Lewis opened a door to the passage. A door to the left opened on to a small bathroom, tiled from floor to ceiling with blue and white tiles, reminding Frost appropriately, of a butcher’s shop. The white bath glimmered, the plughole gleamed, as did the taps.
‘What did you do with her clothes?’
‘I burnt them.’
‘You must have got blood all over yourself and your own clothes?’
‘Yes. I had to burn my clothes as well, then I bathed and bathed and scrubbed and bathed.’
Frost scratched his chin. ‘Right. Now we come to the crunch. What did you do with all the bits?’
‘I took them to the car. It was night. No one could see me. I drove around and threw them away.’
‘Where?’
Lewis shook his head ‘I don’t remember. I keep trying to remember. That night was just like a bad dream.’
‘Where’s your bedroom?’ Frost asked. ‘If your wife is fast asleep in there your bad dream could have a happy ending.’
Lewis pointed. ‘First door on the left.’ He leant over and turned on the cold tap, watching the water splash and gurgle down the plughole. Frost pulled his hand away and turned the tap off. ‘Just in case you’re telling us the truth, Mr Lewis, don’t touch anything!’
There were two single beds in the bedroom, their sheets crisp and blindingly white like those in a hospital ward. Folded candy-striped pyjamas lay on the pillow of one, nothing on the other. Frost opened the wardrobe door: men’s clothes on one side, women’s on the other, all strictly segregated. Frost closed the door. What was he expecting to find – the wife’s body swinging from a coat-hanger?
‘What do you reckon, Guv?’ asked Morgan.
‘I don’t know,’ said Frost. ‘This whole place is so bleeding clean it gives me the creeps. You feel you want to break wind just to give the place a homely atmosphere.’
They returned to the bathroom, where Lewis had just finished blotting offending drops of cold water from the bath. ‘I’ve just remembered something, Inspector. I think I buried the head in Denton Woods. I might be able to recognise the spot if you drove me there.’
‘It’s far too late for those larks, and it’s peeing with rain,’ Frost told him. ‘We’ll have a look tomorrow when we’re all a bit more alert.’
‘What’s going to happen to me?’ asked Lewis plaintively. ‘I’m not staying here.’
‘We’ll find you a nice warm cell for tonight,’ said Frost, ‘then give your place a thorough going-over in the morning.’
‘Find the gentleman a cell,’ called Frost to Wells. ‘Suspicion of murder.’
‘I’ve only got one vacancy,’ said Wells, leading them to the cells. ‘Bookings have been heavy tonight.’ He opened the door to a small cell with a bunk bed.
‘Here you are, Mr Lewis,’ said Frost. ‘No single supplement. If you want anything, just yell and my sergeant here will tell you to shut up.’
Lewis looked around him with distaste. ‘Could I have a mop, a bucket of hot water and some disinfectant, please? This place is full of germs.’
‘Our germs won’t hurt you,’ said Wells.
Lewis looked pityingly at the sergeant, who obviously didn’t understand. ‘Germs kill. They killed my son… my five-year-old son.’
‘Give them to him,’ said Frost.
‘Do you really think he’s killed his wife?’ asked Wells.
Frost sucked deeply at his cigarette and expelled a lungful of smoke. ‘It’s anyone’s guess at this stage. He’s capable of doing it. The poor sod is obviously mentally disturbed. He lost his kid, then his business – more than enough to push him over the edge. And if you wanted to kill someone and cut them up, you couldn’t find a more suitable place than that abattoir of a house. But a couple of things niggle. He says he can’t remember where he dumped the pieces, which I find bloody strange, because he remembers lots of other details. ‘And
…’ He scratched his chin. ‘This is trivial. You murder your wife, cut her up and scrub the place from top to bottom. But would you take her nightdress from the pillow and put it away?’
‘That’s right, Guv,’ put in Morgan. ‘Her night dress wasn’t there, was it?’
‘Perhaps she slept in the nude?’ suggested Wells.
‘It’s not the sort of house where anyone would sleep in the nude,’ said Frost. ‘The poor cow would die of frostbite.’ He shrugged. ‘If she walked out on him she’d take her nightdress with her and I reckon that’s what has happened. He became impossible to live with, so she did a runner. Mind you, if we find her buttocks marinating in the deep freeze tomorrow, I’ll admit I’m wrong.’ He turned to Morgan. ‘Our first job tomorrow, Taff, is to give that place a real going- over.’
