Part 18 (1/2)

'Absolument pas,' said Frost.

He stuck his head round the door of the Incident Room to find Collier seated in front of a monitor, watching CCTV footage of late-night traffic the previous night. Collier pressed the Stop b.u.t.ton when Frost came in.

'More traffic about last night than we thought, Inspector,' he reported, showing Frost the list of registration numbers he had noted down.

'What do ”L” and ”V” mean?' asked Frost.

'That means it's a lorry or a van, Inspector. All the rest are private cars.'

'He won't have come in a lorry or a van,' said Frost. 'Concentrate on the cars. We got the tape from the building society yet?'

'There isn't a tape, Inspector.'

Frost gaped. 'Why not?'

'We took the CCTV tape out yesterday for examination. They didn't replace it.'

'You are b.l.o.o.d.y joking?' croaked Frost.

Collier shook his head. 'I'm not joking. They didn't replace the tape.'

Frost stared at him incredulously. 'The stupidbleeding sods.' He shrugged. 'Nothing we can do about it except swear, I suppose, and that's not my style. Carry on, son.'

Collier returned to the monitor and started the video again. A mustard-coloured Volkswagen Beetle sped across the screen. Frost's eyes dimmed as he remembered . . . He'd had a mustard Beetle before he was married. He used to take his young wife-to-be out into the depths of Denton Woods. The larks they had got up to in that old car. They were mad about each other then, so what went wrong? Why did it all go sour? Why did she die hating him? Why? . . . Why?

It must have been his flaming fault. Couldn't he do anything b.l.o.o.d.y right?

'You all right, Inspector?' asked Collier, concerned.

'I'm fine, son,' grunted Frost. 'Just fine.'

He told Bill Wells about the 'Request for Transfer' form on Skinner's desk. 'It's not Kate Holby, is it?' he asked.

'Not as far as I know,' said Wells. 'It would have come through me first, surely?'

'Yes,' nodded Frost. 'And why would he lock it in his drawer if it was her?' A sudden thought occurred to him. 'It must be him - Skinner. Perhaps there is a G.o.d after all, and he's not staying.'

'He's been on the blower to the decorators, chasing them up to do his office. He wouldn't do that if he was leaving.'

Frost shrugged and shook his head. He'd exhausted all possibilities. He picked up Wells's phone. 'I'd better ring the hospital to see how Taffy is. I want to find out if I can spend his wreath money.' He dialled. 'h.e.l.lo Nurse. Is that the morgue? Do you have the body of a Welshman - little bloke, big d.i.c.k? You've got lots of little men? Right, I'll hold on while you check the other bit.'

Wells looked concerned, then grinned when he saw that Frost still had the phone rest down. 'You nearly had me going there, Jack.'

Frost dialled the hospital and spoke to the Ward Sister. 'He's being discharged as we speak,' he told Wells. 'I'll go and pick him up.'

He was driving Taffy - who was rabbiting away about one of the young nurses on the ward - back to the station when the radio paged him. It was PC Lambert from Control.

'Inspector, Mr Beazley from the supermarket has phoned. He's heard about - his words - the b.a.l.l.s-up last night. Leaving out the swear words, he wants to see you right away. He says if you're not there in fifteen minutes he's getting his money back from the building society and suing the police for the rest.'

'All right,' sighed Frost. 'As he's asked nicely, I'm on my way.'

The customer car park was filling up so he drove round the back to the staff car park. 'Try and look as if you're at death's door, Taff,' he said. 'I want to get a bit of sympathy.'

Morgan stepped out of the car and surveyed the staff car park, then nudged Frost and pointed. 'Cor. Look at that, Guv. I had one of those years ago. Smas.h.i.+ng little cars - mine was pillar-box red.'

Frost looked where Morgan was pointing. He stopped dead. It was a mustard-coloured VW Beetle.

He slipped back into the driving seat. 'Hold on a minute, Taff.' He radioed the station. 'Tell Collier I want the registration number of that bilious yellow VW Beetle we picked up on CCTV last night.' He waited, then nodded. 'Thanks.' It was the same car.

'That car, Taff, was logged coming into and leaving the town centre at the time the money was taken last night. If our luck's in, we've found the bloke who clouted you round the head. Let's find out whose it is.'

The brown-overalled delivery man humping empty boxes down the stairs was most helpful. 'The Beetle? Yeah . . . I had one years ago. Great little cars. That one belongs to Miss Fowler - Beazley's secretary.'

Frost's eyes glinted. He was getting excited now. 'A woman, Taff, not a man. That tom said she saw a woman at the Fortress cashpoint. I had an idea it was an inside job and someone who hated Beazley, and that's her to a flaming T. He's always yelling at the poor cow. And come to think of it, she was there when I told Beazley we wouldn't be doing a stake-out last night . . . that's why she took a chance.'

'You need more than a car to prove it's her, Guv,' said Morgan. 'She could have had all sorts of reasons for driving at night.'

Frost bowed his head in thought, then took out his mobile phone. 'If I'd taken that amount of money out, Taff, I wouldn't want to be caught with it on me. You know what I'd do?'

Morgan blinked, thought for a second, then shrugged. 'No idea, Guv.'

'Then I'll tell you, my little Welsh s.e.xpot. You can pay money into those cashpoints as well as taking it out. I'd withdraw Beazley's five hundred quid and I'd immediately pay it into my own Fortress account. Then if I was stopped by a little Welsh prat, I'd have nothing on me.' He dialled his contact at the building society A quick conversation was followed by a thumbs up. 'She paid a thousand quid into her account just after midnight, last night, Taffy. So who's a clever boy then?'

Morgan frowned, blinked and shrugged. 'I've no idea, Guv.'

Miss Fowler looked up from her typing and smiled a greeting. 'Mr Beazley is most anxious to see you, Inspector Frost.'

'Not half as anxious as I am not to see him,' said Frost. 'But actually, Miss Fowler, it's you we've come to see, and I think you know what it's about.'

'Oh?' Her tight little smile did nothing to hide her concern. 'I can't think what you mean, I'm afraid, Inspector.'

Frost switched on his deceptively friendly smile. 'It's about Mr Beazley's money, love. You were seen at the Fortress Building Society cashpoint just after midnight last night, and the night before.'

The smile flickered weakly. She found her keyboard of great interest. Then she straightened up and shook her head sadly, managing a brave smile. 'I knew. I just knew.'

'Knew what, love?' asked Frost.

I knew you'd be the one to find me out. The minute you walked through that door, I knew it would be you.'