Dover Two Read online

  ‘Humph,’ grunted Dover sceptically.

  ‘I felt I had to come round this evening to see her,’ Mr Bonnington went on as he walked down the street with Dover and MacGregor. ‘I knew she would be very upset after Isobel’s death and, of course, with there being no other relations, I was afraid she would be alone in her grief.’

  ‘The parents are dead, are they?’

  ‘Oh yes, many years ago, I believe.’

  ‘This one appears to be very much older than her sister,’ said Dover.

  ‘Yes, fifteen or sixteen years, I should guess. I suppose that partly explains Violet’s devotion to Isobel. She seems to have been more like a mother to her than a sister.’

  ‘What do you think of this business of her telling the Custodian that Isobel was going to wake up any minute?’

  ‘Who knows?’ The Vicar shrugged his shoulders. ‘ I imagine her own explanation is true in part and then, I think, she was reasoning to some extent like a child. Wishful thinking, you know. The idea that if you say a thing is true, then to a certain extent, it is true. Poor woman.’

  ‘Where does the money come from?’

  ‘The Slatchers’? Oh, well, Isobel was a librarian here in the town and Violet is manageress in one of these launderette places. I think there’s a little money from the parents as well, but not much.’

  ‘Do you know Rex Purseglove?’ asked Dover, glancing sideways through the darkness at Mr Bonnington.

  ‘Oh yes, he’s one of my parishioners.’

  ‘Miss Slatcher thinks he killed Isobel, you know. D’you think he did?’

  ‘Good heavens, Chief Inspector, I hope not! What a terrible thing to suggest. I do hope you aren’t taking what Miss Slatcher said, or implied rather, in the heat of the moment seriously?’

  ‘Did he want to marry Isobel?’

  Mr Bonnington frowned. ‘Chief Inspector,’ he said evasively, ‘ one doesn’t wish to speak ill of the dead, but Isobel Slatcher was a rather forceful, even bossy, young woman. She was, too, rather over-anxious to get married. A young man like Rex Purseglove might well find himself involved in a situation to a rather greater extent than he had anticipated. I don’t honestly think he ever dreamed of marrying Isobel. After all, she was three or four years older than he is and not, I’m afraid, a very attractive girl.’

  ‘Humph,’ said Dover. ‘And what about your relations with her, Vicar? Are you married, by the way?’

  ‘I’m a widower, as it happens,’ said Mr Bonnington stiffly. ‘Though what that’s got to do with the matter, I can’t imagine.’

  ‘Might have a lot,’ replied Dover cynically. ‘Well, was she chasing after you?’

  ‘Certainly not! What on earth gave you that ridiculous idea?’

  ‘Well, she was a regular visitor at the vicarage, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Once a week for an hour on Saturday nights. She very kindly came in to give me a hand with the clerical side of my work – she typed letters and things for me. I would have preferred her to come at some other time but, of course, she had her work at the library. Seven o’clock on a Saturday evening was not,’ complained Mr Bonnington, ‘a very convenient time for me.’

  Since he had Mr Bonnington there, Dover decided to take him through his story of the shooting. Nothing much emerged that they didn’t already know from the file. The Vicar had been in his study when, a few minutes after Isobel had said good night and left the vicarage, he had heard the sound of the two shots from outside. He had hurried out of his front door and along by the high wall of his garden. Just on the corner he had found the girl and, assuming that she was dead, had rushed back to phone the police. When he returned the second time he had found Rex Purseglove hovering uncertainly beside the girl’s body.

  ‘Was there anybody else about?’ asked Dover.

  ‘Not as far as I could see. I assumed that whoever had fired the shots had run away before I got outside.’

  ‘But did nobody else hear the sound of the shots? I should have thought that in the middle of a town you’d have had a crowd round in no time.’

  ‘Well, St Benedict’s actually, Inspector, is in a rather quiet little backwater. The railway runs in a cutting on one side of Church Lane – that’s where Isobel was shot – and on the other side there’s the churchyard and the church itself, the vicarage garden which is on the corner, then the vicarage and then the church hall. It’s really quite a distance away from any houses or from the main road. It was a coldish night and dark, and the sound of the shots didn’t in fact carry as far as you might think. I wasn’t really sure I’d heard them myself. Mr Ofield was practising on the organ in the church that night and he didn’t know a thing about what had happened until he came in to Matins next morning.’

