R. Wingfield - Hard Frost

She had demanded to speak to her friend Stanley Mullett, the Divisional Commander. Mullett, who had sounded a trifle edgy on the phone, confirmed that Frost was one of his officers, although he wasn't exactly sure what case the inspector was on at the moment.

They were ordered to wipe their feet, which Frost did very perfunctorily, and were marched into the living-room where a cheery coal fire blazed. She meant for them to sit in the hard chairs, but the scruffy one made for one of her large, leather armchairs. "Lovely chair," remarked Frost, sinking down. "Feels brand spanking new."

Her heart skipped a beat. Was it her imagination, or did he stress the word 'spanking'? She smiled bleakly. "How can I help you?"

The room looked exactly as it did in the photograph, but the woman, large, almost mannish, in her tweed trouser suit, seemed light years away from the baby-talking writer of the letter imploring 'teacher' to correci her errors. "You reported a robbery some months ago; Mrs. Roberts," said Frost. He wished she would sit down. She was standing, towering over him, making him crick his neck as he talked to her.

With an airy wave of the hand she dismissed the nonsense about the robbery. "Alia mistake, as I told your officer at the time."

"We're wondering if it was a mistake."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We think there was a robbery, which you reported, but you then realized he had taken certain items you didn't wish the police to know about."

She drew herself up to her full height, towering over him even more. "There was no robbery. Nothing was taken. I can't help you."

"Why don't you sit down?" said Frost. "Or is your little botsy-wotsy sore?"

She stared, mouth gaping. At first she thought she hadn't heard him correctly and then her eyes widened in stunned shock as he produced the envelope and the photograph.

"Not exactly full face," said Frost, 'but we're pretty certain this is you."

She tried to snatch it from him, but he drew his hand back. "How dare you!" she hissed. "How dare you." Her mouth opened and closed, but that was all she could think of to say.

"Sorry about this," said Frost, sounding as if he meant it, 'but when you lift stones, all sorts of nasty things come crawling out. I'd just like to get a couple of things sorted to help with our enquiries."

"I'm not saying another word." She dropped down in the armchair opposite him and folded her arms defiantly.

"Fair enough," smiled Frost. "Bank up the fire and get your hat and coat. We can continue this down at the station. It's not very private there, I'm afraid, but if you're not ashamed of what you've been up to, then what the hell…"

She said nothing, but the defiant look withered.

Frost took a folder from Burton and flipped it open. "On 5th August you telephoned your personal friend, Mr. Mullett, to report a burglary. A man posing as a Water Board engineer gained entrance to your house and after he had left you discovered valuables missing from your bedroom. Within twenty minutes of your phone call you received a visit from Detective Sergeant Hanlon. You gave him a list of stolen items brooches, pearl necklace, gold powder compact, silver bangle… total value nearly 2000."

He tugged out the list. "This is what you said were stolen." He held it in front of her. She stared straight ahead as if it wasn't there.

"Your very good friend, Mr. Mullett, then called me in and ordered me to pull out all stops to apprehend the criminal. But the very next day you phoned, and subsequently signed a statement… this statement," another sheet of paper was waved in front of her, 'which states that it was all a mistake and nothing was taken… you had misplaced the articles and had then found them in another drawer. Mr. Mullett then instructed me to take no further action and I immediately complied." He replaced the papers in the folder. "My fault. I don't look for work, but I should have followed it up. I should have asked to see the items you now claim to have found." He beamed at her. "If I asked nicely, could you show them to me now?"

She stared at him, then lowered her gaze to the floor. "No."

"The stuff was stolen?"

"Yes."

"So what happened to make you tell us it wasn't?"

She stood up and went over to a small coffee table where she took a cigarette from a black and gold lacquered box, lighting it with an onyx cigarette lighter. Before she turned round, Frost had lit up one of his own. "That night I received a telephone call. A man. He read me a part of that letter and described the photograph. He said he was thinking of sending them to the press, but wondered if I would like to buy them back." She dragged deeply at the cigarette. "I asked how much. He wanted 500 in used notes. I said I would pay." She crushed the barely smoked cigarette out.

"And…?" prompted Frost.

"He said there was a litter bin next to the bus stop in Stacey Street. I was to hide the envelope containing the money between the bin and the wall. If I returned there the next day, in its place would be the letter and photograph."

"And?"

"I did what he said. I left the money. But when I returned the next day, the money was still there. It hadn't been picked up… The following day the same. So I retrieved the money and waited for him to phone again. I never heard another word from him."

"And what did you do with the money?"

"I paid it back into my bank account."

"Do you have copies of your bank statement?"

She glared and went over to an oak-veneered bureau where she took some papers from the top drawer. These she handed to Frost who passed them to Burton.

"Do you think I am a liar, inspector?" she asked, icily.

"People do lie to us," said Frost. "They tell us robberies haven't taken place when they have." He looked across to Burton, who nodded. The payments in and out were recorded exactly as she said.

He showed her Lemmy's mug shot. "Was this the man who robbed you?"

She studied it carefully. "I think so… I can't be sure. I didn't pay a lot of attention to him at the time… one doesn't when it's workmen."

"And the last time you saw him was when he left your house on…" He consulted the file. '5th August, the day you reported the robbery, and the day before you then reported it never took place?"

"Yes."

"We think he might have come back here… the next day," said Frost. "We think he demanded money and threatened to send the photograph and the letter to the press if you didn't pay."

"I've already told you what happened."

"But are you telling me the truth?"

"I'm not used to having my word questioned and I'm not going to say another word unless you have the common courtesy to tell me what this is all about," she snapped.

Frost smiled his reasonable smile. "Of course. The man I asked you to identify is Lemmy Hoxton, a known criminal. We found your letter and the photo with other stolen goods, hidden in his house. We also found some jewellery that might be yours were it not for the fact that you had told us it hadn't been stolen."

"My reason for silence no longer applies, inspector. Yes, I was robbed, as I have admitted."

"What I didn't tell you," said Frost, as if suddenly remembering something not too important, 'was the reason we went to Lemmy's house in the first place. Would you like to know why?"

"Not particularly, but I imagine you are going to tell me anyway."

Frost took a long drag at his cigarette. "It was because we had found his decomposing body feeding the maggots in someone's back yard. Someone perhaps to avoid being blackmailed had murdered him."

She stared at him, open-mouthed, the colour seeping from her face. "Murdered? You surely don't think that I…?"

"Why not?" asked Frost. "If I was in your position I would cheerfully have murdered the bastard, especially if I thought I could get away with it."