‘I don’t know,’ said Frost, pushing himself up from the bed and wandering over to the dressing table. ‘There’s something poking out down there.’
He bent down and came up holding a shoe. A flat-heeled, lace-up brown shoe. Neatly written inside, in biro, the name ‘Paula Bartlett’.
Gilmore stared in confusion. ‘I looked there,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t have missed it.’ He snatched the shoe from Frost, his nose wrinkling in distaste as a clinging smell of decay floated up. ‘This is one of the shoes we found on the body. You took it from the exhibits cupboard.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ hissed Frost.
‘You’re going to plant evidence?’ croaked Gilmore. ‘You fool! You’ll never get away with it.’ He thrust the shoe back into Frost’s hand. ‘You can forget it as far as I’m concerned. I want no part of it.’
‘Play along with me,’ pleaded Frost.
‘No bloody way.’ Gilmore’s mind was racing. He couldn’t wait to get back to the station. This was something Mullett had to be told about.
‘Please!’ said Frost.
The old twit looked so pathetic, Gilmore relented. ‘Just don’t involve me,’ he said.
Bell, slumped in a chair, straightened up as the two officers came back in. He forced out a smile which wasn’t returned. The older detective’s face was grim and doom-laden. ‘Is there anything the matter?’
Frost didn’t answer. He just held out the shoe in mute accusation.
Bell backed away, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Paula was only wearing one shoe when we found her, sir. We kept this information from the press. In searching your bedroom we found this. It matches perfectly the other shoe we found on the body.’
The schoolmaster’s face was a picture of incredulity. ‘It’s impossible. I don’t understand . . .’
Frost felt the familiar, icy quiver of doubt. He was so sure he had the killer that he hadn’t fully considered the serious consequences of what would happen if his bluff failed. ‘In your bedroom,’ he repeated. ‘There’s no way it could have got there by accident.’ He was aware of the irony even as he said it.
Still the man shook his head.
‘I’ve had a chat with your prostitute friend, sir. Very interesting. Did your wife dress up in kinky schoolgirl clothes for you as well?’
Bell’s head jerked back as if he had been struck. He bit his lip tightly and shuddered, his face screwed up as if on the verge of bursting into tears. He went through the pantomime of searching hopefully in the empty cigarette box, then gratefully accepted one from Frost. ‘We all do things we’re ashamed of, Inspector. I was hurting no one. As I told you, my wife was incapable of making love during the last months of her illness. I had to find an outlet somewhere.’
‘And you found it in poor little Paula Bartlett? You raped her.’
‘No!’ screamed Bell
‘You strangled her, and rammed her in a sack like so much rubbish.’
‘No! No, no, no.’
‘So how did the shoe get in your bedroom?’ asked Frost, hooking it on his finger and slowly swinging it from side to side.
Bell stared at Frost, his gaze unwavering. Because you put it there, you bastard, his expression seemed to say. Unflinching, Frost stared back. Gilmore’s pen hovered over a page where nothing was written down.
Slowly, Bell pulled his eyes away from Frost, away from the shoe. He drew deeply on the cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs, then gradually releasing it and watching the air currents catch it and tear it to shreds. Then he reached out a hand towards Frost. He wanted the shoe. He took it, turned it over slowly, then gave it back. ‘You have a witness who saw her in the house?’
‘Yes,’ lied Frost.
He crushed out the cigarette in an ashtray and buried his face in his hands. ‘I’d better tell you about it. Yes, Paula was here that day. I should never have kept quiet. It was stupid. But I was terrified you’d think I’d killed her. She was alive when she left here, I promise you.’ Again he looked in the cigarette box, again seeming surprised to find it empty. Gratefully he accepted another from Frost.
‘When I got back from the cemetery, I was soaked to the skin. There’d been a cloudburst during the funeral.’
Frost nodded. This part, at least, was true.
‘To my surprise, Paula Bartlett was in the kitchen. All she was wearing was one of my dressing gowns and her shoes. She was putting her wet clothes in