Frost nodded wryly. This time Hornrim Harry was right.
"You will not, I am sure," continued Mullett, 'be surprised to learn that there has been no such contact. Cordwell is convinced it is because of your clumsy intervention after promising to stay out of it." He leant forward. "You assured me nothing could go wrong. You gave me a categorical undertaking."
Frost did a mental playback of his conversations with the superintendent and was damn sure he had given no such assurance.
Mullett removed his glasses and polished them sadly. "I can't save you from the wolves this time, inspector." He oozed insincerity.
When have you ever? thought Frost.
"Now that he's laid out the money, Cordwell wants his pound of flesh. He was hoping to be feted as the saviour who paid the ransom and saved the child, but now that is no longer possible, he is settling for the benefactor whose excellent intentions were thwarted by police bungling. He has called a press conference for ten o'clock to tell everyone about the fiasco."
"There was no fiasco last night," said Frost. "We didn't show ourselves until long after the kidnapper had left with the money. The fact that the old boy Finch turned up on the scene with his fleabag of a dog had nothing at all to do with us."
A thin wintery smile from Mullett. "I imagine Sir Richard will tell the story slightly differently. But hear this, Frost," and he jabbed his finger at the inspector. "You are not dragging me down into the mire of your foul-ups." He waved a sheet of paper filled with his neat handwriting. "I am already drafting my report to the Chief Constable."
Frost nodded curtly as he stood up. "Don't take too much of the blame on yourself, sir, just to get me out of trouble . . . and don't overpraise me you know how embarrassed I get."
Mullett shrugged as he pulled the cap from his Parker fountain pen. He would let it go. With luck, the inspector wouldn't be with Denton Division much longer.
In the outer office the clatter of the typewriter suddenly started up as Ida Smith, Mullett's devoted private secretary, quickly returned to her typing after straining her ears to hear the music of her boss giving Frost a dressing down. She was loyal to Mullett and if he didn't like the inspector, then neither did she. In any case, the man was uncouth. That filthy seaside postcard! And she certainly wasn't bending down anywhere within jabbing range of that stubby finger. If it wasn't so embarrassing she would have put in an official complaint. She gave a malevolent smirk as Frost ambled past her. To her surprise he stopped and put a hand on her shoulder. "It's good to know I've got at least one friend in this place, Ida," he said, giving her a little squeeze.
Like her boss, it took her a little time to recognize sarcasm. She returned to her typing, hammering the keys as if they were nails to be driven into Frost's coffin.
Sergeant Johnnie Johnson waylaid him as he was on his way to his office. "Jack - guess who's here to see you?"
Frost furrowed his brow as if giving this serious consideration. "Not Princess Di again I told her never to bother me at work."
"No."
"Then I give up." He was in no mood for guessing games.
"Tommy Dunn. He wants to see you."
"Well, I don't want to see him. He's dropped me right in it thanks to his bloody sticky fingers."
"He says it's urgent," insisted Johnnie, trotting behind him into the office.
Frost dropped into his chair, flicked through his in-tray and weeded out the two latest memos from Mullett, which he consigned to the rubbish bin. "What does he want?"
"He was charged with stealing last night. He wants you to get him off the hook."
"I want someone to get me off the bleeding hook. Tommy knows damn well I can't help him." He sighed. Dunn was a shit and a bastard, but he had done Frost one or two good turns in the past. "All right - wheel him in . . . but for Pete's sake don't let Cassidy know he's here."
Dunn was an overweight, useless-looking man. A red-faced Oliver Hardy without the little moustache, and in his late forties. He waited for Johnnie Johnson to leave before sitting down. "Sorry about last night, Jack."
"You dropped me right in it, Tommy. Right flaming in it!"
"Wouldn't have had it happen for the world, Jack," mumbled Dunn. "Look you've got to help me. I don't want to go to prison. You know how they love ex-cops inside."
"You won't go to prison for a first offence."
"It's not a first offence, Jack. I had a similar unhappy experience when I was security guard over at Casheasy's in Lexton, then there was - "
Frost cut him short. "Then how did you get a job with Savalot? I thought they vetted their security staff?"
