R. Wingfield - Hard Frost

"Be careful," urged Frost. "He mustn't know he's being followed."

"He's putting on some speed," reported Simms. "He's roaring ahead."

Frost frowned anxiously. "He hasn't spotted you?"

"I don't think so."

A quick glance at the road map. "He can't go anywhere but straight ahead. Drop well back and let Jordan take over when Finch reaches the service station."

"Roger," said Simms.

"Roger," said Jordan.

The radio went quiet. Frost scrabbled at the cellophane on a fresh pack of cigarettes, cursing when the damn stuff refused to tear. At last he ripped it off in several pieces, stuffed a cigarette in his mouth and passed the pack around. Another check with the wall map. No way yet of knowing where Finch was heading, but it was clearly well outside Denton. Back to the speaker, which was making little crackling sounds. "Come on, come on," he muttered, "Finch ought to be with you by now." He clicked on the mike. "I haven't bloody offended you, have I, Jordan? Talk to me."

"No sign of Finch yet," reported Jordan. "I…"A pause, then, "Oh shit!"

"What is it?" roared Frost.

"I can see Simms… but Finch hasn't reached us."

"He must have flaming well reached you. Simms was behind him. He can't have bloody vanished!"

"He was ahead of me," said Simms.

"Well, he hasn't passed us," said Jordan.

Frost killed his cigarette in the ashtray. "The bastard's got to be somewhere. Jordan stay put. Simms double back and see if you can spot him." Another cigarette. He dragged smoke deep into his lungs and waited. A burst of static.

"Simms to Control. I see him!"

"Where?" pleaded Frost. "Share it with us!"

"He's parked up on the grass verge where the road bends."

"Is he in the car?" Frost was concerned that Finch might have parked the car and gone on foot to where the boy was.

"Yes… him and the dog. Just sitting, doing nothing. What do I do?"

"Drive on," said Frost. "When you're out of his sight, do what he's done get up on the verge and wait." He changed channels. "Jordan. Stay put. He's in between the two of you. Unless the sod's got a helicopter in his boot, he must go one way or the other."

He stood up and stamped around the room. The tension was getting to him.

"Finch has just passed me," called Simms. "He's done a U turn. He's heading back to town."

Frost's shoulders slumped. He knew where Finch was heading. "Follow him."

"What's he up to?" asked Burton.

"I hope I'm wrong, son, but I reckon he spotted us."

A few minutes later Simms reported, "He's gone back to his house. I'm parked at the end of the road. Finch is getting out… and the dog. He's picking up the carrier bag of food… now he's gone inside."

"Bum-holes!" said Frost mildly. This confirmed what he suspected. "Tuck yourself somewhere at the end of the road and keep watch. A hundred to one he won't be coming out again today, but we can't take any chances."

"What happened?" Liz asked.

"Finch was testing us," said Frost. "He wanted to find out if he was being tailed and we screamed out to him that he was. Damn! I've blown it."

"I don't see what else you could have done," said Burton.

"I should have had more bloody cars. Sod Mullett and his economy drive. Finch notices a car behind him. He gets off the road and waits. The same car does a U turn and comes back again. You'd have to be as dim as flaming Mullett not to know you were being followed." He knuckled his eyes. "Come on, Liz. More job satisfaction. Let's break the news to Stanfield about his daughter."

Stanfield opened the door to them. "Why it's PC Plod," he sneered. "I bet you haven't come here to tell me you've got my money back?"

"We have got it back, as it happens began Frost.

Stanfield wouldn't let him finish. "What?" he shouted. "That's bloody marvelous!" He jerked his head round and yelled back into the house. "It's the police. Marvellous news! They've got the money back." Almost dancing with delight he ushered them in. "Come in, come in.. "

In the lounge his wife, all smiles, came to meet them. "This is wonderful," she said. "First the jewellery, now the money…"

"It's a bit early in the day," said Stanfield, opening up the cocktail cabinet, 'but this definitely calls for a drink."

But his wife, looking over his shoulder, saw the expression on Frost's face. An expression which said something was terribly wrong. She went white. "What is it?" she whispered. "For God's sake, what is it?"

They saw themselves out, quietly closing the front door on the bitter sound of sobbing. "I properly sodded that up," said Frost. He felt shattered. Another of his complete and utter shambles. He radioed Control in the hope that Finch had thrown caution to the wind and driven off to feed the boy. But Finch was staying put in the house. Frost drummed the steering wheel with his fingers, then came to a decision. "No use pussy-footing around. Finch knows we're on to him, so let's bring the bastard in."

Frost pulled out a chair and shook off some loose papers which fluttered to the floor. He waved a hand for the man to sit. "Good of you to come, Mr. Finch."

Finch sniffed, and sat down. "The way your officer spoke, it seemed as if I had little choice."

Frost frowned and tutted. "I'm sure he didn't mean to give that impression."

"Well, that's the impression he conveyed."

"Then I apologize on his behalf. Just a couple of things I want to get clear. Back to the other night, when you found the money. Did you see anyone else in the vicinity?"

"Yes the thug who attacked me and sent me to hospital."

"Anyone else?"

Finch folded his arms. "If there had been anyone else, inspector, don't you think I would have mentioned it?"

Frost switched on his disarming smile. "Forgive me for asking apparently stupid questions. Our difficulty is that the kidnapper went to a lot of trouble to ensure the money was dropped where he wanted it, but then — unless we consider two strong possibilities completely failed to collect it."

Finch smoothed his moustache. "And those two, strong, possibilities are…?"

"We were watching the money. Only two people turned up in the appointed spot you and the man who assaulted you. Hudson has got a cast-iron alibi for the kidnapping, so we've cleared him. Now we'd like to clear you."

"I see." Finch gave a curt nod. He didn't seem at all worried.

Frost leant back in his chair. "Your wife worked for Savalot supermarkets?"

Finch frowned. "What has that got to do with it?"

"The supermarket provided the ransom money. We're just wondering if there could be any link."

"My late wife worked for them for more than fifteen years."

"Why did she leave?"

"The new supermarket opened and her smaller shop was closed down."

"Did she want to leave?"

"No."

"Why didn't she move to the new supermarket?"

"The new store was fully computerized. They needed computer trained staff and considered my wife was too old to learn new methods."

"And this upset her?"

"Yes."

"She ended up by taking her own life?"

"Yes." Finch stared straight ahead.

"How long after she lost her job?"

"Eighteen months. She became very depressed at being thrown on the scrap heap after fifteen years of loyal service. The job was her life."

"She took an overdose?"

"Yes." His face was tight, trying to suppress emotion.

"Did you blame Sir Richard Cordwell for her death?"

"Yes."

"Enough to want revenge?"

"Yes."

"Was that why you chose Savalot to provide the ransom?"

"No." He stared up at the ceiling then took his glasses off and polished them carefully. "I loved my wife, inspector, and I hated Cordwell as being the root cause for her death. It was an intense hatred and not one that could be satisfied by getting them to pay 250,000. It was a hatred that made me feel like setting fire to all then-stores… running Cordwell down in my car… A hatred that, to my eternal shame, I did nothing about. The pain is still there, but time has numbed it. I did not kidnap the child."