‘If this scheme of yours misfires, the only thing either of us will earn is the order of the boot. Look, if you must have a witness – and God only knows why you should – what’s wrong with your own sergeant? I should have thought he was the obvious choice.’
Dover slumped down crossly on the bed. Up till now, out of courtesy to Superintendent Underbarrow’s superior rank, he had remained standing – and a fat lot of good it had done him. ‘All I’m trying to do,’ he explained impatiently, ‘is catch a multiple murderer before he goes round slaughtering other innocent people. You know what they’re like – once they start they never stop. I don’t know about you, of course, but I happen to have a very highly developed sense of duty. I don’t want it on my conscience if somebody else goes and get themselves bumped off.’
‘It’s not your purpose I’m objecting to,’ protested Superintendent Underbarrow unhappily, ‘it’s your methods.’
Dover flapped an irritated hand. ‘Pitch sticks, doesn’t it?’ he asked. ‘Look, without a bit of improvisation, this joker’s going to get clean away with it. What choice have I got but to adjust the odds a bit? Don’t tell me you’ve never fiddled anything!’
‘Not like this I haven’t!’ retorted Superintendent Underbarrow, running a finger round his shirt collar and wondering why it always had to happen to him.
Dover leaned forward persuasively. ‘That’s why I can’t use MacGregor, see? He’s young and inexperienced. If it isn’t all written down in black and white, he doesn’t want to know about it.’
‘I don’t think I do, either,’ muttered the superintendent.
‘And he’s not loyal, you know,’ said Dover bitterly. ‘He’d shop me as soon as look at me. Look, all I’m asking for is a fair crack of the whip. Nothing can go wrong. We get ’em in here, I go through my routine and from then on we play it by ear.’ The superintendent shuddered. ‘It makes the blood run cold even to think about it. I can kiss my pension goodbye if this ever comes out.’
‘But it won’t come out!’ insisted Dover desperately. ‘That’s why I want you here instead of MacGregor. You know how to keep your mouth shut.’
‘That’s very reassuring!’
‘It’s fireproof, I tell you! If everything goes according to plan and we get a confession, there’s two of us to swear on oath that it was obtained all legal and above board.’
‘But that would be perjury!’
Dover scowled bleakly at Superintendent Underbarrow. ‘It’s only perjury when you get found out, you oaf! As long as we both spin the same yam in the witness box, they can’t touch us.’
‘But, suppose you don’t get a confession. You make your accusation and your threats and everything and the snivelling victim just turns round and spits straight in your eye? What about that, eh? You and me’d find ourselves at the wrong end of an official complaint quicker than you could say knife.’ Dover shook his head gently. Really, it made you wonder what some people had been doing all their lives. Talk about being as pig-ignorant as a new-born babe! ‘Then we just cut our losses and just flatly deny that the interview ever took place. Two against one again – see?’
Superintendent Underbarrow did see, only too clearly. The trouble was, though, that he was still tempted. He’d had a pretty dull sort of time in the police, all things considered. Transport and traffic administration were all very well but a man did sometimes yearn for a touch of glamour. Mrs Underbarrow would be thrilled to bits, and so would the kids. And a sensational murder case would liven that old scrapbook up no end, by jingo it would! When this broke it would make the national press for sure, to say nothing of the telly. And him outranking this Scodand Yard chap wouldn’t do any harm. If he played his cards properly he ought to be able to collar the lion’s share of the kudos and . . . Superintendent Underbarrow drew up a chair. ‘What exactly is it I’m supposed to do?’ Dover’s ungainly form deflated with relief. At bloody last!
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I’ll do all the work. I just want you here as a perfectly honest, unbiased, independent witness. We’ll cook our story up afterwards when we’ve seen how things have gone. By the way, I hope you know how to handle yourself if there’s any rough stuff? Got a truncheon?’
‘I’ll borrow one from one of the lads downstairs.’
‘You won’t, you know!’ snorted Dover. ‘Use your brains, man! That’d be a dead give-away that we were expecting trouble. No,’ – he looked round the room – ‘grab that candlestick if there’s any sign of a punch-up. And be careful where you use it. Above the hair line or in the kidneys is best, then the marks don’t show.’ He got up and arranged a couple of chairs in the middle of the room. ‘You stay standing by the door. And keep your cap on. It makes it look more official.’
‘I think I’ll keep my gloves on, too,’ said Superintendent Underbarrow, beginning to get into the swing of things, ‘so that there won’t be any fingerprints if I have to use the candlestick.’
‘Good idea!’ approved Dover. ‘Right! Well, I think we’re ready. Wheel ’em up!’
Superintendent Underbarrow didn’t care for the sound of this. ‘Me?’
‘Well, one of us has got to and I can’t, can I?’
‘Why not?’
‘They’d smell a rat.’
‘I don’t see why. Look, the last thing I want to do is start pulling my rank but I am the senior officer. If I go running around like a blooming messenger . . .’
For once in his life Dover actually opened a door for somebody else. It seemed the easiest way of putting an end to a very unprofitable discussion. ‘Get your skates on!’ he urged. ‘They might be going out for a walk or something and
