DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

your leaving your briefcase in the Jag.”
    Miller gave Frost a patronising smile. “And why should that puzzle you, Inspector?”
    “According to all the witnesses we’ve spoken to, sir, you never drive the Jag to your office. You always use the firm’s car, the Porsche. So how did your briefcase get in the Jag?”
    The solicitor confidently turned a questioning face to his client, then realized to his dismay that the youth was floundering, trying to think of an answer. Roger shook his head helplessly. Quickly, the solicitor said, “If you don’t mind, Inspector, I’d like a word with my client in private. I may have misunderstood his instructions.”
    Frost and Webster trooped outside and waited. After five minutes they were called back in again.
    “A lapse of memory,” explained Moore, removing the cap from his fountain pen, ready to amend the statement. “My client intended using the Jaguar car the following day, so he transferred his briefcase from the Porsche.”
    “Let me get this straight,” Frost said, his finger drawing circles around his scar. “Your client drove the Porsche from his office, parked it in the basement car park at the flats, took out the briefcase and walked with it round the corner to Norman Grove, where he put the briefcase in the Jag, and then walked back to the flat?”
    “Yes,” said Moore weakly. It didn’t sound at all plausible to him now the inspector queried it.
    “Very logical, sir. So if you’d like to alter the statement to that effect we can all get on to more important matters.” Moore’s pen began drafting a suitable amendment. The words wouldn’t flow, and he had to keep crossing out and altering the text. “Oh, just one other thing,” Frost added. “As I said, we’ve recovered the Jag - but the briefcase wasn’t in it.”
    Miller gave a superior sneer. “I imagine the thief took it.”
    Frost seemed to receive this suggestion with open arms. “Of course, sir, I hadn’t thought of that. Briefcases full of office papers must be a very valuable commodity.” He paused, then said with studied casualness, “Just one other thing . . .”
    Moore’s pen stopped in mid stroke and he tried not to show his anxiety. What bombshell was going to be dropped now? He wasn’t used to criminal work and was no longer positive that his client was telling the whole truth. He waited apprehensively, his eyes moving from the inspector to his client.
    “You say in your statement, Mr Miller, that you reported the theft to the police, then went straight to bed in your flat.”
    “That’s right,” answered Miller.
    “You may not be aware of it, sir, but in the early hours of this morning we had an anonymous phone call reporting that a man had been seen trying to break into the balcony window of a fourth-floor flat at Halley House. We investigated. On getting no reply from your flat and fearing for your safety, we used the caretaker’s passkey to enter. Happily, there was no sign of an intruder. But the puzzle is, there was no sign of you, either, sir - and your bed had not been slept in.”
    Miller sprang to his feet, sending his chair skidding across the floor. His face was brick red with anger. “You impudent swine! Are you telling me you had the temerity to sneak into my flat - to check up on me behind my back?”
    His solicitor stood up, hissing at Roger to calm down. Miller, fists clenched, chest heaving, fought to gain control of himself. At last he nodded to his solicitor, then sat down. But if looks could kill, Frost would be stone-cold dead.
    Moore capped his fountain pen and scooped up the statement, which he replaced firmly in his briefcase. “My client and I wish to reconsider our position, Inspector. At this stage we have nothing further to say.”
    But Frost hadn’t quite finished. He addressed the youth. “Sorry to be a nuisance, but there is one more thing. I think it’s only fair to mention it so you can clear up all the lies in one hit. We have a witness who saw you driving the Jaguar away from Norman Grove yesterday evening.” Frost caught Webster’s puzzled look and beamed at him. It wasn’t true about the witness, but why should Miller be the only one allowed to lie?
    With an unsteady hand, and feeling quite battered by the past few minutes’ experience, the solicitor zipped up his briefcase and led his client to the door. “We hope to be back to you within the hour,” he announced.
    “I don’t think we can allow your client to