any more of your insults, Inspector. You either charge me, or I’m walking straight out of that door.’
‘You’ll go when I say you can go,’ snapped Frost, frowning as someone knocked. He didn’t want to be disturbed. He wanted to get Gauld rattled again. The door opened. Detective Sergeant Hanlon, not looking like a man with good news to impart, beckoned him out. Hanlon had been leading the team searching Gauld’s house.
‘We tore the house apart,’ reported Hanlon. ‘We found nothing. No bank books, no money we can tie in with the killing, no sign of blood on his clothes or shoes . . . nothing!’
‘There must be some bloodstains,’ insisted Frost. ‘The pathologist said he would have been swimming in the bleeding stuff.’
‘Forensic have double-checked. Not a trace. And to make matters worse, his mother swears blind he was with her on each of the murder nights.’
‘Then she’s lying,’ said Frost. ‘He’s as guilty as arseholes.’ He scuffed the brown lino moodily. ‘What about his car? Did you check that for blood?’
Hanlon nodded. ‘Forensic have given it the works – nothing.’
Frost treated the lino to an extra hard kick. Things were not working out. His heart sank as the brisk clatter of polished shoes announced the approach of the Divisional Commander, all eager for news of yet another triumph for the Denton team.
‘We’ve hit a couple of minor snags,’ Frost told him. ‘We’ve found sod all clues and his mother’s given him a watertight alibi.’
Mullett’s jaw dropped. ‘But you told me you had conclusive evidence. A fingerprint!’
‘It wasn’t so conclusive as we thought, Super. He explained it away.’
‘The house search?’
‘We found nothing,’ said Hanlon.
Mullett switched his gaze from Hanlon to Frost. ‘So what hard evidence have you got?’
Frost shuffled his feet. All he now had was a gut reaction. He knew Gauld was the Ripper. He couldn’t prove it, but he knew.
‘Your silence gives me the answer I expected,’ snapped Mullett. ‘You’ve blown this, Frost. You jumped in feet first without checking your facts. If he is the Ripper, which is by no means certain, all you’ve done is put him on his guard. Without evidence, there’s no way we can hold him.’ His lips tightened. ‘Thank goodness Inspector Allen is coming back on Monday and we can start getting things done properly.’ He spun on his heel and marched back up the corridor, pausing only to punch out one last below-the-belt blow. ‘The inventory?’
‘Almost done,’ called Frost.
‘I can tell County it will go off tonight?’
‘Without fail,’ Frost assured him. Tell the buggers what they want to hear, then make your excuses later was his philosophy. Absently, he pulled out his cigarettes, only to realize he was already smoking.
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Hanlon.
‘I’m nipping round to see Gauld’s mother and try and get her to change her story.’
‘Be careful – she’s got a weak heart,’ Hanlon reminded him.
‘And I’ve got a weak bladder, so that makes us quits.’ Halfway down the corridor he turned and yelled, ‘Probably a waste of time, but send someone down to check out the Oxfam shop where Gauld works.’
Gauld’s house was just round the corner from Jubilee Terrace where they had found the mummified body all those weeks . . . no days . . . ago. A small cul-de-sac of older-type properties, jammed on both sides of the road with parked cars so Frost had to leave the station runabout round the corner.
The hinges of the black iron gate grated as he walked through. The woman who answered the door stepped back in alarm. She had been expecting the return of her son and here was this man in a dirty mac, a knitted maroon scarf trailing untidily from his neck. She was about to shut the door on him when he held up a piece of plastic with a coloured photograph on it. ‘Detective Inspector Frost,’ he announced.
She peered at the photograph, then at the man. There was a slight resemblance. ‘I’ve had enough of police. Where’s my son?’
He gave his reassuring smile. ‘Ronnie’s fine. He’s having a cup of tea down at the station.’
‘I’ve got his supper waiting,’ she said.
Frost sniffed the savoury warm smell floating from inside the house. ‘Lucky devil. I’d like a couple of words, if I may.’
She took another look at his warrant card. ‘Are you sure you’re a policeman?’
‘Fairly sure,’ said Frost, following her down the passage, ‘although my boss has his doubts at times.’
The radio was mumbling away, just around the limit