She turned. And there was a man, crouching.
She backed away, one hand on the transmit button, the other bringing up the torch. Under the beam of the torch the crouching man changed into a small straggling bush. She started to breathe again and slowly made her way to the main path.
From a long way off, a diesel train bleated as it dragged itself away from Denton Station, a lonely, mournful sound that made her feel more isolated than ever. She quickened her pace. Then stopped.
Footsteps. Slow. Shuffling.
Someone was coming up the path toward her!
Her thumb hit the transmit button. “Bait to Base. I can hear someone.”
Frost’s voice, urgent, worried. “Where are you?”
She didn’t know where she was. That damn wrong turning. Frantically she looked all around, trying to locate some landmark that would pinpoint her position. “Not sure,” she whispered. “About a mile away from you one of the turnings off the main path. I’m not sure which.”
The footsteps, slower now, came closer.
Webster’s voice cut across the transmission. “Let me go and find her.”
“You stay bloody put,” snapped Frost, ‘and keep off the air.” His mind raced. It would be quicker if Jordan and Simms in the van sped round by road to her approximate position and got to her that way. The others could follow. He barked out orders to that effect.
Sue gripped the torch for use as a weapon and waited. It would be a couple of minutes at least before Simms and Jordan could get anywhere near. The bushes ahead shook and rustled, and the shuffling, slow and deliberate now, because he knew he had her, was coming closer … closer…
An old man, small and frail, pushing a pedal bike, gave her a nod as he squeezed past and continued on his way.
She spoke into the mike, hoping they wouldn’t notice how much her voice was shaking. “False alarm. An old man with a bike. Panic over.”
Sighs of relief all round. The van was instructed to return to its previous position
She felt ashamed of herself for panicking. What she had to do now was return to where she had turned off and find the correct path, the one that Frost had marked out for her on the map, report her position, and continue from there.
A small, fairly well-defined, side path veered off to her left. She wondered whether to take it. It should bring her back to the correct route. She moved toward it, then hesitated. Frost had stressed that she must keep to the allotted route or they might not be able to find her.
It was while she was hesitating that the man struck.
A noise. From far off. Webster’s head jerked up. Was it a scream? He radioed to Frost.
“Did anyone else hear it?” the inspector asked. All replies were negative. “You’re out-voted, son,” said Frost, wishing he had never included Webster in the operation. The man was too involved with the decoy. He shifted his position from foot to foot and stretched. Every limb was aching from standing still. He was almost ready to defy Webster and have a surreptitious smoke when the radio clicked, and there was the bearded wonder bleating again.
“Shouldn’t Sue have radioed in by now?”
Frost brought his wrist up to his eyes and squinted at his watch. “How long since she last called in?”
“Five minutes,” replied Webster. “Shall I give her a call to see if she’s all right?”
“Give her another half minute. She’s not staring at her digital, counting the seconds.”
“She knows she’s supposed to call in every five minutes,” hissed Webster. “What’s the point of having check calls if we ignore it when they’re not made.”
Frost snorted with exasperation. Webster was really getting on his nerves. He flicked the transmit switch. “Base to Bait, come in please.” He released the transmit, returning the set to receive. A rush of empty static. “Hello, Sue. Frost here. Come in please.” He violently thumbed the switch over to receive as if the set could be bullied into answering. No answer. Back to transmit. “Frost to all units. She should be near the main path, somewhere. Let’s go and find her.”
Webster charged ahead, not caring how much noise he made. Frost, hard on his heels, getting the backlash of branches forced aside by Webster.
On each side of them,
Burton and Collier smashed their way through the undergrowth. A stitch in Frost’s side almost made him cry out, but he gritted his teeth and forced his legs to keep going.
They reached the main path. Webster looked to right and left. “Which way?”
“Right!” panted Frost.
They hammered along, sobbing for air. The first turnoff. Burton was sent to investigate. On to the second. Webster’s torch slashed the dark. On the pathway, a CND badge. “Here!” he screamed.