  ‘You didn’t hear anybody running away after the shots were fired?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. Of course I’d started to rush outside myself as soon as I realized what it was I’d heard.’

  ‘Hm,’ said Dover. ‘ Oh well, I expect I’ll be calling round at your place tomorrow some time – just to have a look at the scene of the crime. No doubt I’ll see you again then. Good night.’

  ‘Er, good night,’ said Mr Bonnington, not sounding overjoyed, as Dover lumbered off into the darkness with Sergeant MacGregor tagging along behind him.

  Dover was humming a merry little tune to himself as he ambled along, his bowler hat stuck jauntily at the back of his head.

  ‘Where are we going now, sir?’ asked MacGregor.

  ‘To see Rex Purseglove, my dear boy,’ beamed Dover. ‘We’ve got the case tied up, near as dammit! On the scene on both occasions, knows how to use a revolver and now a lovely, lovely motive! Either he married the fair, if elderly, Isobel Slatcher or that damsel was going to sue him for breach of promise and that would probably cost him a packet in damages and his career. We’ve got him, my lad, we’ve got him!’

  ‘But, sir…’ began MacGregor.

  ‘Now, don’t start that damned carping of yours!’ snapped Dover with a rapid return to his old manner. ‘I know a hell of a sight better than you do what a court requires in the way of proof and in due course, if necessary, I’ll get it. Should be a piece of cake now we know where to look. But we’re going along now to have another little chat with young Purseglove. What with Violet Slatcher’s story about his engagement to Isobel and a bit of the old Dover bluff, I’ll be very surprised if we can’t bash a nice little confession out of that toffee-nosed young whelp.’

  ‘But, sir …’ insisted MacGregor.

  ‘And don’t start quoting the Judges’ Rules to me, either,’ continued Dover like an irate steam-roller. ‘You young coppers pay too much attention to what’s written in books instead of using your own judgement. The only time you need bother about the Judges’ Rules is when the accused person’s likely to know more about ’em than you do. I don’t think Rex Purseglove’ll know much about ’em, so we’ll be quite safe. Besides,’ he added righteously, ‘I have no intention of breaking ’em, you know’ – he chuckled to himself – ‘only of bending ’ em a bit, eh?’

  ‘But, sir,’ said MacGregor, valiantly trying for the third time, ‘if we’re going to the Pursegloves’, there’s just one thing you ought to know.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘We’re going in the wrong direction, sir. I did try to tell you.’

  Dover stopped dead in his tracks and turned a black, furious face on his sergeant. He took a deep, deep breath.

  ‘You bloody fool!’ he said, and meant it.

  Chapter Five

  The Pursegloves had obviously not anticipated a return visit from Scotland Yard. Mr Purseglove had changed out of his best suit and was now more comfortably arrayed in a dilapidated pair of flannel trousers, brown carpet slippers and an old sweater. Highly ill-at-ease and clearly very puzzled, he showed the two detectives into the front room and then disappeared to get his son. The front room looked bleak. The curtains were not drawn and a one-barred electric fire leered inhospitably in the hea
rth. In the room next door, in which the Pursegloves obviously lived, the television was abruptly switched off in the middle of a cat-meat advertisement and there was a rustle of anxious whispering. A few moments later the family trooped in.

  Dover wrinkled his nose. He was just about to turn Mr and Mrs Purseglove out of the room when he realized that they would only listen at the keyhole if he did, so he resigned himself to letting them stay. In their anxiety to protect their son they might well let something of value slip out. While Mrs Purseglove fussed around drawing the curtains (she didn’t want the neighbours to see) and switching on the electric fire, Dover passed the time by staring fixedly at Rex Purseglove. That young man became more and more uncomfortable and more and more uncertain as to how he should behave. He had, after all, only been an officer and a gentleman for a couple of days and nobody had taught him how either of them could be expected to react when faced by a black-browed, bad-tempered, fat chief inspector from Scotland Yard. Dover noted with great satisfaction that Rex Purseglove didn’t appear to think of relying on sheer innocence to guard and guide him.

