And Thereby Hangs a Tale

Once the prison chaplain had delivered his regular sermon on repentance and forgiveness, followed by the final blessing, the cons began to make their way slowly out of the chapel and back to their cells.

“Can you spare me a moment, Friedman?” asked the chaplain after Benny had handed in his hymn sheet.

“Of course, Father,” said Benny, feeling a moment of apprehension that the chaplain might ask him to sign up for his confirmation class. If he did, Benny would have to come clean and admit he was Jewish. The only reason he’d ticked the little box marked C of E was so he could escape from his cell for an hour every Sunday morning. If he’d admitted he was a Jew, a Rabbi would have visited him in his cell once a month,

because not enough Jews end up in prison to hold a service for them.

The chaplain asked Benny to join him in the vestry. “A friend has asked to see you, Benny. I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes.” He closed the vestry door and returned to those repenting souls who did want to sign up for his confirmation class.

“Good morning, Mr. Matthews,” said Benny, taking an unoffered seat opposite the detective inspector. “I had no idea you’d taken up holy orders.”

“Cut the crap, Friedman, or I may have to let your wing officer know that you’re really a Jew.”

“If you did, Inspector, I’d have to explain to him how I’d seen the light on the way to Belmarsh.”

“And you’ll see my boot up your backside if you waste any more of my time.”

“So, to what do I owe this pleasure?” asked Benny innocently.

“Has he sold the diamonds?” asked Matthews, not wasting another word.

“No, Inspector, he hasn’t. In fact, he claims they’re still in his possession. The story about selling them for half a million was just a smokescreen.”

“I knew it,” said Matthews. “He would never have sold them for so little. Not after all the trouble he went to.” Benny didn’t comment. “Have you managed to find out where he’s stashed them?”

“Not yet,” said Benny. “I’ve got a feeling that might take a little longer, unless you want me to—”

“Don’t press him,” interrupted Matthews. “It’ll only make him suspicious. Bide your time and wait for him to tell you himself.”

“And when I’ve elicited this vital piece of evidence, Inspector, I’ll get two years knocked off my sentence, as you promised?” Benny reminded him.

“Don’t push your luck, Friedman. I accept that you’ve earned a year off, but you won’t get the other year until you find out where those diamonds are. So get back to your cell, and keep your ears open and your mouth shut.”

It was on a Saturday morning that Bryant asked Benny, “Have you ever fenced any diamonds?”

Benny had waited weeks for Bryant to ask that question. “From time to time,” he said. “I’ve got a reliable dealer in Amsterdam, but I’d need to know a lot more before I’d be willing to contact him. What sort of numbers are we talkin’ about?”

“Is ten mil out of your league?” asked Bryant.

“No, I wouldn’t say that,” said Benny, trying not to rise, “but it might take a little longer than usual.”

“All I’ve got is time,” said Bryant, slipping back into one of his long, contemplative silences. Benny prayed that it wasn’t going to be another six weeks before he asked the next question.

“What percentage would you pay me if I let you fence the diamonds?” asked Bryant.

“My usual terms are twenty percent of the face value, strictly cash.”

“And how much do you sell them on for?”

“Usually round fifty percent of face value.”

“And how much will your contact make?”

“I’ve got no idea,” said Benny. “He doesn’t ask me where it comes from, and I don’t ask him how much he makes out of it. As long as we all make a profit, the less anyone knows the better.”

“Does it matter what kind of stones they are?”

“The smaller the better,” said Benny. “Always avoid the big stuff. If you brought me the Crown Jewels, I’d tell you to fuck off, because I’d never find a buyer. Small stones aren’t easy to trace, you can lose them on the open market.”