of audibility. The tiny kitchen was warm from the gas oven which breathed out sausage and onion. On the small table a red and white checked cloth was laid with knife and fork and HP sauce. One place only. Frost unwound his scarf, pulled the green file from his pocket and sat down. He sniffed again. ‘Smells good.’
She opened the oven door and peeked inside. ‘It’ll spoil soon. When is he coming home?’
‘Difficult to say,’ Frost hedged. She moved a chair to the table and sat opposite him. Grey-haired, she was probably in her early sixties, but looked older. A nervous smile twitched on and off and her hands were constantly moving, plucking at her apron, smoothing out the table-cloth, straightening the knife and fork. A bag of nerves, he thought. He tried his smile out again. ‘I’m not stopping you from making us both a cup of tea, am I?’
‘You’ve got a cheek!’ she said. But she filled the kettle from the sink. ‘This isn’t a restaurant, you know.’ A plop as she lit the gas. ‘Why are you still holding him?’
‘Murder is a very serious charge, Mrs Gauld.’ Her back stiffened as she reached for the tea caddy, but her face was composed and apparently unconcerned when she turned. From the hooks on the dresser she took two cups, her hands shaking a little as she set them down.
‘He’s a good boy,’ she said flatly, ‘a very good boy.’
A larger version of the photograph taken from Gauld’s wallet looked down from the top of the dresser. ‘Does he miss his father?’ asked Frost.
She frowned. ‘His father died when Ronnie was three. He hardly remembers him.’
Frost ‘tutted’ sympathetically. ‘He couldn’t have been very old. How did he die?’
She looked away. ‘He killed himself.’ At Frost’s start of surprise, she added, ‘He used to get very depressed. He threw himself under a train at New Street station.’
‘And you had to bring Ronnie up on your own?’
The tea in the pot was given a vigorous stir. ‘I had to go to work. His gran brought him up.’ She put the lid back on the teapot and filled the two cups. ‘It wasn’t a very happy time for him. She was very strict. She used to beat him. Poor little mite.’ She pushed the tea across.
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ He tried to conceal his excitement, but his hand wasn’t steady as he spooned in the sugar. Whatever vague doubts he might have had about Gauld being the Ripper were now dispelled. He endeavoured to keep his voice casual. ‘I suppose, being beaten by his granny made him hate old people?’
Her expression changed. ‘What are you trying to make me say?’
‘We both know what this is about, Mrs Gauld. He’s your son and you want to protect him. I understand that. But he’s killed four people. He could kill more.’
She thrust out her chin defiantly. ‘Drink your tea and go!’
Frost took out the list of dates of the killings and waved it at her. ‘You didn’t tell my colleague the truth, Mrs Gauld. Ronnie wasn’t with you on any of these nights. He was out killing old people. He gets a kick out of it.’
‘I don’t tell lies,’ she said. He stared at her. She wouldn’t meet his gaze and turned her head away.
He opened the green folder and dealt out the colour photographs of the victims. ‘Look at these,’ he ordered, jabbing the worst of them with his thumb. ‘This is what your precious boy is doing to get his own back on granny.’
He heard her gasp with horror and then the gasp changed to an ominous choking sound. He looked up in alarm. Her face was contorted and blue and she was clutching at her chest. A heart attack! The old dear was suffering a heart attack. ‘Where’s your bloody tablets?’ he shouted.
A gargling sound from her throat. Her finger shook weakly in the direction of the dresser.
By the time he had found them, she was slumped unconscious in her chair. He slipped the wafer thin tablet under her tongue, his other hand digging in his pocket for his radio. ‘Frost to Control.’ He paused. He couldn’t remember the damned address. ‘I’m at Gauld’s place. Send a bloody ambulance quick.’
Mullett was feeling feverish. This wretched business with Gauld’s mother couldn’t have come at a worse time. The smoke from Frost’s cigarette wafted across and made him cough, and when he coughed, his head ached. He fanned the smoke away pointedly.