In fact, of course, the detective was considerably more positive and cheerful than he appeared. At that detail the comparison between man and car ceased. The Maxi did not possess a secret, more attractive, persona.
It was four o’clock in the morning. The Maxi was parked in a dark lay-by on a country road a few miles out of Bedford. The meagre moonlight outlined two figures in the front. Truffler sat in the driving seat. Beside him was Keyhole Crabbe. Both held plastic cups. Truffler’s contained coffee; Keyhole was just replenishing his with whisky. He proffered the half-bottle towards the detective.
“Sure you won’t?”
Truffler shook his large head decisively. “No, no. Driving. Wouldn’t do any good for me to get stopped – particularly with you on board.”
“No.”
“Wouldn’t do you a lot of good either, come to that. What with you being kind of ‘absent without leave’, as it were.”
“True.”
The detective took a thoughtful sip of coffee before continuing his debriefing. “So you reckon there’s a lot of them in the same position?” he asked eventually.
“Certainly four in my nick. I’ve been asking around. And, by coincidence – or possibly not by coincidence – they’re all blokes who’ve got a stash hidden away somewhere.”
“And all blokes who’ve been offered some ‘investment opportunity’ while they’re inside?”
“Right. And in each case it was Blunt who made the offer.”
“Yes…” Truffler nodded ruminatively. “He’s on a permanent tour of Her Majesty’s prisons, old Blunt, isn’t he? Short stretches here, there and everywhere.”
“Hm.”
“But I really can’t cast him in the part of the geezer who thought up the scam – if it is a scam. He hasn’t got the braincells for that kind of work. He’s just muscle. Got to be someone else behind him.”
“Right. ‘Course, the other thing all these blokes I’ve talked to in the nick have in common is that in each case their wife or girlfriend or whoever’s managed to raise fifty grand for their stake.”
“But none of them’ll tell you what the money’s for?”
“No. I’ve tried all my favourite methods of winkling it out – usually very effective they are too – but this time no dice. It’s all very secret… like they was almost embarrassed about it.”
Truffler grimaced ruefully. “The perfect con.”
“Howdja mean?”
“One of the many wise things the late Mr Pargeter told me was that the best cons’re always the ones where the people who’ve got conned are too ashamed to own up to what they done.” Keyhole Crabbe nodded agreement to this truism, as Truffler Mason went on, “Anything else your four got in common?”
The prisoner thought about his answer for a moment. “Just that they’re all in for longish stretches. None be out for another three years, anyway.”
Truffler rubbed his chin. The rasp of bristles was unnaturally loud in the silent car. “I wonder…”
A new recollection came to Keyhole. “One other thing too…”
“What’s that?”
“Couple of them mentioned that their old ladies’ve been abroad while they been inside.”
Truffler was instantly alert. “What, off with boyfriends you reckon? Doing naughties? Having it off with randy geezers who’re lining themselves up for broken legs – or worse – when the husbands get out?”
Keyhole Crabbe quickly dampened such tabloid speculation. “No, no. Nothing like that. No Roger the Lodgers involved. The husbands knew all about these trips, seemed pleased about them even.”
“But surely…”
The prisoner opened his hands wide in apology. “All I got, Truffler. Not another dickie bird. Sorry. I’ll go on probing, of course, but, like I say, they keep clamming up on me.”
“Hm.” Truffler knew his informant too well to push for more. If Keyhole Crabbe said that was all he’d got, then that was all he’d got. “Well, can’t thank you enough. Mrs Pargeter’ll be really grateful to you.”
“Least I could do for her,” Keyhole shrugged.
“I’ll follow up through my contacts in a few other nicks,” said Truffler. “See if it’s happening anywhere else.” He turned the key in the ignition, and the Maxi shuddered into asthmatic, apathetic life. “Right then, Keyhole… better get you back inside, eh?”
“Yeah.”
The car moved tentatively out of the lay-by in the direction of Bedford Prison. After a moment of silence, Keyhole Crabbe said, “On the other hand…”
“What’s that?”
“Think perhaps I should pay a call on the old lady.”
“Oh, right.”
“If it’s not out your way… not holding you up?”
“No problem.”
“It’s not for me, you understand,” Keyhole confided, “but Mrs Crabbe… well, she does like her conjugal visits.”
“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.”