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roof, across to the forecourt. ‘Sunday’s the day for leisurely pondering a new motor, isn’t it?’
    Strung above the entrance to the forecourt was a fancy banner, swirly gold lettering on a British Racing Green background: Hudson’s Classic Cars . In a corner of the forecourt stood a tatty Portakabin.
    Bit quiet, Frost thought, surveying the gleaming, brightly coloured stock. Then he spotted a lanky young man in a large anorak, sitting on the step of the Portakabin. He was cupping a cigarette.
    ‘Why don’t you stay here, Arthur, and I’ll go and have a word with the lad. Don’t want to make him feel hemmed in.’
    At that moment the radio crackled into life and Hanlon squeezed back into the passenger seat of the Cortina.
    ‘If that’s Control,’ said Frost, ‘tell them I’m taking a leak.’
    Frost ambled across the forecourt, his mac flapping in the breeze. He found himself squeezing between a bright-red Datsun sports car and a green Volkswagen Golf.
    ‘Hello there,’ Frost said amiably, approaching the Portakabin.
    The lad got to his feet, adjusting the front of his anorak and flicking the cigarette butt aside. Frost could see that he was wearing a suit under the parka.
    ‘Thinking of trading in my Ford, over there.’ Frost nodded in the direction of the Cortina. ‘For something a little more stylish.’
    The young man peered over Frost’s shoulder at the car, and sighed, nodding his head. ‘Yeah? What did you have in mind?’
    Frost swung round, pulling a Rothmans out of the crumpled pack. ‘How about that bright-red one? Got a light?’
    The young man handed over a Zippo, eyeing the Cortina again. Hanlon was slowly climbing out, and shaking crumbs off his jacket.
    Noticing the lad’s bemused frown, Frost added, ‘Need a car that can support a bit of weight. But it’s also got to have enough oumph for a quick getaway.’
    Still looking surprised, the lad said, ‘The Datsun? Nice motor that – a 260z. Two owners from new, only 50K on the clock. Goes like the clappers.’
    ‘Does it indeed? Well, it might just be for me then, I’m always in a hurry. Can I give it a whizz?’
    The man’s face fell. ‘Can’t,’ he said.
    ‘Why ever not?’
    ‘Haven’t got the keys. Slight problem there. Sorry. Can I take your details and give you a bell later?’
    ‘In a bit of a rush, I’m afraid. To be honest, I’ve seen something else I’m keen on. Going for a second look at it – in fact, this very afternoon.’ Frost paused, surveyed the forecourt once more. ‘What’s your name, by the way?’
    ‘Brendan.’
    Frost thought he’d detected an Irish lilt to his voice. ‘Well, Brendan … I’m a little confused. Sunday is surely the best day of the week here. You’ve got all these smart motors begging for new owners. Yet you don’t have the bloody keys.’
    Now looking a little forlorn, Brendan said, ‘The boss has the combination to the safe. He’s very particular about not giving it out. And he’s not showed up yet. Truth be told, he hasn’t rung in either. I can’t even get into the office. Turned loads of people away already.’
    ‘Is that right?’ said Frost doubtfully. ‘Steve Hudson? He’s your boss, yes?’
    ‘Yeah, that’s him.’ Brendan suddenly looked on guard again.
    ‘Does he often simply not turn up?’
    ‘He’s a busy man.’
    Frost was picking up odd vibes from this lad. ‘When did you last see him?’
    ‘What is this? An interrogation? You the Gestapo?’
    ‘Just answer the question,’ Frost said sharply.
    The lad’s brow furrowed. ‘So, he left work yesterday lunchtime. He was in a hurry.’
    ‘Why? Why the hurry?’ Frost prompted.
    Brendan pulled out a pack of smokes.
    ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Frost said, reaching for one of Brendan’s fags. He’d just crushed a butt-end underfoot. ‘Haven’t had one of those for a while.’ There was a thick, horizontal green band on the packet and the word Major . ‘From across the water,