green folder Frost removed a colour photograph and slid it across the table. ‘Do you know her?’
Hickman stared down at the serious, unsmiling face of Paula Bartlett. ‘Never seen her before . . .’ Then he recognized her. ‘Bloody hell! It’s that kid!’ Then he realized the implication and sprang up, sending the chair flying. ‘Just what the flaming hell are you accusing me of?’
A nervous PC Collier moved forward to restrain the man and was relieved when Frost waved him back. Frost snatched up the photograph and thrust it under Hickman’s nose. He spoke slowly and calmly. ‘I’ve just come from her post-mortem. I haven’t yet plucked up the courage to tell her parents what’s been done to her. So, no matter how loudly you scream and shout and bluster, you’re going to answer my bloody questions. Now sit down!’
His face sullen, Hickman pushed the photograph away and lowered himself into the chair.
‘That’s better,’ said Frost, beaming disarmingly. ‘Now tell us why we found fingerprints all over the inside of the crypt which match the fingerprints on your time sheet.’ No fingerprints had been found inside the crypt, but Hickman wasn’t to know.
‘The crypt? Is that where you found her?’ He leant back in his chair and smirked. ‘If I wanted to rape someone, I’d pick somewhere more romantic than a flaming coffin store.’
Frost’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who said she’d been raped?’
‘I’m not stupid. What have you been asking me questions about sex for if she hadn’t been bloody raped?’
‘And what were you doing in the crypt in the first place?’
‘About eleven o’clock we had this dirty great bleeding thunderstorm. Didn’t last long but it was bucketing down. There was no cover and I was getting drenched. I thought the crypt was a tool shed or something, so I forced out the screws with a claw hammer and stood inside the door. When the rain stopped, I hammered the screws back in and went on with my work.’
‘What do you think, Jack?’ asked Hanlon while Hickman’s statement was being typed, ready for his signature.
‘I’ve got an awful feeling the sod’s innocent. We’ll have to let him go for now, but check every bit of his story out. I want confirmation that his car was up the spout that day, witnesses who saw him working in the bone yard that day, and I want you to find out if it was peeing down with rain like he said.’
‘He knew about the rape,’ said Hanlon.
‘He thought she was raped in the crypt,’ said Frost, ‘but she was already dead and bagged when she was dumped there. He’s our only suspect, but I don’t think he did it – so let’s go and wipe the smile off our Divisional Commander’s face.’
Mullett pulled his overflowing in-tray towards him and flicked through the contents. No sign of the promised amended car expenses from Frost but a complicated-looking batch of multi-coloured forms from County requesting a detailed inventory of the station. He shook his head in dismay. County did pick the worst possible time for their returns. A tap at the door. He straightened his back, smoothed his hair and called, ‘Enter.’
A disgruntled-looking Sergeant Wells came in with Mullett’s cup of tea which he banged down rather heavily on the desk. ‘Could I have a word with you, sir?’
Mullett’s face fell. No more moans from the sergeant, he hoped. Everyone was overworked, but the solution was to buckle down and do that little bit extra, not keep whining about it all the time. He forced a creaky smile and pointed to the chair for Wells to sit.
The phone rang. Mullett glared at it, then frowned at Wells. He had specifically asked that all his calls be held. Wasn’t there anyone capable of obeying a simple order? ‘Mullett,’ he snapped, but immediately his expression changed, his back went straighter than straight and his free hand was adjusting his tie. The caller was the Chief Constable. ‘How are we coping, sir? Well – you’ve seen our manning figures . . . Yes, I appreciate Shelwood Division are in the same position as us . . . I see, sir . . . Well, if Shelwood can cope, then so can we . . .’
Wells gave a silent groan. The Chief Constable was playing Denton off against neighbouring Shelwood, knowing both Divisional Commanders were at daggers drawn in rivalry, each striving to be next in line for promotion.
Mullett swarmed on. ‘Yes, sir, this epidemic has hit us pretty badly