An Advancement of Learning (24 page)

"Now, did you touch anything in here?"

"Well, yes. I mean I had to. I touched him, Mr. Fallowfield, just once.

And I moved the chair back when the ambulance men came. And I touched the light switch."

"But you didn't remove anything? A piece of paper or anything at all?"

"No!' she said with some indignation.

"I have to ask,' he said. ' for instance he had tried to kill himself, and left a note it would be wrong of anyone to remove it, even if it was addressed to some specific person. You follow me?"

"I've overtaken you,' she said, recovering her spirits now. ' I haven't taken anything." "Good-oh,' said Dalziel making a minute examination of the room but touching as little as possible. He ended up on his hands and knees peering under and around the desk.

There was a clatter of feet on the stairs and Pascoe came into the laboratory, halting outside the storeroom and looking down at his superior's proffered backside with an impassive face.

Dalziel stood up, dusting his elbows and knees. In his hand he held a broken hypodermic syringe which he wrapped carefully in his handkerchief, ignoring Sandra's questioning gaze.

"What's going on outside?"

There's still a lot of people standing around, chatting, but the revolutionary spirit seems to have evaporated for the time being."

He caught Sandra's eye and grinned sympathetically. She looked away.

"Is this where he ... ?"

"Whatever happened to Mr. Fallowfield probably happened here,' said Dalziel carefully. ''ll want this room sealed off until the lab boys can have a look at it. I'd better have your keys I think, Miss. Firth."

She passed them over without demur and he locked both the storeroom door and the laboratory door behind them. On the stairs they met one of the uniformed men from the car. He looked apologetic.

"I know you said wait, sir, but after the ambulance ... well, we thought one of us should take a walk down. It might have been for you."

"Sorry to disappoint you, lad. As you're so keen, you can bloody well stay here. No one gets into this block without my say-so. Right?"

They made their way back towards the old house, ignoring the groups of students and of staff with fine impartiality. Once back in the study, Dalziel gestured towards the phone.

"Is that thing OK?"

Pascoe lifted the receiver and listened.

"Yes. There's an outside line."

"Get the hospital. Find out what's what."

Outside the door they heard voices raised in heated discussion. The door was suddenly opened and a little, balding man strutted in, pushing past Landor.

"Superintendent Dalziel? We met briefly the other day, you'll recall.

I'm Douglas Pearl and I'm here to represent ... "

"Pearl?' bellowed Dalziel, successfully bringing the little man to order; then more quietly, '. Well, Mr. Pearl, the swine you wish to cast yourself before have rushed off elsewhere."

"Mr. Dalziel! I must protest ... "

"So must I. You weren't asked in here. Well, what is it, Pascoe? Spit it out, man." "He's dead,' said Pascoe slowly, replacing the receiver. ''s dead. On arrival."

The words engendered a silence which spread through the room and out into the hallway beyond.

"How?' asked Dalziel, no respecter of respect.

"It's early to say with certainty,' replied Pascoe. ' they're pretty sure it's a massive overdose of heroin."

Chapter 15.

There is no greater impediment of action than an overcurious observance of decency.

SIR FRANCIS BACON Op. Clt.

Sunday morning dawned fine; had been dawning fine before most people in the college got to bed. The scent of the sea was in the air, evocative, invigorating; but it was obviously going to become over-warm later.

Pascoe thought he was probably the first person out of bed, but he gave all the credit for this to the makeshift arrangement of blankets and narrow mattress on which he had finally slept in the study. It was an unnecessary precaution, he was sure, but Dalziel had been adamant. Sheer jealousy, thought Pascoe gloomily.

He decided no harm could be done by having a quick shower and shave. He felt disagreeably grubby and dull witted.

When he returned, he saw that he was no longer alone in the world. Ellie was standing outside the main door of the old house and he felt a gush of pleasure that she had come so early to see him. Then he saw that she was pinning something to the door. A notice. He came up behind her without being observed and coughed gently. She jumped very satisfactorily.

"Oh,' she said. ''s you." "Good morning,' he said reading the notice. It was typewritten and had obviously been run off from a stencil on a duplicating machine.