Ahead something white. Then a crashing as someone broke from cover. A man. Zigzagging. A naked man. And there was Sue, on the ground, her clothing torn, her face bleeding.
In the dark distance bushes shook, marking the path of someone running.
“After him, son. I’ll see to Sue.”
Webster charged on. Frost radioed for the van to try and head the man off, then homed in Burton and Collier to join the pursuit. That done, he knelt beside the girl. “Sue?”
She eased herself up into a sitting position, wincing as she did so.
“I’m all right, sir.” She gingerly touched her face.
“You’re not all right. It looks as if he gave your face a real right bashing. Take it easy, I’m going to send for an ambulance.” He raised the radio to his mouth, but she tugged his arm down.
“I don’t want an ambulance, sir, honest. I’m fine. I just want to get home.”
“We’ll take you to Casualty. If they say you can go home…”
“No… please. I’m all right.” There was blood on her face from a split lip. She found a tissue in her bag and cleaned it up.
Frost was relieved but couldn’t help feeling that her wish not to go to hospital was for his benefit. An injured officer needing hospital treatment meant a special inquiry to ascertain blame. And how Mullett would love that, especially as this failed, botched-up operation was put into effect without his authority.
She made an attempt to get up, but he restrained her. “I can stand,” she insisted.
“So can I,” said Frost, flopping down on the path beside her, ‘but I’m so bloody nackered I’m going to have a rest. So what happened?”
“I wasn’t expecting him. Suddenly there was something black over my face. It felt like plastic’ She paused. “It had buttons I felt buttons.”
“You mean, like a plastic mac?” asked Frost.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s what it was. A plastic mac. He threw it over my head, then started hitting me, punching my face. His hands moved down to my neck and he started to squeeze.” She touched her neck and flinched. “I managed to pull his hands off, but he started punching again. I couldn’t see. I’m sorry.”
Frost poked a cigarette between her bruised lips, stuck one in his own mouth, then lit them both. “No, love, I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I sodded it up. We were too far away from you, and I should have called it off when your radio packed in.”
She drew on the cigarette. “I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe. He kept hitting…”
He took her hand and patted it. “I know, love. I know.”
Webster staggered back and leaned against a tree, his legs sagging, his mouth open as he tried to satisfy the demand of his lungs for air.
“Any luck, son?”
Between gasps, Webster shook his head. “I thought I’d got him, but he must have doubled back and suddenly shot away behind me. Chased after him, but he was too far ahead. Heard a car drive off.”
“Are you sure it was our man?”
“Positive. The bugger was stark naked. How’s Sue?”
“Beaten up, but not too bad. Take her to Casualty, then drive her home.”
She pushed herself up to her feet and began brushing leaves and pieces
of dead grass from her clothes. “I don’t want to go to Casualty, I just want to go home.” She picked up her shoulder bag, then looked around for her torch.
“Well, drive her home anyway,” Frost told Webster. He then radioed all units requesting they stop and search all cars driving away from the vicinity of Denton Woods. They were helping Susan back to the car when the radio blurted out.
“Kenny to Mr. Frost. Come in, please.”
“Frost here.”
Kenny’s voice was triumphant. “I’ve got him, sir. I’ve got him!”
Thursday night shift
An almost liquid surge of warm relief flooded over Frost. He could hardly take in what Kenny was saying. Kenny had spotted the man charging out of the woods, stark naked. The man had jumped into a car and roared off, but the police constable had managed to swing the patrol car across his path and bring him to a halt. “Where are you?” asked Frost.
“In the slip road, about four hundred yards southwest of you.”
They cut across until they could see the sodium lamps and the flashing blue of Kenny’s patrol car, which was sprawled across the road, hemming in a metallic silver D-registered Mercedes. The windows of the Mercedes were misted with streaming condensation.
Kenny had a man in an arm-lock, bent across the bonnet. The man was not quite naked. He wore red socks and black shoes.
