with rain, which flapped open to reveal a blue-striped, flannelette pyjama jacket which bore the bloodied paw marks of the feeding rats. The pyjama jacket was tucked inside dark grey trousers which were fastened by a leather belt.
‘Do we know who he is?’
‘Yes, Inspector.’ Collier came forward. ‘It’s that old boy whose daughter-in-law reported him missing from home last week. He was always walking out and sleeping rough.’
‘I bet the poor sod has never slept as rough as this,’ observed Frost. ‘Sergeant Wells said you think it’s foul play?’
‘His face looked battered, sir,’ said Collier, pointing, but not looking where he was pointing.
Frost haunched down, slipped a hand beneath the head of the corpse and lifted it slightly. He dribbled smoke as he stared long and hard at the mutilated face, then stood up, wiping his palm down the front of his mac. ‘That’s just where the rats have been tucking in, son. There’s no other marks . . . see for yourself.’
‘I’ll take your word for it, sir, if you don’t mind,’ said Collier.
Jordan’s personal radio squawked. He pulled it from his pocket. Sergeant Wells wanted to speak to Inspector Frost urgently.
Frost took the radio. ‘Everything’s bloody urgent,’ he moaned.
‘Fifteen Roman Road, Denton,’ said Wells tersely. ‘Mrs Betty Winters, an old lady living on her own. A neighbour’s phoned. He reckons he saw a man breaking in through the front door. The intruder is still in the house. Sorry about this, but I’ve got no-one else to send.’
‘On our way,’ said Frost, stuffing the radio back in Jordan’s pocket. ‘Jordan, come with us. Collier, stay here and wait for the police surgeon.’ At the young PC’s look of dismay at being left alone with the body, he added, ‘You can handle it, son. If death isn’t due to natural causes, let me know right away.’
With Jordan driving they made it to Roman Road in three minutes, coasting past number 15 and stopping outside the public telephone box where a middle-aged man emerged and hurried over to them. ‘It was me who phoned,’ he announced. ‘I knew he was up to no good the minute I saw him. I thought he was going to pee in the porch. They do that, you know – dirty sods. You put your empty milk bottles out . . .’
‘What did he look like?’ cut in Frost as the man drew a breath.
‘A big, ugly-looking sod. I couldn’t get to that phone quick enough. Stinks of urine in that phone box. When they’re not peeing in your porch or your milk bottles they’re peeing in the phone box . . .’
‘Are you sure he’s still inside?’ asked Gilmore.
‘Positive.’
‘Is there a back way out?’
‘Through the gardens and over the rear wall. But I don’t think he’s got out that way. You’d hear next-door’s bloody dog barking . . . bark, bark, bark, all bleeding night.’
‘Go with the gentleman, Jordan,’ said Frost, anxious to get rid of the verbose neighbour. ‘Get into the garden over his fence and block the escape route.’
As soon as Jordan radioed through that he was in position, Frost did his letter-box squinting act. Utter blackness. A quick examination of the front door. No sign of a forced entry, so if there was an intruder, how did he get in? Hopefully he looked under the porch mat for a spare key. Nothing.
‘Shall I smash the glass panel?’ offered Gilmore.
‘No,’ grunted Frost, poking his hand through the letter-box and scrabbling about until his fingers touched something. A length of string looped at the end. He gave the string a tug. There was a click as the door knob was pulled back. Cautiously he pushed open the door, grabbing it as a sudden gust of wind threatened to send it crashing against the wall of the hall.
They tiptoed inside and Frost flicked the beam of his torch to show Gilmore how the string ran through staples and was tied round the door catch. ‘The burglar’s friend, son.’ If the tenant forgot his key, he just had to pull the string. But so could anyone else who wanted to gain entry.
They held their breaths and listened. The house stretched and creaked and breathed and sighed. Then an alien sound from upstairs made Frost grab at Gilmore’s sleeve, willing him to silence. A small click like a door closing. Signalling for the sergeant to stay by the front door, blocking that escape route, Frost padded along the passage and began creeping up the stairs.