An Advancement of Learning (9 page)

He went through to the next room where he found Landor leaning against a billiards table, sightlessly flicking a red between the opposite cushion and his hand.

"Hello, Principal. I asked for you in the college."

"Superintendent. I had to come up here. They had taken her away. I was glad really, I would not have liked to see her. As it was, I had to come through here and be by myself for a moment. That poor girl! Why her? On top of all her other troubles ... " Dalziel interrupted in his turn.

"What other troubles?"

Landor looked surprised.

"Didn't you know. Anita, Miss. Sewell, she's at present in the middle of an appeal against dismissal from her college course. She has - had - made certain allegations against a member of my staff ... "

"Oh, that. It's that girl? That's interesting."

"Why? You can't think there's a connection? Oh, it's vile!"

Landor turned away and with a single convulsive movement hurled the ball away from him down the table. Dalziel noted with interest that it went into the farthermost pocket without touching the side.

"What kind of girl was she?"

"I'm not sure. Who can tell these days? She seemed an amiable young thing, quiet, well-mannered, not one of our high-fliers academically, but intelligent. Then last Autumn term, there started a falling off in the quality of her work which soon reached serious proportions. I talked to her, of course. She appeared quite unchanged from the description I have just given you, agreed that there was cause for concern, could offer no explanation but gave assurances of renewed diligence, then went off and continued as before. We don't work on exams alone here. Course assessment plays a very important part in all our courses and it was clear by the end of the Easter term that she was in desperate straits."

"What did you do then?' said Dalziel.

"I wrote to her in the vacation suggesting she came up early to have a talk with me. She didn't reply. She didn't come early. Indeed she didn't turn up till almost a fortnight after the start of term. Her case was discussed at a meeting of the Academic Board. There was nothing else to do but ask her to go." "High time from the sound of it,' said Dalziel.

"We try to be humane,' said Landor coldly.

"And then she appealed to the governors? And brought out this story about ... whatsisname?"

"Fallowfield. That's right. She alleged that her relationship with him was the major factor affecting her work."

"Did he deny it?" "No,' said Landor sadly. ' admitted freely that they had been lovers."

"Is that unprofessional conduct?"

"In the eyes of some, yes. But not in any legalistic sense. Our humanity doesn't stop at the students, Superintendent."

"I'm glad to hear it. So?"

"She claimed also that they quarrelled, he wanted rid of her. And alleged that his assessment of her work in biology was unfairly weighted against her." "I'm a bit thick,' said Dalziel, scratching his pate as though to prove the point. ' couldn't someone else just have a look at what she'd done?" "Of course,' said Landor. ' has been done. It's of a very low standard. But just as important in that course is practical work, laboratory work done under supervision, experiments, dissections, that kind of thing. It was here that Mr. Fallowfield was most critical. It was here the suggestion was made that he had allowed his personal involvement to outweigh his academic judgment."

"Which could be serious for him? Real unprofessional conduct?" That's true,' said Landor. Suddenly he looked at Dalziel sharply. ' you can't think ... you're not motive-hunting, Superintendent?"

"We're always doing that,' said Dalziel.

The door opened.

"Can you spare a moment, Super?' said Kent.

Dalziel joined him in the other room.

"What is it?"

Triumphantly Kent held up a flimsy white brassiere.

"They've just found this. In some gorse bushes about two hundred yards from where they found the body."

"So?' said Dalziel.

Kent was a little nonplussed to find his own enthusiasm so little shared.

"Well, it might help to pin-point where the actual killing took place."

"If it's hers."

"Oh,' said Kent. ', of course. But it seems likely. It obviously hasn't been lying long." "No,' said Dalziel, taking it from him. It was slightly damp from the dew. But the metal adjusting rings and fastening hooks were bright and shiny still.

"May I see?' It was Landor, at the door. Dalziel looked at him in surprise, but held out the garment without demur. Landor took it between his thumb and index finger.

"No,' he said. ' don't think it's hers."

Kent opened his mouth and began to say something, but Dalziel silenced him with a glance.

"Now, why do you say that, sir?" "She, Miss. Sewell, was larger,' he said, enunciating the last word with meticulous precision.

