Dover and the Unkindest Cut of All

by Joyce Porter

  ‘Oh yes, sir, that’s what I was trying to tell you. You see …’

  ‘Good,’ Dover went over MacGregor like a steamroller. ‘Well, you’re to go there again tonight. And tomorrow night and every night until I tell you to pack it in. Got it?’

  ‘But, I’d arranged to go to Galeford tonight, sir. I’m going to meet a man who …’

  ‘I do wish, just once in a while, laddie,’ said Dover injecting a note of world weariness in his voice, ‘you’d do what you’re told without arguing the toss every blasted inch of the way.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ said MacGregor stiffly.

  ‘Right! It’s the Country Club every night for you until I tell you to stop. I want you to be the first in and the last out. Got it?’

  ‘What, exactly, am I supposed to be doing, sir?’

  ‘Enjoying yourself, laddie!’ leered Dover. ‘Just behave like the other customers. Have yourself a ball! Go gay! Start living a bit! But keep your expenses down because I’m damned if I’m going to countersign any great long claim just for you to go drinking yourself silly.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t exactly see …’

  ‘And the other thing,’ said Dover, gazing blankly at the ceiling, ‘is that animal doctor woman.’

  ‘Miss ffiske, sir?’ asked MacGregor frowning.

  ‘That’s right. Miss ffiske with two little f’s. Well, I want you to go and call on Miss f-f-ffiske th-th-this m-m-moming.’ He chuckled. He liked his little joke, Dover did.

  MacGregor priggishly pretended not to have noticed. ‘What for, sir?’

  ‘Eh?’ said Dover, still obsessed with his own wit. ‘Oh, go and ask her about the night Hamilton k-k-kicked the b-b-bucket.’

  MacGregor permitted himself a faintly patronizing smile. ‘I really think that would be rather a waste of time, sir. Miss ffiske has already told us all she knows, which in any case didn’t amount to much. I had several other things scheduled for this morning, sir, and I really do think …’

  Dover went to the trouble of heaving himself up in bed so as to bring the full force of his personality to bear on the unfortunate MacGregor. The boot-button eyes narrowed, the snub nose wrinkled menacingly, the unshaven jowb quivered. It was an arresting sight. Even the debonair MacGregor involuntarily drew back. Dover said nothing. This was chiefly due to the fact that he couldn’t for the moment think of anything sufficiently intimidating to say, but it certainly heightened the impression he was trying to make.

  ‘Very well, sir,’ said MacGregor weakly.

  Slowly Dover nodded his head. ‘That’s better, laddie. Now, you’re to stop there precisely half an hour. Not a minute more, not a minute less. Savvy?’

  ‘Half an hour, sir? With Miss ffiske? But why?’

  Dover smiled in what he hoped was an enigmatic manner and solemnly tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger. ‘That’s my little secret, laddie. Now, I don’t want you hanging around here all day wasting my time. Hop it!’

  When MacGregor had retreated unhappily from the room Dover sat up in bed and rocked backwards and forwards in silent and malicious mirth. The look on MacGregor’s face! Oh Lord, it was enough to make a cat laugh! That’d teach the toffee-nosed young pup! That’d show him there was still a bit of life in the old dog. Thought they knew everything, these young coppers did. They read a couple of flipping books and before you knew where you were they were trying to teach their grandmothers to suck eggs. Well, there was one grandmother here who’d sucked more eggs than Sergeant clever-boots MacGregor had had hot dinners. And bigger eggs and more complicated eggs than some he could name, too.

  With a scowl Dover abandoned the imagery which was getting far too complicated and winced slightly as he suffered yet another of those small twinges of doubt. They had been assailing him ever since a possible solution of the Hamilton and Cochran affairs had first dawned on him. It had been a far-fetched, and really rather amusing, explanation of various things that seemed to have been happening and Dover had had, in his own ponderous fashion, a bit of a giggle over it. His good humour had faded rapidly, however, when almost in spite of himself he began to analyse the implications and found that he was hitting the jackpot every time. He began to get frightened. It was unnerving enough for a detective of his calibre to stumble, however fortuitously, upon the solution of a case, but to stumble on such a solution was hair-raising. His first instinct was to shift the burden on to younger and more capable shoulders – but MacGregor would die laughing. It would be the biggest joke that had echoed round the corridors of Scotland Yard since that old fool of a judge had congratulated Harry Tobias on resisting the offer of a bribe.

