“. . . the chuckles are nonstop, and the presence of Dover is bracing. Long live the irascible (even if he overeats) Chief Inspector.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“More humor with a twist of bitter lemon for series fans.”
—Library Journal
“Chief Inspector Dover is the antithesis of Sherlock Holmes.”
—Mostly Murder
“Joyce Porter has created a character almost (literally) larger than life or at least in girth. The sidesplitting but elaborately plotted mysteries embroiling Dover and MacGregor start with Dover One, Dover Two, and Dover Three. Don’t miss any of them.”
—Mystery Scene
“ . . . Dover is the flip side of Nero Wolfe: uncouth, inept, totally gross-and totally hilarious.”
—Drood Review of Mystery
“You can’t like Dover, but you will be fascinated by his sheer, dazzling incompetence. Miss Porter makes adroit use of this; she has a keen eye, a wicked sense of comedy, and a delightfully low mind.”
—John Dickson Carr, Harper’s
Having survived a kidnapping and various other indignities in Dover and the Claret Tappers, Chief Inspector Dover, Scotland Yard’s “most unwanted man,” is called to action (!) once again, along with his ever-unwilling assistant, MacGregor. The naked, burned, and mutilated body of a middle-aged man has been found. When the autopsy reveals a very peculiar clue in the victim’s stomach, the detectives set off on a trail that leads them to a squalid resort—Rankin’s Holiday Ranch at Bowerville-by-the-sea. A mysterious organization, they learn, convened there recently, and its members must dutifully be checked out.
What begins with routine inquiries, however, brings Dover and MacGregor smack into the midst of an undercover, Special Branch investigation of a demented, right-wing, secret society called the Steel Band. Never before has Dover been in such an equivocal spot. Though a vicious murder cries out to be solved, one does not tamper lightly with the delicate and risky operations of State Security. The problem is, one doesn’t readily tamper with Dover’s legendary inertia either.
JOYCE PORTER (1924-1990) was born in Marple, Cheshire, and educated at King’s College, University of London. In addition to the Dover mysteries, she was the author of a series featuring secret agent Eddie Brown, and another about the “Hon-Con,” a gentlewoman/detective. She lived in Wiltshire, England.
Other Chief Inspector Wilfred Dover Novels
From Foul Play Press
Dover One
Dover Two
Dover Three
Dover and the Unkindest Cut of All
Dover Goes to Pott
First U.S. Edition. 1991
Copyright © 1976 by Joyce Porter
First published in Great Britain by Redwood Burn Limited
Library’ of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Porter, Joyce.
Dover beats the band / by Joyce Porter,
p. cm.
ISBN 0-88150-195-6
I. Title.
PR6066.072D7 1991
823’.914–dc20
90–26779
CIP
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and
retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher,
except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages.
Printed in the United States of America
A Foul Play Press Book
The Countryman Press, Inc.
Woodstock, Vermont
05091
For Donna Bradbrooke,
with kindest regards
One
‘And I’ll tell you something else for free,’ growled Detective Chief Inspector Dover, speaking straight from his stomach. ‘I can do without looking at nasty messes like this right after my bloody lunch!’
The small group of men, gum-booted and with their coat collars turned up against the biting wind, exchanged glances. They could hardly quarrel with the sentiment expressed; it was just that it sounded rather odd coming from the lips of a member of Scotland Yard’s Murder Squad.
‘It is a bit unpleasant, sir,’ agreed Inspector Telford after a pause.
‘Unpleasant?’ sneered Dover through the grubby handkerchief he had clamped over his mouth and nose. ‘It’s bloody horrible! I could throw up right now without thinking twice about it.’
‘Well, if you’ve seen all you want to, sir, we might as well go over to the Operations Room we’ve set up in that caravan over there. . .’
Detective Chief Inspector Dover was already under way. Although a man of considerable – not to say excessive – bulk, he was extremely nippy where his own personal convenience and comfort were concerned. He plunged ahead now, slipping and stumbling across the unsavoury expanse of Muncaster’s municipal rubbish dump, parts of which were still smoking obscenely in the icy drizzle. Inspector Telford strode along more athletically in the rear. He was the representative of the local police force who had been detailed to act as liaison officer to the two bigwigs who’d come down from London to take over the investigation. Inspector Telford had already spent several hours on and around the huge rubbish dump – ever since the two labourers from the Sanitary Department had first reported finding the body, in fact – and he wasn’t at all sorry to be getting away from the stink himself for a bit.
The third member of this little retreating group was Detective Sergeant MacGregor, Chief Inspector Dover’s assistant, dog’s-body and general whipping boy. Being a conscientious police officer as well as a handsome and personable young man, he was the only one who regretted having to leave the scene of the crime. The naked body of the dead man with its blackened and disfigured head and shoulders was not a pretty sight, but it warranted more than the cursory glare it had got from Dover. Without a doubt, murder had been committed and it was the duty of every detective to knuckle down and bring the perpetrator to justice. Still, for the time being MacGregor had no choice but to follow his lord and master so he salved his conscience by bestowing an encouraging smile on the bunch of uniformed constables who were left poking sullenly around in the steaming rubbish for clues.
As they approached the edge of the dump, which was luckily not more than a dozen or so yards away, Inspector Telford put a spurt on and caught Dover up.
‘This is where they must have broken through, sir,’ he said helpfully, indicating a stretch of the barbed-wire fencing which had been carefully roped off. ‘They cut the wire there,
