The wing commander shrank visibly from his chair. ‘You can’t do that,’ he muttered.
‘And think what they’ll do to your daughter,’ continued Dover with a ghastly chuckle. ‘They’ll question her, you know. Ask her if she ever slept in the same bed as daddy, what sort of things he . . .’
‘Stop it!’ screamed Wing Commander Pile. ‘You filthy, disgusting swine!’
‘Look who’s talking!’ jeered Dover. Now that he’d got his man on the run, his only concern was to pile on the pressure. ‘People who live in glass houses shouldn’t go around calling the pot black. You . . .’
The wing commander clamped his hands over his ears. ‘I won’t listen!’ he moaned. ‘I won’t listen to another word!’
‘You will, you know,’ retorted Dover, leaning across and dragging the wing commander’s arms down. ‘And don’t start any of the rough stuff! Mr Wheelbarrow here and me’d love to have an excuse for giving you a going-over, you lousy punk. Besides, I’m offering you a way out, aren’t I? You wouldn’t want to miss that.’
‘A way out?’ gasped Wing Commander Pile, not sure that he had heard correctly. He clutched at Dover with shaking hands. ‘What do you mean, a way out?’
Dover unclasped his hands from his lapels and pushed the wing commander back in his chair. ‘I thought that’d interest you!’
‘What do I have to do? Just tell me! I’ll do anything, I promise you.’
‘Just sign a full confession admitting to the murders of Walter Chantry and Mrs Boyle.’
Wing Commander Pile stared at Dover in dismay. ‘Oh, no! No, I can’t do that! What good would it do?’
‘It would get you of! the hook, mate. I’m striking a bargain with you. You give me a signed confession and I’ll give you a guarantee that the question of motive won’t come out in open court.’
Wing Commander Pile gazed from side to side like a trapped animal. ‘I don’t quite understand.’
‘Look, if you plead guilty to Chantry’s murder, the court’s not going to go digging around just for the hell of it, is it? Give or take die odd word, they’ll accept your version of what happened. You can make up some sort of motive if you want. On the other hand, if you plead not guilty, it’s no holds barred. We’ll come out with the whole sordid story. Your daughter will certainly be questioned and she may even be called as a witness for the prosecution.’
‘My God!’ groaned Wing Commander Pile. ‘Oh, my God!’ He buried his face in his hands.
Superintendent Underbarrow stared at the heaving shoulders in front of him and felt rather sick. Poor devil. Whatever he’d done, you couldn’t help feeling story for him. It was somehow strangely humiliating to see a man being broken like this. The superintendent cancelled his plans for telling his wife all about the big moment when they caught the Sully Martin murderer.
Dover was lighting yet another cigarette. ‘Well, which is it going to be?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘I haven’t all day to hang around here if you have.’
‘I’ll sign your confession,’ whispered Wing Commander Pile.
‘Attaboy!’ Dover compounded this unfortunate exclamation with a cocky thumbs-up sign of triumph at Superintendent Underbarrow. ‘I thought you’d come round to my way of looking at things. Well, never put off till tomorrow what you can do today.’ He snapped his fingers in the air. ‘Pen and paper!’
It took Superintendent Underbarrow some little time to realize that the gesture and the request had been directed at him. He was understandably furious when comprehension finally dawned. Damn it all, it was about time somebody put this London fellow in his place! Superintendent Underbarrow was about to undertake this delicate task when Wing Commander Pile raised his head and interrupted him.
‘I must go downstairs and see that Linda is all right first,' he said in a calmer voice. ‘You needn’t worry. I shan’t try to run away.’
‘Wouldn’t do you much good if you did,' said Dover airily. ‘You’d not get far.’
The wing commander sighed. ‘I won’t be more than a minute,' he promised, ‘and I’ll bring a pen and some paper back with me.’
On an imperious nod from Dover, Superintendent Underbarrow stood aside. Wing Commander Pile managed a faint smile of thanks and then, after a moment’s hesitation, turned back to Dover. ‘It’s really not as bad as it sounds, you know,' he said pathetically. ‘My wife died when Linda was born and I had to look after her. For seventeen years I’ve sacrificed everything for her sake – my career, marriage, everything. I took a job abroad. I didn’t want everybody sneering and looking down their noses at her and I thought abroad . . . East Africa. We kept ourselves to ourselves as far as the other Europeans were concerned. We had native servants, of course. They were very good. They really loved Linda and it didn’t matter to them that she was . . . So nobody bothered us, you see. I’d have stayed out there, of course, but the company I worked for sold out and my health wasn’t . . . I’d forgotten how much people live on top of each other back here at home. Always poking and prying and asking impertinent questions. They won’t let you alone.’ He rubbed his hand wearily across his eyes. ‘I’m not complaining, you understand. I’d do it all again just the same if I had to, but you can’t say I’ve been able to lead a normal life, can you? I thought I was entitled to some – well – compensation. And I wasn’t being entirely selfish. It was better for Linda this way. It was!’ he insisted with a show of defiance. ‘She has physical needs, too. She’s not a child any longer. Who else would have . . .?’ He looked at Dover and then at Superintendent Underbarrow. What he saw made him realize the futility
