R. Wingfield - Hard Frost

"Eh?" Frost's head swivelled round. Cassidy was staring hard at him, waiting for an answer. "Sorry, son, I was miles away."

"I'm not your damn son and I asked you for Tommy Dunn's address."

"I don't know it," muttered Frost, squinting through the windscreen at an approaching car that could have been green. But it wasn't.

"You're a bloody liar," said Cassidy.

Frost didn't reply. Yes, he was lying. He knew Tommy's address but he wasn't going to let Cassidy go round there stirring everything up again. "It happened a long time ago, son. Let the wounds heal."

"You and Tommy made a great team, didn't you? One damned incompetent and the other always on the take."

"I did my best to find the hit and run driver, son. We all did. We worked bloody hard, but we failed."

"I don't doubt you did your best, inspector, but your best is inadequate and bloody pathetic' Frost shrugged. Cassidy had idolized his daughter and his bitterness at the failure of the investigation, even after all these years, was understandable, if not excusable.

"That bastard hit my daughter at speed, and roared off without bothering to see if she was alive or dead. She was smashed to pieces. Fourteen years old. She hadn't lived. She hadn't bloody lived!"

"I know son. I know."

"You know much more than you're damn well saying."

"What do you mean?"

"You let me down four years ago, so I've been making my own enquiries. I've found a witness."

"Oh?" A green car roared past them, but it was a hand-painted VW Beetle.

"He was in the car-park at the Coconut Grove when he saw this car speeding past. Then he heard it pumping its horn, and the smash as it hit my daughter."

"He didn't actually see the accident?"

"No. He went running out to the road and there was a crowd of people and they were looking down at my daughter's body."

"We know all this, son." Frost would never forget that night… the flashing blue light of the ambulance reflected in the shiny pools of blood inside the chalked outline marked out by the traffic police. He had viewed the smashed and broken body in the morgue, the small fourteen-year-old body that had spilt so much blood on the road. He had tried to stop Cassidy from seeing her until they had tidied her up, but had been pushed aside… The memory of the man's grief and anger still hurt, a mental wound that would never heal. "We know all this," he repeated.

"Then here's something you apparently don't know. There was a BMW parked in the road outside the club. The driver was in it. Tommy Dunn was talking to him."

"I've no knowledge of Tommy talking to anyone, son. If he had, there would have been a witness statement."

"Depends on how much Tommy was paid to keep his mouth shut."

Frost lit a cigarette. "It depends on how reliable your witness is. Funny he never told anyone about this at the time."

"He says he told you," said Cassidy.

Frost slowed down. He was driving much too fast. "He's mistaken." Headlights of an approaching car dazzled the windscreen. A white Mercedes. "Look, son, let's drop it for now. We're not concentrating on the job in hand."

"I'd like to see the file on your investigation of Rebecca's death," said Cassidy stubbornly.

"I'll dig it out and let you have it," replied Frost. As soon as he got back to the station he would hide it where no-one could find it. There was no way he would let Cassidy see it. And he'd get Tommy Dunn to have a word with this mouthy witness. He knew who he was. He offered a cigarette to Cassidy which was curtly refused.

"What was Dunn doing at the Coconut Grove that night collecting backhanders?"

"Checking on stolen credit cards," said Frost, twisting his neck as another car sped past. "I never realized there were so many damn green cars in Denton." He sank back gloomily in his seat, squinting at the road ahead through the solid curtain of rain which his squealing windscreen wipers were making pathetic efforts to clear.

"Burton to Inspector Frost. I've found him. Back on the Bath Road, heading north. I'm following."

"Exactly where on the Bath Road?" yelled Frost into the handset as he swung the car around, shooting up a shower of rainwater.

"Just passing Sandown Road."

"Right Frost to all mobiles. I want two of you to get ahead of him. Charlie Baker you get to the motorway turn-off, and when he approaches, you take over from Burton. Charlie Abel- tail them both. If it looks as if he's spotted Charlie Baker, then you take over." He began to whistle cheerfully. Action this was more like it.

"Subject turning north into Forest Row," reported Burton.

Frost nodded resignedly. It looked as if Cordwell was heading for Denton Woods where it would be bloody difficult to keep track of him once he left the car. It now needed lots more men than he had available. And yet again that evening he bitterly cursed Tommy Dunn for dropping him in it like this.

"He's slowing… he's slowing," reported Burton. "He's stopped."

"Where?" yelled Frost. "Just in case we might want to know."

"Sorry. By the public call box, corner of Forest View. He's getting out of the car, making for the call box. He's waiting and checking his watch. The phone's ringing… he's answered it. Now he's hung up and he's dashing back to the Nissan."

"It must be the final instructions for the drop," said Frost. "Don't lose him… we'll be with you soon."

Burton braked. He was getting too close. A short way back he had lost sight of the Nissan and had jammed down on the accelerator only to have to slam on the brakes to avoid shooting up its backside. Luckily

Cordwell had other things on his mind and did not seem to notice.

The road wriggled into another sharp bend and again the rear lights of Cordwell's car slipped out of sight. Burton accelerated as much as he dared. The weather conditions were making the road surface treacherous. As he negotiated the bend, he cursed. The Nissan had stopped. Had Cordwell seen him? Was he, perhaps, checking to see if he was being followed? Burton drove straight past, avoiding turning his head as he passed, but at the very next bend, he slowed and bumped the car up on to the grass verge. Quickly, he stuffed the radio into the pocket of his raincoat, slung the night glasses round his neck and stepped out into torrential rain.

Running back towards the oak tree, he reported to Frost. "He's stopped."

"Whereasked Frost.

"The big oak alongside Forest Common."

"What's he doing now?"

Burton didn't know. He couldn't see a flaming thing. He couldn't even see the car. Cordwell had switched off the lights and the rain was making visibility very limited. "Wait," he panted, dropping the radio back in his pocket and getting out the night glasses.

He located the oak tree, then moved down to the car. It was empty. He panned the common. Bushes, trees… He'd lost him… he'd damn well lost him. He began swinging the glasses wildly from left to right, hoping to pick up something. What was that? Something white. He held the glasses steady on Cordwell in his white mac. Thank goodness it was a white raincoat otherwise he might never have spotted him. He adjusted the focus. Cordwell was carrying something. The money bag.

He became aware of squaw kings from his pocket. The radio. Frost pleading for some news. He fished it out and reported breathlessly, "Have subject in sight. Will report back." He raised the night glasses again. Damn. Bushes, trees, but no sign of Cordwell. He panned quickly from left to right. Nothing. Where the hell was he? He almost shook with relief when he again picked up a blur of white. Cordwell emerging from a line of bushes and bramble. He was coming back… Returning to his car. Had he made the drop? At first Burton wasn't sure. Cordwell was at the wrong angle, but when he turned towards the oak, Burton could see that the supermarket chief no longer had the travel bag.