Skinner flapped a hand dismissively. ‘Without evidence to the contrary, I’m working on the theory that she was killed on your patch and her body was brought to Denton and hidden where we found it. Denton was just the dumping ground – so it’s your case, not ours. We’ll see to the coroner’s inquest, but from there on the rest is up to you.’
‘Why should he kill her in Manchester then drive all the way to Denton to dump the body?’ asked Barrett. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Skinner, ‘but as it’s your case, I’m not going to rack my brains to find out.’
‘Perhaps the killer got her in his car, tried to have sex, she resisted, so he killed her, panicked and drove like the clappers to get the hell out of there until he could get rid of her,’ offered Frost, sucking sugar from the end of the pencil he had used to stir his coffee.
‘I’ll go along with that,’ said Skinner, rising from his chair. ‘He killed her in Manchester and dumped her in Denton. So if you’ll excuse me – ’
‘Mind you,’ continued Frost, slipping the pencil back in his top pocket, ‘whoever killed her probably came from Denton.’
Skinner glowered. If looks could kill, Frost’s body would be the next one on the mortuary slab. ‘And how do you make that out?’ he hissed.
‘You’d have to know Denton bloody well to find that bridge where he dumped the body – somewhere where it wouldn’t be found for weeks. It’s right off the beaten track.’
As Skinner opened his mouth to shoot Frost down, DC Fussell said, ‘If he came from Denton, that makes it more than likely he took her to Denton to kill her.’
Skinner decided to vent his rage on the DC. Smiling sweetly, he said through clenched teeth, ‘Forgive me, whatever your name is, but might I ask your rank?’
‘Detective constable.’
‘Detective constable?’ echoed Skinner in mock surprise. ‘The way you were airing your unsolicited views, I thought you were at least a chief inspector.’
Barrett leapt from his chair and thrust his face right up to Skinner’s. ‘If you’ve got sarcastic remarks to make, Skinner, make them to your own men. And if we’re talking rank, remember I’m a superintendent and you are a chief inspector. DC Fussell’s comment was valid and I agree with him. Wherever she was killed, the odds are she was killed by someone from Denton, as I will advise our chief constable. This will be a joint investigation and I expect – in fact, I demand – your fullest cooperation. And you will be up to your knees in shit if we don’t get it.’ He pushed various papers from his briefcase across to Skinner. ‘I’m leaving these with you. Keep me informed as to the progress of your investigation. We’ll do the same.’ With a jerk of his head for DC Fussell to follow him, he swept out of the office.
Skinner gathered up the papers and thrust them into Frost’s hands. ‘You do not contradict me, do you hear? Next time, keep your bloody mouth shut,’ he snapped, his face contorted with rage.
Frost smiled. One of the unforeseen bonuses of getting the boot from the division was that there were few other sanctions left that they could throw at him.
He dumped the papers on his office desk, sniffing as he detected the siren aroma of pork sausage, chips and beans wafting down from the canteen. He decided to take an early lunch.
‘Inspector!’ Sergeant Johnny Johnson was waving excitedly, a leathery-faced man in a boiler-suit at his side. ‘We’ve got the dead boy’s bike.’
Frost hurried over. ‘What? Where is it?’
‘Out the back. In the exhibits shed!’ Frost frowned. ‘You’re not telling me it’s been there all the bleeding time?’
‘No,’ grinned Johnson. ‘This gentleman, Mr Harry Gibson, found it and brought it in for us.’
‘He brought it in?’ echoed Frost in disbelief. ‘He didn’t leave it untouched where it flaming well was?’
‘I had to touch it to bring it in,’ said Harry.
‘Yes, silly me, of course,’ said Frost. ‘So where did you find it?’
‘You know that big empty office block just off Denton Road?’
Frost nodded. He knew it. A speculative development company had plans for a business complex just outside Denton and the modern office block was to be its centrepiece. But the company ran out of money and went bust. The office block had remained empty ever since.
‘That’s where I found it.’
‘So what were you doing there?’
‘I’m a sort of caretaker for the liquidators. I repair broken windows when the kids chuck bricks, make certain the chain-link fencing is secure, cut back the undergrowth – that sort of thing.’
‘I don’t want a flaming job description,’ said Frost. ‘How did you find the bike?’
‘The grass round the outside of the fence was overgrown, so I decided to cut it back. I saw the bike and thought to myself, That could be the bike the plods are looking for, so I humped it on the van and drove it over here. I was wondering if there was any sort of reward?’
‘In heaven,’ grunted Frost, ‘not down here.’
‘It was very well hidden,’ continued Harry. ‘Whoever put it there didn’t want it found.’
Frost chewed this over. ‘Right. Hang on here a minute while I go and take a look at the bike, then I want you to take me to where you found it – the exact spot.’ He jabbed a finger at Johnson. ‘And get someone to take his fingerprints. I bet they’re all over the flaming bike.’
‘What do you want them for?’ asked the caretaker. ‘I ain’t done nothing.’
‘For elimination,’ said Johnson. ‘Now come with me.’
The bike was propped up against the wall in the exhibits shed undergoing examination by Norton from SOCO, who was on his knees, taking scrapings from the tires. He straightened up and stretched as Frost approached. ‘It’s still wet from being left out in the open, Inspector. I’ll dry it off with a hairdryer and see if I can get any decent prints from it.’
‘It’ll be smothered with prints from the git who found it,’ said Frost. ‘It’s definitely the boy’s bike?’
‘No doubt about it, Inspector.’
Frost stared gloomily at the bike, which told him nothing. ‘Let me know if you come up with anything. I’m off to look at where he found it.’
It was only mid-afternoon but it was already getting dark. The office building, some ten storeys high, looked stark and desolate against the night sky. The wind blowing round the top created a cyclone effect at ground level, where bits of rubbish and scraps of paper were lapping the building. The wind had managed to uproot the LUXURY OFFICE UNITS TO LET sign, which now lay on the ground.
‘Bleeding wind,’ said Harry. ‘As fast as I put it up, it gets blown down again.’
Frost kicked the sign to one side. The ground underneath was dry; the grass flattened and yellow. ‘It doesn’t look as if it has ever been put up again since it first fell down.’
Harry shrugged. ‘What’s the point? You put it up, the wind blows it down. It’s like painting the flaming Forth Bridge.’ He jerked his head. ‘Round here.’
Frost, Morgan and Norton from SOCO followed him round the exterior of the chain-link fencing to the rear of the building, where some of the undergrowth had been cut back. ‘That’s where it was.’ He pointed. The inspector’s torch picked out a depression in the grass. If you wanted to keep a bike well hidden and the undergrowth was uncut, this was the place to put it.
Frost chewed thoughtfully at his fingernail. ‘Why didn’t they chuck this bike in the river with the girl’s?’ he wondered. He parted some brambles so he could look through the fencing. The beam of his torch crawled over grass on to a patio area which encircled the complex. He gazed up at the building; he could just make out the windows on each floor, with their balconies and window-boxes intended to take the starkness off the design. Alongside the balconies an ivy-entwined metal trellis crawled up the wall to the top floor.
He moved his gaze from the trellis and stabbed the beam of his torch at the stone slabbed patio with its sunken, gravel-topped miniature gardens. He called Norton over. ‘A pound to a pinch of nasty stuff that gravel matches the grit we found on the boy’s body. Check it when we get inside.’ He moved slightly to the left, where his torch had picked up a section of the chain-link fencing which bulged inwards where it had been detached from its base. He beckoned Taffy Morgan over. ‘You’re a fat little sod, Taff. See if you can crawl under there.’