’s sort of funny that I’ve been accused of wanting to put myself as the face of this investigation, because you doing something similar was the first thing that made me think that something wasn’t quite right. How did you get from Strangeways to reporting outside Belmarsh in London just in time for Frost’s apparent arrival? I mean, you would have had to get there straight away, no traffic holding you up, beating the prison van on its own journey. If that didn’t happen, then you can’t have been there for both reports, so one of them had to be pre-recorded.”

  “Alright, that’s enough,” Theresa said sharply. “Laura, it’s back to you in the studio.”

  “Not a chance,” said the crew member who had attached Blake’s microphone. “You’ve got every camera in the area on you right now. You think we’re cutting away?”

  “The question was which one?” Blake continued. “Then I spotted the different number plate. Now that could have just meant that the vans were swapped half way to London, but that isn’t what happened is it, Theresa? Because I got in touch with your studio managers. They were very surprised when they checked that somebody was using the News at Ten studio at three in the morning, four days ago. Who could that have been, I wonder? Because it wasn’t to do anything on air, was it? Not at that time of night. The only studio that this news team use in Media City is the one that has green screen, isn’t it? Now, normally that’s used for simulating a futuristic looking news set that you give your reports from every night, but you used it for a much more sinister reason, didn’t you? It’s why the crowd sounded so much louder on the report you gave in London, because you were actually there, live, whereas the report that was apparently in Manchester was done from the news studio and was a pre-recorded segment that you had filmed yourself doing four days ago.

  “Frost is a category A prisoner which means that, for security reasons, he has to be moved from prison to prison from time to time and one of those moves was filmed another time, wasn’t it? Right at the start, at the height of the Frost murders when he had been caught and was being kept in Strangeways to wait for his sentence. On the day he was taken to court, another team, nine years ago, filmed him and the numerous police and escort cars leaving Strangeways. The yard’s had a bit of a lick of paint in nine years, it doesn’t look too different, but it was just enough to make think that there was something out of place, a bit like Frost’s hair. It had grown a bit in the nine years between the video of that first report and the mocked up one of him in the back of the prison van. And all you had to do was put that up on the green screen and film yourself apparently doing a live report. You staged it carefully to try and cover up the number plate on the van, but you just stepped aside at the wrong moment. No matter though, nobody’s going to notice a brief three second glimpse at the number plate when they’re all paying attention on who is getting in the back of the van. I don’t know if you were capable of doing all that on your own, though I’d imagine with your experience in production, it wouldn’t be too much of a challenge to slot it into the news reports on the day of Frost’s apparent transferal. Then, just to complete it, as arranged, Hawthorne sends an empty prison van to Belmarsh from Strangeways. Maybe the driver is told he’s doing a collection, whatever. The faked tape of Frost in the van probably wasn’t meant for anybody but us, just to try and seal the illusion. Either way, the most elaborate piece of deception is pulled off, in front of a terrified nation as it looks like a serial killer has escaped custody and is back on the streets.”

  Theresa appeared struck dumb. Her mouth was open, but she seemed incapable of speech.

  The news crews from the other channels around them were now openly standing in front of her, filming her every move. Blake meanwhile had three microphones now under his chin, all of them desperate to capture his every word.

  “So, where is Frost in all this? He never set foot in a prison van, in fact until Nigel Hawthorne gave Frost a prison guard’s uniform, he didn’t even leave the prison. He was given clear access to leave and run to this house where he’s been hiding ever since, while you played at being Thomas Frost, murdering an innocent woman in his name. You might not think you’ve been manipulated, Theresa, but believe me, you have. Perhaps you weren’t difficult to mould, but I bet it all made sense by the end, didn’t it? You and Frost, what a pairing you would make.”

  Theresa was trembling, glaring at Blake furiously. After a sharp exhale, she said “You just wait, Harte. He will make you suffer. The whole world is going to see you fall. And what a satisfying moment it’ll be.”

  Blake stepped out of the way as two officers moved forwards to take Theresa away. As she was led towards the police vans, the cameras all followed her, a flurry of indescerninble questions being fired at her. He then turned towards the house.

  “Well,” Fox said. “That’ll be one hell of a watercooler moment. I think we better do what we came here to do, don’t you?”

  Blake nodded. “That’s Theresa Bowen sorted. Now, for Frost.”

  All the police officers took their positions around the house. Blake knew that there would be armed officers situated around the street, all trained on the house, all prepared to fire at the mere suggestion of Frost doing anything remotely dangerous.

  Gresham was handed a megaphone. When he had received a nod from Fox, he put it to his lips.

  “Thomas Frost,” boomed Gresham. “The entire house is surrounded. I’d like you to come out with your hands up in the air and then place yourself on the ground with your hands still outstretched. Do not make this any more difficult for yourself.”

