R. Wingfield - Hard Frost

Finch flinched as if he had been hit. He struggled to keep his face impassive, but he was clearly shaken. "I don't think I want to say anything," he said.

"Is Bobby still alive?"

Finch didn't answer.

"Don't sod about," said Frost. "It's all over. We've got you. Where is the boy?"

Finch sank his head and squeezed his chin in thought. Then he straightened up. "I want the tape recorder switched off."

"Why?" asked Frost.

"Turn it off and I'll tell you."

Frost nodded to Liz who stopped the recording and removed the cassette tapes.

"I would now like the young lady to leave," said Finch. "What I have to say is for your ears only."

Frost nodded and waited until Liz went out. "Well?"

"You believe me to be the kidnapper."

"I bloody know you are!"

"But your first concern is for the boy."

"So?"

"Only the kidnapper would know where the boy was, and in telling you, he would be sealing his guilt."

"Go on," urged Frost.

"If I were the kidnapper, I would want a deal. An assurance, in writing, that if I reveal the boy's whereabouts, all charges would be dropped and any evidence you might have against me would be destroyed."

"We don't make deals," said Frost.

Finch shrugged. "Well, in that case the boy will most certainly die." He looked up to the ceiling, through which the rain bucketing down on the roof could be heard. "Such shocking weather. If that poor boy is out in it, he'll be dead by the morning."

"You're telling me he is still alive?"

A thin mirthless smile from Finch. "Only the kidnapper would know that, inspector." He moved his chair closer to the table. "You've got nothing on the kidnapper. If he kept his mouth shut, the boy would die and the kidnapper would walk free. Do a deal and the kidnapper would still walk free, but the boy would live. As they said in The Godfather, surely an offer you can't refuse?"

"But you wouldn't walk free," said Frost. "We have evidence."

The supercilious sneer returned and Frost began to worry again. What had the swine up his sleeve? "Are you talking about the hairs from the boy you say you've found on the dog? I hardly think that would stand up in court."

"It's good, solid, forensic evidence." But even as he said it, he saw the flaw, the gaping hole in the evidence that he realized Finch had spotted first.

"It is only evidence that the hairs taken from the dog came from the dead boy. But how did they get there? You were at the scene of the crime when the boy's body was found… You could have picked up the hairs and when the dog jumped up on your lap, they could have been transferred. I wouldn't be at all surprised if many of the constables who have been in contact with the dog were also at the crime scene. The hairs could even have been picked up from the car that took the dog to your laboratory. Hardly good, solid evidence against me, inspector, especially as it is all you have."

"You bastard!" said Frost.

"Do we have a deal?" asked Finch.

"I'll see," said Frost.

He went out to find Mullett.

He barged out of the interview room, crashing into Cassidy who was hovering outside and moved to block him. "I want a word," he said.

"Later," said Frost.

"It's about my daughter," hissed Cassidy, 'and it's got to be now!"

"Your daughter's dead," Frost snapped. "Bobby Kirby might still be alive." He pushed Cassidy out of the way and almost ran down the corridor to the incident room. Cassidy, his eyes spitting venom, followed him.

Hanlon was hanging up the phone. He didn't look very happy. "The other search party, Jack. They want to pack it in. In this weather it's hopeless."

"The kid's still alive," said Frost. "They've got to carry on. I'll talk to them."

Before he could do anything about it, Mullett charged in, his tongue hanging out for the good news about Finch. Frost told him.

Mullett felt for a chair and dropped into it. "He admitted he had taken the boy?"

"Off the record, no witnesses, with the tape switched off. He'd deny it in open court."

"And he said the boy was alive?"

"Yes, but probably wouldn't last the night."

"Do you believe him?"

"Yes."

Mullett knuckled his forehead, trying to think. "You haven't enough evidence to charge him?"

"Nothing that would stand up in court. The choice is that we do a deal, let him go and the boy lives, or no deal, we still have to let him go, but the boy dies."

Mullett turned to Cassidy. "What would you do?"

Cassidy was only too eager to tell him. "I wouldn't have got myself in this position in the first place."

"Quite," said Mullett before turning angrily on Frost. "This is all down to you. I absolve myself from all responsibility for this mess."

"I'll take all the bloody blame if it makes you happy," snarled Frost, 'but what are we going to do about the kid?"

"I've no authority to do deals," said Mullett. "That's a matter for the Chief Constable."

"Then ask the flaming Chief Constable." Frost picked up the phone and banged it down in front of the superintendent.

Mullett looked at the phone as if it was a live bomb, then, steeling himself, stretched out his hand. Then he flinched, anticipating what the Chief Constable would say. He snatched his hand back. "No, Frost. You goi us into this mess. You get us out of it." He strode to the door, then spun round, pointing a finger at the inspector. "I want a result on this, Frost. I want a watertight case against Finch and the boy returned safe and sound. The boy's safety is paramount. I don't care how you do it… but stick to the rules."

"Thanks for sod all," muttered Frost. He stood up and stretched wearily. He'd have to have another word with Finch… try a bit of subtlety like threatening to tear his dick off.

His path was again blocked by Cassidy.

"Whatever it is, it can wait," said Frost.

"It can't wait," said Cassidy, 'and it won't take more than a second of your valuable time." He unfolded a small sheet of paper and waved it at Frost. "Something you might recognize."

Frost bent forward to read it. A car registration number. His stomach tightened. He knew what it was.

"This," said Cassidy, waving it in front of Frost's face, 'is the registration number of the car that killed my daughter. The BMW, the car you said didn't exist. The car where Tommy Dunn was seen talking to the driver."

"How did you get it?" asked Frost.

"Never mind how I got it. You were given this registration number at the time. You conveniently lost it." He pushed his face right up to Frost. "How much did the drunken sod of a driver pay you and Tommy to keep him out of it, you bastard?"

Frost said nothing.

"I'm going to trace the driver and I'm having the case reopened," said Cassidy, his face a mask of disgust. "See if your damn medal can get you out of this!"

"Hold it, Cassidy!" Heads jerked round. Arthur Hanlon, who had been sitting quietly by the radio, was coming over. Normally placid, his face was as flushed and angry as Cassidy's. "You don't know the facts."

"Facts?" echoed Cassidy. "Frost lied his bloody head off and a drunken pig of a motorist was let free. Those are the facts."

"If he lied," said Hanlon, pushing between Cassidy and Frost, 'then he did4t for you, you bastard."

"For me? What are you bloody talking about?"

"How well did you know your daughter?"

"How well? I was her father, for Christ's sake!"

Frost tugged atJHanlon's sleeve. "Leave it, Arthur." But he was shaken off.

"You were her father," said Hanlon, 'but how often did you see her? You were career mad. The job came first, seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day sod your family, you hardly ever went home. You didn't know what she was getting up to."

"Getting up to? She was fourteen bloody years old. What the hell could she get up to?" shouted Cassidy.