  What was he to do then? He could, of course, just forget the whole thing. The Chief Constable’s patience was bound to be exhausted before long and he would soon be only too glad to see the back of the Scotland Yard men. It was a way out but Dover, incredible as it may seem, was not entirely devoid of professional pride. He would like to emerge from this messy, neither-one-thing-nor-the-other case with flying colours. For one thing, it wouldn’t do him any harm up at the Yard where his credit was currently at a very low ebb. Several nasty and unkind insinuations had recently been made in his hearing about the carrying of overweight passengers and Dover had had the idea that these remarks were directed towards him. Yes, a glittering success even in a mucky little backwater like Wallerton wouldn’t come amiss. All right. He’d make the effort. He’d solve their flipping case for them and they could put that on their needles and knit it.

  A spiteful little sparkle came into Dover’s eye as he pondered over what method he would have to employ to achieve his ends. He didn’t underestimate the difficulties with which he was going to be faced. He wasn’t going to tie this case up with a couple of plaster casts and an old shoe lace, that was for sure. No, what he’d have to do was put the wind up ’ em, force them to act again, and then nab ’em red-handed. Piece of cake, really. With Master Charles Edward MacGregor as the unwitting bait. Dover grinned to himself.

  A clock somewhere outside struck ten. Sergeant Veitch, who had been waiting outside for several minutes, tapped gently on the bedroom door.

  ‘You’re late!’ snapped Dover when he saw who it was.

  ‘The church clock, sir …’

  ‘It’s slow,’ said Dover. ‘Well, have you got what I wanted? Gimme!’

  The station sergeant handed over a thick file of papers.

  Dover flicked contemptuously through them. ‘Aha!’ he grunted triumphantly as he selected one small single sheet. He thrust it in front of Sergeant Veitch’s face. ‘Are you sure Cochran saw this before he took off?’

  The sergeant focused his eyes as best he could on the paper which was now being waggled energetically up and down. ‘Well, yes, sir.’ He grabbed the paper to hold it steady. ‘You see, sir, there’s Cochran’s initials down in the corner.’

  Dover snatched the paper back. ‘Where?’

  ‘There, sir. Oh.’ Sergeant Veitch got his glasses out and put them on. ‘No, I’m sorry, sir. He doesn’t seem to have initialled it. Well now, that’s funny. I remember drawing his attention to it myself. He should have initialled it to show he’d read it because, of course, he’s one of the chaps mentioned on it.’

  ‘I can see that,’ said Dover. ‘ I’m not blind. Could this have been the last thing he was looking at before he hopped it?’

  ‘Well, it could, I suppose, sir,’ said Sergeant Veitch uncertainly: ‘That might explain why he hasn’t … But I don’t get it, sir. Why should a bit of paper with the date of the annual medicals on it upset him? If that’s what you’re getting at.’

  ‘Why, indeed?’ said Dover, shovelling all the other papers back into the file. ‘Here, you can get rid of this lot.’

  The sergeant’s jaw dropped. He shuddered to think how many hours he’d spent sorting all those blasted papers out. ‘ Don’t you want them, sir?’

  ‘No.’ Dover tipped the file into the sergeant’s lap. ‘They’re of no interest to me. I’ve go
t the one I want.’

  ‘Oh. I see,’ said the sergeant, rising to his feet with sullen resignation. ‘Is there anything else you want, sir?’

  Dover had already assumed a prone position with his face to the wall. ‘ Tell ’em to send my coffee up at eleven sharp. And I want it hot, too.’

  ‘The Chief Constable, sir,’ began Sergeant Veitch.

  ‘I’ve no time to be bothered with the Chief Constable.’ Dover’s voice was muffled by the blankets which he had pulled up over his ears. ‘You tell him I’ll have some concrete news for him in a day or two. And I don’t want bothering till then. Got it?’

  ‘Er, yes, sir.’ The sergeant stood for a moment as though unsure of what to do. ‘Well, good morning then, sir.’

  There was no reply.

