So, although it was all a bit castles-in-Spain and counting unhatched chickens, Dover’s attitude to Mr Tompkins on the morning following Mrs Tompkins’s tragic death was benevolently neutral. Connoisseurs of the Dover interrogation technique (‘don’t hit ’em where the marks will show’) would have been surprised if they could have seen how delicately, how gently and how considerately the Chief Inspector handled a rather offended Mr Tompkins.
The interview took place in Dover’s bedroom. It was the only room both private enough and large enough to hold two policemen and Mr Tompkins at the same time. Mr Tompkins had the easy chair, Dover the hard upright one, and MacGregor perched himself on the bed.
‘I’m sure you understand,’ Dover began with a scowl for MacGregor and a reassuring beam for Mr Tompkins, ‘that in all cases of sudden death we have to ask a few questions, just to get the record straight. The coroner rather expects us to, you know. It’s just a question of routine, pure formality.’
Mr Tompkins nodded his head.
‘Now,’ said Dover, continuing to beam away like a Cheshire cat on full purrs, ‘just tell us in your own words what happened yesterday morning. Let’s start with breakfast. Did your wife seem all right then, her usual self, you know?’
‘Well, yes, I think so,’ said Mr Tompkins looking worriedly at MacGregor’s pencil poised over his notebook. ‘I took her breakfast . up to her as usual just on eight o’clock.’
‘She was ill then, was she?’ asked Dover, pouncing like a hawk on any detail that would strengthen the simple suicide theory.
‘Oh, no,’ said Mr Tompkins, ‘she always had her breakfast in bed.’
Dover looked at Mr Tompkins with some amazement. ‘Go on,’ he said with a sigh. ‘What time did she get up?’
‘About a quarter past nine, just before Mrs Poltensky, our daily help, arrived. I went out into the shop and I was in there till about eleven when Winifred – that is, Mrs Tompkins – brought me a cup of coffee. She said she wasn’t feeling too good and I said, “Shall I call the doctor?” and she said, “No,” and I said, “Well, why not go upstairs and have a hot bath and then have your lunch and have a nice lie-down on the sofa in the afternoon?” Well, she sort of seemed to think this was a good idea – about the bath, I mean. She said something about “Oh, yes, I’d like to feel clean,” but I wasn’t taking much notice because a customer had just come in and was rattling all the packets of biscuits she could lay her hands on to see if they were broken. The cheek of some people, you just wouldn’t believe it!’
‘So your wife went off to have her bath?’ prompted Dover who could see this going on all morning.
‘That’s right. She came down again about twelve, I suppose, and we had a bite of lunch – Mrs Tompkins didn’t eat much, I remember, but, then, she had never much of an appetite. After lunch she went to lie down in the sitting-room. Mrs Poltensky went with her to light the gas fire’ – Mr Tompkins swallowed hard – ‘and get her settled on the sofa. I was still in the kitchen. Then Mrs Poltensky came back and said Mrs Tompkins had a touch of indigestion and she wanted a glass of brandy and hot water. My wife is – was – strict T.T. – never touched a drop except for medicinal purposes. Well, I got the brandy and hot water ready and Mrs Poltensky took it in to her. Then Mrs Poltensky got on with her work and I went upstairs and wrote a couple of letters and got myself changed because, of course, it was early-closing day and I was going out.
‘I came downstairs and asked Mrs Poltensky how Mrs Tompkins was and she looked into the sitting-room and said she was nicely off in front of the fire. I went into the kitchen to get some stamps and check the back door was locked while Mrs Poltensky was putting her coat on. Then we both just left the shop together. And that’s all I know, Mr Dover. I didn’t go near the place again all afternoon until I met you and we went back together.’
‘Well,’ said Dover, rubbing his hands happily together, ‘that seems very satisfactory. That’s given us a nice clear picture of what happened, hasn’t it, Sergeant? I don’t think we need distress Mr Tompkins any longer.’
‘There are just a couple of questions, sir,’ said MacGregor tentatively.
‘Oh, are there?’ Dover glared sourly at his sergeant. ‘Well, get on with it! We don’t want to be sitting here all day.’
‘Mr Tompkins,’ – after Dover’s fawning tones, MacGregor’s voice rang out hard and crisp – ‘I understand your wife received another poison-pen letter yesterday. When did she actually open it?’
‘I took it up to her on her breakfast tray. It came in the morning post and naturally I knew what it was. I’ve seen enough of the dratted things not to make any mistake. I think reading it was what upset her. I used to tell her to chuck the damned things in the fire without opening them, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it, somehow. Curiosity, I suppose. I used to say to her, “You know what curiosity did,” I’d say, “it killed the . . . ”’
Mr Tompkins’s voice trailed off as the unfortunate phrasing of his words sunk in.
Unperturbed MacGregor consulted his notes and calmly put his next question. Only when he was half-way through it did he realize that he had unwittingly revealed rather more of police methods than he had intended. Luckily for him, Mr Tompkins didn’t seem to think it strange that a comparative stranger should be so intimately informed about the contents of his joint bank account.
‘Winifred drew three hundred pounds out in cash?’ repeated Mr Tompkins in bewilderment. ‘No, I didn’t