“You dirty bastard!” snarled Webster.
Frost moved to block Webster, who seemed ready to lunge at the man. “Put the cuffs on him,” he said. Kenny spun the man round, then snapped handcuffs on his wrists.
“Well, well, well,” commented Frost, running his eye over their captive, who was about thirty-five, short, plumpish, and looking absolutely terrified. “Is this him, Sue?”
“I don’t know, sir. I didn’t see him at all.”
“Would you mind telling me what this is all about,” squeaked the man, bringing down his handcuffed wrists to cover himself.
“Don’t you know, sir?” asked Frost, mockingly. Then his eye caught a movement inside the Mercedes. “Who’ve you got in there?” The misted windows blocked his view. He yanked open the rear door. “Flaming heck!”
In the back seat, frantically trying to get into a dress, was a young woman, naked except for a pair of briefs. The heater had been going full pelt and the interior was overpoweringly hot and thick with the lingering cloy of cheap perfume and sweat. The woman snatched up the dress and bundled it to cover her breasts. “Shut that bloody door,” she hissed.
Frost slammed shut the door. The first doubts crept in. “Who is your passenger, sir?”
“None of your business, officer. Would you please allow me to get dressed. I’ll end up with pneumonia.”
Frost risked the passenger’s wrath and opened the rear door again.
“You’re not being raped by any chance, are you, madam?”
“No, I bloody-well am not,” she snapped. “Now piss off, all of you!”
The inspector closed the door yet again. “Your friend has a charming way with words, sir. Would you care to explain what you are doing here?”
The man raised his eyes to the dark, moonless sky. “Are you sure you’re a detective? We’re in the car. I’m stripped. She’s stripped. What do you think we were doing, playing bingo? What I’d like to know is what the hell you are doing here?”
“Attempted rape, sir. About five minutes ago.”
“Well it certainly wasn’t attempted by me, Inspector. It’s taking me all my time trying to keep up with that nymphomaniac in the back seat. Now, can I please get dressed?”
Frost shook his head. “You weren’t in the car when my officer first saw you, sir. You were running, stark naked, from the area where the attempted rape took place.”
The man snorted with exasperation. “All right. If we have to go into detail then I’ll go into detail. I left the car because I felt the need to relieve myself. I also felt the need for a bit of a break. It’s like working a treadmill trying to satisfy her in there. I’m having a nice, quiet restful pee under the stars when suddenly there’s someone charging up on me. I think it’s her husband so I race back to the car to get the hell out of there. Next thing I know I’m in a scene from “Starsky and Hutch” sirens… skids… police. I pull over and I’m yanked out of the motor and spreadeagled all over the bonnet. I’ve committed no offence and I don’t see why I should be treated like this.”
Frost signalled for Kenny to unlock the handcuffs. The man rubbed his wrists, then snatched up his clothes from the front seat and started dressing as quickly as he could.
“Who is the lady, sir?”
The man looked to left and to right, then lowered his voice. “She’s my secretary. We’re both married so, for God’s sake, be discreet.”
“Of course, sir.” Frost stepped back so Kenny could take down names and addresses and details of the man’s driving licence.
“Can I go now?” asked the man, zipping up his trousers. Frost turned inquiringly to Kenny, who was on the radio to Control, checking the driving licence details with the central computer. Kenny nodded. The details all tallied.
The man stuffed the driving licence back into his pocket and peeked inside the car where the misted windows were now clearing. “Look at that,” he hissed. “She’s not even bothered to get dressed. Well, if she expects me to carry on where we left off after this fiasco, then she’s got another think coming.”
He hurled himself inside the Mercedes and slammed the door. A querulous babble of conversation, followed by a snarl from the man, and the car jerked into gear and shuddered off.
“We’ll hang on to her address,” murmured Frost, watching the dwindling taillights. “It might come in handy if time drags one night.” He pushed his hands deep into his mac pockets and stared up at the night sky. Operation
Mousetrap was back to being a disastrous balls-up — the rapist clean away, a policewoman knocked about, the farce with the couple in the car, and to cap it all, he had no bloody fags left.