"I see. Well, thank you, Mr. Landor."

He took the brassiere back and laid it on the table.

"Still, it will be interesting to find out who it does belong to,' he said.

Franny Roote woke instantly as he always did, with no interim stage of gradual revival. It was late. He was already missing his only lecture of the morning. Not that it mattered. It was only people like Disney who moaned about absentees. In any case as President of the Student Union, his official duties often kept him otherwise engaged. He smiled.

This morning, he thought as he dressed, Miss. Cargo. About the art exhibition in the Union building. That would do. An attractive woman, Miss. Cargo. He must keep an eye on her.

Someone tried the handle of his door. It was, as always, locked.

"Who?' he called.

"It's me, Stuart. Open up, Franny."

"Wait."

He fastened a single button of his white silk shirt, leaving it open from the throat almost to the navel. There was a speck of dirt on his white tennis shoes which he flicked off before fastening them, making sure the laces were nowhere twisted.

A careful glance in the full-length mirror fixed behind his wardrobe door; he held his own gaze steadily for half a minute; the door handle was rattled impatiently, but he did not move.

"Franny! For Godsake!"

He closed the wardrobe door and turned the key in the main door to admit Cockshut.

"Nothing is worth hurrying for, Stuart, love,' he said amiably.

"You moved as fast as anyone last night,' snapped Stuart. ', haven't you heard? About Anita? They've found her. Dead! Out in the dunes. Oh Christ, this is terrible."

He sat on Franny's bed and put his head between his hands. The other did not move but stood stock-still, a pale outline in the light of the single heavily-shaded lamp which was the room's only source of illumination.

"Can't you open these bloody curtains?' said Cockshut finally. ''s the middle of the bloody afternoon." "No,' said Franny. ' is an ambience I wish to preserve here.

Besides, now it is fitting. Tell all you know."

It came pouring out of Stuart. It was all over college. The plain fact of Anita's death was certain, and the place - there were policemen all over the golf course. The rest was rumour. Her body was naked, half-clothed; she had been drowned, strangled, stabbed.

"Take your pick,' said Stuart. ' are we going to do, Franny?"

"I must go and have a word with Landor,' said Franny. ''ll be things to do. The poor love won't know whether he's on his arse or his head."

"But what about the police? Shouldn't we ... ?"

"Anything we do must be a democratic decision, Stuart. Surely I don't need to tell you that? We meet for recall this evening. Then we'll talk.

Now I must act as befits a President of the Union. You, I suggest, should be thinking as befits a pragmatic Marxist. There could be a new basis for action here."

Cockshut looked at him with distaste.

"You're a cold bastard, Franny."

"No,' he replied with something like passion. ' live in balance. I am all I should be, but not in each part of me. There is no place for weeping in that part of me which wishes to survive."

Stuart shrugged his shoulders.

"You can't survive without humanity."

Franny laughed.

"Go and start a revolution, Stuart."

The door opened again and Sandra Firth rushed in, her hair more dishevelled than usual and a flush burning through her sallow skin at the cheekbones.

"Franny, have you heard? What are we going to do?"

Roote looked at her long and steadily.

"No-thing,' he said, giving each syllable a full value.

"Later we will talk. There are things we must talk about, you and I, Sandra."

The flush ebbed away from the girl's face.

"Stuart, we'll need a full Union meeting. Tomorrow night; no, Saturday.

Get the word around, posters up, you know the drill."

"Surely it's up to the committee ... ?"

"Oh, see them first then,' said Franny impatiently. ' arrange it."

"It's a bad night, especially at short notice. You might be pushed for a quorum." "Quorum forum,' said Franny. ' get the notices out. Right? I've got to go." He took Sandra by the hand and smiled at her, the smile lighting up his whole face.

"Don't look so down, love,' he said pressing her hand reassuringly.

She responded instantly, coming close to him, pleasure and relief in her face.

"Oh, Franny,' she began, but he interrupted her, still smiling.

"After all, you didn't even like Anita, did you? So why so glum?"

She pulled away from him, her face set again, and ran out of the door without replying.

