years in a quiet sort of way, ruffled a good few feathers but never really got seriously dirty – grubby, yes – but outright dirty, no. Friends in high places. Opened a sauna. Owns a successful building firm …’
‘Yes, the Assistant Chief Constable has certainly helped that along.’
‘How do you mean?’ Frost asked disingenuously.
‘Come on, Sergeant, you remember how Eagle Lane got rebuilt by Baskin’s firm, after all the bomb damage last year – one of the first major contracts he was awarded. I heard that work dragged on for ages and went over budget. And then ol’ Harry’s sauna place was green-lighted, no questions asked.’
‘Yes, I do remember.’ Frost thought back to PC Miller spotting Winslow coming out of the Pink Toothbrush in May. Could the ACC be in with Baskin, as Kelsey seemed to imply? ‘Maybe the ACC is doing his bit to fight the recession.’
‘Quite.’ Kelsey sighed, then after a pause added, ‘And being gay in the police is hard work, no matter what rank.’
Frost raised his eyebrows at the extraordinarily indiscreet revelation, then smiled as he sensed things falling into place. Winslow – gay, of course. As is so often the way, once the truth dawns how obvious it all seems.
‘Frost? Hello? Are you still there?’
‘Yes, sir, just lighting a cigarette.’ In fact he already had one lit. ‘So, are you suggesting that the ACC had something to do with the shooting?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything … though it does give pause for thought when there are shady goings-on behind the scenes, eh, Sergeant? No, my concern is what Baskin might be involved with. Drugs are becoming a problem with these underworld types, and it’s not the sort of thing we want spreading through the neighbourhood. But if you think it’s over some stripper he’s shagged, I’ll leave it with you.’
‘Right you are, sir,’ Frost said, relieved.
‘And congratulations, Frost. I hear you’re up for inspector.’
For the second time in two minutes Frost had learned something new. ‘Am I, sir?’
‘Yes. We’ve been saddled with that arse from Eagle Lane, Allen, so Mullett has no option but to promote you. He’s been holding out, but the ACC has always had a soft spot for you … Well, goodnight, Frost.’
‘Goodnight, sir.’ The line had already gone dead. Frost pulled a bottle of whisky from the filing cabinet, still reeling from their extraordinary conversation, the contents of which would require some deep consideration. Why, he thought as he flicked an old teabag out of an old chipped Silver Jubilee mug, missing the bin, would Kelsey be concerned about an old Denton lag like Baskin? The mention of promotion he gave little heed to – it had been hinted at before by the ACC himself, but proved as yet elusive. It was now a year since his old boss and mentor DI Williams had been murdered; if it was going to happen, then surely it would have done by now. He poured a slug of whisky into the grimy mug.
And why call now, at this time of the evening? Normally a super would want to speak to someone of his own rank, but Kelsey knew Mullett wouldn’t be around; indeed, his own men had practically tucked him up in bed. So had he planned to get hold of Frost? Wearily he rubbed his sore eyes; it had been a long day and his head was full of bad thoughts. He felt an urge to return to the Simpsons’; his other option, a cold, empty house, seemed suddenly far less appealing than trying to make amends for his earlier disgrace. He wasn’t quite ready to let go.
‘Champagne?’
Louise Daley needed a drink, but not champagne. She needed something way stronger.
‘Ta,’ she said nevertheless, taking the flute and moving towards the plate-glass window. In the hall below them were around two dozen full-size snooker tables. Abruptly she took a step back.
‘Don’t worry – it’s mirrored,’ he said from behind her, then added, brightly, ‘So, how was your day?’
‘Mixed,’ she replied,
‘Yes, the Assistant Chief Constable has certainly helped that along.’
‘How do you mean?’ Frost asked disingenuously.
‘Come on, Sergeant, you remember how Eagle Lane got rebuilt by Baskin’s firm, after all the bomb damage last year – one of the first major contracts he was awarded. I heard that work dragged on for ages and went over budget. And then ol’ Harry’s sauna place was green-lighted, no questions asked.’
‘Yes, I do remember.’ Frost thought back to PC Miller spotting Winslow coming out of the Pink Toothbrush in May. Could the ACC be in with Baskin, as Kelsey seemed to imply? ‘Maybe the ACC is doing his bit to fight the recession.’
‘Quite.’ Kelsey sighed, then after a pause added, ‘And being gay in the police is hard work, no matter what rank.’
Frost raised his eyebrows at the extraordinarily indiscreet revelation, then smiled as he sensed things falling into place. Winslow – gay, of course. As is so often the way, once the truth dawns how obvious it all seems.
‘Frost? Hello? Are you still there?’
‘Yes, sir, just lighting a cigarette.’ In fact he already had one lit. ‘So, are you suggesting that the ACC had something to do with the shooting?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything … though it does give pause for thought when there are shady goings-on behind the scenes, eh, Sergeant? No, my concern is what Baskin might be involved with. Drugs are becoming a problem with these underworld types, and it’s not the sort of thing we want spreading through the neighbourhood. But if you think it’s over some stripper he’s shagged, I’ll leave it with you.’
‘Right you are, sir,’ Frost said, relieved.
‘And congratulations, Frost. I hear you’re up for inspector.’
For the second time in two minutes Frost had learned something new. ‘Am I, sir?’
‘Yes. We’ve been saddled with that arse from Eagle Lane, Allen, so Mullett has no option but to promote you. He’s been holding out, but the ACC has always had a soft spot for you … Well, goodnight, Frost.’
‘Goodnight, sir.’ The line had already gone dead. Frost pulled a bottle of whisky from the filing cabinet, still reeling from their extraordinary conversation, the contents of which would require some deep consideration. Why, he thought as he flicked an old teabag out of an old chipped Silver Jubilee mug, missing the bin, would Kelsey be concerned about an old Denton lag like Baskin? The mention of promotion he gave little heed to – it had been hinted at before by the ACC himself, but proved as yet elusive. It was now a year since his old boss and mentor DI Williams had been murdered; if it was going to happen, then surely it would have done by now. He poured a slug of whisky into the grimy mug.
And why call now, at this time of the evening? Normally a super would want to speak to someone of his own rank, but Kelsey knew Mullett wouldn’t be around; indeed, his own men had practically tucked him up in bed. So had he planned to get hold of Frost? Wearily he rubbed his sore eyes; it had been a long day and his head was full of bad thoughts. He felt an urge to return to the Simpsons’; his other option, a cold, empty house, seemed suddenly far less appealing than trying to make amends for his earlier disgrace. He wasn’t quite ready to let go.
‘Champagne?’
Louise Daley needed a drink, but not champagne. She needed something way stronger.
‘Ta,’ she said nevertheless, taking the flute and moving towards the plate-glass window. In the hall below them were around two dozen full-size snooker tables. Abruptly she took a step back.
‘Don’t worry – it’s mirrored,’ he said from behind her, then added, brightly, ‘So, how was your day?’
‘Mixed,’ she replied,
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