Hard Frost (48 page)

Stanfield opened the door to them. "Why it's PC Plod," he sneered. "I bet you haven't come here to tell me you've got my money back?"

   "We have got it back, as it happens - "began Frost.

   Stanfield wouldn't let him finish. "What?" he shouted. "That's bloody marvelous!" He jerked his head round and yelled back into the house. "It's the police. Marvellous news! They've got the money back." Almost dancing with delight he ushered them in. "Come in, come in . . ."

   In the lounge his wife, all smiles, came to meet them. "This is wonderful," she said. "First the jewellery, now the money . . ."

   "It's a bit early in the day," said Stanfield, opening up the cocktail cabinet, 'but this definitely calls for a drink."

   But his wife, looking over his shoulder, saw the expression on Frost's face. An expression which said something was terribly wrong. She went white. "What is it?" she whispered. "For God's sake, what is it?"

They saw themselves out, quietly closing the front door on the bitter sound of sobbing. "I properly sodded that up," said Frost. He felt shattered. Another of his complete and utter shambles. He radioed Control in the hope that Finch had thrown caution to the wind and driven off to feed the boy. But Finch was staying put in the house. Frost drummed the steering wheel with his fingers, then came to a decision. "No use pussy-footing around. Finch knows we're on to him, so let's bring the bastard in."

Frost pulled out a chair and shook off some loose papers which fluttered to the floor. He waved a hand for the man to sit. "Good of you to come, Mr. Finch."

   Finch sniffed, and sat down. "The way your officer spoke, it seemed as if I had little choice."

   Frost frowned and tutted. "I'm sure he didn't mean to give that impression."

   "Well, that's the impression he conveyed."

   "Then I apologize on his behalf. Just a couple of things I want to get clear. Back to the other night, when you found the money. Did you see anyone else in the vicinity?"

   "Yes - the thug who attacked me and sent me to hospital."

   "Anyone else?"

   Finch folded his arms. "If there had been anyone else, inspector, don't you think I would have mentioned it?"

   Frost switched on his disarming smile. "Forgive me for asking apparently stupid questions. Our difficulty is that the kidnapper went to a lot of trouble to ensure the money was dropped where he wanted it, but then - unless we consider two strong possibilities completely failed to collect it."

   Finch smoothed his moustache. "And those two, strong, possibilities are . . .?"

   "We were watching the money. Only two people turned up in the appointed spot you and the man who assaulted you. Hudson has got a cast-iron alibi for the kidnapping, so we've cleared him. Now we'd like to clear you."

   "I see." Finch gave a curt nod. He didn't seem at all worried.

   Frost leant back in his chair. "Your wife worked for Savalot supermarkets?"

   Finch frowned. "What has that got to do with it?"

   "The supermarket provided the ransom money. We're just wondering if there could be any link."

   "My late wife worked for them - for more than fifteen years."

   "Why did she leave?"

   "The new supermarket opened and her smaller shop was closed down."

   "Did she want to leave?"

   "No."

   "Why didn't she move to the new supermarket?"

   "The new store was fully computerized. They needed computer trained staff and considered my wife was too old to learn new methods."

   "And this upset her?"

   "Yes."

   "She ended up by taking her own life?"

   "Yes." Finch stared straight ahead.

   "How long after she lost her job?"

   "Eighteen months. She became very depressed at being thrown on the scrap heap after fifteen years of loyal service. The job was her life."

   "She took an overdose?"

   "Yes." His face was tight, trying to suppress emotion.

   "Did you blame Sir Richard Cordwell for her death?"

   "Yes."

   "Enough to want revenge?"

   "Yes."

   "Was that why you chose Savalot to provide the ransom?"

   "No." He stared up at the ceiling then took his glasses off and polished them carefully. "I loved my wife, inspector, and I hated Cordwell as being the root cause for her death. It was an intense hatred and not one that could be satisfied by getting them to pay £250,000. It was a hatred that made me feel like setting fire to all then-stores . . . running Cordwell down in my car . . . A hatred that, to my eternal shame, I did nothing about. The pain is still there, but time has numbed it. I did not kidnap the child."

   "We know the kidnapper used chloroform. You do the accounts for a couple of chemists. You could have helped yourself to the odd bottle."

