R. Wingfield - Hard Frost

"Bloodstains," reported Harding cheerfully. "Quite a lot of blood."

Suddenly the cigarette tasted fine. "I'm all ears."

"Blood group A."

He exhaled a stream of smoke in a long sigh of relief. "The same as the dead mother! Don't let anyone call you a load of useless twats again."

"The overtime has been authorized on this?" queried Harding. "Only I've had to get a couple of men in."

"Of course it is," he said, wondering how the hell he was going to get Mullett to agree. He picked up a pencil and practised writing Mullett's signature on a scrap of paper. A little judicious forgery might be required. Then he hurled the pencil up in the air with a whoop of delight. He didn't give a damn if Mullett moaned about the overtime, or not. It had paid off. Blood, the same group as Nancy Grover, on the carpet retrieved from the canal. He looked again through the window at the lightening sky. It wasn't going to be such a lousy day after all, although Mark Grover wasn't going to enjoy it.

He no longer felt tired, but wished there was someone with whom he could share his triumph. He grinned delightedly as Burton came in with two steaming mugs of tea. "You're early, my son. I'm afraid your lady love isn't in yet."

Burton smiled and placed one of the mugs on Frost's desk.

"Did you see the way she kneed that bloke in the goo lies yesterday?" asked Frost, stirring his tea with a pencil. "You'd better watch it if you take her out that could have been you squirming on the floor."

"If my luck's in," said Burton.

Frost laughed and took a sip at the tea. "Talking of luck, we've had a break with the Grover case." He told Burton about Forensic's examination of the carpet.

"So Graver's involved?"

"Right up to his bloody neck, son. Let's start the day off by arresting him."

He phoned the hospital, but was told by the staff nurse that Mark Grover had discharged himself last night and was staying with his sister. Yes, she did have the address… He sent Burton to the Forensic Lab to bring back the carpet, then sauntered out into the car-park.

A plump little woman answered the door to his knock. Mark Graver's sister was some ten years older than her brother and her face was full of concern when Frost announced himself. "I don't think he's up to answering any questions. The poor boy is absolutely shattered." She took him through to the kitchen. "He loved those children… just idolized them."

Frost nodded in sympathy. "I know, love… I know… If it wasn't important I wouldn't bother him."

Mark Grover didn't look well, the pallor of his face emphasizing the dark, bruise-like rings round his eyes. He recognized Frost and greeted him without enthusiasm. "Any news?"

"Couple of promising leads," said Frost. "I know you don't feel up to it, but it would help if you could come down to the station and look at some of the things we've found and tell me if they came from your house."

Glover hesitated. "I don't know…"

"Go with the man," urged his sister. "The fresh air will do you good." When he went off to fetch his coat, she whispered to Frost, "Mark could do with cheering up."

"I'll see what I can do," promised Frost, leaving her thinking what a nice man he was.

Grover kept fidgeting in the car, gazing blankly out of the window, not listening to Frost's aimless chatter. He frowned and turned to the inspector. "Are we going the right way?"

Frost had deliberately detoured to go down Cresswell Street. "Just wanted to take a look," said Frost. He drove slowly past the house, where a mass of wreaths and floral tributes from neighbours were laid out in the front garden. One wreath was in the heart-rending shape of a teddy bear. Grover swallowed hard, then snatched his eyes away and shuddered. "I'm never going back in there again. I couldn't."

Frost nodded sympathetically, but he'd achieved what he wanted Grover to be emotional and unprepared for the little surprise he had in store for him.

"What exactly do you want me to identify?" Grover asked.

"Won't take long," said Frost vaguely as he turned the car into the station car-park, pulling up by the large storage shed at the rear. He opened the shed doors and ushered Grover in. "This way," he said. The smell greeted them as he switched on the fluorescent lights. They flickered on and Grover stepped in to face the large section of exclusive Bonley's carpeting hanging to dry by the end wall, covered with chalked circles to outline the siting of the bloodstains located by Forensic. Grover stood stock still, his mouth gaping open, then he turned, shouldering Frost out of the way as he charged out of the shed and into the car-park.

"Don't be a twat," yelled Frost making no move to follow. "Where can you go… where would you hide?"

Grover faltered, then stopped and slowly turned, shoulders slumped, his face the picture of despair. He was trembling violently. "My God," he said. "Oh my God!"

Frost ambled over and took his arm. "Let's talk about it, son. It'll make you feel better."

Mullett, who had seen Frost arrive and had learned of the unauthorized overtime, met Frost in the corridor. "I want to see you," he snapped.

"Later," said Frost, moving him to one side so Grover could pass.

"Now!" shouted Mullett, quivering with rage.

"Later!" snarled Frost. "Bloody later!"

He sat Grover down in the small interview room which smelt stalely of sweat and unwashed socks. Burton brought in mugs of tea, then started up the recorder while Frost lit up a cigarette and shook out the match. "Right, Mr. Grover. You've been cautioned. You know you don't have to say anything, but let me tell you how I see it. You had a row with your wife. You were sick and tired of her and the kids. You went off to Bonley's, but returned later with the chunk of carpet you had nicked and your wife was waiting, ready to start the row again. Something snapped. You grabbed up a knife and you killed her. The kids saw you do it and started screaming, so you had to silence them, so you killed them as well."

Frost knew this fitted few of the facts, but his intention was to stir the suspect up and it worked.

"No!" Grover was standing up and shouting at Frost. "I wouldn't harm my kids. I loved them."

Frost took another deep drag and continued doggedly. "Her blood was all over the nice carpeting you'd brought, so you had to get rid of it. You dumped it in the canal on the way to the railway tunnel where you chucked your wife's body in front of a train to make it look like suicide. Then you went back to work to earn an honest crust and establish your alibi."

"No!"

Frost beamed up at him. "Sit down, son, you'll be more comfortable." He waited for Grover to sit. "I'm open-minded. If you've got a better story, I'm willing to listen, but if not, I'm perfectly happy with my own version."

"It didn't happen like that," Grover turned to Burton, who seemed to have a more sympathetic face. "It didn't happen like that."

"Then tell us how it did happen," said Burton.

Grover wiped hair away from his forehead. "Yes we'd been rowing. We were always bloody rowing that was our life, one long bleeding row! She said the kids were getting her down and I was never there when she wanted me. I told her I had to earn the bloody money for her to spend and I couldn't do that sitting at home all day. Then we had this rush job at Bonley's. That really got her going. She said that if I went out and left her on her own, she'd kill herself. I said, "Good then we'll have a bit of peace and bloody quiet." I stormed out, slamming the door."

"Had she threatened to kill herself before?" asked Frost.

"It was her bleeding theme song. She'd get hysterical… the kids would cry… she'd shout at the kids and I'd shout at her. Happy bloody Families! It used to end up with me saying, "Kill your bloody self then it'll do me and the kids a big favour."