"Of course."
"What deodorant does Lemmy use?" asked Frost.
"Eh?" frowned Duggie. "What's that got to do with it?"
"It must be bloody strong stuff, because the day he lent you the card Lemmy would have been stinking the place out - he'd been dead for two months."
"Dead?" Duggie's mouth gaped open, the lighted cigarette dangling from his lower lip.
Frost nodded cheerfully. "Dead - the way Domestos kills ninety-nine per cent of known germs. You killed him and took his credit card."
"Killed him?" echoed Duggie, his face now a chalky white.
"Him? Kill Lemmy?" screeched his wife. "Don't make me laugh. He wouldn't kill a bloody fly."
"A bloody fly hasn't got a credit card, has it?" asked Frost. He looked up as Burton returned carrying a drawer from a dressing-table.
"Found this upstairs," said Burton. It was crammed with cheap jewellery, silver-plated photo frames, trinket boxes, tawdry stuff, most of which Frost recognized from the list of articles stolen by the phoney Water Board inspector.
"Dear, dear," said Frost. "I might have overlooked you murdering Lemmy, but stealing from old ladies . . . Douglas Cooper, I'm arresting you on suspicion of murder and robbery. Anything you say, etc. You know the rest off by heart."
"I never damn well killed him," cried Duggie.
"On being charged, the prisoner said, "It's a fair cop, guvnor, you've got me to rights," chanted Frost. "Come on, Duggie. We're off to the nick."
Duggie's wife was boiling with rage. "That bloody telly. You had to be clever and buy it. There was nothing wrong with the old one."
"You said you wanted a big one," answered Duggie, meekly.
"She didn't mean the telly," said Frost, hustling him out. "Come on - I'm running late."
There was a sour, stale smell in the interview room. Someone had been sick in it recently and the lingering aroma was proving its superiority over the cheap pine disinfectant used to swab it out.
Burton fed a cassette into the recorder and announced who was present while Frost lowered himself carefully into the chair opposite Duggie.
"Right, Duggie," said Frost. "Time to make a clean breast of all your naughtiness. We found a quantity of items believed to be stolen in your house today. Would you like to tell us about them?"
"No comment," said Duggie.
"We also found a television set known to have been purchased with Lemmy Hoxton's credit card some two months after his death. Would you like to tell us about that?"
"No comment," said Duggie.
"Are you going to say "No comment" to everything I ask you?"
"No comment," repeated Duggie, stubbornly.
"Switch the bleeding tape off," said Frost. "Interview terminated at whatever time it is." He rammed a cigarette in his mouth. "You're a prat, Duggie. We don't need your statement. I've got enough evidence to convict you without it. I don't think you killed Lemmy - you haven't got the bottle - but I need an arrest and you are tailor made. As long as I get a conviction, I score the Brownie points and the fact that you didn't do it is neither here nor there." He jerked a thumb at Burton. "Take him back to his cell."
He wandered back to his office where Liz Maud was working diligently through a pile of returns, too busy to look up. He sat at his desk, trying to work out where he was with the cases they were handling. The dead Dean Anderson was connected with the Bobby Kirby kidnapping and, hopefully, this would be resolved tonight when they nabbed the kidnapper picking up the ransom. A message on his desk from Newcastle police stated there was no sign of Snell back at his flat, but they were keeping a close watch. So that case was in abeyance until they found him. Another sheet of paper on his desk detailed the findings of the lab who had analysed the contents of Lemmy Hoxton's stomach and were able to report that Lemmy had died within two hours of consuming a meal consisting of salmon fish cakes, chips and peas, washed down with a carbonated Coke drink.
He interrupted Liz and told her to check with Lemmy's wife and see if she had served up such a meal to Lemmy, remarking, "The fizzy drink sounds more like a meal she'd serve to her toy boy." He thought about it and liked the sound of it. "You know, that could be it. She had the meal all ready for her toy boy when Lemmy arrived home unexpectedly, so she has to pretend it was for him. After dinner, he spots the kid hiding behind the curtains, his dick dragging on the floor. There's a fight and they split his skull open."
"Then why did they cut the top of his fingers off?" asked Liz.