‘I thought we were supposed to start looking for the murder site,’ said Morgan.
Frost clapped a hand to his brow. ‘Shit! I forgot about that. All right, but take Lewis for a tour of Denton Woods first. He reckons he might remember where he got rid of some of the bits. And make sure you’re back by seven.’
Morgan looked dismayed. ‘But Guv, by the time I drop you off and get my head down, that would mean I’d only get three hours’ sleep.’
Frost checked his watch and beamed. ‘You’re right, Taff. Your maths is impeccable. Don’t be late.’
Chapter 12
A bleary-eyed Morgan sat fuming in the office as Frost breezed in just after eight. ‘Did I say seven?’ asked Frost innocently. ‘I could have sworn I said eight. There wouldn’t have been enough people here at seven to do the search. Well, were the teddy bears having a picnic in the woods or did Lewis turn up trumps?’
‘We tramped for miles, Guv. He says it all looks different and it was night time. He pointed out about five places it might have been, but it wasn’t.’
‘Never mind, Taff. Nip up to the canteen and get two sausage sandwiches and two mugs of tea and bring them to the Incident Room.’
On his way to the Incident Room, Frost was stopped by Johnny Johnson, the duty station sergeant.
‘That bloke Beazley from the supermarket wants to know if you’ve caught the blackmailer.’
‘Tell him I’m out on a murder inquiry and you don’t know when I’ll be back.’
‘And two officers from Manchester CID are on their way. Should be here later this morning.’ Frost screwed up his face as he tried to think why two officers from Manchester would be coming. He snapped his fingers. ‘Oh – the decomposing body. I hope they take it back with them. Let Skinner see them – he should be here soon.’
The hot sausage had melted the butter, which was making the bread all soggy as Frost bit into it. He pushed the remains of the sandwich into his mouth, swilled it down with a mouthful of tea, then wiped his fingers on the front of his jacket. He had a small team assembled for the search of Lewis’s bungalow: Norton from SOCO, Harding from Forensic, PC Jordan, Taffy and WPC Kate Holby.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and fed in a cigarette. ‘You all know what this is about. Lewis walked in here last night claiming he’d murdered his wife and cut her up into pieces, which he says he chucked, but can’t remember where. He says he thinks he left her heart in San Francisco, but that might just be a song he remembers.’ He grinned at the ripple of laughter. ‘The poor sod hasn’t got all his marbles, so this could all be in his mind. He had to give up his butcher’s shop last year and his five-year-old kid died of meningitis a couple of years back. He reckons he killed his wife in the kitchen, then butchered her in the bath. That should mean a lot of blood. The place looks as if it has been scrubbed and disinfected from top to bottom, but even so, I’m hoping we can still find some. I want drains and waste pipes checked. I want the place searched thoroughly in case there’s any bits of body lying around he might have missed.’ He turned to Kate Holby. ‘Check the wardrobes and drawers and things. If she’s upped and left him, has she taken the sort of things you’d expect a woman-to take, like a chastity belt or open-crotch knickers? Jordan, I want you to knock
up the neighbours. See if they can throw any light on the missing woman. Did they see anything suspicious, like her husband sawing her arms and legs off without her permission?’ He swivelled round to the cork board and pinned up a photograph. ‘This is Mrs Lewis. If you find a head, make sure it’s the right one, otherwise chuck it back. I want this to be thorough, but speedy. We’ve then got a murder site and a bike to find.’ He looked out of the window. ‘At least the rain’s stopped.’ He drained the dregs of his tea. ‘All right. Let’s go.’
Curtains twitched as the flotilla of police cars pulled up outside the bungalow. ‘Plenty of nosy sods about,’ Frost told Jordan, ‘so start knocking on doors.’
He unlocked the front door with Lewis’s key and winced as the cold, antiseptic atmosphere again hit him in the face. ‘At least you can’t smell rotting bodies,’ he muttered, ‘but even that would be preferable.’ Somehow, even without Lewis being present, he couldn’t bring himself to smoke inside, so went out into the garden to light up and watched Jordan going from house to house, knocking on doors. Clangings from the bathroom told him the waste pipes were being opened up. Behind him, Norton from SOCO was heaving up a manhole cover to inspect the drains. A cry from Taffy Morgan sent him flying back inside the bungalow.