A se aching wind found where they were and punched away at them. Susan shivered. It was cold and everyone was feeling dejected. Frost told Kenny to take Sue and Webster back to her flat. He would go home in his own car.
He was trying to find the Cortina when Collier called him on the radio.
In the excitement he had forgotten all about the rest of his team.
“We’re still searching, Inspector. Haven’t spotted anyone yet.”
At first he considered telling them to pack it in. But, what the hell, there was nothing to be lost by letting them rummage around for a while longer. He radioed Jordan and Simms, asking them to join the other two and do a sweep of the section. If they found nothing in an hour, they should report back to the station. As senior officer he supposed he should really show willing and join them, but he wasn’t in the mood.
The patrol car drew up outside the flat. Webster helped Sue out and slipped his arm around her. She was shivering. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” She smiled. “I’ll take a couple of pain killers when I get in and I’ll be as right as rain.”
He took the flat key from her shoulder bag and opened the door for her, turning to wave to Kenny who had been summonsed to a reported break-in at Beech Crescent. His wave was acknowledged by a toot on the horn.
The flat was warm and cozy. She had left the gas fire on and the bed had been made, the covers invitingly pulled back. No sign of a nightdress. Susan slumped into an armchair and held her hands out to the fire. She looked all in.
“I’ll do you some hot milk,” said Webster, opening the fridge. There, on the rack, chilled to perfection, was a bottle of white wine, and on the shelf, a cold roast chicken. Everything laid on for a marvelous night that now wasn’t to be.
She shook a couple of aspirins on to her palm and swallowed them down with the hot milk. She was hunched in front of the fire, still trembling, unable to get warm. “Run me a hot bath, please.”
He turned on the taps and swished in the bath crystals. She was in the bathroom with him, peering at the steam-misted mirror, which she wiped clean with her hand. “Don’t I look a fright?”
He wished he could say she didn’t. But she did. Her face was swollen, all greeny-black around the eyes.
“You can stay if you like,” she said, testing the water and pulling off her T-shirt. “But I just want to sleep.”
“Yes, of course,” said Webster.
He let himself out.
Rot in hell, Frost. Rot in bloody hell.
Jack Frost sat in the car. His hands explored the door pockets, but there were no cigarettes. Damn. He scavenged the ashtray for a decent-sized butt and lit it, almost burning his nose with the match. The smoke from the resurrected cigarette tasted hot and bitter, but it suited his mood.
Then he noticed the bulge in the door pocket on the passenger side. He hadn’t thought of looking there. His hand dived down to meet something cold and hard. He pulled it out. A bottle. Lots of bottles, the spoils from the party of two nights ago… the night they had found Ben Cornish’s dead body. The retirement party! Mullett kept dropping unsubtle little hints about Frost’s own retirement. Well, he’d be dropping even bigger ones when he learned about tonight’s monumental foul-up.
He tore the metal cap from the vodka bottle and took a swig. The spirit tiptoed over his tongue with the velvet delicacy of a cat’s paw, but as it reached his stomach the scratching claws came out. He shuddered. Neat vodka wasn’t his favourite drink. He found a miniature whisky. With his head thrown right back, he poured it down to flush away the vodka taste. A little furnace roared in his stomach. He felt good. The next bottle made him feel better. In fact he felt like taking a drive round to Mullett’s house, heaving a brick through his window, and yelling, “Come on, you bastard, sack me!” The more he thought about this, the more the idea appealed to him.
“Control to Mr. Frost. Come in please.”
What the hell was that? His eyes focused on the radio. He decided to answer the call first, then drive round to Mullett’s house. He fumbled for the handset and pressed the transmit button. “Frost here. Over.”
Bill Wells sounded excited. “Jack, can you get over to the station right away? Burton and Collier are bringing in the rapist.”
A Touch of Frost djf-2 Page 32
