‘Sex,’ repeated Dover with a grunt as he tugged his pants up over his paunch. ‘Where are my socks? Yes, sex. John Perking’s motive. If it wasn’t money it must be sex, mustn’t it?’
‘Well, sir,’ began MacGregor doubtfully.
‘We’ve established’, Dover continued, picking up a shirt that MacGregor would have been ashamed to deposit in a dustbin, ‘that Cynthia Perking wasn’t indulging in a bit of the old hanky-panky—so where does that leave us?’
‘But everybody says the same about Perking himself, sir. His sister, the neighbours—all the evidence we’ve had. They all say that Perking was devoted to his wife. There hasn’t been the slightest hint from anyone that he was unfaithful to her in any way.’
Dover picked up his tie and looked at it without pleasure. It was his wife’s invention. The knot and the part of the tie that hangs down the front of the shirt were quite normal, but, instead of the piece that goes round the neck under the collar, there was a broad strip of black elastic. Oh well, thought Dover as he pulled the elastic over his head, I suppose it saves a bit of trouble.
MacGregor, who had turned round at this critical moment, shuddered.
‘You know what I think?’ asked Dover, ignorant of the shock he had given his sergeant’s sartorial susceptibilities. ‘I reckon Perking has got himself a juicy little popsie shacked up somewhere on the quiet.’
‘But, sir, absolutely everybody agrees . . . ’
‘I don’t give a damn about what everybody agrees,’ retorted Dover. ‘If he has got himself a bit of homework he’s not going to advertise it in the local paper, is he? Of course he’d keep it quiet. The way I see it, he marries Cynthia for her money but, what with one thing and another, he can’t get his hands on the lolly. Meanwhile he’s under pressure from this other popsie. It’s me you love, she keeps on yacking at him, so why don’t you make an honest woman of me? Have a bit of patience, he says, and once I get the money we can both of us live a life of luxury. But, after three years of waiting they get a bit cheesed off with it so Perking does his wife in so that he can nip off with his girl friend. It’s only guesswork so far,’ he admitted with touching modesty, ‘but I reckon it hangs together pretty well.’
‘Well, as a theory, sir, I suppose it has got its points but, if you don’t mind my saying so, sir, it isn’t exactly watertight, is it?’
‘Isn’t it?’ Dover pouted. He didn’t take kindly to criticism, especially when it came from sergeants.
‘Well, sir, apart from the fact that there hasn’t been the faintest whisper that Perking was engaging in extra-marital activities, why on earth should he kill his wife just when he was on the verge of success?’
‘Huh?’
‘The pregnancy, sir. Why kill her the minute he hears that she’s pregnant? Everybody agrees that with a grandchild on the way Daniel Wibbley would have given in. He told you so himself, didn’t he? According to your theory, sir, Perking upped and killed the golden goose before she’d even had chance to lay him a golden egg.’
‘We don’t know for sure that she’d phoned him and told him about the baby,’ Dover pointed out.
‘I’m sure a few inquiries can clear up that point, sir.’
‘And’, continued Dover, determined not to be out-argued by logic or reason, ‘for all we know it may have been the fact that he found out his wife was expecting that shoved him over the edge.’
‘Sir?’
‘Where are my boots?’ grumbled Dover. ‘Oh? Well, push ’em over, laddie. And you might as well help me on with ’em while you’re at it. I think that rotten little bastard Perking damaged my back. I’ve got a funny sort of pain that shoots from here to here.’ Dover twisted himself round awkwardly and vaguely indicated a couple of unlikely spots on his back. ‘Excruciating, it is, at times. I sometimes wonder how I carry on, I do really. It’s just sheer courage and devotion to duty that keeps me going, you know. Most men would have taken to their beds if they’d gone through half what I’ve had to put up with. That’s my trouble — I never give a thought to myself. Here, not too tight with those laces! I shouldn’t have given up that bathchair thing as soon as I did,’ he added moodily. ‘I suppose you sent it back, did you?’
‘Yes, sir.’ MacGregor’s answer was firm. ‘They were very grateful. They said they had another patient waiting for it. You were saying, sir, that Perking may have killed his wife because she was pregnant.’
‘Eh? Oh, yes — well, look at the timing. As soon as he hears she’s in the family way he beats her head in. Course, it might just be a coincidence. Here, help me on with my coat. But suppose Perking has got fed up with waiting for the money and decides the girl friend is a better bet than the missus? He’s all set to pack his marriage in and get annulment or whatever it is because she can’t have kids when, out of the blue, he discovers she’s pregnant. Now he can’t get away so easily so — he kills her.’
MacGregor held Dover’s jacket for him and wondered if he could wash his hands before he went down to breakfast. The garment really had a most creepy-crawly feel about it. He considered Dover’s argument doubtfully. ‘It doesn’t sound very likely, does it, sir? There are plenty of ways of shedding a wife these days without killing her.’
‘Yes, but if she was barren Perking could have divorced her, couldn’t he? If not, she’d have had to divorce him with the girl friend as co-respondent. Well, look at her mother. She wouldn’t divorce Daniel Wibbley, would she? Maybe the daughter’s a chip off the old block.’
‘Yes,’ said MacGregor, still unconvinced.
‘Murder’s been done for less,