  There was a long pause where very little happened. The whole street was silent, all attention on the house.

  Then, after what seemed like an age, Blake’s mobile rang in his pocket, the ringtone echoing around the street. He slowly pulled it out and looked at the screen.

  “It’s Sally,” he murmered. “He must have her phone.”

  “Answer it,” Fox ordered.

  Blake took a deep breath and put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

  There was the sound of slow clapping.

  “Frost?” Blake said calmly. “I know it’s you.”

  “That was spectacular, Blake,” said the familiar voice on the other end of the phone. “Absolutely first class. We watched the entire thing on Sally’s phone. My, my. I expect you’ll find yourself to be quite the celebrity in the morning.”

  “Is Sally alive?”

  “She is,” Frost replied. “For now. But that can soon change.”

  “Let me speak to her.”

  “You can speak to her,” Frost replied. “She’s right here. Why don’t you come in? Kettle’s on.”

  And he hung up.

  Blake cursed loudly and then gripped his phone tightly, his brain whirring.

  “Is she alright?” Fox asked.

  “I don’t know,” Blake replied. “He says she is, but that means nothing. He wants me to go in.”

  “Absolutely not,” Fox told him. “Blake, you don’t know what could be waiting for you in there.”

  “I know exactly. He is.”

  There was a pause as they all considered the inevitable.

  “He’s not coming out unless we go in
,” Blake said finally. “Like I said, he’s got nothing to lose. And as long as Sally’s in there, I have to go in. I love that girl too much not to try.”

  “Alright, but I’m coming with you,” Fox replied. “No arguments. Gresham, keep the marksman trained on the house. We’ll stay in communication.”

  Gresham merely nodded in reply, looking as though he was quite pleased he wasn’t being forced to go in with them.

  “Right, come on.” Fox said.

  And together, Blake and Fox walked towards the house.

  Sixteen

  With his heart hammering in his chest, Blake slowly led the way around the side of the house. As he slid along the wall, he could not help but remember doing a similar thing with Sally, nine years ago, as Frost’s original murder spree had reached his climax. They had been able to save somebody that night. Blake’s only hope was that they could do the same now.

  For only the third time in his life, Blake opened the rickety gate at the back of the house and crept around the corner, through the knee-high weeds and nettles, until they came to the back door.

  “Do you know where he is?” Fox whispered.

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Blake replied. “He had Sally tied up in the living room on that video. He made a big deal of it all being like when I found his grandmother as a child. Why wouldn’t he want to stick with that theme?”

  They made their way to the back door and Blake placed his hand on the handle. “Ready?”

  Fox pulled a taser out of her pocket and nodded and Blake pushed the door open.

  The house, as it always seemed to be, was dark. As Blake and Fox slowly walked inside, he realised that the smell of fusty dampness had been replaced by something else.

  “What’s that smell?” whispered Fox.

  Then, Blake noticed that the floor was wet and realised what the pungent smell was. “Petrol,” he murmered. “He’s soaked the place with it.” He glanced at the taser in Fox’s hand. “You can’t use that. One spark and the whole place goes up in flames.”

  “Damn it,” Fox exclaimed, shoving it back in her pocket. “How the hell are we going to restrain him?”

  “Just make sure that outside know to come when we need them,” Blake replied. “He’s planned this to the letter.”

  As they made their way slowly through the gloomy kitchen, Blake’s heart was beating so fast, he felt sure that Frost would be able to hear it. Half of him wanted to run through the house, kicking every door open until they found their target, but he knew Frost would be expecting such a tactic. Then, as they approached the living room door, they heard a strained cry and immediately all pretence of subtlety disappeared. Blake rushed forward and stormed into the living room and was suddenly presented with the very sight he had feared most.

  Sally was still tied to the chair, her arms and legs bound firmly with black cable ties. Her eyes were wide with fear as Frost, who was standing behind her, took his cue of Blake and Fox entering to place another tie around her neck tightly.

  “Hello, Blake,” he said, with a dark smile. “Nice of you to join us. Ah-ah!” he exclaimed as Blake took a step forwards. “Don’t move. It’s very easy to squeeze the life out of her from this angle. Not as much fun, obviously. I won’t see the life drain from her eyes this way, but I’ll have to just make do with watching your face instead. Who knows? It might be better.”

  Blake breathed heavily, unsure whether it was worth trying to charge at Frost or attempt to think of something better.

  Frost glared at Fox. “Who’s this?”

  “I’m Detective Inspector Lisa Fox, Thomas,” Fox said gently.

  “Not interested in you. Out.”

  “Thomas, I need you to listen to me,” Fox told him. “You have to let Sally go. None of this is going to do you any good.”

