Page 28 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
“Oi, I’m not a celebrity.”
“Course you bleedin’ are. Front page of the local rag for saving that barmaid, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, well, you’ll notice we’re not exactly being mobbed by people asking for my autograph. Anyway, so what did you find out?”
“One or two things.” Cagey bastard.
“Come on, are you gonna tell me, or do I have to bribe you with a packet of pork scratchings?”
“It’s a serious offence, bribing an officer of the law. Better make it worth your while by adding a pint as well. Nah, only kidding, my shout. Same again?”
I then had to wait half an hour while he heaved his bulk over to the bar, waved the barman over from the other side, ordered the drinks and the nibbles, and carried them back to the table.
“You did that on purpose, you bastard,” I greeted him on his return. It wasn’t exactly a leap of logic, seeing as we both still had half our original drinks left and he hadn’t even touched his crisps.
He still didn’t say anything until he’d opened his pork scratchings and scoffed a handful, the git. “You’re fine. Never a serious suspect anyhow.”
I stared. “That’s it?”
He stared back. “What? I’m not gonna give you all the ins and outs of an ongoing police investigation. Be a breach of professional ethics, that would. I will tell you this, though. For what it’s worth, my money’s on a lover.” Dave belched and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Why? I mean, do they know for certain she had one? I mean, she was a busy lady, fingers in all sorts of pies.”
Dave snorted. “Oh yeah? Bit of a dyke on the side, was she?”
“Christ, not that kind of pie.” I sent him a look I hoped conveyed just how unimpressed I was with his so-called sense of humour. “Least, not that I’m aware of. I was just wondering if she had the time for a lover.”
“Who knows? But it’s suggestive.” Dave leaned forward, not without a bit of difficulty, and tapped the side of his nose. “Now, you didn’t hear this from me, but there were definitely circumstances suggestive of a lover spurned.”
“What circumstances? Which, obviously, I also didn’t hear from you,” I added as encouragement.
“Ah.” Dave took a long swig of beer. “Well, they got a bit of a surprise when they cut her open for the postmortem. Prize in every packet, you might say.”
“You what?”
“Whoever did her in shoved a gold necklace down her throat. Well, tried to, anyhow. Owing to the cause of death, there wasn’t a right lot of room.”
Suddenly I was ice-cold. “Diamond?” I asked, and could have kicked myself for it a moment later.
Dave stared at me. Then he put down his pint. “Bloody, bleeding bollocks.” He shook his head. “You’re going to be the death of me, Paretski, you know that, don’t you? David Southgate, tragically taken from us in his prime, predeceased by his sodding career. Come on then, out with it. What do you know about that bloody necklace?”
Look, I didn’t want to drop Vi Majors in it. But this was Dave. And, well, it was murder, wasn’t it?
“I don’t know anything,” I started. “And I’ve never even seen the sodding thing. But, well . . .”
I told him all about my first meeting with Amelia F-M., which, when you say it like that, sounds like some posh radio station for genteel young ladies. I didn’t reckon Vi would be caught dead listening to it, but then again, she wasn’t really in their demographic. Posh, yeah. Genteel? A big, fat no.
Dave heaved a sigh. “Fine. You realise I’m going to have to pass this on? And they’re going to want to talk to you again. Why the bleedin’ hell didn’t you tell them this to start with?”
“Didn’t know it was significant, did I? Shit,” I added as a thought struck. “Are you gonna get in trouble for telling me about the necklace?”
Dave stared into his pint for a minute. “Nah,” he said at last. “We’ll spin it that you and me were having a friendly chat over a pint, and you just happened to mention the victim hiring you to find a necklace. Whereupon I, seeing as how I knew stuff you didn’t, was on it like a car bonnet and got you to sing like a canary what’s won The X Factor and got top billing at the Royal Opera House.” He sat back, his expression a lot like Arthur’s after he’s managed to sneak some of Merlin’s dinner without getting caught. “That’ll do. Just don’t grass me up, and we’re golden.”
I gave him a sideways look. “So did you tell me about the necklace after I’d sung, or not?”
He sent back a look that was full-frontal and unimpressed. “Paretski, you’re the world’s worst liar, and believe me, I’ve met some fucking tragic ones in my life. Yes, I told you about the necklace, using my professional judgement to determine that sharing a confidence would persuade you a full confession was advisable. Happy?”
“Well, not with you calling it a confession. But yeah, I can work with that.”
