Dead Easy for Dover

ten years ago, and hardly any buses. None that’d get her here at that time of night, anyhow. On the other hand, if she’d come in her own car, even the police would have found it by now, wouldn’t they? A strange car, parked all this time in a small village . . . Well, that’s when I started thinking about walking.’
‘I wish you would!’ growled Dover in an aside pitched to be heard.
‘And that's why I mentioned her being wet, but not too wet.’ Mr Plum seemed to be expecting some kind of response and was obviously disappointed when it didn’t come. ‘It was raining cats and dogs that night, you see,’ he continued sullenly. ‘If she’d done the three miles from Chapminster, say, on foot, she’d have been soaked to the skin. But, like I said, she was just wet.’ MacGregor didn’t like being rude to people. ‘And what’s your explanation, sir?’ he asked out of the kindness of his heart.
‘I came to the conclusion that she’d been hitch-hiking. She probably got to Chapminster by train or coach and then got a lift from a passing motorist or lorry driver as far as Frenchy Botham.’
Dover proceeded to wipe the smile of quiet satisfaction right off Plum’s face. ‘’Strewth,’ he said disgustedly, ‘she could have hitch-hiked from Timbuktu for all you know. Or landed from a bloody flying saucer. Or been driven here by her murderer who knocked her on the head and drove away again. There could be a thousand explanations. Look,’ – having eaten and drunk everything in sight, Dover was beginning to get bored — ‘speed it up, will you? Stick to the facts and leave the clever stuff to us.’ MacGregor hastened to smooth things over as Mr Plum seemed to be turning a rather appropriate colour. ‘You asked the girl what she wanted,’ he prompted.
‘That’s right,’ agreed Mr Plum sourly. He was taking a good hard look at Dover, as if seeing for the first time what an ill-natured, scruffy old devil he really was. ‘Yes, I asked her what she wanted – meaning to drink, of course – and she says can I tell her where The Grove is. No “please” mind you. Kids, these days! Well, to cut a long story short, I told her. Simple enough. Out of the pub, turn right and The Grove’s the second road on the left. Five minutes walk and you can’t miss it. She thanked me, turned on her heel and walked out.’
MacGregor studied his notes. ‘Did you see her again?’
‘No. But it is her, isn’t it? I mean, the description fits and everything, doesn’t it? I know,’ explained Mr Plum a trifle obscurely, ‘one of the sergeants who saw the body.’
It is not a detective’s job to answer questions, and MacGregor ignored those from Mr Plum. ‘And she definitely had a handbag?’
‘Definitely.’
‘And when was it exactly that you saw this girl?’
‘Ten days ago,’ said Mr Plum without hesitation. ‘Wednesday, the twelfth.’
Dover stuck his oar in again. Although he was always complaining about witnesses who could never remember anything, he got highly suspicious about those who did. ‘You must get thousands of people in your boozer,’ he said accusingly. ‘How come you’ve got this girl so clear in your mind?’
Mr Plum could almost feel the noose being slipped over his head. ‘I don’t quite know,’ he admitted uneasily. ‘Of course, we don’t see that many unaccompanied young girls of her age coming in. More’s the pity, eh?’ This feeble attempt at humour fell on four very stony ears. Mr Plum hurried on. ‘I think it must have been her asking about The Grove that made me remember her. I mean, The Grove’s very posh. All good solid houses standing in their own grounds. Not her style at all. I did keep my ears open for the next couple of days or so, in case there was any gossip going around. But there wasn’t. Then I forgot all about her until this body turned up.’
MacGregor looked across at Dover to see if he’d had enough. If the scowl and the protruding bottom lip were anything to go by, he had. ‘Well, thank you very much, Mr Plum. You’ve been a great . . .’
But Mr Plum couldn’t afford to be brushed off like that. He’d got his customers to think of. They’d expect him to be hand-inglove with these Scotland Yard detectives and in a position to retail all the news straight from the horse’s mouth. ‘You do see what this means, don’t you?’ he asked anxiously. ‘It’s not just accidental that her body was found in The Grove. She was visiting somebody there and, if you ask me, whoever that somebody was, they’re the ones who killed her. It narrows your investigation down to no more than five houses! You don’t have to go looking over the entire country for your murderer. He’s right here, in this village. In one road in this village! Why, there can’t be more than a dozen people who . . .’
‘What time’s supper in this dump?’ If there was one thing Dover couldn’t stand it was amateur detectives trying to muscle in on the act.
It took Mr Plum a second or two to get his bearings again. ‘Well, whenever you like, squire. Likewise with all your meals. Inspector Walters warned us when he booked your rooms that food would be a problem, what with you keeping such irregular hours. He said you’d be working so hard that you’d just have to snatch your meals as and when you could.’
Dover’s face crumpled in a grimace of shock and horror. ‘With my stomach?’ he howled indignantly. ‘What are you trying to do? Finish me off? Now, listen, mate,’ – he addressed Mr Plum with more concern and involvement than he’d shown throughout the entire interview – ‘and get this straight! I don’t want any messing about with my meals. Savee? I want ’em hot, nourishing, on the dot – and plenty