We the undersigned members of staff dissociate ourselves completely from the high-handed and provocative actions of the police force last night '"

It was dated and signed by about ten people. Some of them were only names to Pascoe, but others he recognized. Halfdane; Marion Cargo; and Ellie herself.

"That's a bit unnecessary, isn't it?' he said.

Ellie shrugged.

"Halfdane's idea, I've no doubt. You must have got even less sleep than I did."

"It had to be done quickly. We thought if the notices were there for the students to see first thing this morning, it might help to cool things down."

Pascoe laughed without humour.

"Cool things down! You've got to be joking! People like Cockshut will be delighted when they see this. It's carte blanche for anarchy."

"Piddle diddle,' said Ellie lightly. ' are an old reactionary now, aren't you? You've forgotten what it's like to be young."

He looked at her coldly.

"Don't try to kid me, Ellie,' he said. ''re no political animal.

You'd better watch yourself. It's very easy for single women in places like this to mistake sentimental maternalism for radical idealism. But I don't think you're as far gone as that, though there's always the danger. Then what is it you're after? Pretty boy Halfdane's approval?"

She slapped his face, almost dispassionately.

"You can go to jail for that,' said Dalziel's voice behind them. The fat man shouldered his way between them and read the notice.

"Bloody cloud-cuckoo-land,' he said. ' all live in bloody cloud-cuckoo-land. Come on in, Sergeant. We've got a real job to do."

Jesus wept! thought Pascoe as he went inside, not looking back at Ellie, what strange allies we find ourselves lined up with! Dalziel, Disney, Dunbar, Scotby, all the oldies, all the wrong reasons, but facing in the same direction.

"Bloody students,' groaned Dalziel, once they got inside. ' social reform and young idealism on the surface, but give ' half a chance and they're just young criminals." "Protest is hardly criminal,' said Pascoe mildly.

"Not protest, no. But I've just been talking to Landor. The stuff that's missing from the admin, block! I warned '. Mostly small stuff, but a typewriter's gone. And some bright spark broke open all three college posting boxes last night and tore up half the mail. Isn't that criminal?

And the kind of thing they've scribbled around the place and left in typewriters for sixteen-year-old typists to find doesn't bear repeating."

He shook his head in what seemed like genuine bewilderment. Pascoe felt an impulse to cluck sympathetically but checked it. Dalziel's gloom changed into a huge yawn.

"To hell with ',' he yawned. ' doesn't want us officially, so we'll just stick to our brief. Now, the question is, do we still have a case to investigate or don't we?"

"Pardon?"

"A good suspect for one, possibly two murders goes and gets himself killed. Very convenient, saves the state a lot of money, us a lot of bother. I want to be convinced he did at least one of ', preferably both. So convince me, Sergeant."

He settled himself comfortably in his chair, picked up the phone, dialled, and said, ' Dalziel, love. Breakfast for two in the old study. Kippers are fine. '."

"The only thing we've got that connects Fallowfield with Miss. Girling," said Pascoe, ' the coincidence that he was interviewed on the nineteenth of December. Presumably he was offered the job on the spot, accepted, shook hands all round, collected his gear and headed for the station."

"Or he might have had a car?"

"That makes it worse. If he did knock old Girling on the head while he was here, presumably he drove her car a hundred miles to the airport leaving his own here. How did he pick it up without being noticed?"

"Good point. Check with whoever keeps details of expenses paid. They might still have a record of whether he got his train fare or a car allowance."

"In any case, why? As far as we know, he had no previous acquaintance with the woman. How do you work up a motive in a few hours, especially to kill a woman who's just offered you a job? No, I think he's a non-starter there, sir. It's the mouldy-oldies who were here at the time who are our best bet."

"You're not helping much, lad,' said Dalziel sadly. ''ll have to stick with it. The other one looks better though."

"Yes, sir. But it still puzzles me why he would publicly accept her allegations that he had seduced her when he patently hadn't."

"But he obviously wasn't going to agree he had fiddled her marks to get her out of the place." "No,' said Pascoe thoughtfully. ' might be a motive there. He didn't give a damn about his reputation, but he wasn't going to lose his career so easily."

"Still, why did she send him that note? And why above all did he never deny they had been lovers?"

"And who wrecked his flat? And why?"

They were silent for a moment.

"That's the trouble with you bloody intellectuals,' said Dalziel finally. ' want answers, and all you give is a lot of bloody questions."

