R. Wingfield - Hard Frost

"Then why did they cut the top of his fingers off?" asked Liz.

"It could have happened during the fight," said Frost lamely. He sighed. "I don't know." He pushed himself back from the desk, his chair scraping the brown lino with a teeth-setting squeal. "AH this talk of stomach contents is making me hungry. I'm off to the canteen."

Arthur Hanlon spotted Frost in the canteen and waddled over carrying his tray of food. He sat down opposite him and dolloped sauce on his egg and chips. "Everything laid on for tonight, Jack?"

"I hope so, Arthur. The phones are tapped and the suitcase should be bugged."

"How many men will you need?"

"Don't confuse me with numbers, Arthur," said Frost, forking a chip from Hanlon's plate. "One man watching the phone booths, one keeping an eye on Cordwell and tailing his car in case the homing device conks out, two area cars on call, the SAS, the United States Cavalry… two or three hundred should do it at a pinch. How many can I have?"

"Twelve if you're lucky."

"As long as one of them is Arnold Schwarzenegger, we should manage." He dipped one of his own chips in Hanlon's egg, then had to leave when the tannoy called him to the phone. Duggie Cooper had decided to make a statement.

On his way down to the interview room he spotted Cassidy and Mullett in cosy conversation, both frowning and nodding curtly to him as he passed. Cassidy had handed the superintendent a wad of completed progress reports and Mullett was beaming all over his face. "You haven't done them already, Cassidy!" he exclaimed delightedly. "Good man!"

"You wanted them, so I did them," said Cassidy.

Frost squinted at the returns. They were the ones he had seen Liz Maud filling in earlier. Liz had done the work and Cassidy was unashamedly taking the praise. The man hadn't changed since he was last in the division.

Duggie Cooper was already in the interview room, waiting for him. "I hope you're not going to waste my time, Duggie," grunted Frost, settling down wearily in the same uncomfortable chair. "I've got important things to do… I can always frame you later."

"Look, Mr. Frost. I didn't kill Lemmy. I'll cough for a few bits of nicking if it makes you happy, but I haven't killed anyone."

Frost signalled for Burton to bung in a tape. "You're on the air, Duggie, so sing."

"Me and Lemmy Hoxton were working together. He was the brains. He had this idea about conning our way into people's houses, and while they were busy downstairs, nicking their stuff upstairs. Sometimes we got rubbish, but now and again we hit the jackpot."

"So how did it work?" asked Frost,

"We'd pretend to be men from the Water Board. We'd case some likely places mainly old dears living on their own then one of us would put on overalls and pedal up to the house on an old bike. We had various scams. One was to turn the water off at the hydrant outside, then knock and say we'd had complaints about the water supply, and would they check their taps. So they'd do it and the tap would run dry. "Never mind," we'd say. "I'll fix it for you." We'd turn the hydrant back on again and give them another knock. "Try it now." And of course, now it works fine. "You watch the tap," we'd say, "and I'll go upstairs and flush the toilet. Let me know if it makes any difference to the flow." They were tickled pink to help. While we were upstairs, we'd nip in the bedroom for a quick rummage. You'd be surprised at the stuff people stow in their dressing-tables… some of them had hundreds of pounds in cash. Anyway, we'd stick the loot in our tool bag, toddle off downstairs, refuse the cup of tea the grateful old dear would offer and get the hell out of there on the bike. One of us would be waiting in the van. We'd stick the bike inside and rip off the overalls. If the cops are on the lookout, they're after a man on a bike in overalls, not two men in a van in suits."

"Speed it up, Duggie," said Frost. "I want to get to the bit where you kill him."

"I never killed him," insisted Duggie, 'though the sod was swindling me left right and centre. Everything I found we'd split fifty-fifty. If Lemmy found anything good, he'd pocket it and say there was nothing there."

"You should have complained to the police," said Frost. "That's what we're here for. All right, fast forward to the bit where you nick his credit card."

"The last job we did together was back in August… 6th August I think. We had a few jobs lined up for that afternoon. The first was a cottage near Alderney Cross… two women living alone. Lemmy reckoned it was ideal… remote and looked as if there would be rich pickings. Before the job we had lunch in a pub."

"What pub?"

"Forget its name little country pub just off the main road."

"What did you have to eat?"

"Bloody hell, Mr. Frost, this was months ago. I can't even remember what I had for dinner last night."

"Did Lemmy have anything to drink in the pub?"

"Nothing alcoholic. We made a point of it… these old dears get suspicious of workmen with beery breaths. We stuck to soft drinks."

Frost exchanged glances with Burton. This tied in with the analysis of the stomach contents. "Then what?"

"I parked down a side lane. Lemmy changed into his overalls and pedalled off. I read the paper, smoked a fag and waited… and bloody waited. He never came back. I waited over an hour then thought, bloody hell, he's been nicked, so I roared off back home and sat indoors in fear and bloody trembling expecting the Old Bill to knock any minute. But nothing. Nor the next day. I phoned his house, but his old lady said he'd gone away for a few days and she didn't know when he was coming back."

"And…?" asked Frost.

"That's it. I never saw him again."

"You must have seen him to nick his credit card."

"His suit jacket was in the van. He'd gone off in his overalls. I stuck the jacket in my wardrobe for when he came back, but he never did."

"What did you think had happened to him?"

"I reckoned he'd probably struck bloody gold at the cottage he did over that day."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I reckoned he'd found the old girl's life savings in the bedroom a few thousand quid and decided he wasn't going to share it, so he did a runner. So I thought to myself, "You lousy bastard, Lemmy," and I took the wallet from his jacket, helped myself to the few quid in it and bought myself a telly with his credit card."

"You didn't buy anything else with it?"

"I wasn't going to push my luck any more. I chucked it away after that."

Frost leant back and puffed a salvo of smoke rings up to the ceiling. "Not a bad story, Duggie, but I prefer my version… that you quarrelled over the split-up of the loot and you killed him."

"On my life, Mr. Frost

"What was the address of that cottage he was going to do?"

"It was called Primrose Cottage you can't miss it, it was painted yellow like custard."

Frost flipped open his burglary file and checked. No-one had reported a robbery or an attempted robbery at that address. He snapped the file shut. "I don't believe a word you've said, Duggie, but you know me heart of gold so I'll tell you what I'm going to do and you can abase yourself in gratitude later. I'll try and check out your story. But first, I want you to put your hand up to all the jobs you and Lemmy did all of them."

"Right, Mr. Frost." Duggie couldn't pour out the details quickly enough. "First there was '

Frost quickly restrained him. "No not to me, Duggie, I haven't got time. Hold on a minute…" He was out of his seat and looking up and down the passage. The unlucky passer-by was Arthur Hanlon.

"Congratulations, Arthur," called Frost, grabbing him by the arm. "You've just solved a whole batch of burglaries… Mr. Mullett will pee himself with pleasure when you tell him."

"Eh?" said Hanlon as Frost steered him into the interview room.