They were in the old log cabin, Mullett’s wood veneer-lined office, Gilmore, Burton, Wells, and the four members of the murder enquiry team, the heater going full pelt, the room hot and steamy and reeking of Chinese food. The top of the satin mahogany desk was littered with foil containers and soft drink cans. Frost, in Mullett’s chair, smoking one of Mullett’s special cigarettes, was sorting out the food orders. ‘Who wanted pancake rolls?’
Gilmore stood near the door, hovering nervously, his eye on the corridor, expecting any moment to see an irate Divisional Commander bursting through the swing doors.
‘Come on, Gilmore,’ called Frost. ‘The chop suey’s yours.’
Gilmore smiled uneasily and sat himself where he could still see down the corridor. He shuddered to think what discovery would do for his promotion chances.
‘All we want is a disco and a few birds,’ said Frost, spilling sweet and sour sauce on the carpet, ‘and this job would be just about tolerable.’ He swung round to Burton who was demolishing a double portion of sweet and sour lobster balls. ‘Mrs Ryder died in hospital. Any news from Forensic on that knife the killer dropped?’
Burton swallowed hard. ‘Nothing that helps much, Inspector. Their report’s on your desk.’
‘You know I don’t read reports,’ said Frost, dipping a chip in his curry sauce. ‘What did it say?’
‘An ordinary cheap kitchen knife of a standard pattern. No fingerprints, but traces of blood type O.’
Frost sniffed disdainfully. ‘That’s a coincidence – the victim was type O.’ He peered suspiciously into his foil dish. ‘This looks like stomach contents.’ He sniffed. ‘Smells like it, too.’
‘Oh God, Jack,’ shuddered Wells, pushing his food away from him.
Frost addressed the murder enquiry team. ‘Any joy from the neighbours?’
‘Most of them are in bed,’ Burton told him ‘We’re going to have to go back first thing in the morning to catch the rest before they set off for work. Those we’ve spoken to hardly knew the old girl. She stayed in most of the time. No-one seemed aware of the string.’
‘Suspicious?’ said Frost, pulling a piece of gristle from his mouth and flinging it in the vague vicinity of Mullett’s wastepaper bin. ‘This bastard isn’t going to mooch about looking suspicious. He won’t have a stocking mask on and a bleeding great knife poking out of his pocket. He’s going to be inconscicuous. I want to know about everyone who’s been seen going up and down the street – and that applies to the other two victims as well. I don’t care if it’s the road sweeper, the postman, doorstep piddlers or even a bleedin’ dog – I want to know. People, vans, cars, the lot. We can then start comparing – see if anyone’s been seen in all three streets.’
‘The computer . . .’ began Gilmore.
‘The computer’s a waste of time,’ cut in Frost. ‘I’m only going along with it to keep Hornrim Harry quiet. The only way to solve these cases is by good, solid detective work. By beating the hell out of some poor sod until he signs a fake confession.’
Gilmore faked a smile. ‘It will be quicker with the computer, I promise you.’
‘All right,’ said Frost. ‘I’ll leave it to you.’
‘What about a search team for the murder weapon?’ asked Burton, wiping his mouth. ‘He could well have chucked it.’
‘Put a couple of men on it, but don’t waste too much time. My gut feeling is that the bastard has kept it – ready for next time.’
The room went quiet. ‘Next time?’ said Wells.
‘Yes, Bill.’ He pushed the empty container away and fished out his cigarettes. ‘I’ve got a nasty feeling in my water that he’s going to kill again.’
Mullett’s phone rang. A collective gasp and all eating stopped in mid-chew.
‘It’s all right,’ assured Wells, ‘I had the main phone switched through here.’
Frost picked it up. ‘Mullett’s Dining Rooms,’ he said.
Wells’ eyes bulged with alarm until he realized the inspector had his hand over the mouthpiece.
The caller was a technician from Forensic reporting that he had extensively examined all the items removed from 46 Mannington Crescent, Denton and found nothing that would link them with the murder of Mrs Mary Haynes. As Frost listened he raised his eyes to the ceiling in despair. ‘Sod clearing the innocent – what about nailing the guilty for a change? I asked you to drop that and check on those two newspapers as a matter of priority. No,