‘Perking was sterile,’ Dr Nayland obliged. ‘Can’t father kids. Not’, he bethought himself cheerfully, ‘that that’s going to bother him much if he’s going down for a twenty-year stretch’.
Dover digested the information and then pronounced his considered judgment. ‘Poppycock!’
Dr Nayland bridled. ‘It isn’t!’
‘Must be,’ said Dover flatly.
‘But, dammit, it’s all down here in black and white.’
Dover flapped the lab report away. ‘They must have made a mistake.’
‘Of course they haven’t made a mistake! They don’t make mistakes like that.’
‘I don’t suppose it’d be the first time,’ Dover observed darkly.
‘Oh, look here,’ — Dr Nayland sat down on the bench next to Dover — ‘you’ve really got to be sensible about this. The lab report is correct. It must be. Besides, look at Perking’s history. He’s been married nearly three years and nothing’s happened. That shows you there was something wrong, doesn’t it?’
‘Look, doc,’ said Dover, happy to be able to put Dr Nayland and the entire medical profession if needs be in their place, ‘Perking’s wife was two months pregnant when she was killed. She’d been told that definitely by her own doctor that very morning.’
Dr Nayland looked annoyed. ‘Maybe her lab tests were wrong,’ he suggested nastily.
‘The pregnancy was confirmed at the post mortem. See?’ Dover crowed in cheap triumph.
Dr Nayland responded with a knowing laugh. ‘All right, the wife may have been pregnant but that doesn’t mean that the husband’s responsible, does it? You must have led a very sheltered life, Chief Inspector. I didn’t know you bogies were so pure-minded.’
A dark red flush of fury diffused Dover’s face. A reflection on the honour of Cynthia Perking was a reflection on the honour of Daniel Wibbley. And a reflection on the honour of Daniel Wibbley was a reflection on the honour of Dover’s prospective employer. Dover suddenly felt very indignant and very loyal. He swung round to Dr Nayland, clamped two beefy hands on the lapels of his white coat and drew him menacingly close.
‘Take my advice, Nayland, and keep that lip of yours buttoned up! You can get into serious trouble going round slandering people, and trouble, laddie,’— Dover dragged Dr Nayland a couple of inches nearer — ‘is that you would do well to avoid. One more scurrilous crack out of you about a poor girl who’s dead and can’t defend herself and I’ll bust this little racket of yours here wide open! Get it? A few judicious inquiries round this part of the world and you’d find yourself up the creek without a paddle, wouldn’t you, mate? However,’ — Dover gave his victim a minatory shake — ‘if you’re a sensible fellow we might consider closing an official eye here and there. Understand? You scratch my back, laddie, and I might—I only say might, mind — I might just risk soiling my hands by scratching yours. Got it?’
Dr Nayland, released abruptly and sliding as fast as he could to the far end of the bench, gulped and nodded.
‘Right,’ said Dover approvingly, ‘not another word about Cynthia Perking, eh? In fact, not a word about anything at all. That’ll be safest. MacGregor, collect those cards and letters and things and let’s get out of this dump.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘BUT we can’t just close our eyes and bury our heads in the sand, can we, sir?’
Dover placed two hands tenderly on the vast expanse of his stomach. ‘Do you know, I think that fish was off. I’ve got a sort of shooting, searing pain right across here. Of course,’ — he assumed his martyred air—‘God knows, fish doesn’t have to be off to upset me’
‘We know Cynthia Perking was pregnant, sir, and we know her husband couldn’t be the father.’ MacGregor gallantly continued flogging a dead horse that was already eyeing its bed with interest.
Dover removed his jacket with a wince. ‘My shoulder’s still not right, you know. I reckon that little brute, Perking, broke something. A fractured collar bone, maybe?’ He sat on the edge of his bed and began pushing his right boot off with his left foot.
‘There’s really only one explanation, sir, isn’t there? Some other man must be the father.’
‘My head feels rotten, too,’ Dover observed to the room at large. ‘I reckon he damaged my sight. I keep sort of getting black things floating in front of my eyes.’
‘Even if Perking’s lab report was wrong, sir,’ sighed MacGregor, prepared to concede a minor point, ‘it doesn’t make any difference, does it? If Perking only thought she had been unfaithful to him, that would give him motive enough, wouldn’t it, sir? You’ve got to look at the timing, sir. Dr Nay-land tells Perking he’s sterile or whatever it is. Perking, absolutely shattered at the news, returns to his office. Almost immediately Mrs Perking rings him up and tells him she’s expecting a baby. He broods over it all afternoon, decides he’s going to kill her and tries to work out some sort of an alibi for himself. Then, when the travel agency closes, he cycles off home same as usual, and kills her.’
‘I think I’ll take my teeth out,’ mused Dover. ‘I’ve got a very funny sort of taste in my mouth.’ He got up and padded over to the washbasin. While he filled a glass with water he examined his tongue despondently in the mirror.
MacGregor gave it up. It was like trying to reason with a bolster overstuffed with goose feathers. ‘By the sound of it, sir,’ he commented with an irony that was completely wasted, ‘you’d be better off in bed.’
‘Do you think so?’ Dover gazed at MacGregor with a grateful eye. ‘I never know when I’ve done enough, that’s my trouble. They’re always telling me I drive myself too hard.’
Further reassurance and encouragement stuck in MacGregor’s throat but Dover had already allowed himself to be convinced.
‘Well, just this once,’ he said coyly. ‘A couple of hours with my head down’ll probably do me a world of good.’
‘Yes, sir,’ MacGregor agreed grimly. ‘Well, I’ll leave you
