R Wingfield - A Killing Frost

‘And what’s wrong with that, madam?’

‘We’re separated. He doesn’t have access. He gets violent rages. He’s going to hurt the baby. I just know it.’

‘Have you contacted your husband?’

‘I keep telling you. You don’t listen. I tried the last address he gave me. He’s moved. I don’t know where he is. He’s got the baby and I don’t know where he is.’

Wells picked up a pencil. ‘Right, madam, let’s have some details. First, your name and address…’

Jordan and Simms stood stock still. The barrel of the shotgun was moving slowly from one of them to the other.

Jordan tried again. ‘You’re prolonging the agony, Mr Taylor. If we can’t sort this out calmly, we’ll have to call in a whole gang of armed police and things would get really nasty We don’t want that.’

‘I bloody want it,’ screamed Taylor. ‘Get your bloody armed police. Get the press. Get the telly. I’ll tell them how those bastards ruined me… how they drove me to this.’

‘Mr Taylor – ’ Jordan took a tentative step forward, jumping hurriedly back as the shotgun blasted out, shattering one of the area car’s headlamps.

‘I warned you,’ screamed Taylor. ‘I won’t warn you again. Unless you want a faceful of pellets, clear off!’

‘In the bloody car,’ yelled Simms, grabbing Jordan’s arm and dragging him back. Once at the wheel, even before the doors were shut, he hurriedly backed the car down the lane, out of shotgun range and snatched up the radio handset.

‘Denton. We’ve got a problem. We’re going to need back-up.. .’

‘A bloody shoot-out,’ moaned Frost, shuffling on his mac. ‘Just what we flaming well need.’

Lambert looked round the door. ‘Skinner isn’t answering his radio or his phone.’

‘Trust Fatty Arbuckle to piss off somewhere when things get nasty.’ Frost turned to Morgan. ‘He might be checking up on that tart. You did tell her to say she was fifteen?’

‘Yes, Guv. She said she would. Are you going to call out Armed Response?’

Frost thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Not yet. They’ll take over and turn it into a flaming gun fight at the OK Corral. Let’s try and keep things low key and talk Taylor out of it.’

Kate Holby came in and dumped some papers on Frost’s desk. ‘From DCI Skinner,’ she said.

Frost smiled up at her. ‘Grab your coat, love. We’re going to a shoot-out.’

She looked doubtful. ‘I’ve got to stay here. DCI Skinner said – ’

‘Sod Skinner. He’s not here, so I’m in charge. Just get your coat.’

‘Shall I come too, Guv?’ asked Morgan.

‘Yes,’ nodded Frost. ‘We might need an expendable human shield.’

Frost’s ancient Ford made heavy going of the unmade road but it eventually staggered up to the area car. Frost switched off the headlights, then he and Taffy slid on to the rear seat of the area car. ‘Where is he?’ he asked.

Jordan pointed up to the shattered window. ‘Up behind that left-hand top window – the one with the broken glass.’

Frost squinted. ‘I can see sod all.’ He wished he’d had the sense to bring the night glasses.

‘He’s up there all right,’ Jordan assured him. ‘Just try walking towards the house and see what happens!’

Frost passed his cigarettes round to delay the moment when he would have to come up with a plan of action. At the moment, his mind was a blank.

Morgan offered a suggestion. ‘If you kept him talking, Guv, I might be able to sneak round the back of the house unnoticed and take him by surprise.’

‘No,’ said Frost. ‘I only want you shot to pieces as a last resort.’ He took one last drag at his cigarette and stubbed it out. ‘Let’s see if my silver-tongued eloquence will work.’ He climbed out of the car and advanced cautiously up the path. ‘Mr Taylor, my name is Frost. Detective Inspector Frost. I want to talk to you.’

No reply.

Frost took another couple of tentative steps forward. ‘Can we talk?’

Movement at the window. A shot blasted out. Shotgun pellets bounded off the path just in front of Frost, who backed away hurriedly. ‘I’ll take that as a no,’ he muttered.

‘I said no further,’ yelled Taylor.

‘What’s the point of all this?’ shouted Frost. ‘You’ve nowhere to go. Chuck out the gun and come out.’

‘If you want me, you can bloody well come and get me.’ The voice was quivering on the edge of total hysteria.

‘I don’t want to have to bring in armed police,’ called Frost, his throat hurting from shouting against the wind. ‘I don’t want my men hurt and I don’t want you hurt.’

‘Then go away. Leave me alone.’

Frost shrugged and mooched back to the car for another cigarette.

‘What now, Guv?’ asked Morgan, who always imagined Frost had instant solutions to all problems.

‘Gawd knows,’ shrugged Frost. ‘Sit it out, I suppose. He can’t stay in there for ever.’

‘He sounds suicidal,’ said Kate Holby.

‘If he tops himself, then hard luck. I’m not risking lives trying to stop him.’ A tapping at the car window made him look up. He opened the door to Simms.

‘Have you got your radio switched off, Inspector?’

Frost checked. ‘Yes. Sorry’

‘Control’s going mad trying to contact you.’

Frost switched on and picked up the handset. ‘Frost. What’s the panic?’

‘Mullett wants you,’ Lambert told him.

‘And I thought it was urgent,’ sighed Frost.

‘Putting you through now,’ said Lambert.

‘Frost,’ said Mullett, sounding annoyed as usual. ‘We’ve been trying to contact you.’

‘Sorry, Super. Radio went on the blink. We’ve just managed to fix it.’

‘We’ve had Taylor’s wife on the phone. She’s frantic. She and Taylor are separated. He doesn’t have access to their one-year-old son. Taylor picked the kiddy up from the childminder and didn’t take him back home.’

Frost went cold. ‘Shit. He must have the kid in there with him. I need back-up.’ This completely changed the situation.

‘DCI Skinner is coming over to take command.’

‘Terrific,’ muttered Frost. ‘Our troubles are over!’ He turned to the others. ‘Taylor’s got his one-year-old son in there with him.’ He opened the car door. ‘Let’s have another bleeding fireside chat.’

He moved as far up the path as he dared and yelled, ‘Mr Taylor!’

Movement at the window. ‘What do you want?’

‘Have you got your son with you?’

‘He goes where I go.’

‘He could get hurt. Let’s get him out of there.’

‘He stays with me.’

‘What’s the point of all this, Mr Taylor? You’ve got to come out some time. This is doing no one any good. What do you want?’

‘I’ll tell you what I want.’ The man was screaming now. ‘I want the world to know what that bastard supermarket has done to me…’

‘And what has it done to you?’

‘I had a market garden. I supplied all their vegetables – top-quality stuff, but they kept cutting the price they wanted to pay me. And then they wanted to cut it to below the cost of production. When I couldn’t meet their price, they dropped me. I lost everything.’

‘Tough,’ said Frost. ‘But how does this help?’

‘I want the world to know what that bastard Beazley did to me. I want the press here… I want television… I want the bloody world to know what a shit he is.’

‘All right, send your son out and I’ll get the media here.’

‘My son stays with me.’

‘Is he all right, Mr Taylor? He’s very quiet.’

A long pause.

‘Mr Taylor,’ repeated Frost. ‘Is he all right?’

‘He’s sleeping… peacefully sleeping.’