Mrs Pargeter 05; Mrs Pargeter’s Plot

∨ Mrs Pargeter’s Plot ∧

Thirty-Six

The Rolls-Royce, once again gleaming and free of its wedding encumbrances, was parked on a double yellow line directly outside Bow Street Police Station. Gary drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Hedgeclipper Clinton sat tensely forward in the back seat. Even Erasmus seemed subdued. Only Mrs Pargeter was serenely relaxed, leaning back against the car’s luxurious upholstery with a vodka Campari in her hand.

“He’s been in there a long time,” Gary murmured after a silence. “You don’t think they’ve nicked him, do you?”

“What on earth could they nick him for?” asked Mrs Pargeter reasonably. “Truffler’s got no form, no previous convictions, and what he’s doing at the moment is certainly not illegal. It’s the act of a public-spirited, law-abiding citizen. The police should fall over themselves to welcome people like that. Save them a lot of effort if every member of the public started doing their job for them.”

“Hm.” Gary didn’t look entirely convinced. “I don’t know. I still don’t like it. Going voluntarily into a police station… well, doesn’t feel natural. Looks to me like asking for trouble.”

“That attitude,” said Mrs Pargeter with some asperity, “is a hangover from your past, young Gary. And it’s something you should very definitely have grown out of by now.”

“Yes, all right,” he mumbled truculently.

“Truffler’s too canny to say the wrong thing, anyway. Isn’t he?” said Hedgeclipper Clinton, without complete conviction.

“Of course he is. Honestly, what’s got into you two? You’re behaving like a pair of teenage girls at their first dance. Truffler had to see to it personally that the dossier got into the hands of the right person, and that’s what he’s doing. There won’t be any problem.”

At that moment a familiar tall figure emerged from the doors of the police station and walked in a leisurely fashion towards the Rolls-Royce.

“See?” said Mrs Pargeter.

Gary started the engine as Truffler settled into the back seat between Hedgeclipper Clinton and his employer. “They took it all right?” she asked.

“No problem,” Truffler replied.

“And you’re sure they’ll act on it straight away?”

“Oh yes. They’re raring to go. I should think a squad car’s arriving at Nigel Merriman’s office even as we speak.”

He sounded so confident, Mrs Pargeter couldn’t help asking, “What did you say?”

Truffler gave a wolfish grin. “I told them it was three certain arrests, couple of percentage points up on the local clear-up rate, and a good chance of an OBE for the officer in charge.”

“Lovely, Truffler.”

“But they can’t’ve just let you walk out. Didn’t they demand you give them a contact number?” asked Hedgeclipper Clinton, still uneasy.

“Course they did.”

“So did you give them one?”

“Course I did.”

Mrs Pargeter smiled in pleasant anticipation. “And who will they get through to if they ring it, Truffler?”

“London Zoo, Mrs P. Then they can have a chat with some of Erasmus’s relatives, can’t they?”

Mrs Pargeter chuckled as the Rolls-Royce drove off into the night.