"It could have happened during the fight," said Frost lamely. He sighed. "I don't know." He pushed himself back from the desk, his chair scraping the brown lino with a teeth-setting squeal. "All this talk of stomach contents is making me hungry. I'm off to the canteen."
Arthur Hanlon spotted Frost in the canteen and waddled over carrying his tray of food. He sat down opposite him and dolloped sauce on his egg and chips. "Everything laid on for tonight, Jack?"
"I hope so, Arthur. The phones are tapped and the suitcase should be bugged."
"How many men will you need?"
"Don't confuse me with numbers, Arthur," said Frost, forking a chip from Hanlon's plate. "One man watching the phone booths, one keeping an eye on Cordwell and tailing his car in case the homing device conks out, two area cars on call, the SAS, the United States Cavalry . . . two or three hundred should do it at a pinch. How many can I have?"
"Twelve if you're lucky."
"As long as one of them is Arnold Schwarzenegger, we should manage." He dipped one of his own chips in Hanlon's egg, then had to leave when the tannoy called him to the phone. Duggie Cooper had decided to make a statement.
On his way down to the interview room he spotted Cassidy and Mullett in cosy conversation, both frowning and nodding curtly to him as he passed. Cassidy had handed the superintendent a wad of completed progress reports and Mullett was beaming all over his face. "You haven't done them already, Cassidy!" he exclaimed delightedly. "Good man!"
"You wanted them, so I did them," said Cassidy.
Frost squinted at the returns. They were the ones he had seen Liz Maud filling in earlier. Liz had done the work and Cassidy was unashamedly taking the praise. The man hadn't changed since he was last in the division.
Duggie Cooper was already in the interview room, waiting for him. "I hope you're not going to waste my time, Duggie," grunted Frost, settling down wearily in the same uncomfortable chair. "I've got important things to do. . . I can always frame you later."
"Look, Mr. Frost. I didn't kill Lemmy. I'll cough for a few bits of nicking if it makes you happy, but I haven't killed anyone."
Frost signalled for Burton to bung in a tape. "You're on the air, Duggie, so sing."
"Me and Lemmy Hoxton were working together. He was the brains. He had this idea about conning our way into people's houses, and while they were busy downstairs, nicking their stuff upstairs. Sometimes we got rubbish, but now and again we hit the jackpot."
"So how did it work?" asked Frost,
"We'd pretend to be men from the Water Board. We'd case some likely places - mainly old dears living on their own - then one of us would put on overalls and pedal up to the house on an old bike. We had various scams. One was to turn the water off at the hydrant outside, then knock and say we'd had complaints about the water supply, and would they check their taps. So they'd do it and the tap would run dry. "Never mind," we'd say. "I'll fix it for you." We'd turn the hydrant back on again and give them another knock. "Try it now." And of course, now it works fine. "You watch the tap," we'd say, "and I'll go upstairs and flush the toilet. Let me know if it makes any difference to the flow." They were tickled pink to help. While we were upstairs, we'd nip in the bedroom for a quick rummage. You'd be surprised at the stuff people stow in their dressing-tables . . . some of them had hundreds of pounds in cash. Anyway, we'd stick the loot in our tool bag, toddle off downstairs, refuse the cup of tea the grateful old dear would offer and get the hell out of there on the bike. One of us would be w
aiting in the van. We'd stick the bike inside and rip off the overalls. If the cops are on the lookout, they're after a man on a bike in overalls, not two men in a van in suits."
"Speed it up, Duggie," said Frost. "I want to get to the bit where you kill him."
"I never killed him," insisted Duggie, 'though the sod was swindling me left right and centre. Everything I found we'd split fifty-fifty. If Lemmy found anything good, he'd pocket it and say there was nothing there."
"You should have complained to the police," said Frost. "That's what we're here for. All right, fast forward to the bit where you nick his credit card."
"The last job we did together was back in August . . . 6th August I think. We had a few jobs lined up for that afternoon. The first was a cottage near Alderney Cross . . . two women living alone. Lemmy reckoned it was ideal . . . remote and looked as if there would be rich pickings. Before the job we had lunch in a pub."
"What pub?"
