Mrs. Pargeter's Plot Read Free Page B

P.? Come on, you tell Truffler.’
    â€˜Well,’ she began. ‘Well, I don’t want to take up your time if you’ve got other things on your desk that you should be—’
    With one gesture of his long sports-jacketed forearm, Truffler Mason swept everything off the dusty wooden surface. It clattered to the floor, with an effect that must have jammed the Red Indian signals’ switchboard.
    â€˜Nothing else on my desk,’ he announced with what, on a less permanently despondent face, would have been a grin.

Chapter Three
    â€˜I swear he didn’t know the body was there,’ Mrs Pargeter concluded, after describing the unpleasant discovery she’d made in what might one day become her wine cellar – assuming that she ever had a builder on site to complete it.
    â€˜But didn’t Concrete say anything to let him off the hook?’ asked Truffler. ‘He must’ve at least offered an alibi. It’s not as if he doesn’t know the score.’
    â€˜No, that was strange. He hardly said a word when the police come. Went all quiet – almost like he was afraid of something.’
    The private detective rubbed his long chin thoughtfully, as she went on, ‘Anyway, I’m sure that this killing’s not Concrete Jacket’s style. If he was going to do away with someone – and I somehow can’t imagine he ever would – but
if
he did, he’d go for a method a bit more subtle than a bullet in the back of the neck. And he’d get rid of the body somewhere way off his own patch. He knows all the rules about not fouling your own footpath.’
    â€˜He wouldn’t do it, anyway, Mrs P. – not murder. Wouldn’t do anything seriously wonky these days. Concrete’s been pretty well straight ever since your husband, er . . .’ Truffler’s words petered out in another apologetic little cough.
    Mrs Pargeter gracefully skirted round the potential embarrassment by ignoring it. ‘You’re right. He might rip off the odd sub-contractor, overcharge a client or play fast and loose with his VAT returns, but that’s normal business practice in the building trade. He’d never get involved in murder, though. No, somebody’s framed him good and proper. They knew he was going to be at the site at that time and tipped off the police. Rozzers’d got all the details – arrested him straight away, no arguments. And, of course, it doesn’t help that Concrete’s got form.’
    Truffler’s reaction was instinctive. ‘Who hasn’t?’
    The violet-blue surface of Mrs Pargeter’s eyes frosted over. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
    Truffler hastened to cover up his
faux pas.
‘No. No, of course you wouldn’t.’ A fond and misty expression spread down his long face. ‘Ah, when I think back to all those times working with your husband . . . He was a prince among men, Mrs Pargeter, a real prince.’
    Mrs Pargeter, finding the emotion contagious, nodded.
    â€˜Taught me the lot. I couldn’t be doing what I’m doing now without Mr Pargeter, you know. He taught me how to apply the talents I had to crime.’ He corrected himself. ‘The
solution
of crime, that is. No, he was a diamond.’ But this was no time for nostalgia. Truffler straightened up in his chair. ‘Police didn’t happen to let drop who the stiff was, did they?’
    â€˜No. I tried to get it out of them, but they went all very strait-laced Mr Plod on me. “We are conducting our enquiries in our own way, thank you very much, Madam, and we’re not in the habit of giving members of the public privileged information.” No sense of humour, the police, never did have.’
    â€˜Leave it with me,’ said Truffler. ‘I’ll get the full history on the dead geezer – right down to his collar size and his favourite flavour of crisps. And don’t you worry about a