  When everybody had at last sat themselves down, Dover with great and ominous deliberation set about his questioning.

  ‘Now, Mr Purseglove,’ he began in a voice which was pregnant with menace, ‘we have just been having a word with Miss Violet Slatcher.’

  He paused dramatically. Rex Purseglove swallowed hard. His mother pursed her lips and his father started to sweat gently. Dover was delighted. He’d show’em that Superintendent Percival Roderick wasn’t the only flaming pebble on the beach!

  ‘Miss Violet Slatcher,’ he thundered ponderously on, ‘had a slightly different version of your’ (sneer) ‘ understanding with her deceased sister. She says that you and Isobel were engaged, that you wanted to break it off, and that Isobel told you that if you did, she’d sue you for breach of promise. Well?’

  It was Mrs Purseglove who answered. ‘ The spiteful old bitch!’ she said.

  ‘Oho!’ trumpeted Dover. ‘So it’s true, is it? Well, now, this puts a very different complexion on things, doesn’t it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Rex in a cracked voice.

  ‘I’ll ask the questions!’ Dover let out a roar which shook the plastic flowers on the mantelpiece. ‘Did you or did you not attempt to break off your engagement to Isobel Slatcher? And,’ he added nastily, ‘I want the truth this time!’

  Mrs Purseglove was about to chip in again but her son stopped her. ‘It’s no good, Mum,’ he said miserably, ‘I’ll have to tell ’em. It’s no good trying to hush it all up now. I’ll tell you how it was, sir,’ he spoke humbly to Dover, ‘but honestly, you’ve got it all wrong, really you have. You see what happened was like this. Last year I was stationed at RAF Himus – it’s only about forty miles from here and week-ends I used to come home. There was nothing much to do on the station at the week-end, and it wasn’t all that much better here in Curdley. Well, Sundays I used to go to church – just to please Mum, really – and I got friendly with Isobel Slatcher. You know how it is. I didn’t mean anything serious – she was just somebody to go around with. Well, after a bit she got more and more possessive and started talking about my future, and about how I ought to be trying to get on and how much a week was the marriage allowance. Well, I started to back-pedal. I’d no intention of settling down for a good bit and, you can take it from me, it wouldn’t have been with Isobel if I had! I tried to cut things off gently like, I mean, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings but, well, it wasn’t all that easy. I mean, we’d got into a sort of routine and in a small place like this you can’t just fade quietly out of the picture. You know how it is.

  ‘Then this business of trying for a commission came up and, I dunno, I suppose it just made me bring things to a head. I tried to explain to Isobel as nicely as I could that, well, my future was uncertain and I’d be going away for a good bit and, well, this was the end of the line. My God, you’d have thought the end of the world had come! She stormed the place down and accused me of everything under the sun. She started crying and carrying on about how I’d trifled with her affections and God only knows what. And I don’t mind telling you, Inspector’ – Rex shot an embarrassed glance at his mother – ‘ her affections were about all I got the chance to trifle with, if you see what I mean. She wasn’t having no funny business. She made that quite clear.’

  ‘Really, Rex!’ His mother tossed her head in indulgent reproof.

  ‘Well, that’s all there is, really,’ Rex went on. ‘I came home and told Mum what Isobel had said and she said I was well rid of her because she was too old for me anyhow. Then her sister Violet waded in and told me that I’d given Isobel to understand that I was going to marry her and she expected me to go through with it. Mum told her I wasn’t having any and then Violet started going on about taking me to court for breach of promise. I don’t mind telling you, it fair put the wind up me! I could kiss my commission goodbye if I got hauled up on a charge like that. And Mum was worried about what all her friends at the church would say and, of course, it was awful.

  ‘Well, when I came home the next week-end, the Saturday Isobel was shot, Mum and me went round to see Violet to see if we could get any sense out of her. But we couldn’t budge her, could we, Mum?’

