A Killing Frost Part 35

'I think you'd better see it for yourself, Jack.'

'All right, I'll see it when I get back. Now let me get some sleep.'

'Now, Jack. You've got to see it now.'

Frost frowned. 'I'm dead on my flaming feet, Bill. This isn't a leg-pull, is it? Are you paying me back for the light bulb?'

'It's not a leg-pull, Jack; I wish it was. I'm deadly serious.' He sounded it.

'All right,' sighed Frost. 'I'm on my way.'

Mullett waylaid him as he hurried down the corridor. He'd checked Frost's in-tray and found all his memos untouched.

'My office, now, Frost.'

'Right away, Super,' said Frost on autopilot. He didn't follow Mullett. He branched off into the Incident Room, where DS Hanlon, Wells and PC Collier were waiting for him. They all looked shaken and grim-faced.

Frost stuck a cigarette in his mouth and sat himself down in the chair facing the monitor.

'The tape's loaded, Inspector,' Collier told him. 'Just press Play.'

Frost pressed Play.

Black-and-white flashes zipped across the screen, then a juddering picture of two people appeared, too fuzzy to make out, then the picture steadied. Something black moved from side to side - a black cloth covering something.

Frost fiddled with the volume control. 'What's happened to the sound?'

'There's no sound, Jack,' said Wells. 'Just watch.'

The video camera zoomed back. The black cloth was a hood, completely covering someone's head. It was shaking violently from side to side.

A hand s.n.a.t.c.hed at the hood and pulled it off. A close-up of a pair of tear-stained eyes blinking at the light. The head twisted away from the camera. A blur as a hand pa.s.sed in front of the face and jerked it back to face the camera, holding it firmly so it couldn't move. The camera zoomed back further. A young girl, terrified and crying.

The cigarette dropped from Frost's mouth. He stared in horrified disbelief. 'Good G.o.d . . .'

It was the tortured, pleading, crying face of Debbie Clark.

The picture blacked out. White snow s.h.i.+vered across the black screen.

Frost was still staring, frozen to his chair, open-mouthed. He went to switch off and rewind the tape. A restraining hand stopped him.

'There's more to come, Jack,' said Wells gently.

The snow juddered, then cleared to reveal a quivering picture of Debbie Clark's face.

Whoever was holding the camera was shaking violently. The picture steadied. The girl's head and bare shoulders filled the screen; Frost could just make out the dark shape of someone standing behind her. Debbie moved her head to one side. Hands grabbed her hair and roughly jerked her back.

The girl's lips were moving. She was saying something . . . pleading with whoever was operating the video camera.

Two hands moved up slowly from behind her and encircled her throat. She vainly shook her head from side to side, trying to shake them off, still screaming and pleading.

The hands tightened their grip on her throat.

Her face crumpled in agony.

Her eyes bulged. Blood trickled from her mouth.

The hands squeezed tighter, tighter, then released their grip.

The girl slid lifelessly to the floor, the camera following her down.

Keeping well out of the camera view, her killer dragged her up by her hair. Her head hung limply, tongue lolling.

She was dead.

The hands let go and she slumped back to the floor.

The picture ended abruptly and noisy, raw tape took over.

'Switch the bleeding thing off,' said Frost. He couldn't take his eyes off the monitor.

Collier leant across him and clicked off the video player.

Frost felt cold, he felt sick, he felt angry, he felt pity, and he felt b.l.o.o.d.y helpless.

He shook a cigarette from the packet and, with unsteady hands, poked it in his mouth.

'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l,' he croaked. 'They filmed the poor kid being strangled. The perverted b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!'

The others said nothing. They were as affected as he was.

'I want everyone involved in this investigation to see that tape,' said Frost. 'We drop everything else and we concentrate on this one. We've got to get these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. I want copies of that tape made. I want the original to go over to Forensic with the wrapping paper and I want them to drop everything too. This is top priority.' He scrubbed his face with his hands. He had never felt so upset and shaken in all his life.

'Why film it? Why send us a copy?' asked Hanlon.

Frost shook his head. He didn't have any answers. He shunted his cigarettes around.

The Incident Room door opened and closed. No one looked round to see who it was.

'What is going on, Frost?' hissed Mullett. 'I specifically told you to come to my office. Instead I find you lolling and smoking in here.'

Frost didn't look up. He took a long drag at his cigarette and expelled a lungful of smoke. 'Something more important than a b.o.l.l.o.c.king in your office came up,' he snapped.

Mullett's face went beetroot. 'And what could be more important than a summons from your divisional commander?' he snapped back.

