DI Jack Frost 01 - Frost At Christmas

mortgage on the house. But even so, I could only raise £10,000."
    "That must have been disappointing," said Frost. "Can I sit down?"
    "Don't move," snapped Powell, and Frost stood stock still. The old man went on with his story. "The bank was holding the account of an old lady named Mrs. Kingsley. She was in her eighties, bed-ridden, and very rich. Couldn't get to the bank herself, so I handled all her affairs. She trusted me implicitly "
    "Senile, was she?" asked Frost.
    "No, definitely not. If any bills needed to be paid, I would write out the check and she would sign it without question. There was close to a quarter of a million pounds in her account, so getting the £5,000 for my son wasn't too difficult "
    "It wasn't too honest, either, was it, sir?'
    "My son would have gone to prison. I couldn't allow that."
    "Of course you couldn't So you fiddled the old dear's account - the one who trusted you implicitly?"
    "I borrowed the money. I intended to pay it back, every last penny. My son was positive that, once over this hurdle, he could get his business back on a firm footing, sell out at a profit, and repay me." Powell gave a hollow laugh "Within a month he was back again for more. A slight miscalculation Another debt he'd overlooked To get him out of trouble this time he needed another £3,000 within forty-eight hours."
    "And I presume old Mrs. Kingsley was able to oblige him again?"
    "Yes. He promised me this would be the last time, the very last time."
    "And was it?"
    "A month later he was back for more. None of the money had been paid back He'd blown the lot on some mad scheme that was supposed to make his fortune This time I refused He pleaded. But what was the point? It would just have gone on and on. I told him I couldn't help him. He said not to worry - there was a way he could solve everything. He went back to London, wrote me a note, then jumped in front of a tube train I should have given him the money."
    "It wasn't yours to give, sir. He'd already turned you into a thief . . . £8,000 wasn't it?"
    "Yes, and I had no idea how I was going to pay it back. As long as Mrs. Kingsley was alive, at least I had breathing space. For two years I scrimped and saved and managed to repay a couple of hundred . . . it would have taken years. And then suddenly in quick succession, I received two body blows."
    "Can I shut the window, sir?" asked Frost. "It's freezing cold."
    "No," said Powell, "I want it left open. Where was I?"
    "Two body blows," said Frost.
    "Yes. The first was when Fawcus walked into my office one night after the rest of the staff had left. He didn't have to say anything. The minute I saw his face, I knew he'd found out about the money. He threatened to blackmail me."
    Frost raised his eyebrows. "Blackmail? Good Lord, sir, your branch was full of crooks . . . yourself, Fawcus."
    Powell moved his position slightly to ease the weight from his bad leg, but the gun in his hand remained steady, pointing unerringly at Frost's head. "His price for silence was £10,000."
    "Shouldn't have been any problem, sir. The old lady was still trusting you implicitly, I take it?"
    The old man stiffened, and for a moment Frost thought he had gone too far as the trigger-finger seemed ready to pull back. Powell let out his breath slowly, and continued. "The very next day, Fate showed her uncanny knack of hitting a man hardest when he's down. My phone rang. The news I had been dreading."
    "The old lady died?"
    "Yes. Her solicitors were on top of me for exact details of her bank balance, and the Inland Revenue decided to send someone round shortly to go through her account with the proverbial fine-tooth comb. They wanted to make sure they got the maximum death duties. My forgeries weren't good enough to stand up to that kind of scrutiny. They'd have uncovered the deficit within hours. I was some £8,000 short."
    "You hadn't paid Fawcus his hush-money, then?"
    "No. I told him there was no chance of that now. He just smiled his false smile and said he'd leave it in abeyance. He was sure I'd find other opportunities of getting the money, providing I wasn't found out in the meantime. So I lived from day to day, praying for a miracle, but dreading every knock at the door, every ring of the phone, for fear it would be the gentlemen from Inland Revenue." Powell shuddered at the memory. "Days passed, the bank's work went on, and Fawcus kept giving me conspiratorial glances. I began thinking my son's way out was the best way. And