‘There’s a loft, Guv, did you know?’ Morgan pointed to a small trapdoor over the hall.
‘Don’t tell me about it,’ snapped Frost. ‘Get your Welsh butt up there and take a look.’
Morgan located a small stepladder in the garden shed and heaved himself up, his torch flashing around the tiny loft, which had in sufficient headroom for anyone to stand. ‘It’s all clean and dusted up here, Guv,’ he reported. ‘Just a couple of suitcases and a kiddy’s pedal car.’
‘Chuck the suitcases down,’ said Frost.
They were full of children’s clothes, all ironed and neatly folded.
‘Put them back where you found them,’ Frost told him, ‘and if he asks, we never touched them.’
The clang of the manhole cover being replaced sent him scurrying back outside. Norton wasn’t optimistic. ‘It’s been scrubbed and disinfected, Inspector. I’ve taken samples but they’re probably going to be pure carbolic. If there was ever any blood it’s been well washed away.’
Frost nodded gloomily. ‘More or less what I expected.’
Back inside, Kate Holby was waiting for him. ‘I’ve checked the wardrobes, the dressing table and the coat racks, Inspector. No sign of a woman’s coat, handbag or day-to-day shoes. I’d say she packed her bags and walked out on him.’
‘Probably couldn’t stand the smell of disinfectant,’ said Frost. ‘I can’t say it turns me on. Thanks, love.’ He looked up expectantly as Harding came out of the bathroom.
‘That was a complete waste of time.’
‘Why, are you constipated?’ asked Frost.
A sour smile from Harding, who never found Frost’s jokes funny. ‘Everything has been disinfected and scrubbed clean. Even so, if he had dismembered a body in there I’d expect to find some traces of blood, but I can’t.’
‘Ah well,’ said Frost philosophically, ‘we had to check it out just to pretend we’re thorough.’ He raised enquiring eyebrows at Jordan, who had just returned from the neighbours. ‘Anyone looking after bloodstained parcels for him?’
Jordan grinned. ‘Not a lot of joy, Inspector. Mrs Lewis used to help out at the butcher’s shop from time to time and they got on well with the neighbours. But when their kiddy died they were both absolutely devastated and hardly spoke to anyone. Lewis got more and more morose – even in the shop, which didn’t help the business. They hardly saw him at all after he lost the tenancy, but they could hear flaming rows from time to time. No one saw the wife leave, but she hasn’t been seen around for a week or so.’
‘Did she have any family – anyone she might run to?’
‘Parents died years ago. One brother in Australia.’
Frost grunted his thanks and called everyone together. ‘OK, everyone. Back to the station, then I want you out looking for that bike and the murder site.’ He jabbed a finger at Morgan. ‘One more job for you, Taff. If she walked out on him, she’s going to need money. Find out if she has a credit card and if it’s been used recently. I’m busting for a pee, but that toilet looks so hygienic, I’m afraid to squeeze a drop out.’
‘Skinner’s screaming for you,’ said Wells as Frost walked through the lobby.
‘Why am I so irresistible to that man?’ asked Frost. ‘I’ll see him in a minute. We’re going to have to kick Lewis out.’
'No bits of body?’
‘No bits of body, not even the odd nipple. I reckon she walked out on him.’
‘Are you going to charge him with wasting police time?’
Frost shook his head. ‘I reckon the poor sod really believes he did kill her. He can’t face up to the fact that she’s left him. He needs treatment, not being put away.’
‘Frost!’ Skinner’s angry voice roared down the corridor. He was by his open office door and didn’t look at all pleased. ‘I want you.’
‘Won’t be two ticks,’ called Frost.
‘Now!’ bellowed Skinner, disappearing into his office and slamming the door.
‘It’s good news,’ Frost told Wells. ‘I just know it.’ He lit up a cigarette and sauntered into Skinner’s office.
Looking washed out, his skin a sickly green pallor, Skinner dropped two tablets in a glass of water and watched them fizz. ‘Bleeding oysters at Mullett’s club again,’ he muttered. ‘I should have learnt my flaming lesson after last time.’ Without looking up, he pointed to his in-tray. ‘What the hell is that?’ It was Graham Fielding’s typed statement, which his solicitor had insisted Frost should take.