"Forget its name - little country pub just off the main road."
"What did you have to eat?"
"Bloody hell, Mr. Frost, this was months ago. I can't even remember what I had for dinner last night."
"Did Lemmy have anything to drink in the pub?"
"Nothing alcoholic. We made a point of it . . . these old dears get suspicious of workmen with beery breaths. We stuck to soft drinks."
Frost exchanged glances with Burton. This tied in with the analysis of the stomach contents. "Then what?"
"I parked down a side lane. Lemmy changed into his overalls and pedalled off. I read the paper, smoked a fag and waited . . . and bloody waited. He never came back. I waited over an hour then thought, bloody hell, he's been nicked, so I roared off back home and sat indoors in fear and bloody trembling expecting the Old Bill to knock any minute. But nothing. Nor the next day. I phoned his house, but his old lady said he'd gone away for a few days and she didn't know when he was coming back."
"And . . . ?" asked Frost.
"That's it. I never saw him again."
"You must have seen him to nick his credit card."
"His suit jacket was in the van. He'd gone off in his overalls. I stuck the jacket in my wardrobe for when he came back, but he never did."
"What did you think had happened to him?"
"I reckoned he'd probably struck bloody gold at the cottage he did over that day."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I reckoned he'd found the old girl's life savings in the bedroom - a few thousand quid - and decided he wasn't going to share it, so he did a runner. So I thought to myself, "You lousy bastard, Lemmy," and I took the wallet from his jacket, helped myself to the few quid in it and bought myself a telly with his credit card."
"You didn't buy anything else with it?"
"I wasn't going to push my luck any more. I chucked it away after that."
Frost leant back and puffed a salvo of smoke rings up to the ceiling. "Not a bad story, Duggie, but I prefer my version . . . that you quarrelled over the split-up of the loot and you killed him."
"On my life, Mr. Frost
"What was the address of that cottage he was going to do?"
"It was called Primrose Cottage - you can't miss it, it was painted yellow like custard."
Frost flipped open his burglary file and checked. No-one had reported a robbery or an attempted robbery at that address. He snapped the file shut. "I don't believe a word you've said, Duggie, but you know me - heart of gold - so I'll tell you what I'm going to do and you can abase yourself in gratitude later. I'll try and check out your story. But first, I want you to put your hand up to all the jobs you and Lemmy did - all of them."
"Right, Mr. Frost." Duggie couldn't pour out the details quickly enough. "First there was - "
Frost quickly restrained him. "No - not to me, Duggie, I haven't got time. Hold on a minute . . ." He was out of his seat and looking up and down the passage. The unlucky passer-by was Arthur Hanlon.
"Congratulations, Arthur," called Frost, grabbing him by the arm. "You've just solved a whole batch of burglaries . . . Mr. Mullett will pee himself with pleasure when you tell him."
"Eh?" said Hanlon as Frost steered him into the interview room.
"You know how I hate paper work, Arthur. You can have all the credit and be Mr. Mullett's blue-eyed boy." He jabbed a finger at the prisoner. "OK, Duggie - cough!"
PC Collier, wearing plain clothes, drove slowly to the end of the road where he parked silently and switched off the lights. Rain was bucketing down and visibility was limited, but the floodlit drive to Sir Richard Cordwell's front door made it easy to keep tabs on what was going on. As soon as Cordwell drove out, he would radio to let Frost know, then, at a discreet distance, follow.
In the crowded shopping mall leading to the Savalot supermarket, Burton jostled his way to a wooden bench that gave him an unrestricted view of the clump of four public telephone boxes. Syrupy music oozed from overhead speakers, interrupted from time to time by a chirpy voice advising shoppers of the latest bargains to be had in the store. The four kiosks all had "Out Of Order' notices on their doors and the phones had been fixed so no outgoing calls could be made. This had been done by Cordwell's security officers to ensure the phones were not being used by the public when the kidnapper tried to make contact.
Burton eased the radio from the inside pocket of his jacket and made a call to the incident room to test that the scrambler was working as it should.
"I can hear you, and that bloody music, loud and clear," Frost told him. He checked his watch. Coming up to a quarter to eight. Cordwell should be leaving the house any second.
