Dover and the Claret Tappers

genuine enough,’ said Dover, who’d developed quite a soft spot for the bigamist. ‘Sounded as though he was telling the truth.’
‘He is a professional liar, of course, sir. He makes his living by deceiving people.’
‘Only a pack of silly women.’
MacGregor wasn’t so sure. ‘I imagine that yarn about being educated at Winchester must have fooled a number of men, too, sir. Or else why would he imagine that the Claret Tappers might be a bunch of old Wykehamists?’
Dover was even less au fait with the old school tie ethic than he was with sport. ‘Well, he’s not a terrorist, that’s for sure.’
MacGregor sighed. ‘No, I’m inclined to agree with you there, sir.’
‘Ho, ta very much!’
MacGregor ground his teeth, but silently. ‘Maybe we’ll have more luck this afternoon with the other one.’
Dover stopped rattling his empty glass on the table. ‘What other one?’
‘The other prisoner, sir. The Claret Tappers demanded the release of two prisoners . . . if you remember ,’
‘So where’ve we got to go this afternoon?’ whined Dover, beginning to panic at the mere prospect of work. ‘Bloody north of Scotland?’
‘Only to Holloway, sir.’ MacGregor was relieved to be the bearer of good news for a change. ‘And we can go by taxi. Commander Brockhurst said he would authorise it, just this once.’
‘I saw old Brockhurst this morning,’ said Dover gloomily. ‘We travelled up in the same lift.’
‘Really, sir?’ Commander Brockhurst must be slowing up, thought MacGregor. He usually took good care not to let Dover get within spitting distance.
‘He spoke to me,’ said Dover.
MacGregor reckoned senile decay must be setting in. ‘Er – what did he say, sir?’
Dover sagged like a partially deflated barrage balloon. ‘Only “Good morning”. I was just going to tell him exactly what I thought about the way my kidnapping was handled when we reached his floor and he got out.’
Never a dull moment, thought MacGregor.
‘The whole thing’s been a cock-up from the beginning, if you ask me,’ said Dover. ‘And now look what’s happening! First I have to go rushing off to bloody Devon and now it’s bloody Holloway. Is nobody else going to do anything? ’Strewth, they ought to be deploying every copper in the country to help nab these villains, not leaving it all to me. I mean, there’s a limit to what one man can do – however bloody willing.’
‘Several other lines of enquiry are being pursued, sir.’
Dover sniffed sceptically. ‘Such as what?’
‘Well, a nationwide search is being made for that taxi, sir, and they’re following up every report from the general public that might lead to the identification of the house in which you were detained. People are being extraordinarily helpful, sir.’
Dover dismissed all these public-spirited citizens with a rude gesture. ‘Nut cases!’
‘And of course, Special Branch are busy trying to pick up the trail of these Claret Tappers, sir. If they are a gang of terrorists, somebody somewhere must know something about them. And then . . .’
‘All right, all right!’ snarled Dover. ‘There’s no need to make a bloody meal of it!’ His face brightened suddenly. ‘And, talking of meals, how about bringing me back a few sandwiches and a couple of pies when you get me another beer?’ His glass was pushed across the table. ‘Not cheese. Cheese makes me bilious.’
MacGregor drained his own glass and stood up. In his more despairing moments he calculated that half his pay went to the upkeep of Dover’s inner man. ‘Would you like a bowl of soup to start with, sir?’
The trouble with sarcasm was that Dover never saw it. ‘Might as well,’ he said. ‘Hey, hold your horses!’ His anguished yelp stopped MacGregor in his tracks. ‘Holloway? That’s a women’s prison!’
MacGregor nodded. ‘That’s right, sir. The second prisoner is a woman. Lesley Whittacker. Your Claret Tappers had her down as Les Whittacker and it took the C.R.O. a bit to identify her. She’s doing two years for shop-lifting.’
* * *
More echoing corridors and clanging doors. This time, though, it was a woman prison officer who marched Dover and MacGregor along like a couple of defaulters.
The wardress may have looked as though she’d played Rugby League in her youth for England but, beneath that rugged exterior, there beat a heart of gold. She unlocked the door of the punishment cell which was to be used for the interview. Before she opened it she issued a word of warning. ‘You’ll have to watch her!’
MacGregor smiled. ‘There are two of us,’ he pointed out.
‘Just as well, sergeant, because she’d make mincemeat of a young lad like you if she got you on your own. I’ll be right outside if you need me but – take my advice – don’t turn your back on her!’ She Hung the door open and stood aside to let the two detectives enter. As Dover lumbered past she caught him by the sleeve. ‘Pardon me for mentioning it, dear, but have you ever thought of going on a diet?’
If she’d stripped off and done a belly dance, Dover’s eyes couldn’t have popped rounder than they did.
The woman prison officer shook her head over Dover’s paunch. ‘You do so remind me of my lather,’ she whispered sadly. ‘He was stones and stones overweight, too.’
‘But he went on a bloody diet, I suppose?’ Dover was sick of being told about these paragons who stopped smoking or eating or what-have-you at the drop of a bleeding hat.
The woman prison officer’s eyes had filled with tears. ‘Oh, no, dear! He died. Went out like a light. And the trouble we had getting that coffin round the bend in the stairs, you wouldn’t believe. It took all the paint off’ the banisters. So, do try and take some of that excess fat off’, dear, if only for the sake of those you leave behind!’
Dover was not in the best of moods when he finally elbowed his way into the interview room. That damned female screw! She wanted punching up the hooter! He was so cross that it took him