"I fiddled my reference. I got some of their letter heading."
Frost held up a hand. "Spare me the details, Tommy. So what happened this time?"
"Silly mistake. I came out without any money so I took a couple of bottles from their spirits store. It wasn't pinching - I intended buying two bottles to replace them, but they caught me before I could do it."
"And what happened when they searched your house?"
"Another misunderstanding. They found some bottles of spirits and tried to make out I'd nicked them. But I'd bought them, Jack - days ago."
"If you had bottles in the house, then why did you have to take two more without paying? I'm sorry, Tommy. You're not only a silly sod, you're a lying bastard as well. I'm pretty gullible, but even I can't swallow that."
Dunn pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. "I can't go inside, Jack. I couldn't face it. You're in with Cordwell. You've got to get him to drop these charges."
Frost gave a scoffing laugh. "Me in with Cordwell? He wants my head and my private parts on a platter, and with Mullett's help he's probably going to get them."
Dunn looked round to make sure the door was shut, then leant across the desk to Frost, his voice lowered. "A deal, Jack. I've got some dirt against him that you can use as a lever."
"I'm not getting involved in your bloody blackmailing capers," said Frost. "Forget it, Tommy. I can't help."
"At least listen to what it is, Jack."
Frost chucked him a cigarette and poked one in his own mouth. "All right, but make it quick."
Dunn took a long drag at the cigarette, squirted a stream of smoke then perched it on the edge of Frost's ashtray. "Do you remember that spate of forged ten and twenty pound notes we had in the town about eighteen months ago?"
Frost nodded. Some £30,000 worth had been passed before the bank twigged and the shops were put on the alert. They had never caught the gang, who had moved on to somewhere else and were eventually arrested in Manchester. "Mr. Allen's case. What about it?"
"Savalot got lumbered with about twenty thousand quid's worth of the forgeries."
"Too bad," said Frost, not giving a damn.
"If you remember, the gang started passing on a Friday - Savalot's big shopping day. We whammed the takings into the bank on the Saturday morning. Monday was a bank holiday and we were open on the Sunday as well - three days of peak trading. Tuesday morning, first thing, the bank phones us - the money we paid in on Saturday morning included four thousand quid's worth of forgeries. They told us how to spot them so we wouldn't take any more, but it was a bit bleeding late. We'd another three days' worth in the safe ready to pay in. Cordwell did his nut."
"I'm glad it had a happy ending," said Frost.
"You haven't heard the punch line yet, Jack. We didn't even get the forged notes back they were confiscated. So we checked the weekend's takings and there it was - another fifteen thousand quid's worth of phoney tens and twenties."
"There's going to be some point to all this, I hope," said Frost.
"Patience, Jack, patience. Anyway, once Cordwell realized we had all this duff cash and if he tried to pay it into the bank he would lose the lot, he went berserk, so he packed it all away in his safe. He's been hoping for a robbery or a fire so he can claim it off the insurance as genuine. And over the months he's been passing small amounts of it out to all his bran
ches. It goes in the tills and gets handed out to customers in change. He's got rid of nearly two thousand quid that way and has only had a couple of come-backs. Anyway, let's jump to the ransom . . ."
A gleam flashed in Frost's eye. He was way ahead of Dunn now. "You're not trying to tell me he used the forged notes to help make up the ransom money?"
"Getting on for £13,000 worth. I don't suppose it's a crime to pay off a kidnapper in forged currency, but I bet he wouldn't want the public to know."
Frost leant back in his chair and beamed up at the ceiling. "Tommy, if you're telling me the truth . . ."
"I am, Jack, I am."
"Then not only are you off the hook, I might be as well." He opened the door and ushered Tommy out. "I'll be in touch but bake a cake with a file in it just in case." As Dunn turned the corridor, Frost was yelling for Burton. "Keep an eye on the shop, son. I'm off to see Cordwell."
