Part 46 (1/2)

Frost's jaw dropped. 'What! . . . A bleeding murderer? He raped and killed a girl.'

'A long time ago, Inspector, and the defence are querying the DNA evidence. He's married, with a business to run. The bench didn't think he posed a risk. There was no one from the police to oppose bail . . . I thought Detective Chief Inspector Skinner - '

'Skinner's dead,' said Frost flatly.

'Oh . . .' said Meyers, not really taking this in. 'Sorry to hear that - then you, as second in charge . . .'

'I've been up most of the night. I've only just come in.'

'Well, it might have made a difference, but no use crying over spilt milk. He had to surrender his pa.s.sport, his father-in-law met the 10,000 bail demanded and he's now a free man. The trial has been set for next March.'

'Thanks very much,' snapped Frost, banging down the receiver. 'They've only let Fielding out on bleeding bail,' he told Wells.

Before Wells could answer, a voice roared down the corridor. 'Inspector Frost . . . my office, now!'

'Flaming h.e.l.l,' muttered Frost. 'Mullett! I thought he couldn't come out in the sunlight.' He called back sweetly, 'Coming, Super,' then turned to Wells. 'Probably wants me to put a stake through Skinner's heart in case he comes back from the dead.'

Mullett was wearing his best uniform, a black tie and a black armband. If the press or television wanted to interview him, he was ready. He frowned as Frost shambled in and flicked a finger at a chair. 'The Chief Constable is very upset,' he snapped.

'Few of us are laughing,' said Frost, flopping into the chair. 'What did you want to see me about?'

'What happened at court today?'

'Fielding got bail.'

'I know he got bail, Frost. I want to know why. Why weren't you there to oppose it?'

'Me? It was Skinner's case.'

'You knew he was dead. Who else could go in his place apart from you?'

'Things were a bit b.l.o.o.d.y abnormal last night,' retorted Frost. 'We did have other things to worry about.'

Mullett fluttered a dismissive hand. 'Excuses, excuses, always excuses. The case files are on DCI Skinner's desk. I want you to take them over for the time being until we get a replacement. This, as I am sure you will appreciate, makes no difference to your joining Lexton division, although that will depend on the result of the inquiry into Skinner's death. I can't back you up there, as you know, so your future in the force is in doubt. And in that respect, County want a full report from you on what happened last night. Detailed, Frost - not a couple of lines of your usual scribble.'

'Right,' said Frost, rising from the chair. 'Was that all?'

Mullett patted some papers into a neat pile on his desk. 'There is one other thing . . . the funeral. There will be a police presence, of course. You - er - have got another suit? That one is hardly appropriate.'

'I'll rake out my old Teddy Boy suit,' said Frost. 'It should still fit.'

Frost mooched into Skinner's office and s.h.i.+vered. The room felt cold. Why did a dead person's office have a different feel to a living person's office? He crossed to the filing cabinet where Skinner kept his fiddled car expenses and gave the top drawer a tentative tug, but it was locked. None of the keys on his ring worked, neither did his nail file or an opened-out paper clip. Skinner had had an expensive new lock fitted. s.h.i.+t!

He sank into Skinner's chair and tried the deep filing drawer. It slid open to reveal a couple of bottles of Johnny Walker. Serendipity! Well, Skinner wouldn't want them anymore. He took them out and scurried back to his own office, hid them in his desk drawer, then returned to Skinner's room.

A small stack of case files awaited his attention. He pulled them towards him. The one on the top was for the Fielding rape and murder case, which Skinner had had ready for his court appearance. Frost opened it and idly flicked through the contents, pausing as he reached all the old papers from that distant Christmas when the girl's body was discovered in that frozen churchyard. He s.h.i.+vered again, the cold of the room transporting him back to that frosty Christmas morning with hard-packed snow scrunching underfoot. And it put him in mind of his return home and his young wife, in that red dress . . . He shook his head to shake away the memories.

He closed the file and pushed it to one side. Then he paused. Something inside his head was telling him that he had spotted something in the file, something significant. There was something he had skimmed over, which had subconsciously registered in his brain. So what the h.e.l.l was it?

He opened up the file again. Among the top papers were the computer printouts of Fielding's petty criminal record - all minor traffic offences. Nothing there - or was there? Speeding . . .dangerous driving . . . Manchester. Manchester! Manchester! He stared, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the file and scurried into the Incident Room, waving the folder at Collier and Morgan, who were seated by the computer. He stared, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the file and scurried into the Incident Room, waving the folder at Collier and Morgan, who were seated by the computer.

'Come and have a look at this.'

They crowded round him as he opened up the file. 'This is the list of Fielding's past offences, right?'

'Pretty trivial stuff though, Guv,' said Morgan. 'Motoring offences.'

Frost jabbed a finger. 'This one. Dangerous driving, Manchester, 22 September.' He looked at them expectantly. They looked back, puzzled.

'Are we missing something?' asked Collier.

'The date,' said Frost. 'The b.l.o.o.d.y date!'

They still stared back blankly.

'September 22nd. The day that girl went missing. The girl whose body we found on the railway embankment. Fielding was in Manchester the day the girl went missing.'

'Coincidence?' suggested Morgan.

'I don't believe in flaming coincidences, especially when they don't suit me,' said Frost. 'The girl was abducted on the 22nd September and we reckon she was abducted by someone from Denton. We have someone on a rape and murder charge who comes from Denton.'

'Possible,' conceded Collier begrudgingly.

'Try not to be too bleeding enthusiastic,' said Frost 'There's other motor offences in other towns. I want you to check back with the forces concerned and see if any girls went missing or if there were rapes or attempted rapes on the day of the offences.'

'Right,' nodded Collier, taking the file and picking up the phone.

Wells came in. 'Mullett wants you again, Jack.'

'What, again? He's man-mad,' said Frost.

The Superintendent was standing in Frost's office, the bottles of whisky from Skinner's filing cabinet on the desk before him. Mullett was glowering and pointing an accusing finger at them.

'When I went into DCI Skinner's office this morning there were two bottles of whisky in his drawer. When I checked just now, they had gone. I come into your office and there they are. This is outrageous, Frost. Stealing from the dead - absolutely outrageous.'

'I thoroughly agree with you, Super,' said Frost. 'Sneaking into someone's office and going down their private drawers. I expected better of you.'

'Me?' croaked Mullett, pointing a finger at himself in shocked outrage. 'Me? You take whisky from a deceased colleague . . . a colleague in whose death you are deeply involved. This is despicable, Frost. It is nothing short of theft.' You take whisky from a deceased colleague . . . a colleague in whose death you are deeply involved. This is despicable, Frost. It is nothing short of theft.'

b.l.o.o.d.y right, thought Frost, his mind racing, trying to think of a way to get out of this one. Then he had an idea. He pulled open a desk drawer and took out the note Sandy Lane had sent with the whisky he had given him. 'If youhad looked more carefully, in DCI Skinner's drawer, Super, you would have found this note from Sandy Lane of the Denton Echo Denton Echo.' He handed Mullett the scribbled note, which read: 'You kept asking for whisky in return for inside information, so here it is.'