   "I could have, but I didn't."

   "Do you possess a cassette recorder, Mr. Finch?"

   "My wife had one a long time ago. I don't think I still have it."

   Frost offered a cigarette which Finch waved away. "There's another point that puzzles me. Hudson says that when he charged across to grab the money, he saw you kicking the long grass as if you were looking for something."

   "That's right - the dog's ball."

   "But that was already back in your pocket, sir."

   Finch creased a puzzled frown. Then his brow un-furrowed and he smiled as if the explanation was so simple. "Of course - I'd forgotten. My foot touched something hard in the grass. I was looking to see what it was, and that's when I discovered the travel bag."

   "I see, sir," said Frost, trying not to show his disappointment. Either Finch was innocent, or he was bloody clever, and he was sure Finch wasn't innocent. He shook two photographs from the folder and slid them across the desk. "Seen either of these boys before, sir?"

   Finch adjusted his glasses and studied them. "No."

   Frost tapped one of the photos. "This little boy choked to death on his own vomit. I'm sure the kidnapper did not intend his death. When it comes to a charge, we . probably would not be talking murder."

   Finch nodded vaguely as if this was of no interest to him.

   "If we got the other boy back safe and sound, I think we might be able to say a few kind words on the kidnapper's behalf to the judge."

   "You should be telling this to the kidnapper," said Finch, "not to me. Are you accusing me?"

   "We have to keep an open mind, sir," said Frost. "Explore all possibilities."

   Finch stood up. "You've searched my house, you've searched my car and you've found nothing. If you have anything at all to tie me to this crime, then please charge me. If not, I take it I am free to go?"

   "Of course you're free to go," said Frost. "I'll get someone to drive you home."

   "I can find my own way back, thank you," snapped Finch. He strode out of the office.

   Frost hurried back to the incident room where Burton was waiting. "Well, sir?" he asked.

   "Guilty as hell," said Frost. "I only need two things now to make an arrest - proof and the kid." He gratefully took the cup of tea Burton offered. "He's a glib bastard. Always comes up with a clever answer for everything."

   "Perhaps it's because it's the right answer?" suggested Cassidy, who was feeling pleased with himself now that he had taken the confessions from the two women which tied up the Lemmy Hoxton case.

   "He's guilty!" said Frost firmly. But even he was beginning to have doubts.

Collier nudged Jordan. They were back at the end of the road, watching Finch's house. Jordan yawned and opened his eyes. "What is it?"

   "How much longer are we supposed to be stuck here?"

   Jordan shrugged. "Until we're relieved, I suppose." He was glad to have a nice easy job for a change where he could catch up on lost sleep.

   "For all we know they've arrested him. It's been more than three hours since they took him in. No-one would think of telling us."

   "I'll check," said Jordan. He radioed Control.

   "What do you mean, what's happening with Finch?" demanded Control. "Isn't he back?"

   "If he was back, I wouldn't be asking," said Jordan.

Frost had returned to his office where he slumped down in a chair and closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. He had plunged instantly into a deep sleep, a sleep boiling with jagged dreams involving Finch and the body of Bobby Kirby, hand flopping limply, the severed finger dripping blood. The phone woke him. He jerked up with a start, trying to work out where he was, groping for an alarm clock that wasn't there. Of course . . . he was in the office. He hooked the cord round his finger and bumped the phone off its rest and across the desk. "Frost."

   Lambert in Control. He had Jordan on the radio and he wanted to know what was happening with Finch?

   Frost yawned and shook his head to try and wake himself up. What was Jordan on about? He and Collier were supposed to be watching the house and Finch should have been back long ago. "I'm coming," he yawned into the phone and made his way to the incident room.

   "What do you mean, he never came back to the house?" he asked Jordan over the radio. "He left here hours ago."

   "I don't know about him leaving you, inspector," replied Jordan. "All I know is, he certainly hasn't come back here."

   Frost creased his brow, trying to remember what had happened when he let Finch go. He couldn't remember allocating anyone to drive him back. Then he went cold. Finch had turned down the offer of a lift and he had let his number one suspect, his only bloody suspect, wander out of the station on his own. "You're sure he hasn't returned to the house?"

