‘Errors and omissions excepted,’ agreed Dover, speaking as though he was very far away. He roused himself. ‘Hasn’t Mrs Lickes got an alibi?’
‘Not much of one, sir. She could have returned to the disaster area much sooner than she says she did.’
‘Was Chantry strangled from in front or behind?’
‘From behind, sir. Does it matter?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. How tall was he?’
‘About five foot ten, sir.’
Dover pursed his lips. ‘Can’t you scrub all the women?’
‘He could have been kneeling down when he was attacked, sir. And Mrs Lickes is quite wiry. Miss Wittgenstein is pretty powerfully built, too, especially about the arms and shoulders.’
‘It’s kneading all that clay,’ muttered Dover as he snuggled down again.
MacGregor pressed doggedly on. ‘So, at two o’clock we have the earthquake and the first incident we know about after that is the collapse of Wing Commander Pile’s house, trapping him and his daughter. Shortly after this, Walter Chantry makes his appearance on the scene when he rescues the Piles. After that, he joins his son-in-law for a few minutes in the Sally Gate area and sends him away to get reinforcements. Nobody admits to seeing him alive again. Colin Hooper could have killed him then. Wing Commander Pile returned alone to his house to collect some clothes so he had a few minutes in which he could have found Chantry and murdered him. Mr Lickes is in pretty much the same boat. After he got separated from Colin Hooper, he’d got ample opportunity and he was in the right area of the village. Then we’ve got these three artists. They all knew roughly where Chantry was and none of them has much in the way of an alibi.’ MacGregor bent forward so that his voice could blast straight down Dover’s ear. ‘Do you agree with me so far, sir?’
‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ said Dover.
‘And, now, we come to the question of motive.’
Dover hoisted himself up into a sitting position. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘this is all very fine but I don’t reckon it’s getting us anywhere, do you? I’m the one that’s supposed to have the key to the whole business but, with you rabbiting on like a babbling brook, I can’t hear myself think. Now,’ – he nudged the hint forward with an air of sweet reasonableness – ‘why don’t you push off for a bit and let me give my subconscious a chance?’
‘Your subconscious, sir?’
‘That’s right!’ said Dover, trying not to spoil it all by getting peevish. ‘That’s what you do when you can’t remember something, isn’t it? You just put it right out of your mind and let your subconscious spew it up. Now, if I was to lie here quietly and let my mind go a complete blank, I reckon that by the time you brought my lunch up I’d have the answer.’ MacGregor spared a brief moment to wonder whether Dover in a wheedling mood wasn’t even more sickening than when he was shouting and bawling his head off. Not that it really mattered because, whichever way he played it, this was one time when he was not going to get his own way. ‘I honestly don’t think it’s a very good idea, sir.’
‘Well, luckily,’ sneered Dover, reverting with all the ease in the world to a tougher line, ‘it doesn’t matter a row of two pins what you think. Shove off!’
MacGregor stood up. 'Very well, sir, but I think I ought to warn you that I am not going to bring your lunch up. And neither is anybody else. If you want something to eat, you’re going to have to go down to the dining-room and have your meal there.’
‘Have you gone clean out of your feeble little mind?’ spluttered Dover. ‘I’m giving you an order! You start coming your tricks with me, laddie, and I’ll fix it so’s your own mother won’t recognize you!’
‘I doubt if the board of enquiry would consider my carrying your lunch up a legitimate part of my duties, sir,’ replied MacGregor smoothly.
Dover goggled. ‘What board of enquiry?’
‘The one that will be convened, sir, when I submit a formal complaint about your handling of this investigation. Amongst other things, I shall be charging you with professional incompetence, you see.’
‘You’ll not have much of a future in the force after that!’ snapped Dover.
‘You’ll have none at all, sir.’
This simple statement of fact pulled Dover up sharp. ‘You’re bluffing,’ he said sullenly.
‘I shouldn’t count on it, sir.’
‘Then it’s blackmail!’
‘That’s much more like it, sir,’ agreed MacGregor calmly. ‘Only for your own good, of course.’
‘Oh, of course!’ echoed Dover sarcastically. He scowled thoughtfully at his sergeant. That was the trouble with these starry-eyed, conscientious types – they’d no bloody sense of proportion. Fancy getting all worked up into a muck sweat over solving a lousy murder case! Still, there was no point in making a big issue out of it. Dover prepared to capitulate gracefully. ‘You bloody kids think you know everything these days,’ he growled.
MacGregor could recognize a white flag when he saw one. ‘Part of my duty is to protect you, sir. When your life’s in danger I can’t in all conscience stand idly by and let you take unnecessary risks.’
Dover rather liked this line. ‘Perhaps I am a bit careless about my personal safety,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘It’s always been one of my failings. Well, laddie, what was it exactly you had in mind?’
MacGregor sat down again and looked at his watch. ‘We’ve got nearly an hour before lunch, sir, so I suggest we use that time for discussing the motives of the various suspects. Then I propose that we go downstairs and have lunch. This will give you the opportunity
