A door faced him. He limped over to it and cautiously pushed it open.
He could make out carpeted stairs leading to the upper rooms. Good. The carpet should deaden the sound of his approach. His impromptu plan was to creep into the room, get behind Stan, and throw him to the ground so he couldn’t use the shotgun. He fought several different versions of this encounter in his mind, but somehow they all seemed to end up with Stan on top of him and the shotgun barrel rammed halfway up his nose. But this was no time for pessimism.
He padded to the foot of the stairs and listened. All seemed quiet above. He tried the first stair, carefully placing his foot well to one side to avoid any creaking. Then the other foot. A splash of blood plopped to the stair carpet, marking his progress. He paused and listened. Nothing!
The next stair, then the next. His approach was absolutely soundless.
The SAS couldn’t have done it any better.
He raised his head for the final stair and his heart suddenly stopped. The terrified face of a woman was staring at him. An arm encircled her neck. Jammed under her chin, the barrel of a shotgun. Behind her, a twitching Stanley Eustace, his finger quivering on the trigger.
“Shit!” said Frost. “I didn’t think you could hear me.”
“One move out of turn, Mr. Frost,” said Stan, ‘and I’m pulling this trigger.” And he pushed the barrel even more tightly under the woman’s chin. “Now, come up!” Frost had never seen the man as uptight as this before. He was a hairbreadth from breaking point.
“All right, I’m coming,” said Frost. “Don’t do anything daft.”
Pulling the woman back, Stanley led Frost into the bedroom. On chairs against the wall were two terrified young boys.
Eustace took the gun from the woman’s throat and pushed her away from him. “Go and sit down with your kids and not a move, do you hear? Not a move and not a word.” He swung the gun around to cover Frost.
“Sadie sent me,” said Frost. “She said you’d be pleased to see me. I wouldn’t have come had I known it would be like this.”
“I want a car,” said Eustace. “A getaway car. And they’ve got to promise not to come after me.”
“Sadie said if I came up here, you’d let the hostages go,” said Frost.
“No. I need them!” His finger kept touching the trigger then moving off.
“You don’t need them, Stanley. If you want a hostage, you’ve got me. Besides, you haven’t the slightest intention of harming them, and those kids ought to be in bed.”
Allen put down the phone. “Eustace says he’s letting the woman and the kids go, but Frost remains.”
“That’s excellent news,” said Mullett.
“Is it?” muttered Allen. “All we’ve done is swap one set of hostages for another. We’re back to where we started.”
“Jack Frost will get Stanley to come out, don’t you worry,” chimed Sadie. “He won’t let you bastards kill him.”
PC Collier, watching the garden, called out excitedly to Allen. “The hostages are coming out now, sir.”
Frost was reaching for his cigarettes. “Stan, if I take out a fag, will you promise not to blow my head off.”
The gun moved with Frost’s hand as it dived into his pocket. The gunman shook his head when the packet was offered to him. “Given it up.”
Frost clicked his lighter. “Wish I could, Stanley.” He sucked on the cigarette and let the smoke fill his lungs, then slowly exhaled. “You’ve got to give yourself up some time, Stan. Why not now?”
“I want a car, petrol…”
Frost waved his hand impatiently. “You know bloody well they’re not going to give it to you. They’ve got the press and the TV cameras out there, all waiting for the happy ending with the crook losing and the police coming out on top. Mr. Mullett’s hoping for a different happy ending you blowing my brains out. But there’s no way they’re going to let you get into a motor and drive away.” The man’s entire body started to shake. “If the bastards want a fight, I’ll give them one. They framed me. I never touched that copper.”
The waiting and the hanging about was making Mullett impatient. “What’s going on, Allen?”
Allen wished Mullett would get back to the office and stop being a pain. All this standing behind him and fidgeting and expecting things to happen just because the great Chief Constable was there was getting on his nerves. He radioed Ingram. “What’s happening, Sergeant?”
“Mr. Frost is by the window, sir, Eustace well back, the gun trained on the inspector. No chance of a shot at the moment, sir, I might hit Mr. Frost. Hold on, sir something’s happening…”
“As God is my witness,” said Eustace, the finger on the trigger shaking dangerously, “I never touched that copper. I never even saw him that day. You’ve got to believe me.”
“Stanley,” said Frost uneasily, ‘with a gun rammed in my gut I’m prepared to believe anything.”
Stanley laughed. An overwrought laugh. “It’s not even bloody loaded, Mr. Frost.”
“What?”
“I fired my last cartridge half an hour ago. It’s empty — look.” His finger tightened on the trigger to demonstrate.
Frost’s arm swung out to knock the gun away, just in case Stan was mistaken, but even as he moved the explosive blast hammered at his ears. Stanley stared, open-mouthed, in horror, pointed an accusing finger at Frost and pitched forward, vomiting blood, the red stain on his chest spreading, spreading…
“Get an ambulance!” shouted Frost as armed police charged into the room. He cradled Stanley’s head in his arms. Outside a woman was screaming uncontrollably — Sadie Eustace.
“You silly sods!” yelled Frost. “The gun wasn’t loaded. You silly sods…”
Ingram had fired the shot.
They carried Stanley’s body out on a stretcher, the red blanket pulled up to cover his face. As Frost emerged Sadie lunged at him. “You bastard you let them kill him.” Webster and a woman police officer held her back. Frost walked on. There was nothing he could say to her.
Back in the room, the post-mortem.
“It wasn’t even loaded,” said Frost.
“I didn’t know,” said Ingram. “I saw him pulling the trigger. I didn’t know.”
“You’re not expected to know, Sergeant,” snapped Allen. “If a killer points a gun at a police officer and then pulls the trigger, you are entitled to assume the gun is loaded.”
“I quite agree,” said Mullett. “The person reproaching himself should be you, Frost. You placed this entire operation in jeopardy because of your cheap tactics. We’ll talk about this further in my office, first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, sir,” said Frost. Stan dead. Sadie widowed. That was all that mattered. He sat in a chair and lit a cigarette.
“We’d better see the press now,” said Mullett to Allen. He sighed. “Pity that damn shotgun wasn’t loaded. It would have made a splendid story.” They went out together.
Frost dribbled smoke and peered at Ingram through the haze. The sergeant looked shattered.
“I thought he was going to kill you. I saw him pulling the trigger. I didn’t know the gun was empty.”
“Sit down,” said Frost. “I think we ought to have a talk.”
Ingram sat.
“It’s a mess, isn’t it son?” said Frost.
“Yes,” muttered Ingram.
“I was hoping a bloke called Dawson had done it,” said Frost. “Dave Shelby had been knocking off his wife. But Dawson had an alibi. He was in some shooting contest until late evening.”
“Oh,” said Ingram.
Frost lit a second cigarette from the first. “He belongs to the same shooting club as you do. In fact you were both down for the clay pigeon shooting contest that afternoon, but you left early didn’t even go in for your heat. The club secretary told me. He said you left just before five with your shotgun tucked under your arm.”
“I wasn’t feeling well enough to shoot,” said Ingram.
“So the secretary said,” agreed Frost. He reached in his pocket for the packet of photographs and put them on the small table in front of him. “Shelby was knocking your wife off as well, wasn’t he?”