An Advancement of Learning (19 page)

They looked at each other, then shook their heads.

"Sorry,' said Halfdane. ' we couldn't have been far behind you.

Why do you ask?"

"It's not important,' said Pascoe casually. He saw Ellie roll her eyes with exaggerated exasperation, but surprisingly it was Marion Cargo who made the usual complaint.

"If you people never say what it is you really want to know, how do you expect anyone to cooperate?"

"Us people?' said Pascoe looking over his shoulder as though in search of them. ', you mean me! Never'?, a bit strong to someone you've only met twice, isn't it, Miss. Cargo?"

He pulled himself up. It was foolish to let these people get up his nose. These people! There, he was doing it now. It was just that, somehow, a shared background and many shared interests seemed to separate rather than bring them closer. He might have ended up like them if ... if what? If there hadn't been something in him which made it necessary to be a policeman.

In any case, as a policeman he could be conciliatory and seek information at the same time.

"I'm sorry,' he said with his best smile. ' just wanted a word with Mr. Fallowfield, that's all, and as he's not at home, I wondered if I might have missed him in the dunes. You haven't seen anything of him today, have you?"

Again the exchange of glances and the shaking of heads.

"In that case, I'll go back and wait a bit,' he said. ' a nice swim."

He smiled once more. Ellie rolled her eyes again, but this time in a mock amazement at his performance which invited him to be amused with her. He grinned warmly. Marion remained impassive.

He had only gone a few steps when Halfdane overtook him.

"By the way, Sergeant, I wanted to have a quick word with you."

"Yes?' said Pascoe, rather brusquely he realized as he saw Halfdane's eyes narrow.

But, Christ! why did he have to be grateful just because people condescended to talk to him?

"It's probably nothing. I would have mentioned it to your superintendent, but his manner's a bit off-putting."

Suddenly Pascoe was fed up.

"What is it you want to tell me? Sir?"

"There's a lot I could tell you,' said Halfdane ironically, ' I really wanted to ask you something. In a case like this, a serious case I mean, if some minor breach of the law comes to light incidentally, while you're pursuing the important enquiry, what do you do?"

"I don't follow,' said Pascoe woodenly.

"I think you do."

"We don't make bargains. And we don't make judgments."

"No? But you pay informants, don't you?"

Pascoe shook his head, not in denial but in sheer impatience.

"Look,' he said. ' you've got information, it's your civic duty to pass it on, no matter what it is." "Get knotted,' said Halfdane, turning back to where the two women waited.

Pascoe did not wait to hear more but set off smartly back to the cottage.

"Well?' said Dalziel.

"They've seen no one." "There's none so blind,' said Dalziel. ''m beginning to think they're all in a gigantic conspiracy." "Perhaps so,' said Pascoe, trying (unsuccessfully he was sure) not to let his chief see his own annoyance at the encounter. '; where's Fallowfield? That's the big question."

"It's bigger than you think,' said Dalziel. ' and see what I've found."

He led the way into the bedroom where he had obviously done a fairly comprehensive search.

"Look,' he said, pointing into a suitcase which lay open on the bed.

In it were a flowered mini-skirt; some underwear; a pair of sandals.

Pascoe looked at the superintendent who nodded.

"They fit the description,' he said. ''d lay good money they're Anita Sewell's."

Pascoe snapped the case shut.

I'll check it out,' he said.

"Hold on a minute!' said Dalziel. ''ll keep. No, you keep on sniffing around here for a bit. See if you can do a bit of detecting for a change. You should be well up on the psychological stuff. Well, tell me what kind of person would tear up a place like this? And what kind of person would have a place like this to tear up?" "All right,' said Pascoe cautiously, uncertain how serious Dalziel was.

He went back downstairs to the living-room. Behind him he heard the bed creak protestingly. Dalziel was a great believer in taking rest when and where you got the chance. Pascoe was always ready to recognize the wisdom of others. He turned the slashed cushion of the deepest armchair upside down, gathered up an armful of paper from the floor and sat down.

