Dead Easy for Dover

and hovered uncomfortably between being a trendy young man and someone who epitomized all the good, old-fashioned, solider virtues. ‘I expect the kids will come piling in as well, but I don’t suppose that matters. They’re all far too young to realize what’s going on but we make a point of involving them in all aspects of family life.’
There were, as it turned out, no less than three little Boneses, all under the age of four. The baby, Amaryllis, was deposited on a rug in front of the fire while the two older children, Ignatia-Jane aged two and Wayland aged three and a half, made a beeline for Dover. Both they and their parents were happy and secure in the knowledge that all the world loved kiddies.
MacGregor gave all his attention to the conduct of the questioning and resolutely pretended not to notice what was going on on the other side of the room.
‘A week last Wednesday?’ echoed Peter Bones. ‘I’ll have to check with my diary. Wayland, old man,’ he called as he got a slim, gold-cornered engagement book out from an inside pocket, ‘don’t keep putting those rusks in the nice gentleman’s pockets, especially when you’ve been sucking them! Ah, yes’ – he nodded at MacGregor as he found the appropriate day – ‘well, you can cross me off your list, sergeant! That was the evening we entertained my boss and his wife to dinner.’ He chuckled and tucked his diary away. ‘And that was a social engagement, I can promise you, that left me very little time for going around and committing murder!’

6
Dover was relieved to hear that disposing of the Boneses as murder suspects was going to be a mere formality. Never much in the way of being a child lover, he was finding the two Bones brats something of a trial and would have brought the proceedings to a much earlier conclusion if the ample nursery tea hadn’t proved more of a temptation than he could resist.
MacGregor took down the name and address of Peter Bones’s boss so that the events of the evening in question could be confirmed if necessary at a later date.
Peter Bones was wonderfully relaxed about the whole thing. ‘The Bickertons arrived at about seven o’clock, or maybe a minute or two later. They came by car, of course. Joe drives to their engagements as a rule, and Alice drives them home afterwards. She’s not much of a drinker, you see.’
‘She’s not much,’ murmured young Mrs Bones, ‘of anything, come to that.’
‘Claws in, my darling!’ Peter Bones accompanied this advice with a humourless smile. He turned back to MacGregor again. ‘My wife and I were busy dressing for at least half an hour before the Bickertons arrived and we’d borrowed Mrs Plum from The Laughing Dog to cook the dinner for us. These do’s are no fun for Maddie if she’s got to spend the whole evening over a hot stove.’
‘These do’s are no fun for Maddie, period!’ said Mrs Bones in a sour aside. Her voice softened. ‘Wayland, darling, I do hope I didn’t see you spitting in nice Mr Dover’s cup just then!’
The infant tearfully and indignantly protested his innocence and the matter was allowed to drop. The Boneses didn’t believe in nagging. Only Dover seemed to be looking for more reassurance than the child’s unsupported word.
Peter Bones was anxious to get on with his story. ‘Actually we were making a bit more of a fuss than usual,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘The truth is that I’m in line for a pretty big promotion and old Bickerton will have the final word. He’s told me himself that my work’s well up to scratch, but I know he’s very keen on executives having a good solid home life at the back of them. He doesn’t care for people who go racketing around. It may sound rather old fashioned but there’s no doubt about it, a wife and family do give a chap something to sort of work for. They make him knuckle down to it and start thinking about the future. Most big firms these days like to have a look at a chap’s home environment.’
‘Actually, it’s called “vetting the wife”,’ explained Mrs Bones in a bored drawl. For some reason she appeared to be in the grip of a desire to embarrass her husband, and MacGregor began to wonder if the marriage really was as domestically idyllic as had at first appeared.
‘Was there anybody else in the house, sir? I’ve got you and Mrs Bones, the Bickertons, and Mrs Plum in the kitchen. Is that the lot?’
‘Well, the children, of course.’
‘I was thinking more of grown-ups, sir.’
‘There was Blanchette,’ said Mrs Bones, elaborately off-hand.
‘Blanchette?’
Peter Bones took time off to glare at his wife. ‘Blanchette Foucher, sergeant. She’s our au pair girl.’
‘Amongst other things,’ murmured Mrs Bones.
MacGregor wrote the name down. ‘And she was in the house the night the Bickertons dined with you? Did she eat with you?’
‘No.’
‘Where is she at the moment, by the way?’
‘She takes a couple of hours off on a Sunday afternoon. Goes for a walk or something. She should be back in half an hour or so if you want to have a word with her.’
MacGregor made another note and then got down to some brass tacks. ‘Did anybody else call at the house that night, apart from the Bickertons?’
‘No.’ The Boneses’ reply came in duplicate.
MacGregor produced his photograph of the dead girl. ‘Have either of you ever seen her before?’
Neither of them had.
‘Suppose,’ MacGregor went on thoughtfully, ‘somebody called at the house during the evening. Could anybody have answered the door without the rest of you knowing?’
The Boneses exchanged glances.
‘I shouldn’t have thought so,’ said Peter Bones at last. ‘Our front door bell’s awfully loud. Has to be because of the row the kids make.’
‘It was a pretty stormy night, though, wasn’t it? And noisy?’
‘Yes,’ Peter Bones broke off to warn young Wayland of the dangers inherent