Dover Three by Joyce Porter

Author:Joyce Porter [Porter, Joyce]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-08T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

MRS POLTENSKY found that being interviewed, while very enjoyable, was thirsty work. Completely off her own bat she suggested that the three of them might take what she called a natural break while she brewed up a cup of tea. Dover showed immediate signs of returning to life and mentioned that, owing to the nature of their work, detectives were always missing their meals and a bite to eat, if available, would be highly appreciated. Mrs Poltensky smiled approvingly and said she liked a man with a good appetite. Roguishly Dover promised to do his best to earn her affection. Mrs Poltensky giggled and said that he was a one. MacGregor winced and suffered for the frivolity of his elders.

Mrs Poltensky provided a sumptuous spread. Most of it, including the cake, had come out of the deep freeze in Mr Tompkins’s shop where she was privileged to buy at specially reduced prices.

‘I can’t see the point,’ she said as she poured out another cup of tea all round, ‘of wasting time cooking things yourself when you can get ’em ready-made, or almost, in the shops.’ She helped herself to another piece of cake. ‘They say it’s not as good as mother used to make but all I say is, you didn’t know my mother!’ She laughed comfortably.

MacGregor wiped his fingers daintily on his spare pocket handkerchief and resumed the questioning.

‘You don’t know where Mrs Tompkins was going to get this baby from, do you, Mrs Poltensky?’

‘What baby?’

‘The illegitimate baby she was going to buy.’

‘Oh, well, I’ve got an idea something had gone wrong there, too. Funny how some people never seem to have any luck, isn’t it? Mind you, she never said anything to me about it – she was never one to admit she’d made a mistake, Winifred wasn’t. It was always somebody else’s fault if anything went wrong. Tuesday, the day before she passed on, she’d been very funny. Angry, you know, but keeping it all bottled up inside her. Picking on you for every little thing just to give herself an excuse to blow off steam. Childish, I call it, but I just got on with my work and waited for it to blow over. I don’t know what made me think it was connected with that baby business, I just did, that’s all.’

Dover finished up a processed cheese sandwich which seemed to have been overlooked. ‘What about yesterday?’ he asked. ‘Mr Tompkins says that after his wife had gone to lie down he himself never went into the sitting-room.’

Mrs Poltensky considered this carefully. ‘That’s right,’ she said at last, ‘no more he did. I went in to see she’d got everything she wanted and she said she’d got indigestion and wanted a glass of brandy. I told Mr Tompkins and he gave it to me and I took it back in to her. Then he went upstairs and I got on with what I was doing. When he came downstairs again I took another peep at her.

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