'This!' said Frost, jerking a finger at the monitor and vacating the chair. He nodded to Collier. 'Play the tape for Superintendent Mullett, son.'

Mullett glanced at the screen impatiently. Then he froze. His face whitened and he dropped down into the chair, staring, as if hypnotised, at the images on the monitor. As it ended, he turned his head away and took off his gla.s.ses to pinch his nose and dab his eyes. 'My G.o.d!' he said.

'Came by post an hour ago,' Frost told him. 'London postmark.'

Mullett covered his face with his hands and shook his head. 'My G.o.d!' he said again. He blew his nose loudly, then stood up. 'Take all the men you want, Frost - from other divisions if necessary, but get these animals.'

Frost nodded his thanks. 'I want to keep this bottled up for the moment, Super. No one outside need know we've had this tape - especially the parents. Now is not the time.'

'Anything you say, Frost,' said Mullett, who then hurried back to his office.

'See,' said Frost. 'The b.a.s.t.a.r.d has a heart after all. Show him a video of a girl being strangled and he's putty in your hands.' He screwed up his eyes and shook his head in an attempt to erase the images he had just witnessed. 'Hanlon, get the video copied and send the originalstraight over to Forensic. And let's go back to my office. I've got some whisky.'

Frost sat in his office with Hanlon and Wells, all moodily drinking Sandy Lane's Scotch out of mugs. They were still shaken. Frost spat out a tea leaf. 'Right. Why did they send us the tape?'

Blank faces.

'You're a lot of bleeding help.'

'We know there's at least two of them,' said Hanlon. 'One to take the film, the other to kill the girl.'

'The camera could have been on a tripod,' suggested Wells.

Frost shook his head. 'No. It was jerking about too much - in any case, the girl was talking to whoever held the camera, pleading for her bleeding life.'

A tap on the door and Jordan, Simms and Kate Holby came in, all looking shattered. 'We've just seen the copy of the tape,' said Jordan.

'Then you'll need some of this,' said Frost, finding some battered polystyrene cups and slurping whisky in them. Even Kate didn't refuse, coughing as she sipped it. It was a tight squeeze in his tiny office; some were sitting on chairs, others on the corners of the desks. 'We keep this to ourselves,' said Frost for the benefit of the newcomers. 'No one outside the station must know about the tape. If the parents find out they'll want to see it and I'm not going through that. Anyone got any brilliant ideas to add to my own sod all?'

'It was definitely taken in that office block,' said Simms. 'The same walls.'

'Yes, I noticed that,' said Frost. He snapped his fingers as a thought struck him. 'She was sitting in a chair. They wouldn't have brought one with them, so they must have taken one from the lobby.' He jabbed a finger at Jordan and Simms. 'As soon as you've finished your booze, get over there. I want all the chairs collected and taken to Forensic. If our luck's in for a change, there might be prints.'

'The hands strangling her,' offered Hanlon, 'definitely a man - bare hairy arms.'

'The sod was probably naked and hairy all over,' said Frost. 'The poor cow had already been beaten and raped.' He drained his cup and decided against a refill. The room was hot, he was overtired and the drink was going to his head. It was important to keep a clear mind.

'Did you notice how he was keeping well to one side so as not to obstruct the view of the camera?' asked Kate.

'He wanted to make certain he couldn't be identified,' said Hanlon.

'How could we identify him? We only saw his hands. No, it was more than that,' said the WPC. 'He was making certain the camera got a clear view of the girl.'

Frost spun round in his chair. 'You're right, girl, you are b.l.o.o.d.y right. Let's take another look.' They drained their mugs and followed him into the Incident Room.

They crowded round the monitor. There wa.s.silence as the tortured face of the girl appeared. Silence until the tape ended.

Frost turned to Kate. 'You're dead right, love. Everything is arranged so we get a clear view of the girl. Nothing else matters. There's a bit there where it judders and jerks. I reckon they stopped the camera because she moved her head, pulled it round to the camera again and restarted filming. I think we now know what's behind that.'

'Perhaps I'm a bit thick . . .' began Hanlon.

'Don't be so bleeding modest, Arthur,' said Frost. 'You're more than a bit thick, you're bleeding thick. I reckon those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds were making a snuff movie.'

'What?' asked Wells.

'There are perverts, Bill, who get their kicks out of seeing people die - preferably painfully killed. They'd pay a bomb for a video if they were sure it was genuine. I reckon the whole point of the killing was to make a snuff movie, either for kicks, for money or for both.'

'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l,' hissed Wells.

'My sentiments exactly,' said Frost, picking up the phone on its first ring. It was Harding from Forensic.

