DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

issued his instructions he moved back. Sadie was speaking to Stan.
    “Stan, it’s me, Sadie. You’ve got to give yourself up.”
    “And spend the rest of my life in the nick for something I didn’t do?”
    “But Stan . . .” A movement caught her eye. Allen appeared to be signalling to someone in the back garden. She turned her head. Three men, one with a revolver, were inching forward toward the back door.
    “There’s one thing I should mention, Stan,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “There’s a cop with a shooter creeping up to the back door.”
    Allen spun around, furious, his eyes blazing. He made a chopping motion for Emms to cut the connection. At that instant there was a splintering of glass as a gun barrel smashed through the downstairs window. The blast of the shotgun split the darkness, and a small shrub to the right of the approaching armed policeman disintegrated.
    “Get back!” bellowed Stanley. “The next shot goes into the hostages.”
    The three policemen scuttled back.
    Allen, white with anger, turned to Sadie, “You stupid cow.”
    “You stinking bastard,” returned Sadie, equally furious. “You used me, you bugger.”
    Mullett charged over. “What happened?”
    “He fired at one of our men.” The walkie-talkie buzzed. Allen raised it to his ear. “But he’s OK, sir, not a scratch.”
    “Right,” said Mullett. “We sit tight. We play it cool. We make no more moves.”
    Ingram called Allen over the radio. “Eustace is back in the top room with the hostages. The kids are crying, the woman looks as if she’s passed out.”
    “And what is Eustace doing?” asked Allen.
    “Keeping well back, sir, pacing up and down. I think I could get a shot at him, sir. He’s away from the others.”
    Allen could see Sadie, ears straining, listening to every word. He lowered his voice. “We’re playing it cool for a while. But be prepared.”
    Sadie moved off into the darkness.

    Frost had been talking to the drug pushers. A right pair of sullen charmers who were determined to say as little as possible. They wouldn’t enlarge about the sovereigns. They stole them and that’s all there was to it. They were vague about the details, both apparently unable to remember where in the house they had found the coins. And as far as the quantity was concerned, if the old girl said there was more, then the cow was lying.
    Webster had been dispatched to check with Lil Carey. She had no doubts at all about the number of sovereigns. Why, thought Webster, was Frost making such a meal of it? They’d caught the thieves and they’d got a confession. There was no reason for the men to lie about how much they had stolen; the sentence for the theft would be trivial compared with their sentence for pushing drugs, and it would run concurrently anyway.
    But Frost kept niggling away at it, chewing it over and over. It was a welcome diversion when Wells stuck his head around the door.
    “Lady to see you, Mr. Frost,” said the sergeant in his official voice.
    “I’m not undressed yet,” said Frost. “Who is it?”
    It was Sadie Eustace. She looked a mess. She’d been crying and her hair was in disarray. She declined the offer of tea but accepted one of Frost’s cigarettes. “They’ve got Stan holed up in a house in Farley Street.”
    “So I hear, Sadie. Nothing I can do about it, I’m afraid.”
    “The bastards are out to kill him, Jack. They’ve no intention of letting him come out alive. You’ve got to help.”
    Frost folded his arms and leaned forward on his desk. “It’s not my case, Sadie. It’s Mr. Allen’s. He may be a bastard, but he’s straight. He won’t let anything happen to Stan.”
    “Look at me, Jack. I’m bloody desperate.” She held up her face, which was drawn and tear-stained. “Get him out of there, please!”
    Frost opened his door and yelled to Sergeant Wells. “What’s the latest on the siege?”
    “Stanley’s now threatening to kill the hostages one by one if his demands aren’t met by midnight.”
    “He doesn’t mean it, Jack - it’s just a bluff,” Sadie blurted. Frost waved her to silence.
    “And what are his demands?” he asked Wells.
    “A fast car, fully tanked up, no pursuit, and one of the hostages to go with him. There’s no way we’re giving him that.”
    Frost closed the door. It was half past eleven. He retrieved an opened packet of salted peanuts from his in-tray and shook a few into his hand. There was nothing he could do for