Frost stared at it. ‘It’s your in-tray,’ he said, scraping a chair to the desk and sitting down.
‘Don’t play silly buggers with me, Frost. You know damn well what I mean.’ He stirred the contents of the glass with a pencil and swallowed it down. ‘This!’ He held aloft Fielding’s typed statement. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’
‘He wanted to make a statement and his solicitor insisted, so I had to take it.’
‘You had no flaming business to. I told you not to. I don’t want statements saying he’s innocent. I want statements saying he did it. This is my case, not yours.’ He winced, then with a gasp of pain he clutched his stomach and clapped a hand over his mouth. ‘I’ll talk to you later,’ he mumbled as he staggered to the door.
Hope you don’t make it, thought Frost. He frisked through the in-tray, found nothing of interest, so returned to his own office, where DC Morgan was waiting for him.
‘I’ve checked with the bank and the credit-card company, Guv. She made two cash withdrawals of a hundred pounds from their joint account on two consecutive days last week.’
‘Where from?’
‘The cash machine at Tesco’s supermarket, Catford,, south London.’
‘Right,’ said Frost. ‘That clinches it. Let’s go and tell Lewis he’s outstayed his welcome.’
Lewis blinked at Frost in disbelief. ‘But I killed her. I told you, I killed her.’
Frost shook his head. ‘I know you will find it hard to accept this, Mr Lewis, but we believe she walked out on you. She’s in Catford and she’s been drawing money from your account.’
Lewis stared open-mouthed at Frost in sheer disbelief. ‘How can she withdraw money if she’s dead?’
‘Perhaps because she’s not dead,’ suggested Frost.
Lewis buried his head in his hands. ‘You won’t believe me, will you? If only I could remember where I put the pieces.’ He looked up at Frost. ‘Someone will find them. Someone’s bound to find them.’
‘If they do, I’ll arrest you like a shot,’ said Frost, ‘and that’s a promise. And if your wife comes back, you will let me know, won’t you?’
‘You’re wrong,’ said Lewis. ‘You are absolutely wrong.’
‘It won’t be the first ti
me,’ said Frost, ushering him out of the cell. He watched Lewis go, a forlorn figure, shoulders hunched.
At the door, Lewis turned. ‘It was the germs,’ he said. ‘The germs killed my son so I killed her because of the germs.’
Suddenly, for no reason he could think of, Frost began to have doubts. Grave doubts.
Station Sergeant Johnny Johnson looked up and switched on his ‘How can I help you?’ smile as the two men approached the inquiry desk in the lobby.
‘Detective Superintendent Barrett and Detective Constable Fussell, Manchester CID,’ announced the older of the two, a thick-set man in his late forties. ‘Would you let DCI Skinner know we’re here?’
‘I’m afraid DCI Skinner is out with a search party at the moment, Superintendent,’ Johnson told him. ‘Could anyone else help?’
Barrett frowned. ‘He knew we were coming and now he’s bloody out?’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling and gave a scoffing snort. ‘Flaming typical. It’s about the body you found – Emily Roberts.’
‘Ah – Inspector Frost is handling that at the moment, sir.’
Barrett frowned again. ‘Frost? Scruffy Herbert – always got a fag in his mouth?’
‘Yes, the one with the George Cross,’ said Johnson, unwilling to let this fat sod from Manchester bad-mouth Denton personnel. He picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Inspector Frost, two officers from Manchester CID to see you.’
Frost took them to the Incident Room and showed them the clothes recovered from the lake in Denton Woods. Barrett examined them briefly, nodding as he did so. His DC was taking his time, checking each item carefully against a typed list. ‘They look like the girl’s clothes,’ be admitted grudgingly.
‘More than flaming “look like”,’ snapped Barrett. ‘They are her bloody clothes.’
‘But still no proof they came from the body.’
‘What do you want, flaming jam on it? You’re not the Crown bleeding Prosecution Service looking for ways not to prosecute, you’re a detective flaming constable, and the way you’re going on, you’ll end your career in the force as a detective flaming constable. We’ve got a body that matches her description, we’ve got clothes that match those she was wearing. Of course they came from Emily Roberts. Give Inspector Frost the envelope.’
A Killing Frost djf-6 Page 23