Franny waved Stuart out before him, then followed, locking the door behind them.

"What the hell do you keep in there, Fran?" "Memories,' said his companion. The distillation of experience. See you later, love."

Stuart Cockshut watched him stride confidently away through the windy sunlight, strangely indistinct in the shifty dapplings cast by the old beeches which had survived the building programme. Turning back into the hostel building they had just left, he ducked into a plastic shielded telephone booth, an unnecessary movement for one so small. With the end of a pencil, he dialled the London coding, followed by a number he knew by heart.

"Hello,' said a non-committal voice at the other end.

"Cockshut,' he said. ' me speak to Christian ... Listen, Chris, we've got a situation here which might be useful ... "

The trouble with a college, Dalziel was finding, was that you had a hell of a job putting your hands on people. If they were teaching, they were reluctant to be interrupted and Dalziel was reluctant to provoke open antagonism. Yet.

If they weren't teaching, they might be anywhere. In their rooms if they lived on the campus; at home if they didn't. In libraries, laboratories, bathrooms, bars or beds.

There was a copy of the staff time-table on the wall of Landor's room but he gave it up after ten seconds. He found he was missing Pascoe.

There were plenty of other '-men', uniformed and CID, at his disposal, but Pascoe knew his ways and was at home in this kind of territory.

Kent he had left up at the golf club.

Landor had been in and out a couple of times. At first Dalziel had suspected he was going to turn out to be a '', but he was obviously doing a fairly efficient job of keeping the college in balance. The news would be in the evening papers, on the television.

Already reporters were beginning to pester. Soon it would be anxious parents. Dalziel had already arranged with the local exchange that one of the college lines was to be kept completely free for his own incoming and outgoing calls.

"I've called a staff meeting for first thing tomorrow morning,' said Landor. ' the staff are informed, it helps to cut down student rumour." "Good idea,' said Dalziel, uninterested. ' least I'll know where the bugg ... they are."

"I wondered if you could perhaps spare five minutes. Just a statement, you understand. It could help."

Dalziel laughed shortly and rudely, but stopped before translating the noise into words. It might not be a bad idea to see this lot as a group.

"Right,' he said. I'll try. Now listen, Principal, I'd like to get hold of ... "

There was a knock at the door, Landor opened it. Outside stood Halfdane with Marion Cargo coming up behind him.

"Oh, you'll do,' said Dalziel. Halfdane, aware now of Miss. Cargo's presence, stood back and indicated that she could go in first. She shook her head.

"Both of you!' snarled Dalziel impatiently. Together. And if one of you is superfluous to requirements, I'll decide." Landor smiled wanly at his colleagues and left.

"I'm Arthur Halfdane,' began Arthur. ' wondered if Sergeant Pascoe ... "He's away. Working. He has a full-time job. You'll have to make do with me."

Dalziel's supporters claimed his rudeness was calculated; others, impressed by his record, were willing to concede it might be intuitive; Pascoe asserted it was merely digestive.

Whatever it was, Halfdane didn't like it.

"No thanks,' he said icily. I'll wait till later." "Please yourself,' said Dalziel indifferently, looking at the young man's long hair with distaste. ' presume you're not withholding information relevant to our enquiries?"

"No. I merely wanted to ask something."

"Oh. And you, Miss. Are you giving or just asking?"

Marion Cargo was obviously not reacting very strongly to external stimuli. The expression on her classical features was brooding, inward-looking. She would never have won a run-of-the-mill beauty competition, but she had a fascinating face and a figure which invited speculation.

Halfdane, who had no further reason to stay, made no move to go but looked at the girl with open admiration. Dalziel was suddenly conscious of his paunch, his bald patch and his shortsightedness.

He scratched his right thigh viciously.

"I'm asking, I'm afraid, Superintendent. It's about Miss. Girling."

Another! groaned Dalziel inwardly.

"Miss. Disney screamed it was Miss. Girling when those bones were dug up.

It just seemed absurd, and I thought it was just the result of this when I heard the students talking about it later. They, the ones I heard, were certain it was Miss. Girling." Again, thought Dalziel. Interesting.