  ‘She was like a raving lunatic,’ agreed Mrs Purseglove. ‘Of course, she’s been trying to get Isobel married for years now. Our Rex isn’t the first one she’s tried to trap into leading her to the altar. Everybody knows the pair of ’em, Isobel and Violet, thought about nothing but getting a husband for that girl. They all used to say if they didn’t try so hard, she might have had a bit more success. It puts a young chap off, you know, if people start talking about weddings the minute he says hello to a girl.’

  ‘Whose idea was it that you should go round and meet Isobel from the vicarage?’ asked Dover.

  ‘It was mine,’ said Mrs Purseglove. ‘I thought he might be able to talk Isobel round if he had her on her own – away from Violet.’

  ‘But I didn’t kill her, Inspector,’ protested Rex. ‘You must believe me. I wouldn’t have dreamt of doing anything like that.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’ asked Dover sceptically.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t, and you can’t prove that I did!’

  ‘Can’t I?’ said Dover truculently. ‘Well, we’ll see about that. The police aren’t such fools as they look, you know. We found out right away, for example’ – he watched Rex closely – ‘that Isobel Slatcher didn’t die a natural death on Friday morning. She was murdered!’

  ‘Murdered?’ cried Rex, what little colour there was left in his face draining rapidly away.

  ‘Yes, murdered!’ Dover hammered the word home. ‘Somebody went to her room in the hospital on Friday morning and killed her. Somebody who’d read in the paper that she was going to get better and might be on the point of naming the man who shot her. You, in fact!’

  ‘It’s a lie! I never touched her!’

  ‘You were alone with her in her room for three-quarters of an hour. Who else but you could have done it?’

  ‘Oh my God!’ moaned Rex, clearly on the verge of tears. ‘ It wasn’t me! I never set foot in that damned room!’

  ‘Wadderyermean?’ snarled Dover, hoping his ears had deceived him.

  ‘Look, I’ve told you what I thought about Isobel. She didn’t mean a damned thing to me, and never had. You don’t think I sat sorrowing by her bedside for three-quarters of a bleeding hour, do you? I only went to the damned hospital in the first place because Violet came round here on Thursday evening begging me to go. She was that upset and I felt sorry for her. After all, I knew she thought the world of Isobel and it seemed the least I could do. And Mum wanted me to go because Violet said the chaps from the newspapers would be there and everything.’

  ‘He put his officer’s uniform on, you know,’ said Mrs Purseglove proudly.

  ‘But you told me yourself you were alone in that room with her!’ bawled Dover, liking less an
d less the way things were shaping up.

  ‘I know I did,’ said Rex, ‘but that was before all this malarky started, wasn’t it? I didn’t know she’d been killed then, did I? Well, I do now and you’re not going to pin it on me, mate! I’ll tell you what really happened and you can check it if you like.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ threatened Dover, ‘I shall!’

  ‘Well, you go and ask Mary Horncastle about it, then. She’s the nurse who showed me up to Isobel’s room. I’ve known her for years – we went to school together. She opened the door to Isobel’s room and I just peeped in and then I went off with Mary to a little room where they keep all the dressings and things and she made me a cup of tea and I stayed chatting with her until it was time for me to go. She came down to the entrance hall with me and I was back home just before eleven, wasn‘t I, Mum?’

  ‘You were, dear,’ his mother nodded firmly. ‘And Mrs Bootle from next door was here when you come in.’

  ‘So there you are, Inspector! I don’t know who killed Isobel in the hospital on Friday, but it damned well wasn’t me, and I can prove it!’

  To say that Dover was furious would be a most unwarranted understatement. He’d had the whole thing worked out so nicely and now all his lovely theories and deductions had been kicked to pieces before his very eyes – and before those of Sergeant MacGregor, which made it even worse. This young pup Purseglove had made him look a right old fool, and while this was no novel experience for Dover, it was still an unwelcome one. He stormed and raged and bullied and browbeat, but he couldn’t shake Rex Purseglove. Of course, everything depended on whether Nurse Horncastle supported his story, but Dover knew his luck. She would!

  In the end he reluctantly acknowledged defeat and was reduced to muttering dire threats about what happened to those who hindered the police in the execution of their duty – not much consolation for a man who’d been hoping to arrest a particularly callous and persistent murderer.