R. Wingfield - Hard Frost

"The bastards," exploded her father.

"What things?" asked Liz.

The girl shook-her head. "I'm not going to talk about it."

"Did they rape you?" asked Liz.

"No."

"How many of them were there?" said Frost.

She switched her gaze to him. "Four. Two in the back with me, the other two in the front."

"And all men?"

"I only heard men's voices."

"How old would you say they were?"

She shrugged. "I don't know late twenties, early thirties."

"And you didn't recognize any of the voices?"

"No."

Liz waited patiently for Frost to finish. "I'd like a doctor to examine you, Carol."

"No."

"If they raped you, there are DNA tests that would help us identify them."

"They didn't rape me, I told you… I'm not going to talk about it any more."

"Ah right," soothed Liz. "What happened then?"

"The van stopped and they changed places… the other two men came in. I pretended I'd passed out, so they didn't do anything much, just sat and smoked. After what seemed such a long time, someone banged on the side of the van and called, "We've got the money." The van drove off, then it stopped and I was pushed out. By the time I'd got the blindfold off, it was out of sight. A car came… but it wouldn't stop… and then the police car picked me up." She wrapped the greatcoat around her like a cocoon.

"I really would like a doctor to take a look at you," urged Liz.

"No!" She screamed the word out. "I'm all right. Just leave me alone." With an abrupt shrug she shook off her mother's arm. "Just leave me alone."

"She's upset," said her mother.

"That's right," exploded Stanfield sarcastically, 'explain it to them. They wouldn't bloody know otherwise." To Frost he said, "Right inspector, you've had a nice sit-down now go and catch the bastards."

"Just a few more questions," said Frost. He smiled at the girl. "You heard breaking glass. You switched on the bedside lamp and tried to dial 999. The lamp went out and the phone was dead '

"Because they'd switched off the current," said Stanfield, as if explaining to an idiot.

"Exactly. Between the time you heard the sound of glass breaking, which was them getting into the house, and the phone going dead, how much time elapsed?"

"I don't know… seconds…"

Frost nodded. "They were bloody quick, weren't they? They knew exactly where the meter was."

"It wouldn't take a bloody mastermind to work that out," exclaimed Stanfield. "Most people have their meter cupboard under the stairs."

"Yes," agreed Frost, 'but these people had to be sure.

They had to do it bloody quickly otherwise Carol would have made her phone call. There's only one way out of here along that four mile lane. The police would have been waiting for them. How did the gang know that the phone in Carol's bedroom was cordless?"

"I've had this house up for sale for the past four months," said Stanfield. "We've had estate agents in and out measuring up, we've had prospective buyers and every nosy sod imaginable poking and touching everything with their grubby fingers… any of them could have been casing the place."

"We'll need names," said Liz.

"Then get them from the estate agents, darling. They didn't leave flaming visiting cards, just sticky bloody finger marks on the wallpaper."

"When did your friends offer you the tickets for the show?" asked Frost.

"The day before yesterday. He had to go to Paris on business. Why?"

"I'm wondering how the crooks knew Carol would have been alone in the house last night."

"They could have been watching the place and picked their moment. We do go out at night from time to time."

Frost pulled a face. He didn't think much of this explanation. Before he could ask another question, Jordan was beckoning from the doorway. "Sorry to disturb you, inspector, but it is urgent."

Frost stood up. "What was the value of the jewellery they nicked?"

"I haven't added it up around 50,000," said the woman.

"But you are insured?"

"It's not the money, is it it's the sentimental value."

"Of course," said Frost.

Stanfield sprang to his feet. "And just what are you insinuating?"

Frost switched on his look of injured innocence.

"Nothing, Mr. Stanfield. Nothing at all. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

He followed Jordan into the hall, closing the door behind him. "What is it, son?"

It was a radio message from Control. A woman had just phoned in reporting her eight-year-old son had been missing since the previous afternoon. Her description matched the dead boy.

Frost swore softly. "I suppose no-one's given the poor cow any hint that he's dead?"

"No, sir," said Jordan.

"We'll go in your car," said Frost. "Sergeant Maud can stay and finish up here." He went back into the lounge and quietly explained the position to Liz. "Got to go," he told Stanfield. "Something important has come up."

Stanfield stared incredulously. "Something more important than this?"

"Yes," sighed Frost. "Something more important than this."

Jordan negotiated the car round the twists and turns of the narrow lane with much more care and skill than Liz had done. Frost was sitting alongside him, smoking, lost in his thoughts. If the dead boy was her son, how was he going to break it to her? Eight years old… God… He had radioed for Burton to meet him outside the house. He would have preferred to have a woman police officer with him, but they were all out helping with the search for Bobby Kirby. Still, breaking news like this was a job he had done many times before. Too many bloody times.

Jordan dragged him back from his brooding thoughts. "What do you reckon is behind this abduction, inspector?"

Frost took the cigarette from his mouth and dribbled smoke down his nose. "I'm not even sure there was an abduction, son."

Jordan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I've come across Stanfield before. He runs this second-hand car business. About four years ago the Customs and Excise were suspicious that he was working some VAT fiddle. The day before they were due to examine his books' there was a mysterious and very convenient arson attack on his office. All his receipts and records were destroyed."

"And you believe he started the fire himself?"

"I bloody know he did, son, but I couldn't prove it." He wound down the window and chucked the cigarette end out. "If you want my utterly biased opinion, last night's escapade was an insurance fiddle… hide the furs and jewels and claim the insurance."

"But if it was an insurance fiddle," protested Jordan, 'the girl would have to be in on it as well."

"Ten out of ten," said Frost.

Jordan spun the wheel and the track wriggled before turning into Hanger Lane. "This is where we found the girl… standing in the middle of the road, starkers."

"You're only saying that to make me jealous," said Frost. A thought hit him. "Stop the car!"

The car coasted to a halt and Jordan watched as Frost poked and prodded amongst the undergrowth of the grass verge, then disappeared from view as he squeezed through a gap in a hedge. Rustling sounds, then a whoop of delight and Frost emerged carrying something grey. He climbed back into the car. "What do you reckon to this, son?"

"A blanket," said Jordan. "From a single bed."

"Exactly."

Jordan stared at it blankly. He hadn't the faintest idea what the inspector was on about.

"Listen," explained Frost. "You're a fifteen-year-old girl, all throbbing thighs and tits. You've been dumped in the road by your father to flag down a car. You're starkers and it's freezing and Dawn's icy fingers are toying with your privates. So what do you do? You take a blanket with you to keep yourself warm. When you hear a car, you chuck the blanket behind a hedge, step in the middle of the road and waggle your dugs. If the car doesn't stop, you retrieve the blanket and wait for the next one."