his scarf wound round his face to cover his nose. He was unwrapping himself when Burton pushed through the swing doors carrying the sergeant’s tea.
‘What news on Ronnie boy?’ asked Frost, warming his hands on the radiator.
‘He drove to the hospital at 7.22 and brought his mother back home,’ said Burton.
‘His mother? I thought they were keeping her in overnight?’
‘She couldn’t have been as bad as they thought.’
‘I knew the old cow was faking. So where’s Gauld now?’
‘Indoors. Collier’s watching the house.’
The phone rang. Wells answered it, then pulled a face at the mouthpiece. The caller was Mullett. ‘Mr Frost, sir?’ Frost shook his head vigorously ‘I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment.’
‘I won’t be in until later,’ said Mullett. ‘I’m feeling a bit under the weather. What have we got on the menu?’
‘There’s this threatened gang violence when the pubs shut, sir. Can I call on other divisions for assistance if necessary?’
‘It shouldn’t be necessary,’ replied Mullett. ‘Put every available man on to it.’
‘Mr Frost is going to need much of the available manpower to keep tracks on Gauld, sir,’ persisted Wells.
‘You must give Mr Frost every assistance possible, Sergeant. Both operations are top priority. I’m relying on you to ensure that each operation does not hamper the effects of the other.’
A click as he hung up, leaving Wells spluttering helplessly at the dead phone ‘Both top priority and neither must hamper the success of the other! He knows it’s flaming impossible, that’s why the bastard’s staying away. Why is it always me?’ He swung indignantly round to Frost. ‘You’re the senior officer. You should have taken the call.’
‘I wasn’t here,’ said Frost. ‘I heard you tell him.’ He hurried off to collect Gilmore, leaving Wells staring at an empty mug and slowly realizing that the inspector had drunk his tea.
PC Collier champed at the cheeseburger. He was parked at the end of the little cul-de-sac, tucked tightly behind a cream-coloured Ford Consul whose owner had decided it would look better in green, but had abandoned the idea after painting just the front wing. The car radio, on which he reported every fifteen minutes that there was nothing to report, was turned down low so that its stream of messages were not audible to passers-by. His eyes were fixed on the house in mid-terrace. Gauld’s house. Parked opposite the house, but out of sight from Collier’s position, was Gauld’s Vauxhall Astra.
He twisted his wrist so he could see his watch. A quarter to ten. He’d been stuck down this side turning for some two hours. In mid-bite something made him pause. Movement reflected in the rear-view mirror. Two men, keeping tight to the wall, stealthily approaching, obviously up to no good. Collier sank down in his seat so his head was below the window and waited. Suddenly the car echoed like a drum as someone pounded a fist on the roof and jerked the door open.
‘Are you playing peek-a-boo, Collier?’
He grinned sheepishly and kicked the yellow polystyrene food container out of sight under the dash. It was Detective Inspector Jack Frost with the new chap, Gilmore. ‘I spotted you coming, sir. Thought you were villains trying door handles.’
The car lurched as Frost and Gilmore climbed inside and settled themselves down on the back seat. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Nothing, sir. He’s still inside. Went in with his mother just after eight. Hasn’t come out.’
Frost’s nose began to twitch suspiciously. ‘Can I smell cheeseburger?’
Collier blushed. ‘Yes, I did have one, sir.’
‘Did you cook it in the car,’ asked Frost, innocently, ‘or was it delivered?’
‘Delivered?’ frowned Collier, not sure what the inspector was getting at.
‘You didn’t bloody go off watch to get it, did you?’ barked Gilmore.
‘I’ve had nothing to eat for hours. I wasn’t gone more than five minutes.’
‘Five minutes!’ repeated Frost, sadly. ‘A lot can happen in five minutes. I could have five women in five minutes – on an off day. Is his car still there?’
Collier craned his neck, but the Ford Consul blocked his view. ‘I think so,’ he stammered.
‘Nip out and see,’ said Frost, trying not to let his anxiety show. Collier was soon back and Frost’s heart nose-dived as he read the answer in the young constable’s white face.
‘His car’s gone, sir. A couple of kids said he drove off about five minutes ago.’
‘You stupid fool!’ yelled Gilmore.
‘It’s my fault,’ said Frost, ‘I should have had two men in the car, not one.’ He leant