He passed the file across to Frost, who idly flipped through it while digging in his pocket for a cigarette. Then he froze. Staring up at him was the registration number of the Denton Farm Produce lorry; He turned another page. There it was again. He looked up. ‘Taff, come here.’
Looking apprehensive and wondering what he had done wrong now, the Weishman joined him. ‘Yes, Guv?’
Frost stabbed a finger. ‘Why wasn’t this one checked? The same vehicle on three of the four nights?’
‘It’s a lorry, Guv. You said don’t check lorries.’
‘You prat,’ snarled Frost. ‘Why do you only obey orders when it’s the wrong flaming thing to do? The same flaming lorry turning up every night around the time the money was taken from the building society. Didn’t you think that was more than a flaming coincidence?’
‘Now you come to mention it,’ began Morgan, but Frost was already on his way to the Incident Room.
‘Collier, what was the address of that bloke from Denton Farm Produce?’
‘Rose Cottage, Shadwell Road,’ Collier told him.
Frost punched the palm of his hand. ‘Shadwell Road? That’s within spitting distance of where Billy King lives – the one whose cashpoint card was stolen. This could be the bloody lead we’re looking for.’ He snatched up the phone and called Control. ‘Get on to Jordan and Simms. Tell them to drop everything and pick up a Kenneth Taylor, Rose Cottage, Shadwell Road for questioning in connection with the theft of a bank card. And tell him I want to thank him personally for hitting Morgan on the head the other night.’
The area car’s headlights sliced a path through the darkness as it bumped and juddered up the unmade road that led to the farm building. It crawled up to a wooden gate which had fallen off its hinges, the headlights picking out the dim outline of an old farm labourer’s cottage. No lights were showing. Jordan squinted through the windscreen. ‘You sure this is the place? It looks derelict.’
‘This is the place,’ confirmed Simms. ‘Look – there’s the lorry by the side of the house.’
Jordan climbed out and adjusted his peaked cap as Simms slid from the driving seat. They scrunched up the weed-strewn gravel path. Suddenly there was the sound of shattering glass. They froze.
‘What the hell…?’ began Simms when a man’s voice screamed out at them from one of the upstairs windows.
‘That’s far enough, coppers.’
Simms tried to make out the shape in the window. ‘Now look, Mr Taylor,’ called Simms in his ‘let’s be reasonable about this’ voice. ‘We just want to talk to you.’ They were moving forward again when the man swung round and thrust something through the shattered window, something metallic which glinted in the headlights.
‘Shit!’ croaked Simms., ‘It’s a bleeding shotgun.’
Both policemen stopped dead.
‘This is silly, Mr Taylor,’ called Jordan. ‘We only want to talk to you.’
‘Another move and I’ll shoot.’ The voice was strained. The man seemed to be on the crumbling edge of a nervous breakdown.
Flaming hell, thought Simms. What has Frost let us in for this time?
The woman on the phone was near hysterical and Wells could hardly make out what she was saying. ‘Now calm down, madam, please.’
‘The baby,’ she kept sobbing. ‘He’s got the baby.’
‘Who has got the baby?’
‘I keep telling you. My husband… I came home from work. I went to the childminder. She said my husband had taken him. He told her we were going away on holiday.’
‘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.’