   "Positive," said Jordan. "We've been watching." Collier, at his side, reacted to the 'we'.

   "Then be even more bleeding positive," said Frost. "Go and bang on his door. That should set the dog barking. See if someone who isn't there tells the flaming thing to keep quiet."

   "I know he isn't there," said Jordan.

   "Just do it!" barked Frost. He waited impatiently, listening to little bursts of static from the speaker until Jordan returned.

   "He's definitely not in the house," reported Jordan with an air of "I told you so'.

   "You needn't sound so bloody pleased about it," said Frost. "What happened?"

   "I knocked. The dog inside went mad . . . yapping and whining. I can still hear it barking from here. No-one told it to be quiet, no-one came to the door."

   "Is his car still there?"

   "Yes."

   Frost sighed. What else could go bloody wrong? "Stay put. I'll get back to you." He clicked off the radio, conscious of everyone watching him, waiting to be told what to do. Control was instructed to order all patrols and mobiles to actively search for Finch. Bill Wells was to send every available man out to scour the town .. . pubs . . . cinemas . . . everywhere. He got one of the WPCs to phone all the firms Finch did accounts for, in the hope he was with one of them. Then he contacted Felford Division for someone to keep an eye on the caravan, should Finch decide to return there.

   He briefed his team in the incident room, stressing how important it was to find him. "He's a calculating sod. If he's gone missing, there's a reason. If he's done a bunk, we'll never know where the kid is so we've got to find him. Someone check buses and the railway station." He paused, trying to think of anything he might have missed out. "And if anyone thinks of anywhere else he might be public lavatories, knocking shops, sex change clinics, Toys R Us - don't tell me, just go and look."

They bustled out, passing the Divisional Commander on his way in. Mullett always managed to appear when things were going wrong. "What's the position with Finch?"

   Frost told him.

   "You just let him walk out of here?" said Mullett, his voice shrill with incredulity. "You said you were having him followed. You said he would lead us to the boy."

   "I know I said that!" snapped Frost. "But I sodded it up."

   "Something you seem to be doing a lot of lately," said Mullett. "Strange that Cassidy seems to be having all the success while you have all the failures." He marched to the door, where he turned to fire one last bullet. "If you mess this one up, Frost . . ." The slamming of the door punctuated the threat.

   "Thank you for your encouraging words," Frost muttered to the closed door.

   He waited impatiently by the radio. Nothing. He got Control to radio out to everyone in case their radios had failed. Everything in order. Then the negative reports began flooding in. No sign of Finch anywhere.

   Another half an hour passed. No news. He radioed through to Jordan. "Please," he pleaded, 'say Finch has come home, he's safe indoors, but you forgot to tell me."

   "Sorry, inspector," said Jordan.

   Burton and Liz returned, tired and unhappy. "Sorry, inspector," said Liz. "I don't know where else we can look."

   Frost stood up. "You and Burton, come with me."

   "Where are we going?" she asked,.

   "To Finch's house. Let's go over the place again."

   "But we didn't find anything before."

   "Then let's hope we bloody well find something this time."

Chapter 18

The dog began barking again the minute they walked up the path. They could hear it scratching furiously at the kitchen door, trying to get out. Frost rang the bell and hammered on the door, just in case. He waited a couple of seconds then gave the nod to Burton, who moved forward with the heavy hammer. Two blows were enough. The door shuddered and screws squealed as they were wrenched from the woodwork. Burton kicked it open and they entered the house. The dog was barking itself into a state of hysteria and Frost had to raise his voice to make himself heard.

   "This is make or break," Frost told his team. "Strip the place bare, peel the bleeding wallpaper off if you have to, but find me something that leads us to the kid."

   He left them to it and wandered out to the Metro in the drive. Burton, with the help of an enormous bunch of keys borrowed from Traffic, had got the door open and was sitting in the front seat, going through the contents of the glove compartment. Car handbook, road map, old parking tickets . . . Frost took the road map, which was of Denton and the surrounding area. His pulse quickened when he saw a section carefully ringed, but it was simply showing the location of the caravan that Felford Division were keeping an eye on. Burton rummaged through the dash compartments. They yielded nothing. Frost left him to it and returned to the house and the barking dog. He told Collier to try and get the animal to keep quiet.