R Wingfield - A Killing Frost

Collier returned to the monitor and started the video again. A mustard-coloured Volkswagen Beetle sped across the screen. Frost’s eyes dimmed as he remembered… He’d had a mustard Beetle before he was married. He used to take his young wife-to-be out into the depths of Denton Woods. The larks they had got up to in that old car. They were mad about each other then, so what went wrong? Why did it all go sour? Why did she die hating him? Why?… Why?

It must have been his flaming fault. Couldn’t he do anything bloody right?

‘You all right, Inspector?’ asked Collier, concerned.

‘I’m fine, son,’ grunted Frost. ‘Just fine.’

He told Bill Wells about the ‘Request for Transfer’ form on Skinner’s desk. ‘It’s not Kate Holby, is it?’ he asked.

‘Not as far as I know,’ said Wells. ‘It would have come through me first, surely?’

‘Yes,’ nodded Frost. ‘And why would he lock it in his drawer if it was her?’ A sudden thought occurred to him. ‘It must be him – Skinner. Perhaps there is a God after all, and he’s not staying.’

‘He’s been on the blower to the decorators, chasing them up to do his office. He wouldn’t do that if he was leaving.’

Frost shrugged and shook his head. He’d exhausted all possibilities. He picked up Wells’s phone. ‘I’d better ring the hospital to see how Taffy is. I want to find out if I can spend his wreath money.’ He dialled. ‘Hello Nurse. Is that the morgue? Do you have the body of a Welshman – little bloke, big dick? You’ve got lots of little men? Right, I’ll hold on while you check the other bit.’

Wells looked concerned, then grinned when he saw that Frost still had the phone rest down. ‘You nearly had me going there, Jack.’

Frost dialled the hospital and spoke to the Ward Sister. ‘He’s being discharged as we speak,’ he told Wells. ‘I’ll go and pick him up.’

He was driving Taffy – who was rabbiting away about one of the young nurses on the ward – back to the station when the radio paged him. It was PC Lambert from Control.

‘Inspector, Mr Beazley from the supermarket has phoned. He’s heard about – his words – the balls-up last night. Leaving out the swear words, he wants to see you right away. He says if you’re not there in fifteen minutes he’s getting his money back from the building society and suing the police for the rest.’

‘All right,’ sighed Frost. ‘As he’s asked nicely, I’m on my way.’

The customer car park was filling up so he drove round the back to the staff car park. ‘Try and look as if you’re at death’s door, Taff,’ he said. ‘I want to get a bit of sympathy.’

Morgan stepped out of the car and surveyed the staff car park, then nudged Frost and pointed. ‘Cor. Look at that, Guv. I had one of those years ago. Smashing little cars – mine was pillar-box red.’

Frost looked where Morgan was pointing. He stopped dead. It was a mustard-coloured VW Beetle.

He slipped back into the driving seat. ‘Hold on a minute, Taff.’ He radioed the station. ‘Tell Collier I want the registration number of that bilious yellow VW Beetle we picked up on CCTV last night.’ He waited, then nodded. ‘Thanks.’ It was the same car.

‘That car, Taff, was logged coming into and leaving the town centre at the time the money was taken last night. If our luck’s in, we’ve found the bloke who clouted you round the head. Let’s find out whose it is.’

The brown-overalled delivery man humping empty boxes down the stairs was most helpful. ‘The Beetle? Yeah… I had one years ago. Great little cars. That one belongs to Miss Fowler – Beazley’s secretary.’

Frost’s eyes glinted. He was getting excited now. ‘A woman, Taff, not a man. That tom said she saw a woman at the Fortress cashpoint. I had an idea it was an inside job and someone who hated Beazley, and that’s her to a flaming T. He’s always yelling at the poor cow. And come to think of it, she was there when I told Beazley we wouldn’t be doing a stake-out last night… that’s why she took a chance.’

‘You need more than a car to prove it’s her, Guv,’ said Morgan. ‘She could have had all sorts of reasons for driving at night.’

Frost bowed his head in thought, then took out his mobile phone. ‘If I’d taken that amount of money out, Taff, I wouldn’t want to be caught with it on me. You know what I’d do?’

Morgan blinked, thought for a second, then shrugged. ‘No idea, Guv.’

‘Then I’ll tell you, my little Welsh sexpot. You can pay money into those cashpoints as well as taking it out. I’d withdraw Beazley’s five hundred quid and I’d immediately pay it into my own Fortress account. Then if I was stopped by a little Welsh prat, I’d have nothing on me.’ He dialled his contact at the building society A quick conversation was followed by a thumbs up. ‘She paid a thousand quid into her account just after midnight, last night, Taffy. So who’s a clever boy then?’

Morgan frowned, blinked and shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea, Guv.’

Miss Fowler looked up from her typing and smiled a greeting. ‘Mr Beazley is most anxious to see you, Inspector Frost.’

‘Not half as anxious as I am not to see him,’ said Frost. ‘But actually, Miss Fowler, it’s you we’ve come to see, and I think you know what it’s about.’

‘Oh?’ Her tight little smile did nothing to hide her concern. ‘I can’t think what you mean, I’m afraid, Inspector.’

Frost switched on his deceptively friendly smile. ‘It’s about Mr Beazley’s money, love. You were seen at the Fortress Building Society cashpoint just after midnight last night, and the night before.’

The smile flickered weakly. She found her keyboard of great interest. Then she straightened up and shook her head sadly, managing a brave smile. ‘I knew. I just knew.’

‘Knew what, love?’ asked Frost.

I knew you’d be the one to find me out. The minute you walked through that door, I knew it would be you.’

Frost looked around the typing pool. The other secretaries were straining their ears to pick up what was going on. ‘Is there somewhere we could go? Somewhere more private?’

‘Of course.’ She took her handbag from the desk drawer and snapped it shut, but not before Frost spotted the Fortress Building Society pass book. She nodded towards a frosted-glass door. ‘That office is empty. We won’t be disturbed.’ She stood up and beckoned one of the typists. ‘If Mr Beazley buzzes, Lynn, would you see what he wants? I’ll be with these gentlemen.’

‘How long will you be?’ asked Lynn.

Five to ten years at least, thought Frost.

He sat at the empty desk in the office. Miss Fowler sat facing him, while Morgan stood by the window.

For a while she was silent, shoulders sunk, head bowed, staring at the top of the desk. Frost said nothing, waiting for her to speak.

At last she looked up. ‘It was to pay that bastard back for all the years of humiliation I’ve suffered from him. I was loyal to him, but he didn’t give a damn about how he hurt people. He’s a sadistic swine. I didn’t even want the money. I gave it all away. I’ve given him years of loyal service. You’ve seen how he treats me…’

Frost sighed deeply. ‘If there was any justice in this world, love, the court would award you thousands of quid from the poor box for what you did, but there ain’t no justice.’

‘What will happen to me? Will I go to prison?’

‘I don’t see how it can be avoided, love,’ said Frost. ‘The courts don’t take kindly to black mailers. They hate them almost as much as they hate people who smack armed burglars.’

She stared at him, then leant back in her chair and blinked in bewilderment. ‘Blackmail? What blackmail?’