R. Wingfield - Hard Frost

"He's a self-employed accountant does the books for some small businesses in and around Denton. His late wife used to work for Savalot on the check-out. She was with them for fifteen years, but when they moved to the big new super-store, they sacked all the old check-out girls."

"Why?" Frost asked.

"They wanted youngsters they could train to the new system from scratch. The neighbour said her job was her life. She got depressed and eventually took an overdose about eighteen months ago."

"So Finch would have a very good reason for hating Cordwell?"

Cassidy shook his head. He couldn't accept this.

"You're not suggesting this whole kidnap was done for revenge? She died over eighteen months ago."

"Revenge has to smoulder before it bursts into flame," said Frost. "It's all coming together."

"All you've got at the moment," objected Cassidy, 'is a theory and you're bending the facts to support it."

"That's the way I always work," said Frost. "And if Finch isn't our man, then it's hard bleeding luck, because I am going to give him the works." Back to Burton. "What else do we know about him?"

"Not much… He keeps himself to himself and he hasn't had the dog long."

Frost's eyebrows shot up. "How long?"

"Two… three weeks."

Frost chewed this over then pounded his fist into his palm. "I said he was a calculating bastard. I bet he got the dog as part of his plan. It's all been worked out to the smallest details." He chewed his knuckle, then waggled a finger at the team. "And that's why Dean Anderson had been stripped naked. Finch is not going to leave us with a single clue. I bet there were dog's hairs on the kid's clothes… so off come the clothes." He was now warming to his theme, getting more and more excited. "And the indentation the pathologist noticed on Dean's forehead. I bet that was the marks of an elasticated shower cap. He was covering up the kid's hair so it wouldn't pick up traces of anything that could lead us back to him."

"I can't believe Finch is such a calculating bastard," said Liz. "He doesn't look it."

"Don't go by appearances," said Frost. "Mullett doesn't look like a prat."

Cassidy compressed his lips. This was not the way one should speak of senior officers to the lower ranks.

"We know it's Finch," continued Frost. "So how do we play it?"

"Slowly and carefully," urged Liz.

"We can't go slowly," said Frost. "Time isn't on our side. He's killed one kid, so he's got nothing to lose by killing the other." The phone rang again. He paused as Cassidy answered it.

It was the Casualty Officer from Denton hospital. Apart from a pregnant woman who had fallen down a flight of stairs, no-one came into Casualty between nine and ten thirty the previous night with anything serious enough to keep them away from a quarter of a million pound ransom. Cassidy relayed this to Frost, then stood up and flexed his leg which was stiffening up. He wanted to go home, but was determined not to leave before Frost.

"What is this terrible smell?"

Flaming hell! groaned Frost. Where had bloody Mullett sprung from? "I noticed it the minute you came in, sir have you trod in something?" He signalled for Burton to open up the window, then took Mullett by the arm and led him outside. "I'd like a quick word."

"And I want a word with you, Frost." He said nothing more until they reached his office. "I've had a phone call from the Chief Constable and he is very concerned about our lack of progress with this kidnapping. He understands the boy's mother has given an interview to one of the papers complaining the police are doing nothing."

"We're not doing nothing, sir, we just haven't come up with anything… until now."

"Until now?" Mullett's head came up and his eyes gleamed. "You've got a lead?" If this was true, he'd get straight back to the Chief Constable.

"A good one." He quickly told Mullett about Finch.

"Finch? The man who was attacked?"

"Yes, sir."

Mullett scratched his chin thoughtfully. "The boy could be at Finch's house? We could get him back to his mother tonight?" That would be a triumph. It would make the papers look absolute fools in the morning.

"It's possible, super," said Frost. "I doubt if the boy is hidden in the house, but we should find something that would lead us to him."

"So what do you suggest?" He consulted his watch. "It could take some time getting a search warrant."

Frost gave him a knowing wink. "Just leave that to me, sir."

Mullett stared at Frost. He had no wish to know about the underhand methods Frost intended to use. "Stick to the rules, Frost," he said, 'and let me know how you get on." When Frost had left, he smiled a smug smile of satisfaction as he practised what he would say to the Chief Constable if Frost pulled it off. "I know it was bending the rules, sir, but the child came first… I realized my career would be on the line, but that wasn't a consideration.. He practised saying it silently, but with the right degree of modesty. Then his expression changed and his eyes narrowed as he rehearsed what he would say if things went wrong. "I specifically told Frost to play it by the book… there was a child's life at stake and no reason for taking chances…" He congratulated himself. This was the sort of situation he liked. Either way, he couldn't lose.

In the incident room, Frost was briefing his team. His cigarette packet was empty, but he found a fair-sized stub in his top jacket pocket and poked it in his mouth. "Finch mustn't know we suspect him. If we don't find the kid in the house, then we'll put him under constant surveillance in the hope he leads us to him."

"You don't want him to know we suspect him?" said Cassidy. "But the minute we turn up with a search warrant, of course he'll flaming well know."

"We don't turn up with a search warrant," said Frost. He puffed a mouthful of smoke up to the ceiling and watched it get sucked out of the open window into the cold night air. "We use a bit of the tact and subtlety for which I am world famous."

The dog barked incessantly at the knocking at the door and wouldn't be hushed as Finch switched on the passage light and demanded, "Who's there?"

"Police," replied Frost. "Can you spare us a moment?"

Finch opened the door and there was that scruffy man with the mac and the trailing scarf. "Mr. Frost, isn't it?"

"That's right, sir. Sorry to bother you, but we've had a bit of luck. We've caught the man who attacked you and stole the money."

Finch's face lit up. "Good work, inspector." He led them into a living-room, all neat, tidy and polished, the room of a methodical man. He had his jacket on., "Going out, sir?" asked Frost.

"Just taking the dog for a run. I do it every night. So how can I help you?"

"We need formal identification of the travel bag and we'd like you to identify the man."

"Does he admit to kidnapping that poor boy?"

"He's lying his head off, sir. He says he found the money by chance and you tried to take it away from him."

"That is ridiculous. He put me in hospital. Of course I'll identify him. If you could hand me my overcoat."

It was hanging neatly over the back of a chair. Frost passed it across. Seeing his master getting ready to go out, the dog began yapping its excitement and leaping up and down at the prospect of an outing.

"Take him with you, sir," suggested Frost. He wanted the dog out of the way. "There is just one more thing, sir…" He smiled his most frank and open smile. "You're probably going to think it a bloody cheek, but do you think I could do a quick search of your premises?"

Finch's eyebrows shot up. "Why?"

"Once you've identified this man, he is going to deny all knowledge of the kidnapping and try and involve you in it. He'll claim you were there for the sole purpose of collecting the ransom."