Frost froze. Too bloody late. There was no way they could get down the stairs and out with out being seen.
‘Guv,’ bleated Morgan.
Frost flapped a hand to silence him. ‘Keep bleeding quiet and pray.’ What excuse could he use… they’d heard a burglar so they broke into the house the back way? Sod it. Might as well be hung for a sheep as for a flaming lamb. He dialled the last digit. And nothing happened. He’d risked everything for sod all.
They stood in the dark, waiting to be caught red-handed. For a brief moment there was screaming silence. No – not silence!
Very faintly, powered by the dying breath of a failing battery, the mobile was ringing. He had dialled Debbie’s number and it was ringing. It was Debbie’s phone!
They had to get out unseen. Once out he would get a search warrant, turn the house over and ‘find’ the phone. If they were caught inside the house, Kelly’s brief could claim the evidence was planted.
Downstairs the front door opened. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. The toilet door opened and closed. The sound of someone being violently sick. One in the toilet, but where was the other one?
Kelly’s voice called, ‘Are you all right up there?’ He began ascending the stairs.
This is it, thought Frost. We’ve bloody had it.
Then there was a hammering at the front door. ‘Police. Open up.’
Kelly paused on the stairs. ‘Police?’ he echoed. ‘What the hell do you want?’
Footsteps retreated down the stairs. The door unlatched and opened.
PC Simms’s voice announced, ‘Sorry to bother you, sir. Is that your car on the forecourt?’
‘What if it bloody is? Is it an offence to park your own bloody car on your own bloody forecourt?’
‘We’d like you to check it, sir. We just spotted someone trying to break into the boot.’
‘The bastard. Did you get him?’
‘I’m afraid not, sir.’
‘Typical, bloody typical.’
Footsteps crunched on the gravel outside. Frost could hear muffled voices Kelly was on the forecourt.
I owe you one, Simms, thought Frost.
He listened to more sounds of retching from the toilet. ‘Come on, Taff. We’re going!’ They tiptoed down the stairs. Halfway across the living room, Frost stopped dead. ‘Shit.’
He was still holding Debbie’s bleeding mobile!
Prat, prat, stupid flaming prat! If he couldn’t get the damn thing back before Kelly returned it would be curtains. There would be no way they could use the phone as evidence – assuming he hadn’t been booted out of the force long before then.
‘What’s up, Guv? Why have we stopped?’
‘Don’t ask flaming questions. Wait for me in the car.’
‘But Guv – ’
‘For Pete’s sake, Taffy – go! And if I’m not out in a couple of minutes, leave me, get the hell out of here.’
‘But Guv – ’
‘Don’t argue, Taffy, just bloody do it!’ He shoved Morgan out of the way and spun on his heel to charge back up the stairs. He knew he was making a noise, but hoped vomiting Vera in the karzy would be too preoccupied with throwing up to notice.
The muffled voices from outside suddenly died. Flaming heck. Was Kelly coming back in? ‘Please, Simms,’ he prayed, ‘keep him out there for another minute – fifty seconds, anything…’
He replaced the mobile in the airing cupboard with fumbling fingers. As he dashed back down the stairs, the voices outside started up again. Reprieved, but for how long?
Through the living room into the kitchen, out into the garden, running like hell. Halfway up the garden he heard the car starting up. No Taffy – please, no!
Slamming the back gate behind him, he saw the rear lights of the car moving off.
Sod making a noise. ‘Taffy!’ he yelled.
Thank God! The Welsh git had heard him. The car stopped and backed at speed, then screamed to a stop. Frost hurled himself in and lay speechless, panting at Taffy’s side, sucking in air and rubbing the stitch in his side.
‘Drive,’ he gasped.
As they sped round the corner, they could see the area car with two uniformed men walking round Kelly’s Citroen. The driver’s window had been smashed. ‘Good old Simms,’ said Frost. He leaned over and punched the horn as they passed. Behind Kelly’s back, Simms fluttered a hand of acknowledgement.
‘Can we go home now, Guv?’ yawned Morgan. ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘No we flaming can’t,’ said Frost. ‘But to compensate, tomorrow’s going to be a short day because I doubt you’ll be in bed much before noon.’
Chapter 17
Alison Miller wrapped her sensible brown tweedy dressing gown more tightly round her flannelette nightdress and glared angrily at the two detectives who had banged on her door at this unearthly hour. ‘This had better be extremely important,’ she said. ‘Do you know what time it is?’
Frost glanced at his watch. ‘It’s three o’clock, mum,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep. I know how much you need it.’
She gave him a hard stare, never knowing whether he was being deliberately rude or not. Frost’s innocent expression made her decide, reluctantly, to give him the benefit of the doubt. She glanced at the warrant, then at him. ‘What are you playing at? This is the same address as before.’
‘You’ve got a marvellous memory, mum,’ said Frost. She winced each time the wretched man called her ‘mum’.
‘Ma’am,’ she snapped icily.
‘Sorry, mum,’ said Frost. ‘Yes, the same address, but this time I’ve cast-iron information from a very reliable source that items belonging to the dead girl, Debbie Clark, are in the house.’
‘And might I know the name of this reliable source?’
‘I had to give him an assurance that his name wouldn’t be revealed and I know you wouldn’t want me to break my word. As soon as you sign this warrant, we’re going straight to the house and I am 200 percent certain that, thanks to your cooperation, we will find the evidence we are looking for to convict the poor girl’s killer.’
She looked at the warrant again and shook her head. ‘I don’t like this, Inspector, I don’t like it one little bit.’
‘It does you credit, mum,’ said Frost, ‘that even though you don’t like it, you realise that catching the murderers of two schoolkids overrides any doubts you may have.’
She pursed her lips, still reluctant to do anything to help someone who dragged her out of bed at three in the morning. But it was cold standing at the front door in her dressing gown and her warm bed was beckoning and she was too tired to argue. She took Frost’s offered Bic and scrawled her signature.
She blinked and realised she was standing alone, empty-handed, without a word of thanks, hearing the sound of a car roaring off at speed. ‘Not even a thank-you,’ she sniffed as she made her way upstairs to bed.
The lights were still on in Kelly’s house. Frost sent Jordan and Simms round the back to block that escape route, then nodded for Morgan to hammer at the knocker and jam his finger on the doorbell. ‘Open up. Police,’ he bawled.
Footsteps rang down the hall, a chain slipped on and the door opened a fraction. ‘What the hell is it this time?’
Frost waved the warrant at the partially open door. ‘Open up, Kelly. I’ve got a warrant to search these premises.’
‘A warrant?’ The warrant was snatched through. ‘Wait a minute. ..’ The footsteps retreated up the hall.
‘He’s going to flush his drugs down the karzy,’ said Frost. ‘Smash the door in.’ He stepped back as Lambert swung the ram at the door. At the second blow the door crashed open and they charged in. Kelly was at the top of the stairs with an armful of polythene packets, hammering frantically at the bathroom door. ‘Open up, you silly cow. The cops are here!’
From inside came the sound of retching.
Frost strode up the stairs, his hand out stretched.
‘Are those packets for me, Patsy?’ he smirked, then nodded at the bathroom door as the sound of vomiting continued. ‘Morning sickness? Congratulations. Call him Jack after your favourite cop.’