Something about the drawings which defaced the walls caught his attention first. Some had been done in some kind of chalk. Bright yellow. There had been no sign of it during the search. He made a mental note to look more closely.

Other drawings and pieces of writing had been done more primitively by scoring the plaster with a sharp edged object. The brass candlestick on the mantelshelf? He stood up and looked more closely. The corners of the square base were scratched and smeared with powdered plaster.

Perhaps the chalk had just run out. It had been laid on pretty thickly.

He sat down again and began looking at the papers he held. It was a disappointing task at first. The only sheets which were not out of books were typewritten lecture notes, or at least so he assumed from the subject-matter. The books from which the majority of the pages had been ripped were again mainly text-books, easily identifiable as the pages had merely been torn whole from their covers. But here and there he noticed were smaller fragments of pages, some reduced almost to confetti, and he began to fit some of these together to see why they had been given special treatment.

It wasn't an easy task and after a few minutes he chucked the whole lot on the floor in annoyance and began to do what he ought to have done in the first place - look for book covers.

It didn't take long to sort out the odd ones - or rather the non-biological ones, for they were not particularly odd in themselves.

Huxley's The Doors of Perception, Leary's Politics of Ecstasy, Professor Thorndike's History of Magic and Experimental Science (only three volumes out of eight), Aleister Crowley's Magic in Theory and Practice and the same writer's translation of Eliphas Levi's The Key of the Mysteries, Allegro's The Sacred Mushroom and the Cross (particularly badly damaged - Pascoe could find no piece of a page larger than a postage stamp), Eros and Evil by R.E. Masters; the covers from these and a score of others on related topics Pascoe stacked in the space he cleared on the floor in front of him. He heard the stairs creak and Dalziel appeared in the doorway.

His eyebrows went up when he saw what Pascoe had been doing.

"Pornography?' he said hopefully.

"No, sir,' said Pascoe with a poorly muffled groan.

"No?' said Dalziel, poking around. ', it's odd, isn't it? A bit bent."

"I've read most of them myself,' said Pascoe challengingly.

"Still, you thought it was worth picking out this lot specially,' said Dalziel mildly. Pascoe found he didn't have a reply.

"Anything else?' Dalziel went on. '. Let's get things moving. First thing is, where's Fallowfield? Failing that, who did this lot? Perhaps he'll know where Fallow field is."

"Unless it was Fallowfield himself,' suggested Pascoe. Dalziel looked unimpressed.

To confuse the picture, I mean, while he makes off,' the sergeant added.

"But why make off at all? And he was a bit careless leaving those clothes lying around, wasn't he?"

"I suppose so."

"Still not happy?' said Dalziel sympathetically.

"Yes. That is, well, I don't know, sir. There's something ... "

"Perhaps it's the fact that two people did the wrecking that bothers you,' Dalziel went on, the sympathy oozing out now.

Oh God, thought Pascoe. I've missed something. I should have known as soon as he started sounding pleasant!

"You noticed the drawings, of course?"

"Why, yes. You mean some are done in chalk, others scratched?"

"Partly that. But have another look. It's not just the instrument, it's the style."

Pascoe looked. It might be true, though he had reservations. One piece of graffiti looked much like another to him.

"So there were two,' he said neutrally.

"But the question is, lad, together or apart? Anyway, we mustn't stand around here when there's work to be done. I'll get these clothes back to the college. You have a go at the neighbours, though I doubt they'll be any use."

"They don't seem to be in,' said Pascoe.

Dalziel looked at him pityingly.

"Of course they're not in. Only fools and policemen are inside on a day like this. Walk down the beach a bit, they're probably not far. And, Sergeant ... "

"Sir?"

"Don't let all that sunburnt flesh take your mind off the job."

Even with the jacket of his lightweight suit slung casually over his shoulder, Pascoe felt very much overdressed as he furrowed his way through the soft sand towards the sea.

He had been right, the people next door were out; but in front of the farthermost of the four cottages he found an old woman who preferred the shade cast by the afternoon sun to its direct beam. She directed him to her family who were interested but unhelpful and in their turn they directed him to Fallowfield's immediate neighbours.