  It was half past two before Dover sallied forth from the hotel. The rain, for once, had stopped and it was quite sunny. People, residents and visitors alike, looked happier. In Wallerton you soon learnt to be grateful for small mercies. What matter that a cold sea breeze was cutting down the streets and blowing sand into everybody’s face?

  Dover, with the help of two or three passers-by, eventually found his way into the street in which Hamilton, alias Sunny Malone, had lived and died. He shuffled down it at a leisurely pace, pausing only to stick his tongue out at the front door from behind which Mrs Hamilton had struck him such a dastardly blow. At the next gateway he stood still and examined the house in front of him. It looked exactly the same as all the others except for the small brass plate on the door bearing Miss ffiske’s name, qualifications and profession.

  Dover ambled up the steps and rang the bell.

  Miss Gourlay put up a gallant resistance. ‘I’m very sorry, Chief Inspector, but it’s quite impossible for Miss ffiske to see you now. She’s just going out on her rounds. She’s a very busy woman, you know, and these poor sick animals; they’re absolutely dependent on her. If you like, I’ll make an appointment for you to come back this evening.’

  ‘I want to see Miss ffiske now. You just nip along and tell her.’

  ‘No!’ said Miss Gourlay in a sudden rush of bravery. ‘ I will not! She works far too hard as it is and I’m sick to death of people thinking she’s at their beck and call.’

  ‘Do you know, miss, what the penalty is for obstructing the police in the execution of their duty?’

  ‘No!’ Miss Gourlay retorted cheekily. ‘Do you?’

  As it happens, Dover didn’t. Not specifically at any rate. ‘Six years!’ he blustered.

  Miss Gourlay burst into a peal of girlish laughter. ‘ Rubbish!’ she squeaked. Really, she was quite enjoying herself. Men weren’t so awful after all, not if you stood up to them and treated them like human beings. She must tell Hazel about it afterwards.

  Meanwhile Dover had had enough. It was undignified for a detective of his seniority and experience to be seen standing on doorsteps bandying words with stupid chits of girls. He’d tried the diplomatic approach. Now it was time for action.

  ‘Oh, dear!’ said Miss Gourlay as Dover began merely to walk forward over the threshold. She tried to stop him but she would have had more success against a tank. Dover triumphantly entered the hall to find himself confronted by an agitated Miss ffiske, hurrying to see what all the commotion was about. She was wearing a trilby hat of almost unbelievable ugliness and a good heavy overcoat.

  ‘What on earth is it now?’ she demanded.

  ‘Just a few more questions about the night Mr Hamilton died,’ said Dover blandly, pushing his bowler hat back on his head.

  ‘I told him you were too busy to see him now, dear,’ wailed Miss Gourlay, ‘but he just wouldn’t take any notice. I told him he couldn’t see you without an appointment. I said …’

  ‘For God’s sake, Janie, shut up!’ Miss ffiske, arms akimbo, swung round to face Dover. ‘ Now, look here, you, I’m just getting a bit fed up with this. I told you all I know, which is precisely nothing, the first time you called. I told your dratted sergeant all I know, which is still precisely nothing, when he was here wasting my time this morning. I happen to have my living to earn and I don’t propose …’

  ‘What?’ Dover rolled his eyes and clutched at the hall stand for support. ‘What did you say?’

  Miss ffiske stared at him in some stupefaction, as well she might. Dover hamming it up was enough to make the blood run cold. ‘Are you feeling all right?’

  ‘What,’ gasped Dover, his chest heaving spasmodically to signify surprise and horror, ‘what did you say about my sergeant?’ He rolled his eyes again for good measure.

  Miss Gourlay skipped agilely past him and took shelter behind Miss ffiske. ‘I just said that I told your sergeant for the second time …’

  ‘When?’ howled Dover, his voice trembling with a sense of impending doom. ‘Oh, when?’

  ‘This morning,’ Miss ffiske stammered, her self possession beginning to desert her in the face of this histrionic orgy.

  Dover fell back against the wall and clutched his heart. ‘This morning?’ His voice rose to a hoarse shriek. The English stage lost nothing when he decided to become a policeman. ‘Do you mean that Detective Sergeant MacGregor was here this morning’ – a long dramatic pause – ‘alone?’

  Miss ffiske looked anxiously at Miss Gourlay. ‘Well, yes,’ she said at last.