"Can I have a word, inspector?"
Hopalong flaming Cassidy! And the edge to his voice meant he was going to have a moan about something. "What is it, my son?"
"I'm not your son, I'm an inspector, if you don't mind," corrected Cassidy. "Could we go outside?"
"Call me if anything happens," said Frost to Lambert as he followed Cassidy out to the corridor. "So how can I help you, inspector?" He kept his eye on the door, ready to dash back any minute.
"You can help me by letting me handle my own cases," snapped Cassidy. "Lemmy Hoxton. Am I handling it or not!" .
Oh shit! thought Frost. He's found out about Duggie Cooper, and I never told him about Mullett's mate, Mrs. Roberts. "Do you mean Cooper?"
"Yes, I damn well do. Not only have you questioned him without bringing me in on it, you've let that fat sergeant take all the credit for clearing up the robberies."
"Sorry, son," said Frost, 'but I knew you wouldn't want to take the credit for things you weren't entitled to." Cassidy's eyes flickered at the shaft. "Anyway, it's your case from now on." Cassidy still wasn't satisfied and was ready with the next moan, but Frost was spared this by the door opening. "Radio message, inspector," called Lambert.
He dashed back inside. PC Collier was on the radio reporting that Cordwell had left the house.
"Which car was he in?" asked Frost, hoping it wasn't the inconspicuous pearl grey Rolls-Royce with the peronalized number plate. They'd have half of Fleet Street following if it was.
"It's a dark green Nissan," reported Collier. He gave the registration number. "Shall I follow?"
"Yes, but keep well back. We know he's coming to the store, so you needn't hug his tail. Once he's in the store, park in a side street off the Market Square. We'll contact you when he comes out." He radioed through to Burton to let him know Cordwell was on his way. "Should be with you in five minutes."
"Right," acknowledged Burton.
Frost was lighting up when Liz came in. "We've located the pub where Cooper says he and Lemmy went to. It's the Green Dragon. They serve pub lunches. The menu changes every day, but every Friday it's salmon fish cakes, and 6th August was a Friday."
"I used to like salmon fish cakes," said Frost, 'but not since I saw them swimming around inside Lemmy's stomach. Funny how little things like that can put you off." He spun his chair round as the radio speaker crackled, but
it was only static. "Did you check out Custard Cottage?"
"Primrose Cottage. Two sisters, one around forty, the other in her mid-thirties. I haven't spoken to them yet, though."
"Good. We'll do it together - tomorrow morning. Remind me." His smile died when he saw Bill Wells making his way over to him. The sergeant's face shouted "Trouble." Something had gone wrong.
"Were you going to get Tommy Dunn to plant that homing device, Jack?" Wells asked.
"Yes - why?"
"I wouldn't count on him doing it." ,
"Why not?" asked Frost, very concerned.
"Tommy's got himself arrested."
Frost's stomach screwed into a tight ball. "Arrested?"
"PC Simms is bringing him in. He was caught nicking two bottles of whisky from Savalot's liquor store."
Frost stared at Wells, hoping and praying he had misheard. "Stealing?"
"Savalot want him charged. And they want his flat searched. They think he's been making a habit of taking their stock home and they'd like some of it back."
Frost stared at the ceiling and swore softly. "Bloody, bloody hell." He punched his palm with his fist and thought quickly. "All right - change of plan. Tell all cars engaged in the exercise that due to circumstances beyond our bleeding control, we won't have the homing signal, so it's vital we don't lose track of Cordwell's car. Circulate the description and registration number to all mobiles. If they sight it, let me know. And tell all mobiles not in the exercise to stand by. We might have to call them in as well if we lose him." He groaned audibly as Mullett marched in. "Oh no!" The bleeding vultures were descending.
"What's this I'm hearing about Tommy Dunn, Frost?"
He obviously knew all about it, so Frost was terse. "He's been arrested for theft. We won't have the homing device."
Mullett's eyes glinted and he smirked in self-justification. "I warned you about using rubbish like him, but you wouldn't listen and now you must pay the consequences. Can we still go ahead with this without alerting the kidnapper? If that child is harmed because of your incompetence - "
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