  Frost gritted his teeth and began squeezing the tie tighter around Sally’s neck. “Did you not hear me?” he growled. “I told you to get out of here. This is between me, him and his little assistant here. You aren’t involved. Now get out.” He pulled even tighter on the cord around Sally’s throat, causing her to let out a restricted cry of pain.

  Blake instinctively took another step forward, but in a flash, Frost had produced a lighter which he flicked into action with his thumb. The flame danced around the top as Frost continued glaring at Blake.

  “One more step and this whole place goes up in flames. I’m guessing you can smell the petrol? It’s all over the house and all over her. You think you’ll have a chance to untie her before the flames get her? I’m game for finding out if you are. Now you,” he snapped at Fox, “this is your last warning. Get. Out.”

  Blake’s mind whirred frantically. “Just go,” he muttered to Fox. “I can handle it.”

  “That’s insane, Blake,” Fox said. “I’m not leaving you with him.”

  “You think you being here is going to stop him doing what he likes? Just go.”

  “There’s the Blake we know and love,” Frost said with a chuckle. “Go on, Lisa. Off you go. Let Blake handle it.” When Fox hesitated, he shook his head and held the lighter closer to Sally’s head. “You’ve got five seconds before she goes up like a Guy Fawkes doll. It’s up to you.”

  Fox seemed to consider her options, then slowly began to step out of the room. “Just know, Thomas, we’re here if Blake needs us.” She turned to Blake. “At any time.” Then, she stepped out of the living room and closed the door behind her.

  Frost’s eyes went back to Blake. “You really should stop surrounding yourself with all these women, Blake. They don’t do anything for you.”

  “Oh, I dunno,” Blake replied levelly. “They’re friends, which is more than I’m guessing you’ve had for many years. So, here we are then, Thomas. This whole masterplan you’ve had has finally come to pass. That was it? You get me here so I can watch you brutally murder my colleague? That’s what all this was for?”

  “It’s about so much more than that, Blake,” Frost said. “This is about justice. This is about fairness. This is about the circle of life.”

  “And what about all your victims?” Blake asked. “What about Helen Beauchamp? What about Theresa? Two women whose lives in different ways are now over, because of you. What about your grandmother? What about your own father? You wreck lives everywhere you go, everything you touch turns black and evil and without hope. You think that’s fair? You going on to keep destroying everything you see fit? That’s justice?”

  Frost chuckled, his yellowing teeth illuminated in the flickering flame of the lighter. “I thought better of you, Blake. Bringing my family into the equation? What, do you think that’s supposed to be some sort of kryptonite to me?”

  Then, Blake felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket. As he slowly reached for it, he prayed with every fibre of his being that it was who he needed it to be.

  “What are you doing?” Frost snapped.

  Blake pulled his mobile out and stared at the screen, practically sighing with relief when he saw Mattison’s name asking for a video call.

  “It’s not the only family that we’ve discovered you have though, is it, Thomas? Seems you have somebody who was closer to home than I could ever have known. Right across the road.” He flicked his phone screen. “Hi, Matti,” he said lightly. “Are you where I told you to go?”

  “Erm, yeah,” Mattison said. “Sir, what the hell is going on? All the news channels are going mental – did you just arrest Theresa Bowen live on air?”

  “Never mind that,” Blake replied. “If Tom’s there, just put him on, would you?”

  Mattison shrugged. “Fine. Here you go.”

  For the first time in his life, Blake was delighted to see Tom’s face. He was lying in his hospital bed looking at the camera with a confused look on his face.

  “Hello?” he said, with a hint of surliness. “Blake? What do you want?”

  “Hi Tom,” Blake replied. “I just thought you’d like to know. Look who I’ve found!” He turned the camera to face F
rost so that Tom could also see Sally in the chair. “Look! It’s Daddy.”

  Frost glared at Blake furiously. “Blake, I’m warning you.”

  Blake took a step forward so he could show Tom the situation. “See, Tom? This is what you wanted to happen, isn’t it? You wanted your dear old dad out to do what he does best? You met Sally once, didn’t you, Tom? Apparently you didn’t get on all that well, so this should make you happy.”

  Frost remained frozen to the spot, though Blake noticed the tightness had slackened slightly on the cord around Sally’s throat.

  “Oh, I think it’s only right that I do also point out that we discovered that this isn’t your son, by the way,” Blake told Frost. “Don’t get me wrong, the potential’s there, but no. All this time you’ve been sharing messages and secret little phone calls, it’s not been your son you’ve been talking to, is it, Tom?”

  Tom looked as though he could not quite believe what he was seeing. “What are you doing? Why is she tied up?”

  “Oh, this?” Blake said cheerfully. “What’s wrong, Tom? That’s what all your messages have been for!”