rosette, red garters. An over-brilliant smile clicked on automatically as she greeted her visitor. ‘Don’t be shy,’ she purred in a thick French accent, ‘I am Mademoiselle Désirée.’
‘Hello, Doris,’ said Frost, giving her a quick flash of his warrant card. ‘How’s your bunions?’
The smile withered and died with the French accent. ‘Jack effing Frost! Well, you can piss off as soon as you like.’
‘You can’t get round me with sweet talk,’ said Frost, helping himself to one of her cigarettes from a packet on the bed. He flopped into a chair and pulled a photograph from his pocket. ‘Recognize him?’
She took the photograph and gave it a cursory glance. ‘Can’t place him,’ she said, disdainfully handing it back.
‘It’s dark in here,’ said Frost. ‘Perhaps the light might be better down at the station.’
‘All right. Haven’t seen him for a while, but he used to be a regular. Every Wednesday just after five. His name’s John Smith.’
‘It’s his John Thomas I’m interested in. What did he pay for, Doris – straight sex, or did you have to tart it up, if you’ll pardon the expression?’
‘More or less straight sex – but I had to dress up.’
‘As what?’
She crossed the room to a large fitted wardrobe and slid open the doors. Like the stock for a fancy dress ball, all sorts of bizarre costumes rustled and swung on hangers. On the floor of the wardrobe were whips, canes, a canvas strait-jacket, some handcuffs and various ropes, straps and chains. She selected a hanger and unhooked it from the rail. It held a black gym-slip, a white blouse, black knickers and thick dark stockings. ‘He was kinky about schoolgirls,’ she said. ‘I had to wear this school uniform and act all bleeding coy. It didn’t half get him excited.’
‘It’s getting me excited,’ said Frost, standing up and stuffing the photograph of Bell back in his inside pocket. ‘I only wish I had the time . . .’
Gilmore found Frost in the Murder Incident Room rummaging through the exhibits cupboard. ‘You wanted me, Inspector?’
‘Yes, son. Get the car. We’re going to call on the schoolmaster.’ He pulled out the plastic bag which held the shoes Paula Bartlett was wearing when they found her. He told Gilmore about his visit to the prostitute. ‘That’s clinched it for me, son. I’m going to nail the bastard.’
Gilmore hesitated. Frost’s case was strong on suspicion, but pathetically weak on proof. ‘How are you going to do that?’
‘I might have to cheat a little,’ said Frost, pushing the bag back into the exhibits cupboard, ‘and if that doesn’t work, I might have to cheat a lot.’
Bell led them through into his cold, cheerless lounge, apologizing for the state of the place. ‘I still haven’t got over it.’ He cleared some old newspapers from a chair, but they declined his invitation to sit.
‘An official call, I’m afraid, sir,’ said Frost, looking grim.
‘Oh?’ He straightened a few cushions and seemed more concerned at the state of the room than the unexpected visit of the two detectives.
‘Probably nothing in it,’ continued Frost. ‘We get these crank calls all the time and we have to follow them up?
‘Crank calls?’ blinked Bell.
‘Paula Bartlett, sir. We have a witness who claims he saw the girl in your house on the afternoon she went missing.’
‘Here?’ Bell frowned, finding the idea incredible. ‘Oh no, Inspector, that’s ridiculous.’
‘I’m sure it’s ridiculous,’ continued Frost, ‘but as I said, sir, we have to follow these things through. Just a formality, but do you mind if we have a look around the house?’
‘Mind? Of course not. Look anywhere you like. It’s all such a mess though, I’m afraid.’
‘We’re used to mess, sir,’ Frost assured him. ‘No need to come with us. We’ll do it quicker on our own.’ And he trotted up the stairs, Gilmore following close behind. The first door they tried led to the master bedroom, the unmade bed a shambles, discarded clothes everywhere. Frost grinned. ‘This will do fine. Start searching.’ He sat on the bed, smoking, as Gilmore poked around, dragging out the dressing table, peering behind the wardrobe.
‘It would help,’ grunted Gilmore, shouldering the wardrobe back into position, then climbing on a chair so he could look on the top, ‘if I knew what I was supposed to be looking for.’
Frost puffed out three smoke rings then speared one with his finger. ‘We’re looking for proof the girl was in the house.’
Gilmore climbed down from the chair and rubbed the dust from his hands. ‘We’re never