Frost cradled the phone on his shoulder, wedging it with his chin as he lit up another cigarette. 'What have you got?' He listened, grunting from time to time. 'Yes . . . we blood's well knew that . . . Fingerprints?' His expression changed. He grabbed the phone and pressed it tighter to his ear. 'Are you sure? If anyone says you're flaming useless, tell them it's only most of the time.' He slammed the phone down and turned to the others, who were looking at him expectantly.

'Right. The videotape was brand new - never been used before. The bit we saw had been copied from the video-camera tape. It was copied with the audio lead out, either by accident or design. Harding agrees it had been stopped and started a couple of times, probably to re-arrange Debbie's face so the camera could get a clear look at what the poor cow was going through. He confirms the background is the wall of the office block on Denton Road, which we flaming well knew. He'll check it out, but is almost certain it's the floor the boy fell from. I don't think there's much flaming doubt about that either. Right, now we come to the fingerprints. There were two clear dabs on the ca.s.sette - Sergeant Wells and Collier, so I'm arresting them both on suspicion. Clearly whoever sent it wiped it clean before wrapping it up. After they wrapped it and sealed it down, they wiped it again. It's now smothered in dirty finger marks, but the odds are they came from the postal staff, plus Bill Wells who brought it to me, and me, who opened it. So far, so bleeding bad. But it looks as if they wiped off the prints after they stuck it down, so they couldn't get to the prints on the taped folds and couldn't wipe them off. Forensic have found two lovely clear dabs.'

'Too much to hope they are on record?' asked Hanlon.

'Yes, Arthur,' nodded Frost. 'Too much to hope. But thanks to Forensic it narrows the fielddown. Before this, we didn't have the faintest idea who did it, but now we can eliminate every one who has got a criminal record!' He sighed, took a last drag at his cigarette and ground it underfoot. 'We're still no further forward. Why did they send us the tape? To brag about what they had done, or to torment us for being a load of t.w.a.ts? - as if we didn't know that already.' He sighed. 'Come on, let's kill that bottle of whisky.'

As Frost pushed himself up out of his chair, the door burst open and Sandy Lane came in. 'No one at the desk, so I let myself in,' he beamed. He pointed to the monitor. 'You been watching the videotape of the girl?'

Frost's jaw sagged. He stared at Lane, then dropped back into the chair. 'What videotape?' he asked. How the h.e.l.l had Lane got wind of this? Had some b.a.s.t.a.r.d been blabbing to the press? He shot a suspicious look at Morgan.

'The tape of the dead girl - Debbie Clark,' replied Lane, as if it was obvious what tape he was talking about.

'I know nothing about any bleeding tape,' lied Frost. Who had told the sod?

Lane dragged up a spare chair and sat next to the inspector. 'Come off it, Jack. We've just had an anonymous phone call. A woman. She said, "If you want a scoop, ask the filth about the video we sent them. Ask them if they'd like a video of the other girl." As soon as she said filth, I thought of you.'

Frost leant back in his chair and stared at the reporter, his mind racing. 'What other girl?'

Lane shrugged. 'That's all she said before she hung up. I presume she meant that girl you found on the railway embankment.'

'Or she might have meant that other missing teenager, Jan O'Brien,' said Frost anxiously. 'You record all incoming calls, don't you?'

'Yes,' nodded Lane. He dug in his pocket and pulled out an audio ca.s.sette and held it aloft. 'But as you haven't received the video, there's no point in my giving you this.' He s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand back as Frost tried to grab it. 'Come on, Jack. Give me a flaming break. A story like this - I could get it in all the London dailies with an exclusive byline.'

'Sod your bylines,' snarled Frost. 'My only concern is to nail these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. That other poor cow might still be alive. I want to find her before they do to her what they did to Debbie. I want that tape, Sandy!'

'No way,' said the reporter firmly.

Frost beckoned to Kate Holby. 'Run the video for him.'

As she fed the tape into the machine, he grabbed the reporter's sleeve. 'This is off the record, Sandy, strictly off the bleeding record. If you breathe a b.l.o.o.d.y word of it outside . . .' He let the threat hang.

But Lane was unaware of Frost. He was transfixed, staring at the screen. Towards the end he turned his head away. 'Christ!' he muttered as the tape flickered to a close. 'I've seen some s.h.i.+tty things in my time, Jack, but this . . .'

'We don't yet know why it was sent to us,'Frost told him. 'But until we do, we're keeping shtum. They want us to acknowledge it, that's why they got on to you, but we're not going to. Nothing appears in the press, Sandy, and I want that audio ca.s.sette now.'