There were a lot of them, three adults, one Self-consciously almost naked teenage girl, an indistinguishable number of children and a dog.

The adults it seemed were Mr. and Mrs. Plessey and another Mr. Plessey, brother to the first.

No, they hadn't seen Mr. Fallowfield all day; no, during the brief spells they had spent in their cottage that day, they had heard nothing suspicious, which was hardly surprising, thought Pascoe, listening to the din the children and the dog managed to make even while attending with great interest to what he was saying.

Finally; no, they hadn't seen anyone, suspicious or not, anywhere near the cottage that day.

Pascoe turned to go.

"Except the lady."

He turned back. It was one of the children, a happy faced boy of about six years.

"No!' said one of his fellows, a little girl slightly older, who managed to inject considerable scorn into her voice. That was at night." "Oh bother!' said the boy, smacking his left fist into his right palm with a look of mock-exasperation. ''s right. Sorry!"

He jumped on top of the dog which didn't seem to mind, and the others followed suit.

With some help from the elder Plesseys, Pascoe brought him to the surface again.

"What's your name?' he asked.

"Davy,' said the lad.

"Which night was it you saw the lady? Can you remember?" "I dunno. Last night,' he said with great charm but little conviction.

The night before last,' said the little girl with quiet certainty.

Pascoe turned his attention to her as the more reliable witness, but instantly she became shy and tongue-tied, so he went back to Davy.

"What time was it?"

"Very very late,' he said shooting a sideways glance at his mother.

"How late?" "Midnight,' he said. ' were having a midnight feast. It was her idea."

He spoke very earnestly, pointing at his sister, but spoilt it by starting to grin as his mother looked accusingly at him.

"It was nearly two-o-clock. Dark two-o-clock, I mean, not light two-o-clock."

"She can tell the time,' said Davy proudly. ''s got a clock."

"It's an alarming clock,' said the girl. ' wakes you up."

"What about this feast, Julie?' asked Mr. Plessey sternly.

"It wasn't really a feast,' protested Julie. ' should have been, but the others wouldn't wake up, only Davy."

"And the lady?' prompted Pascoe.

The lady whom they had seen going into Fallowfield's house at two o'clock on Friday morning sounded - once Julie had modified Davy's extremely sinister description very like Anita Sewell.

Happy, Pascoe offered ice-creams all round. He hadn't realized quite how many little Plesseys there were and how much the cost of ice-cream had risen since he was a boy. Perhaps, he thought not very optimistically, Dalziel would let it come out of their informant funds.

Only once more did he pause before leaving the beach. Something distantly observed from the corner of his eye tickled his consciousness.

He glanced to the side, did a double-take.

No, he hadn't been mistaken. The figure was some distance away, but quite unmistakable.

What on earth was Miss. Disney doing recumbent in all her tweedy glory among the hoi-polloi on this holiday beach?

Dalziel had initiated the hunt for Fallowfield very cautiously. For all he knew, the man was merely spending a week-end with friends somewhere, or perhaps even doing some shopping in one of the neighbouring towns. If so, he would come trotting back to Dalziel of his own accord and the superintendent had no intention of sending him to cover by advertising the eagerness of the police to interview him.

Nevertheless the wheels were set in motion, and what little information they had on the man was disseminated. It was very little indeed; there wasn't even an easily accessible photograph. In fact, the information consisted almost entirely of name, verbal description and car-make and registration number.

This last item produced almost instant results. Within the hour the car was spotted outside a garage only a few miles from the college.

Dalziel's satisfaction when this was reported to him was short-lived.

Within ten minutes it was established that the car had been left for servicing two days earlier. Fallowfield had not been back to collect it.

Going by the book, Dalziel immediately diverted more of his men to checking local car-hire services, but he felt uneasy. Checks at bus and rail stations had already proved fruitless.

Pascoe on his return from the beach had found an attentive audience as he described Fallowfield's night visitor.

"So now you think Anita didn't get killed right after the dancing party split up, but got dressed and later went to keep her appointment with Fallowfield?"

Pascoe was used to being appointed owner of theories until they became certainties, when they returned to his superior.