Cordwell looked at Frost, his eyes glinting malevolently. "You've got two minutes, then the press conference. Have you caught the kidnapper or got the kid back?"
"No," said Frost.
"Then start scouring the Help Wanted ads, because you'll be out of a bloody job after today."
"I don't think so," said Frost.
"You sodded it up. You mounted an inadequate surveillance after assuring me you would not get involved. You let the kidnapper get away with my money and because the police were there, he won't release the kid, so you've got that on your bloody conscience."
"There's a rumour going around - " began Frost.
Cordwell banged his fist on his desk. "I am not interested in bloody rumours."
"You'll be interested in this one. The very strong whisper is that the reason the kidnapper hasn't kept his side of the bargain is because he didn't appreciate being paid out with forged banknotes."
Cordwell jerked back, wincing as if he had been hit, but quickly composed himself and picked up a paper knife which he gently tapped on his desk. He spoke quietly, looking at something behind Frost as if the matter was of no importance. "And who has been putting about these malicious rumours?"
Frost gave him a sweet smile. "A couple of nasty bastards - me for one, Tommy Dunn for the other."
"Dunn? My crooked security man? The guy who's been emptying out my spirit warehouse? Is this where you got your information from?"
"We never reveal our sources," said Frost. He stood up. "I'll see you at the press conference."
Cordwell's eyes narrowed. "The press conference?"
"I want to suggest a few headlines for them," said Frost. "How about "Supermarket Chiefs Swindle Costs Child His Life"? It would take more than a penny off a tin of beans to make the public forget that . . . Then, of course, the press will want to know about possible criminal charges, like being in possession of forged banknotes, withholding information from the police." He looked at his watch. "Better not keep them waiting."
Cordwell stabbed the paperknife into the desk top and left it quivering. "You're a bastard, Frost."
"It takes one to know one," smiled Frost.
"I presume I can buy my way out?" He brought out his cheque book and tapped it suggestively with a gold-cased fountain pen.
"A lot cheaper than you deserve," said Frost. "Forget the press conference and drop the charges against Tommy Dunn."
"Dunn's an ex-copper, isn't he? You bastards certainly look after your own."
"No-one else looks after us," explained Frost. "Lastly, I want full details of the duff notes . . . denominations, numbers, the lot . . . and I want them now. And warn your staff to be on extra alert for the forgeries. If our luck's in, he might try to start passing them." He slid the antique phone across the desk. "Do it now, please."
Cordwell picked up the phone. A tap at the door and his secretary looked in, cringing as she received the full force of his laser-beam scowl. "Sorry to disturb you Sir Richard, but the press conference is in two minutes."
"Get out of here, you cow. Tell them it's cancelled," yelled Cordwell.
As he breezed through the lobby, he was beckoned over by Johnnie Johnson. "What have you done to Mr. Mullett, Jack? He's been in a foul mood ever since you phoned him."
"It's relief coupled with joy," explained Frost. "He was heart-broken because he thought he was going to lose me and now he's over the moon because he isn't." He pulled the list of forged notes from his pocket. "Have this photo stated then taken round by hand to all banks, stores, garages, discount warehouses, public toilets, the lot. Get them to pay particular attention to anyone paying cash for large purchases, even in genuine notes. If anyone passes any of the duds we want to know right away."
Johnson took the list and, in return, passed over a thick wad of computer print-outs. "And this is for you, Jack. Details of all registered owners of Ford Escorts in Denton and the surrounding area."
Frost flicked over the pages. It went on and on and on . . . There were hundreds of names and addresses. "What silly sod asked for this?"
"You did, Jack. You're looking for the Ford Escort you saw just before the ransom money was taken."
Frost stuck the print-out under his arm. "I must have been bloody mad. Still, I won't be short of toilet paper this week - it'll make a change from Mullett's memos."
Liz, her coat buttoned, was waiting for him in the office. "Ready when you are, inspector," she said.
"Ready for what?" asked Frost. "If it's sex, then shut the door I'm sorry I kept you waiting."