"Henry Saltecombe took Anita's note to Fallowfield,' said Pascoe inconsequentially. ' he's got a porkpie hat."

That'll really make them sit up in court,' said Dalziel. ' in!"

It was breakfast, brought, to Pascoe's surprise, by Elizabeth Andrews.

"Hello, love,' said Dalziel. ', eh? The fairest fruit of the sea."

Obviously encouraged by his tone and studiously avoiding Pascoe's eyes, the girl planted the tray on the desk and said in a low voice, ', what happened the other night, the dancing I mean, will anyone have to know about it? Like the bursar - or my parents. I wouldn't like ... " "I don't see why, love,' said Dalziel, slitting open a kipper. ' as long as you keep on bringing me food like this. What made you decide to be a witch, love?"

The girl's hand went to her mouth, a completely natural example of a classic gesture.

"Oh, I didn't want ... I'm not a witch ... not really, I don't believe ... "

"It was just exciting, was it? And of course, Mr. Roote's very nice, isn't he?"

She blushed deeply.

"Yes, yes. I think so. I just went because of him. I'd only been once before and then he ... went with me. And I thought it'd be the same. I'd rather there'd been just the two of us. But it was dark, and it didn't seem to matter. But this time, last Thursday, it wasn't me. He explained. It was a special one, midsummer or something ... "

Pascoe and Dalziel exchanged glances and Pascoe began consulting his pocket diary.

'... and he had to have someone who ... hadn't before. You see. It was the ceremony, that was all, he'd rather have been with me."

"My God!' said Pascoe.

"So it was Anita, instead,' said Dalziel quietly.

"Yes. It should have been. I didn't want to stay, but I thought if I went ... anyway, I was glad when someone came, before ... anything really happened."

"You all ran?"

"Oh yes. I grabbed my clothes and ran as fast as I could. It wasn't until later I found I'd left my bra and I wasn't going back for it then."

She managed a bit of a smile which Dalziel returned.

"I don't blame you. We'll let you have it back. You didn't happen to see who it was who disturbed you all?"

"No. I'm sorry. She was too far, just a shape - '

"She?"

"Oh yes. I could tell it was a woman, from the outline of the skirts, I mean. But I didn't wait to look closer."

"Well, thank you very much, my dear. If there's anything else you remember, just have a chat with me, eh? And remember, mum's the word."

He placed a stumpy finger across his lips and winked ludicrously. With a look of great relief on her face the girl left the room, still ignoring Pascoe.

"So much for Henry,' said Dalziel through a mouthful of kipper. ' he was wearing a kilt. Your breakfast's getting cold."

I'll just have coffee and a bit of toast."

"Please yourself. In that case - ' Dalziel transferred Pascoe's kippers to his own plate.

"Midsummer's eve,' said Pascoe.

"Is that special?' asked Dalziel.

"Yes, in a way,' said Pascoe slowly. ''s not one of the great witches' nights like Walpurgisnacht, April the thirtieth, or Hallowe'en. But it's pretty important. The eve of St. John the Baptist as well."

"Dancing girls and heads on platters,' offered Dalziel starting on his third kipper. ', Sergeant, you're not really taking this witchcraft bit seriously? It's just an ingenious method of getting lots of gravy!

Adds a bit of spice too. Like playing sardines at a party. No one says, let's all lie on the floor together and grope each other. No, you have an acceptable structure, a game. And you all end up lying on the floor groping each other. Remember? This boy Roote's just a bit more ingenious."

"Yes. Isn't he? And the virgin?"

"Variety is the spice. Imagine him telling that nice kid from the kitchen that he'd prefer her but the ceremony required he got stuck into someone else! What a nerve!"

"But she was a virgin."

Dalziel pushed his plate away and burped.

"So were they all. Once. It's not an uncommon state even in this bloody randy age."

"Yes, but still

"Drink your coffee, lad." Pascoe supped the lukewarm liquid thoughtfully.

"How about this,' he said. ' gets back from the dunes with the others, who were they? Oh yes, Cockshut and the girl Firth. Then he gets to thinking about what he's missed that night, to wit, Anita. He broods on it a while, and finally sets out to get what he considers his due, ceremony or none."