To Superintendent Underbarrow’s eternal credit, the hesitation was only momentary. He checked his involuntary gulp in mid-swallow, tacked his smile of welcome back on his face and held out his hand.
Chief Inspector Dover ignored it. ‘It’s raining,’ he said.
The remark was not a conversational gambit. It was an impeachment.
Superintendent Underbarrow found himself stammering out an apology for the local weather but it was already too late. Chief Inspector Dover’s back, as he lumbered off down the platform, was unresponsive and unappeased.
By the time they had all crowded into the waiting police car, the superintendent had recovered some of his faith in human nature. ‘Well now,’ he began, ‘did you have a good journey?’
There was a contemptuous sniff from the back seat beside him but Sergeant MacGregor showed that he, at least, had got some manners.
He turned round in his place beside the driver. ‘Very good, thank you, sir.’
Superintendent Underbarrow beamed gratefully at him. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got a sticky one lined up for you this time,’ he went on, with slightly more cordiality than he would have shown to one of his own sergeants.
‘So we’ve gathered, sir.’
Superintendent Underbarrow grinned. 'An earthquake, eh? I’d never have expected that if I’d tried with both hands, not in a thousand years I wouldn’t. And in Sully Martin, too! I mean, it’s such a sleepy little place. Well, they’ve hit the headlines this time and no mistake. By the way,’ – he put the question casually – ‘did you happen to catch me on the telly, eh?’
‘I’m afraid not, sir. They interviewed you, did they?’
‘Yes – a couple of times on both channels as a matter of fact. Shocking waste of time when you’re up to your ears trying to cope but that’s the way things are these days. The chief constable had overall control, of course – major disaster and all that sort of thing – but the transport was my pigeon. As things turned out transport was the key to the whole business.’
‘Really, sir?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Superintendent Underbarrow leaned forward. ‘Still is, if it comes to that. We’ve not broken the back of the problem yet.’ He glanced out of the side window. ‘And we shan’t, not until this dratted rain stops. You see, it’s the main road running up to Sully Martin that’s the trouble. There’s nearly a quarter of a mile of it that’s just disappeared.’
‘Goodness me!’ MacGregor was getting a crick in the back of his neck but, since Dover had now got his eyes closed and his mouth open, the burden of social intercourse had to be shouldered by someone.
‘Secondary effect of the earthquake,’ explained Superintendent Underbarrow with a knowing nod. ‘Sully Martin’s stuck up on a hill, you understand, and the first tremors virtually cracked it clean in two. One comer of the village – the bit up on the cliff overhanging the main road – just sort of broke off and slid down the hillside. The road was buried under an avalanche of mud and houses and cars and sheds and goodness knows what. You’ve never seen such a mess and we can’t get it shifted. As soon as the bulldozers scoop up one loadful, another lot comes sliding down and takes its place. And, apart from a couple of cart tracks, this road’s the only way into Sully Martin from any direction. You can imagine what it’s like trying to do rescue work in the village itself. We can’t get any heavy equipment up there.’
‘How awful,’ said MacGregor.
‘Mind you,’ – Superintendent Underbarrow spoke rather bitterly for him – ‘there’s no shortage of unsolicited advice. I even had the chief constable sticking his oar in this morning. Still, I let him have it straight. “ If you think somebody else can make a better job of,” I told him, “ they’re welcome to try. Don’t you bother about my feelings,” I said. “ I’m not one of your . . .’” Superintendent Underbarrow had intended to fling himself back in his seat to underline the indignation he felt but Chief Inspector Dover’s amorphous bulk had somehow oozed across and was now occupying all the available space. Superintendent Underbarrow gazed in astonishment at this remarkable occurrence and then glanced up and caught Sergeant MacGregor’s eye.
MacGregor smiled vaguely.
‘Well,’ said Superintendent Underbarrow, struggling unobtrusively to retain what little contact he still had with the car seat, ‘there it is. We’ll never get that road passable until this rain stops.’
There were a few moments’ silence, broken only by the hum of the police car’s engine and the faint bubbling sound that was coming from Dover’s lips.
Superintendent Underbarrow steeled himself to cast a mild aspersion. ‘He’s a bit of a rum one, isn’t he?’ he whispered.
MacGregor’s smile became vaguer.
‘I thought all the Yard’s murder squad detectives were superintendents these days?’
‘Well,’ admitted MacGregor uneasily, ‘strictly speaking they are.’
‘But he’s only a chief inspector.’
‘That’s right.’
‘How come?’
‘He’s a sort of supernumerary,’ MacGregor explained. The topic was a delicate one, though he might have been more forthcoming if he’d been certain that Dover was really asleep. ‘He’s just attached to the murder squad. Kind of seconded.’
‘Oh.’ Superintendent Underbarrow looked unenlightened.
MacGregor groped around for a change of conversation. Chief Inspector Dover’s somewhat chequered career was not a subject that a subordinate of even qualified loyalty would wish to have washed in public. One hardly cared to explain to a senior officer in another force that Dover was loosely attached to Scodand Yard’s murder squad for the simple reason that nobody else in the length and breadth of the Metropolitan Police would have him.
MacGregor had just decided to make some pithy comment on the current economic crisis when the police car pulled into the side of the road and stopped.
‘End of stage one,’ grunted Superintendent Underbarrow as he opened his rear door. ‘We’ve got to negotiate
