“Sure.”
“So, Truffler, if you can take me back to the old domestic nest, and then if you don’t mind hanging about and having a cup of tea…”
“No problem. I’ll be happy to sit around for an hour or so.”
“Hour or so?” an appalled Keyhole Crabbe echoed. “Give us a break, Truffler. Ten minutes’ll be fine.”
¦
Truffler Mason had driven straight on from Bedford, and arrived in time to join Mrs Pargeter for the Greene’s Hotel ‘Full English Breakfast’. They both ordered everything, and she insisted they should wait till the toast and marmalade stage before talking business.
After Truffler had brought her up to date with Keyhole Crabbe’s investigations, Mrs Pargeter poured some more coffee for both of them, and sat back thoughtfully. “If it is a con… presumably whoever’s taking the money is going to be well away before all the lags who’ve paid up come out of prison.”
“I’d have thought so,” Truffler agreed. “Why else would Blunt only have targeted the ones doing longish stretches?”
She drummed her fingers on the table. “I wonder what it is he’s been offering them?”
“And on whose behalf he’s been offering it?”
“Yes. Maybe Lady Entwistle’ll hear something more from Clickety Clark, though I’m not sure she will. I’d’ve expected someone like that to be quicker off the mark in his follow-up…”
Truffler Mason shook his head with foreboding. “I still wish you hadn’t done that, Mrs P.”
“What?”
“The false identity, Lady Entwistle routine. Clickety Clark’s quite a canny operator. I’ve a nasty feeling you may’ve put him on his guard by doing that.”
“Nonsense,” said Mrs Pargeter breezily. “He didn’t suspect a thing.”
Truffler was not convinced. “Well, I hope you’re right.”
“Course I am. And I know what we’re going to have to do next – go straight to the source, talk to Blunt. That’s the only way we’re going to find out anything. He’s not inside at the moment, is he?”
“No. For once, he’s actually at large. Which must make quite a change for him. As we found out from Ricky Van Hoeg, our man’s been in and out like a yo-yo last couple of years.”
“All different prisons, weren’t they?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And all short sentences?”
“That’s right.” The detective caught something in his employer’s tone and looked at her shrewdly. “What’re you suggesting?”
“Just that his sequence of sentences might have been a deliberate policy. Sort of sales trip, you could say…”
“Hadn’t thought of that, Mrs P., but it makes good sense.”
“Also the fact that he’s not inside now might mean things’re coming to a head.”
“How do you mean?”
“Sales trips successfully completed – Blunt and his mates have creamed off all the loot they reckon they’re going to get – next thing they’ll do is make off with it.”
“You could be right.”
“Which makes it all the more urgent that we find Blunt before they leave the country.”
“Yes,” Truffler agreed grimly. “I got some leads. Contacts I can check up on through my filing system. Or I can get more details from Ricky Van Hoeg if I need them. He can put out one of his requests for info on the Internet. Don’t you worry, Mrs Pargeter, I’ll track Blunt down for you.”
“Good. The next thing we must do is –”
She was stopped in mid-sentence by the appearance in the dining room of an obsequious Hedgeclipper Clinton. In his hand was a mobile phone. The only detail that once again let down his elegant image was the marmoset on his shoulder.
“Mrs Pargeter,” the hotel manager rippled subserviently, “I’m so sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but there’s a lady on the telephone asking for you. I wouldn’t normally have butted in…” He put his hand discreetly over the receiver and breathed, “… but she does sound very distressed.”
“Thank you,” said Mrs Pargeter, taking the phone. “Hello? Tammy?”
An expression of horror transformed her normally benign features. “What! Don’t worry, we’ll be there straight away!”
? Mrs Pargeter’s Plot ?
Twenty-Three
The discordant decorative styles of the Jackets’ home somehow made the devastation even more shocking. The multicoloured windows had been smashed; wallcoverings of hessian, flock and vinyl had been slashed; the panelling and extensive range of doors had been splintered by sledgehammer blows. The artex ceilings and swirly carpets had been sprayed with unspeakable fluids. The floor was a Dresden of contorted wrought-iron, shattered onyx and the shards of glass figurines.
Tammy Jacket’s personal decor – on this occasion an electric blue angora sweater, silver leather mini-skirt, tartan tights and gold pixie boots – was in perfect order, but she looked at least as devastated as her house. She stood in the fractured doorway to her beloved sitting room, her sobbing only quietened by the reassurance of Mrs Pargeter’s plump arm around her waist. Truffler Mason picked his way delicately through the debris on the sitting- room floor.
“It’s so awful,” Tammy murmured. “All our lovely things.”
Mrs Pargeter was far too tactful to question the description. Instead, she stroked soothingly as she said, “Yes, I know. But at least thank goodness you weren’t here.”
“No, but the next time I might be. I can’t…” The thought was too much, and the intensity of Tammy’s sobbing once again increased.
“It’s all right, love,” Mrs Pargeter murmured. “You’ll be all right. Truffler…” she called into the sitting room.
He turned round at her summons and raised a lugubrious eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I’m going to take Tammy away. Take her somewhere safe.”
He nodded. “Good idea. I’ll have a nose round here for a bit.”
As the rhythm of Tammy’s sobbing became more even, Mrs Pargeter once again looked around the bomb site that had been a sitting room. “Do you reckon it was just random destruction, Truffler? Or someone giving Tammy some kind of warning?”
He shook his head. “No. I think they was definitely looking for something.” He turned to Tammy with surprising gentleness. “That list you give me… you reckon it was everything?”
She sniffed to regain control of herself. “Everything valuable, yes. I mean, everything Concrete and I would consider to be valuable.”
It crossed Mrs Pargeter’s mind that these two definitions might not in everyone’s mind coincide, but she suppressed the disloyal thought.
Tammy Jacket shook her shoulders purposefully. “I must go and repair my make-up. Then we’ll be off, will we, Mrs P.?”
“Yes. Off somewhere safe, where you won’t have to worry about a thing.”
“Great.” Tammy paused at the foot of the stairs. “Bless you,” she said before she disappeared. “Both of you.”
Mrs Pargeter moved closer Truffler and surveyed the devastation. “Blunt, do you reckon?”
The detective nodded decisively. “Has all the hallmarks of his subtlety, yes. I’d put money on it.”
“Hm. Makes it all the more important we find him… before he does any more harm.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get him. Soon as I’m back in the office, I’ll go through my files. I’ll track him down all right, and see he’s stopped from doing any more mischief.”
