‘Oh, the Shetland pony, sir?’ MacGregor’s face brightened as comprehension dawned. ‘Oh, it’s line as far as I am aware, sir. None the worse for its experiences, you know.’
‘Very humorous!’ snarled Dover, who could always be relied on to see a joke and take umbrage at it. ‘How did the Claret Tappers come to use the nasty little brute?’
‘Oh, one of the lads – Joe Buller, the redundant factory worker – had spent a sort of working holiday at harvest time last year on the next-door farm, sir. He’s a bit more au fait with the country than the others are and he realised that the pony, once it was untied, would lose no time in taking the shortest way home for its breakfast. The Claret Tappers knew we wouldn’t hand over all that cash without at least trying to follow them, so they took a few precautions. They assumed – quite rightly, as it turned out – that we would place all our hopes on an unobtrusive surveillance of the roads. Well, in that particular area, there was very little else we could do. The Claret Tappers simply came up with a collection method which didn’t use the roads at all – or not roads that were passable for cars. Actually, the one thing which would have foxed them would have been a helicopter hovering overhead, but, if they’d spotted any kind of aircraft in the vicinity, they would have called the whole operation off.’
‘And killed the kid?’
‘Well, they say not, sir, but your guess is as good as mine.’
‘Better!’ sniggered Dover.
‘And they do point out, sir, that they didn’t kill you when the ransom money wasn’t forthcoming.’
‘I’m well aware they didn’t kill me, laddie!’ snapped Dover. A feeling of tiredness seemed to be creeping over him and making him more fractious than usual. ‘What about. . .?’ The end of the question sank without trace in an unhibited yawn.
‘What about what, sir?’
Dover was blowed if he could remember, so he gave expression to something else that had been on his mind for some time. ‘I suppose they’ll be dishing a few medals out for this business, eh?’
‘Medals, sir?’ MacGregor picked an invisible piece of lint off the sleeve of his jacket. ‘What on earth for?’
‘For deeds of bravery and endurance beyond the call of bloody duty!’ snapped Dover. ‘Some of us have sacrificed our health and strength on this particular battlefield.’
MacGregor got a piece of paper out of his drawer and unscrewed the cap of his fountain pen. His next claim for expenses was going to need some working out. ‘Well, there might be the odd commendation, sir, I suppose. Seeing that there were VIPs involved.’
‘Well, even that’d be better than a slap in the belly with a wet fish,’ said Dover, wondering if MacGregor had been taking private lessons in obtuseness.
MacGregor got his notebook out. ‘Now you come to mention it, sir, I believe I did hear some talk about Superintendent Trevelyan being in line for something.’
‘Would you bloody believe it?’ demanded Dover, his jowls quivering with rage and disappointment.
It wasn’t a commendation, though, sir.’
Dover clutched his head. ‘Not a cash reward?’
‘A personal letter from the Prime Minister, I think, sir.’
‘And that’s all?’
‘To the best of my knowledge, sir.’
Dover folded his arms across his chest and issued his final pronouncement, not only on the kidnappings but upon life as he saw it in general. ‘There’s no bloody justice!’ he said.
