Curtains twitched as the flotilla of police cars pulled up outside the bungalow. ‘Plenty of nosy sods about,’ Frost told Jordan, ‘so start knocking on doors.’
He unlocked the front door with Lewis’s key and winced as the cold, antiseptic atmosphere again hit him in the face. ‘At least you can’t smell rotting bodies,’ he muttered, ‘but even that would be preferable.’ Somehow, even without Lewis being present, he couldn’t bring himself to smoke inside, so went out into the garden to light up and watched Jordan going from house to house, knocking on doors. Clangings from the bathroom told him the waste pipes were being opened up. Behind him, Norton from SOCO was heaving up a manhole cover to inspect the drains. A cry from Taffy Morgan sent him flying back inside the bungalow.
‘There’s a loft, Guv, did you know?’ Morgan pointed to a small trapdoor over the hall.
‘Don’t tell me about it,’ snapped Frost. ‘Get your Welsh butt up there and take a look.’
Morgan located a small stepladder in the garden shed and heaved himself up, his torch flashing around the tiny loft, which had in sufficient headroom for anyone to stand. ‘It’s all clean and dusted up here, Guv,’ he reported. ‘Just a couple of suitcases and a kiddy’s pedal car.’
‘Chuck the suitcases down,’ said Frost.
They were full of children’s clothes, all ironed and neatly folded.
‘Put them back where you found them,’ Frost told him, ‘and if he asks, we never touched them.’
The clang of the manhole cover being replaced sent him scurrying back outside. Norton wasn’t optimistic. ‘It’s been scrubbed and disinfected, Inspector. I’ve taken samples but they’re probably going to be pure carbolic. If there was ever any blood it’s been well washed away.’
Frost nodded gloomily. ‘More or less what I expected.’
Back inside, Kate Holby was waiting for him. ‘I’ve checked the wardrobes, the dressing table and the coat racks, Inspector. No sign of a woman’s coat, handbag or day-to-day shoes. I’d say she packed her bags and walked out on him.’
‘Probably couldn’t stand the smell of disinfectant,’ said Frost. ‘I can’t say it turns me on. Thanks, love.’ He looked up expectantly as Harding came out of the bathroom.
‘That was a complete waste of time.’
‘Why, are you constipated?’ asked Frost.
A sour smile from Harding, who never found Frost’s jokes funny. ‘Everything has been disinfected and scrubbed clean. Even so, if he had dismembered a body in there I’d expect to find some traces of blood, but I can’t.’
‘Ah well,’ said Frost philosophically, ‘we had to check it out just to pretend we’re thorough.’ He raised enquiring eyebrows at Jordan, who had just returned from the neighbours. ‘Anyone looking after bloodstained parcels for him?’
Jordan grinned. ‘Not a lot of joy, Inspector. Mrs Lewis used to help out at the butcher’s shop from time to time and they got on well with the neighbours. But when their kiddy died they were both absolutely devastated and hardly spoke to anyone. Lewis got more and more morose – even in the shop, which didn’t help the business. They hardly saw him at all after he lost the tenancy, but they could hear flaming rows from time to time. No one saw the wife leave, but she hasn’t been seen around for a week or so.’
‘Did she have any family – anyone she might run to?’
‘Parents died years ago. One brother in Australia.’
Frost grunted his thanks and called everyone together. ‘OK, everyone. Back to the station, then I want you out looking for that bike and the murder site.’ He jabbed a finger at Morgan. ‘One more job for you, Taff. If she walked out on him, she’s going to need money. Find out if she has a credit card and if it’s been used recently. I’m busting for a pee, but that toilet looks so hygienic, I’m afraid to squeeze a drop out.’
‘Skinner’s screaming for you,’ said Wells as Frost walked through the lobby.
‘Why am I so irresistible to that man?’ asked Frost. ‘I’ll see him in a minute. We’re going to have to kick Lewis out.’
'No bits of body?’
‘No bits of body, not even the odd nipple. I reckon she walked out on him.’
‘Are you going to charge him with wasting police time?’
Frost shook his head. ‘I reckon the poor sod really believes he did kill her. He can’t face up to the fact that she’s left him. He needs treatment, not being put away.’
‘Frost!’ Skinner’s angry voice roared down the corridor. He was by his open office door and didn’t look at all pleased. ‘I want you.’
‘Won’t be two ticks,’ called Frost.
‘Now!’ bellowed Skinner, disappearing into his office and slamming the door.
‘It’s good news,’ Frost told Wells. ‘I just know it.’ He lit up a cigarette and sauntered into Skinner’s office.
Looking washed out, his skin a sickly green pallor, Skinner dropped two tablets in a glass of water and watched them fizz. ‘Bleeding oysters at Mullett’s club again,’ he muttered. ‘I should have learnt my flaming lesson after last time.’ Without looking up, he pointed to his in-tray. ‘What the hell is that?’ It was Graham Fielding’s typed statement, which his solicitor had insisted Frost should take.
Frost stared at it. ‘It’s your in-tray,’ he said, scraping a chair to the desk and sitting down.
‘Don’t play silly buggers with me, Frost. You know damn well what I mean.’ He stirred the contents of the glass with a pencil and swallowed it down. ‘This!’ He held aloft Fielding’s typed statement. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’
‘He wanted to make a statement and his solicitor insisted, so I had to take it.’
‘You had no flaming business to. I told you not to. I don’t want statements saying he’s innocent. I want statements saying he did it. This is my case, not yours.’ He winced, then with a gasp of pain he clutched his stomach and clapped a hand over his mouth. ‘I’ll talk to you later,’ he mumbled as he staggered to the door.
Hope you don’t make it, thought Frost. He frisked through the in-tray, found nothing of interest, so returned to his own office, where DC Morgan was waiting for him.
‘I’ve checked with the bank and the credit-card company, Guv. She made two cash withdrawals of a hundred pounds from their joint account on two consecutive days last week.’
‘Where from?’
‘The cash machine at Tesco’s supermarket, Catford,, south London.’
‘Right,’ said Frost. ‘That clinches it. Let’s go and tell Lewis he’s outstayed his welcome.’
Lewis blinked at Frost in disbelief. ‘But I killed her. I told you, I killed her.’
Frost shook his head. ‘I know you will find it hard to accept this, Mr Lewis, but we believe she walked out on you. She’s in Catford and she’s been drawing money from your account.’