Mrs Pargeter 06; Mrs Pargeter’s Point of Honour

not be as long as those handed down to the ringleaders.

And these ringleaders were of course identified in the new dossier. The mastermind behind a great many vicious crimes turned out to be Denzil – known in the underworld as ‘Palings’ – Price. And, interestingly, he had for a long time been in cahoots with a gentleman called Toby Chastaigne.

The criminal network run by these two was extensive, but, sadly from the police point of view, all of the other major players in their gang had since died. (Compiling this list of names had been Truffler Mason’s task, which he had completed with his customary efficiency. In fact, it had been easy. In the dusty chaos of his office, he kept all the back numbers of a magazine called Inside Out. Known affectionately in the underworld as ‘The Lag Mag’, this publication noted the comings and goings, releases and transfers of the country’s prison population. All Truffler had to do was to consult the ‘Obituary’ sections, and he soon had an extensive list of safely dead villains.)

The men named in the new dossier formed the core of a gang responsible for some of the most audacious criminal operations of the previous two decades, and unanswerable evidence was provided against all of them. Bringing to justice the six who were still alive would neatly tie a bow on a long series of unsolved crimes. Once they were put away, the police file on the late Mr Pargeter could be closed for ever.

The dossier took a couple of days to get right, but, when finished, it was, though Mrs Pargeter said it herself, a beautiful piece of work. She did have a momentary pang of conscience contemplating the length of the jail sentences the named men were likely to get, but then she remembered Veronica Chastaigne’s important distinction between the concepts of ‘justice’ and of ‘what’s right’. Mrs Pargeter then felt absolved from any possible blame about what she was doing.

All that remained was for Jukebox Jarvis to access the police computer once again to add a couple of refinements. This he did with no problem (invention having run out, they were back to using ‘copper’ as that day’s six-letter password).

Once inside the system, Jukebox followed Mrs Pargeter’s instructions. The text of the new dossier was copied into a secret file in the computer which sat on the desk of Inspector Craig Wilkinson.

And then there was the small matter of Sergeant Hughes… Truffler Mason had suggested, very tentatively and obliquely, that this could be a job for Vanishing Vernon or even, remembering how he got his nickname, Hedgeclipper Clinton. But Mrs Pargeter was vehemently against the idea.

Her solution to the problem was much more ingenious. Obeying her instructions, Jukebox Jarvis accessed the files of the Met’s personnel department.

A few relevant keystrokes were made, and the following Monday Sergeant Hughes started his new posting at a dog-handling unit in South Wales.

¦

One piece of unfinished business remained. She wasn’t obliged to do it, but for Mrs Pargeter it was a point of honour that she should once again speak face to face with Craig Wilkinson.

She announced herself at the station reception, and he was clearly surprised when she entered his office.

Mrs Pargeter spoke first to ease the potential embarrassment. “The circumstances of our parting last time were so abrupt that I didn’t want there to be any ill feeling between us.”

“No, no, of course not. I’m sorry. It’s something that doesn’t very often happen to me, but I just got the wrong end of the stick.” This wasn’t a deliberate lie on the Inspector’s part; he did just genuinely lack self- knowledge.

“The other thing was –” – Mrs Pargeter placed Sergeant Hughes’s folder on the desk – “you left this behind in the restaurant. I’ve no idea what’s in it – ” (now that was a deliberate lie) “but I’m sure it’s important.”

“Well, yes, yes, it could be.” In spite of Sergeant Hughes’s furious questions about where the dossier was, Wilkinson had been too deeply sunk in his own gloom to think much about it.

“Mind you, these days losing a copy of a document’s not such a problem as it used to be. Presumably you have the text on your computer, don’t you?”

“Er, well…” The Inspector looked across at the alien keyboard and monitor on a small table on the other side of the room. Its layer of dust showed how often it got used. In Wilkinson’s oft-stated, Luddite view, “A good copper doesn’t need computers. A good copper works by instinct and intuition.”

“Actually, in this case,” he went on, “most of the research for that dossier was done by my junior, Sergeant Hughes.”

“But he’d probably have sent a copy to your computer, so that you could check it.”

“I’m not sure that he would. He’s a rather secretive type, Hughes. Likes to keep things to himself.”

“Surely, though, when working with someone of your eminence and track record, Craig, he’d know that it was his duty to share everything with you.”

“Well, maybe…”

“I bet you’re just being modest. I bet there’s a copy of his work on your computer, and you’ve added all kinds of refinements and clever bits to it.”

Inspector Wilkinson chuckled. “I suppose you could be right.”

“I bet all the original thinking in there comes from you, not from Sergeant Hughes at all.”

He nodded modestly. “Yes, it probably does.”

Mrs Pargeter had been right. She’d reckoned, in Inspector Wilkinson, she was up against one of those bosses who, whatever had been the provenance for a good idea, would always claim it as their own.

“Anyway,” she went on, “I really just wanted to bring this back to you and, you know, say I’m sorry that we couldn’t work anything out on…” she blushed coyly “… the other business.”

“Think nothing of it, Mrs Pargeter. I’ve come to terms with the truth now. I am just destined to be a failure in my private life.”

“But –” – she tapped the dossier meaningfully – “destined to be a huge success in your professional life.”

He gave a self-depreciating shrug. “Ooh, I don’t know about that.”

“Well, I do,” Mrs Pargeter asserted. “And what’s more, I don’t like you saying you’re a failure in your private life… at least not so far as I’m concerned. I told you – you’re a very fine man. And,” she lied, “I’m sure I could be very attracted to you, were it not for the fact…”

“That you’re still in love with one of the finest, most honest men who ever walked God’s earth…”

“I’m afraid that’s it, yes.”

Wilkinson chuckled. “… even if he did share a surname with someone of rather less respectable reputation.”

Mrs Pargeter joined in the joke. Then she gathered herself together, preparatory to leaving. “Well, I do hope we’ll meet again, Craig.”

“Yes. Maybe finish that rather splendid dinner at my favourite restaurant that you never got round to the other night…?”

She let out a gentle laugh. “Ye-es. Or perhaps you’d like to come to Greene’s Hotel instead.”

“One or the other, eh?”

“No,” she said firmly. “Greene’s Hotel.” She rose from her chair. “Well, I must be off. You just concentrate on that very clever dossier you’ve worked out.”

Inspector Wilkinson nodded. “I might just have another look at it, yes.” As she had known it would, the idea planted in his mind had grown, and he was now almost convinced that the dossier was all his own work.

“See you again soon, Craig,” said Mrs Pargeter as he led her to the door. She stopped to give him a gentle peck on the cheek. “I’m just so sorry that it couldn’t work out… you know, you and me.”

“Yes, well…” He shrugged manfully at the sadnesses of life. “There you go.”

“Mmm.”

“And, incidentally, Mrs Pargeter, if there’s ever anything I can do for you… any information on police matters… professional advice… whatever… even top-secret stuff… well, you only have to ask.”

“Do you know, Craig…” said Mrs Pargeter thoughtfully, “I might just take you up on that.”