  Dover, never one to underplay a scene, grabbed his head with both hands and sank quivering on to a convenient chair. ‘Oh, my God!’ he groaned.

  ‘Is anything the matter?’ asked Miss ffiske, backing a little way down the hall.

  ‘You may well ask,’ intoned Dover. ‘You may well ask.’ He managed to inject a sob into the phrase on the repetition.

  ‘Should I telephone for the police, dear?’ whispered Miss Gourlay.

  ‘Don’t be a damned fool, Janie, he is the police.’

  Dover looked annoyed. He groaned to swing the attention back to him. ‘Sergeant MacGregor,’ he said in a sepulchral voice, ‘should not have come here by himself.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Miss ffiske, much relieved, ‘is that all?’

  ‘Sergeant MacGregor has been expressly forbidden to interview members of the opposite sex unless he is chaperoned by a senior police officer.’

  ‘Good grief!’ said Miss ffiske. ‘Why?’

  Dover dropped his voice a couple of octaves for the punch line. ‘He is not to be trusted. There have been a number of unfortunate, er, incidents.’

  Miss Gourlay clutched Miss ffiske.

  Dover addressed Miss ffiske fearfully. ‘I sincerely hope, madam, that he made no improper advances towards you?’

  ‘I should like to see him try!’ said Miss ffiske stoutly. ‘He just came …’

  ‘Or to you, madam?’

  Miss Gourlay, wide-eyed, cowered further behind her friend and shook her head.

  ‘Thank God!’ said Dover piously. ‘Thank God!’

  ‘Good grief,’ said Miss ffiske, trying to bring the conversation back to a terrestrial level, ‘you’re going on as though the man’s a sexual maniac.’

  ‘But he is, madam, he is! You don’t know how lucky you’ve been.’

  ‘Well, in that case,’ said Miss ffiske with a remarkable show of common sense, ‘what’s he doing in the police force?’

  Dover scowled at her irritably. ‘ Because we can’t catch him at it, that’s why!’ he snapped.

  ‘Well, I must say, he looked a perfectly nice, respectable young man to me.’

  ‘He would! That’s part of his technique. You’d be surprised at how many innocent young girls he’s lured to their doom that way.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t try to lure me.’

  Be a brave man who did, thought Dover grumpily. ‘ I suggest, madam,’ he said aloud, ‘that if he comes hanging around you again you get in touch with me without delay.’

  ‘I don’t think that will be necessary, thank you very much!’ was Miss ffiske’s tart rejoinder. ‘I can assure you that I am more than competent to deal with that sort of thing.
And, should I have any complaints to make about Sergeant MacGregor’s behaviour, I shall make them at a considerably higher level than yours.’

  ‘Suit yourself!’ mumbled Dover crossly. ‘ But just don’t say I didn’t warn you, that’s all.’

  ‘If I am raped by a detective sergeant from Scotland Yard under your command, you will have to face more than reproaches!’ said Miss ffiske sourly. ‘Now, Janie, I’m going out on my rounds. You’d better lock the door behind me and put the chain on. Just in case.’

  Dover, not being left much choice, took his leave. He was not unsatisfied with his performance. In fact, he was rather pleased with it. He didn’t get much opportunity of playing character parts so that, when he did, he flung himself in to it heart and souL He congratulated himself unreservedly as he made his way back to the hotel. The seeds had been sown. The trap had been baited. The hook had been dangled. All that remained now was for the master mind to take things easy and let the insidious poison of suspicion do its work.

  There are few people who can hold a candle to Chief Inspector Dover when it comes to taking things easy, though it must not be assumed that he did absolutely nothing to further his case in the ensuing twenty-four hours. On the very next morning he received the police surgeon in his hotel bedroom and was closeted with that bewildered gentleman for an hour and a half. Professional secrecy has thrown an impenetrable veil over the proceedings but it can be surmised that Dover’s stomach, corns and sore toe were not the exclusive topics of discussion. Dover wanted information, and the police surgeon, unworthily wondering from time to time if he was dealing with a particularly nasty type of obsessional neurotic, provided what answers he could. He pointed out rather stiffly to the Chief Inspector that this was not a matter which cropped up frequently in a respectable practice, not even in one which also embraced the local police force.