R. Wingfield - Hard Frost

"We know the kidnapper used chloroform. You do the accounts for a couple of chemists. You could have helped yourself to the odd bottle."

"I could have, but I didn't."

"Do you possess a cassette recorder, Mr. Finch?"

"My wife had one a long time ago. I don't think I still have it."

Frost offered a cigarette which Finch waved away. "There's another point that puzzles me. Hudson says that when he charged across to grab the money, he saw you kicking the long grass as if you were looking for something."

"That's right the dog's ball."

"But that was already back in your pocket, sir."

Finch creased a puzzled frown. Then his brow un-furrowed and he smiled as if the explanation was so simple. "Of course I'd forgotten. My foot touched something hard in the grass. I was looking to see what it was, and that's when I discovered the travel bag."

"I see, sir," said Frost, trying not to show his disappointment. Either Finch was innocent, or he was bloody clever, and he was sure Finch wasn't innocent. He shook two photographs from the folder and slid them across the desk. "Seen either of these boys before, sir?"

Finch adjusted his glasses and studied them. "No."

Frost tapped one of the photos. "This little boy choked to death on his own vomit. I'm sure the kidnapper did not intend his death. When it comes to a charge, we. probably would not be talking murder."

Finch nodded vaguely as if this was of no interest to him.

"If we got the other boy back safe and sound, I think we might be able to say a few kind words on the kidnapper's behalf to the judge."

"You should be telling this to the kidnapper," said Finch, 'not to me. Are you accusing me?"

"We have to keep an open mind, sir," said Frost. "Explore all possibilities."

Finch stood up. "You've searched my house, you've searched my car and you've found nothing. If you have anything at all to tie me to this crime, then please charge me. If not, I take it I am free to go?"

"Of course you're free to go," said Frost. "I'll get someone to drive you home."

"I can find my own way back, thank you," snapped Finch. He strode out of the office.

Frost hurried back to the incident room where Burton was waiting. "Well, sir?" he asked.

"Guilty as hell," said Frost. "I only need two things now to make an arrest proof and the kid." He gratefully took the cup of tea Burton offered. "He's a glib bastard. Always comes up with a clever answer for everything."

"Perhaps it's because it's the right answer?" suggested Cassidy, who was feeling pleased with himself now that he had taken the confessions from the two women which tied up the Lemmy Hoxton case.

"He's guilty!" said Frost firmly. But even he was beginning to have doubts.

Collier nudged Jordan. They were back at the end of the road, watching Finch's house. Jordan yawned and opened his eyes. "What is it?"

"How much longer are we supposed to be stuck here?"

Jordan shrugged. "Until we're relieved, I suppose." He was glad to have a nice easy job for a change where he could catch up on lost sleep.

"For all we know they've arrested him. It's been more than three hours since they took him in. No-one would think of telling us."

"I'll check," said Jordan. He radioed Control.

"What do you mean, what's happening with Finch?" demanded Control. "Isn't he back?"

"If he was back, I wouldn't be asking," said Jordan.

Frost had returned to his office where he slumped down in a chair and closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. He had plunged instantly into a deep sleep, a sleep boiling with jagged dreams involving Finch and the body of Bobby Kirby, hand flopping limply, the severed finger dripping blood. The phone woke him. He jerked up with a start, trying to work out where he was, groping for an alarm clock that wasn't there. Of course… he was in the office. He hooked the cord round his finger and bumped the phone off its rest and across the desk. "Frost."

Lambert in Control. He had Jordan on the radio and he wanted to know what was happening with Finch?

Frost yawned and shook his head to try and wake himself up. What was Jordan on about? He and Collier were supposed to be watching the house and Finch should have been back long ago. "I'm coming," he yawned into the phone and made his way to the incident room.

"What do you mean, he never came back to the house?" he asked Jordan over the radio. "He left here hours ago."

"I don't know about him leaving you, inspector," replied Jordan. "All I know is, he certainly hasn't come back here."

Frost creased his brow, trying to remember what had happened when he let Finch go. He couldn't remember allocating anyone to drive him back. Then he went cold. Finch had turned down the offer of a lift and he had let his number one suspect, his only bloody suspect, wander out of the station on his own. "You're sure he hasn't returned to the house?"

"Positive," said Jordan. "We've been watching." Collier, at his side, reacted to the 'we'.

"Then be even more bleeding positive," said Frost. "Go and bang on his door. That should set the dog barking. See if someone who isn't there tells the flaming thing to keep quiet."

"I know he isn't there," said Jordan.

"Just do it!" barked Frost. He waited impatiently, listening to little bursts of static from the speaker until Jordan returned.

"He's definitely not in the house," reported Jordan with an air of "I told you so'.

"You needn't sound so bloody pleased about it," said Frost. "What happened?"

"I knocked. The dog inside went mad… yapping and whining. I can still hear it barking from here. No-one told it to be quiet, no-one came to the door."

"Is his car still there?"

"Yes."

Frost sighed. What else could go bloody wrong? "Stay put. I'll get back to you." He clicked off the radio, conscious of everyone watching him, waiting to be told what to do. Control was instructed to order all patrols and mobiles to actively search for Finch. Bill Wells was to send every available man out to scour the town… pubs… cinemas… everywhere. He got one of the WPCs to phone all the firms Finch did accounts for, in the hope he was with one of them. Then he contacted Felford Division for someone to keep an eye on the caravan, should Finch decide to return there.

He briefed his team in the incident room, stressing how important it was to find him. "He's a calculating sod. If he's gone missing, there's a reason. If he's done a bunk, we'll never know where the kid is so we've got to find him. Someone check buses and the railway station." He paused, trying to think of anything he might have missed out. "And if anyone thinks of anywhere else he might be public lavatories, knocking shops, sex change clinics, Toys R Us don't tell me, just go and look."

They bustled out, passing the Divisional Commander on his way in. Mullett always managed to appear when things were going wrong. "What's the position with Finch?"

Frost told him.

"You just let him walk out of here?" said Mullett, his voice shrill with incredulity. "You said you were having him followed. You said he would lead us to the boy."

"I know I said that!" snapped Frost. "But I sodded it up."

"Something you seem to be doing a lot of lately," said Mullett. "Strange that Cassidy seems to be having all the success while you have all the failures." He marched to the door, where he turned to fire one last bullet. "If you mess this one up, Frost…" The slamming of the door punctuated the threat.

"Thank you for your encouraging words," Frost muttered to the closed door.

He waited impatiently by the radio. Nothing. He got Control to radio out to everyone in case their radios had failed. Everything in order. Then the negative reports began flooding in. No sign of Finch anywhere.

Another half an hour passed. No news. He radioed through to Jordan. "Please," he pleaded, 'say Finch has come home, he's safe indoors, but you forgot to tell me."