R Wingfield - A Killing Frost

Use your flaming authority, you spineless prat. Veto it, urged Frost mentally. This was going to end in disaster, he just knew it.

‘Right, Frost,’ ordered Skinner. ‘Get him on the phone and keep him talking.’

‘Hold on,’ said Frost. ‘Let’s make one last attempt to get the kiddy out.’ He climbed out of Mullett’s Porsche and beckoned Kate Holby, then walked up the path with her so she was fully illuminated in the headlights. He called Taylor on the phone.

‘What now?’

‘I’ve got this young WPC here. She’s trained to handle children. Why don’t you let us have your son? He shouldn’t be placed in danger like this.’

‘No. He stays with me. She’s not having him. Where’s the press? Where’s that sod Beazley?’

‘On their way,’ said Frost, aware that Skinner had slipped out of Mullett’s car and was circling round to the rear of the house. He was sure Taylor wouldn’t spot him behind the glare of the headlights. ‘The local TV boys are sending a team and I’ve arranged for ITV news to send a full crew, but it may take a little time. I expect they’ll want to send a cameraman into the house.’

‘No!’ cut in Taylor. ‘No one comes inside the house.’

‘Let them see your son. You’ll get everyone on your side if they can see the kiddy.’

‘No!’ screamed Taylor. ‘No one sees him. He stays with me.’

He’s dead, thought Frost.

‘And I want that bastard Beazley here. I want the world to see what a shit he is… what that bastard has done to me.’

‘So you said. My colleague is on the phone now, trying to get him to come,’ said Frost, glad to spin things out. ‘We can’t force him to come, but we’re trying.’

‘I want him here,’ shrilled Taylor, his voice rising to a scream. ‘Do you hear me? I want him here.’

‘We’re trying now,’ said Frost, signalling to Mullett to make the call. The Superintendent was speaking quietly into the mouthpiece but didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. ‘He wants to speak to you,’ he said, handing the phone over to Frost.

‘What the hell are you playing at?’ demanded Beazley. ‘If you think I’m coming in front of the flaming TV cameras you’ve got another thing coming. I’m not the bloody villain here. I didn’t try to kill bleeding babies. If he couldn’t meet our prices there were plenty of people who could. You keep my bloody name out of this, do you hear, or I’ll have your guts for flaming garters.’

‘Thank you,’ grunted Frost, handing the phone back to Mullett and returning to Taylor on the other phone. ‘He’s on his way.’

‘Right… I… What’s that?'

Shit, thought Frost. He’s heard Skinner. ‘Mr Taylor… Mr Taylor…’ But Taylor had put the phone down. Frost could hear the thud of foot steps, and muffled voices.

The sound of a shot blasted through the phone and echoed over the open ground.

The colour seeped from Mullett’s face. ‘Did you hear that?’ he croaked.

Frost nodded grimly. ‘What’s going on?’ he yelled down the phone. ‘Answer me, you sod, answer me…’

Slow footsteps. A rustling as the phone was picked up. Heavy breathing.

‘Who’s this?’ demanded Frost.

It was Taylor. ‘You tried to trick me,’ he screeched.

‘What the bloody hell has happened?’ yelled Frost down the phone.

‘You sent someone up with a gun. He was going to kill me.’

‘What happened?’ asked Frost again.

‘I shot him. I’ve got his gun.’

‘Is he dead?’ Everyone around him held their breath, waiting for an answer.

‘No, but he’s bleeding badly. He could bleed to death.’

‘We’ve got to get him out of there… get him to hospital.’

‘No. If you want him, you do what I say. I want a car, with a full tank of petrol. I want that WPC to come with me. If anyone follows or tries to stop me, I’ll shoot her. I’ve nothing to lose. So help me God, I’ll shoot her.’

‘And if we do what you say?’

‘When I’m sure I’m not being followed, I’ll let her go. I won’t hurt her.’

‘Hold on,’ said Frost.

‘I’m not bloody holding on. The way he’s losing blood, I’d say he’s got minutes. It’s pumping out.’

‘Hold on,’ cried Frost. ‘I’m calling an ambulance.’ He put his hand on the mouthpiece and yelled at Morgan. ‘Get an ambulance, Skinner’s bleeding to death.’

‘What’s going on?’ demanded Mullett.

‘He says Skinner is still alive, but bleeding badly. He wants a car and Kate Holby as a hostage before he’ll let anyone in to Skinner. He says if we try to follow, he’ll kill her.’

‘Right,’ said Mullett firmly, ‘then that’s what we do.’

‘No,’ said Frost. ‘No bloody way. I’m not giving him a hostage.’

‘I’m willing,’ said Kate. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Forget it,’ said Frost. ‘No bloody way.’

The phone rang. ‘I’m not sodding about waiting,’ yelled Taylor. ‘Two minutes. If I don’t get the car and the woman in two minutes, I’ll finish the bastard off with his own gun. I mean it.’ His voice rose to a shrill shriek. ‘I’ll finish him off.’

‘Send in the girl,’ ordered Mullett.

‘No,’ Frost replied. ‘I’m not risking her life.’

‘I’m ordering you,’ said Mullett.

‘And you’ll take full responsibility if she gets killed?’

Mullett’s mouth opened and closed. Damn Frost to hell for putting him on the spot like this. He jabbed a finger at the inspector. ‘On your head be it,’ he snapped.

Back to the phone. ‘Mr Taylor – ’

‘Where’s the car?’ yelled the man, before Frost could say any more.

‘You’re not getting a car, you’re not getting a hostage,’ said Frost. ‘Chuck the guns out of the window, then come out with your hands up. It’s all over, Mr Taylor.’

Taylor’s voice was now hysterical. ‘Your last chance, or I shoot him.’

‘Come out with your hands up,’ repeated Frost. ‘It’s all over.’

The crack of a single revolver shot shattered the air.

Shocked silence, broken by Mullett turning to Frost, his face black as thunder. ‘You hated Skinner. You wanted him dead. You killed him.’

Frost said nothing. Yes, he hated Skinner, hated his guts. If the man was dead, then he was sorry – or was he? Had he secretly been hoping this would happen?

More cars roared up the lane. The Armed Response team had arrived.

Frost quickly filled them in and watched as they ran, half crouching, to the house. He tried to raise Taylor on the phone, hoping to distract his attention as the team burst their way in.

‘Mr Taylor, talk to me. What have you done?’ The armed police were at the front door, examining it to see if it would open with a kick. Heads shook and they silently made their way round the back to the door Skinner had used.

‘Mr Taylor…’ Frost was silently pleading for the man to answer, terrified he might be waiting, gun in hand, at the top of the stairs, ready to shoot as the men burst in.

Silence. Creaking sounds. A door charged open. Silence again. Then someone picked up the phone. One of the Armed Response team.

‘Inspector Frost, we need an ambulance.’

‘On its way,’ said Frost.

‘And you’d better get up here now.’

Skinner was sprawled on the floor by the door of the upstairs room. His clothes were sodden with blood. Frost bent to touch his neck.

‘He’s dead,’ said one of the flak-jacketed Armed Response team. ‘The other one is still alive, but he won’t be for long unless that bloody ambulance hurries up.’

As if on cue, they heard the approaching urgent wail of the ambulance siren.

Frost had to step carefully over Skinner’s body to get inside the room. Two of the team were waiting. Taylor was slumped on the floor, his back leaning against the wall. Frost winced. Half his jaw had been blasted away and blood bubbled from his throat. The wall behind his head was splattered with flesh, bone fragments and blood. On the floor, where it had dropped from his hand, was the police-issue revolver he had taken from Skinner, its muzzle wet and sticky red.