She didn't even flicker a grin. The return she had so meticulously prepared had been snatched from her without a word of thanks by Cassidy and she had heard Mullett praising him for such a good job. "You said we were going to Primrose Cottage - where Lemmy Hoxton was supposed to have pulled his last job."
He hesitated. It was Cassidy's case, but Cassidy would have enough on his hands with Sidney Snell. He looked at the computer print-out and wondered if he should get people checking. But they didn't have the manpower and the list was too bloody long. "Primrose Cottage? Right, let's do it now."
Primrose Cottage, standing on its own at the end of a long winding lane, was a detached two-storey building erected in the sixties, but tar ted up to look as if it dated from the seventeen hundreds. The doors were oak, stained black to give the appearance of age, the tiny bow windows were chintz-curtained and the walls were painted a fading buttercup colour. A white wooden gate opened on to a path to the front porch. Frost ducked to miss the hanging flower basket and rapped at the well-polished brass knocker.
"Who is it?" called a woman's voice, raised over the sound of a dog yapping.
"Police, Miss Fleming," answered Frost. "Nothing to worry about just - checking."
The door opened slightly on a length of stout chain and the proffered warrant cards were studied. Then, reluctantly, she let them in. Millie Fleming was in her early forties, slightly plump, dark brown hair, and wearing a pink woollen cardigan over a floral dress. The dog was a small spaniel which hid under a chair the minute they walked in. "Not a very good house dog, I'm afraid," she smiled, 'but we hope his barking might frighten any burglars away." They were in the living-room with its dark oak and chintzy furniture.
Frost patted the dog, which looked at him with big brown eyes filled with apology for its cowardice and licked his hand. "Seems friendly enough," he said. "How old is he?"
"About four months. We haven't had him long."
"You're pretty remote up here," said Frost. "You need a dog. Is it just you and your sister?"
"Yes. How can I help you, inspector?"
"Won't take up too much of your time. Did you have a visit from a man from the Water Board - or someone who said he was from the Water Board?"
"A long time ago," she said. "About five years when we first moved in here. He turned on the water for us."
"This would have been a bit more recent than that about three months ago - early August?"
She shook her head. "I don't think so."
"He might have called when your sister was here,"
suggested Frost. "Is she in?"
"No. She works at the hospital she's a nurse. She should be back soon, though." She turned to Liz. "Can you tell me what this is about?"
"We had complaints of a man preying on women like yourself," said Liz. "He claimed to be from the Water Board. Got the woman to turn on the kitchen taps while he stole jewellery and money from the bedroom."
"Oh dear," tutted Miss Fleming. "How awful! If anyone comes here saying they are from the Water Board, I'll phone the police right away."
Frost fished in his pocket for the photograph of Lemmy Hoxton. "This might refresh your memory. Has this man ever called here?"
She took it to the window and studied it carefully, returning it with a shake of her head. "I'm pretty certain I haven't seen him before. Can I ask why this is considered so important that an inspector and a sergeant have called on me?"
"He was found dead," said Frost.
She clutched her dress. "Dead?"
"We're trying to trace his movements. We believe he intended to call here on the day he died."
"To rob us? Well, he didn't, I'm relieved to say."
A car drew up outside, then the sound of a key turning in the front door. The dog emerged from under the chair and raced out of the room, barking joyously. Millie Fleming stood up. "That will be my sister. Perhaps she might remember him."
She left them and went to the passage. A brief murmur of conversation, then she returned, followed by a dark-haired, vivacious-looking woman in her mid-thirties wearing a nurse's uniform. Her hair gleamed and her face had a well-scrubbed look. She wore black tights which, as Frost was pleased to observe, showed off terrific legs.
The two women sat side by side on the settee opposite him. "This is my sister, Julie," said Millie.
The nurse smiled, showing perfect teeth. I'd.love to have them nibbling round my ear-hole, thought Frost. "Millie says it's something about a man calling here?" she asked.
Frost quickly filled her in and showed her the photograph, but her response was the same as her sister's. "I'm pretty good at faces, but I can't recall seeing this man before."
Frost 4 - Hard Frost Page 27
