Finally there was a strange noise from the receiver which might have been a polite cough squeezed and contorted through several hundred miles of telephone cable.
Say, Sergeant, how would you like it if I tried my English out on you?
Its a vanity of mine and Id appreciate the practice.
The shame of the moment was almost lost in Pascoes surprise that the words were spoken with a strong American accent.
That would be fine, he said, with relief. He hoped the operator was not listening in.
The only difficulties now were minor variations of American usage soon overcome.
We checked out the airport and the hotel without much joy from either.
No records of arrivals here are kept for so long and I cant discover that anyone made a formal check that your Girling did in fact arrive that night. Why should they? If someone gets listed as dead, and they aint, youd think theyd come running, wouldnt you?
What about the baggage?
It seems the hotel bus was expecting a full load that night, both from the rail-station and the airport. Its a distance of about fifty kilometres from Innsbruck to Osterwald. Some of the guests arrived both at the station and the airport well before midnight. We know this because when they realized they werent going to get on their way till well into the morning because of the delays in the English flights, some passengers insisted on hiring cars to take them or spending the night in Innsbruck and being picked up the following day. They were the lucky ones, the way things broke. Anyhow, they filled us in on the story at the time.
Look, Lieutenant, could the coach-driver have picked up Miss. Girlings luggage without picking up Miss. Girling?
It was a silly question. It must have happened unless someone had dug Al out of an Austrian avalanche and smuggled her back to England to bury her under her own memorial.
Yeah. Why not? Itd be labelled. Do I gather youve got a corpse you think might be this dame?
It was a silly question. It must have happened unless someone had dug Al out of an Austrian avalanche and smuggled her back to England to bury her under her own memorial.
Yeah. Why not? Itd be labelled. Do I gather youve got a corpse you think might be this dame?
Thats right.
You dont say! Now your other questions. No, her passport wasnt in the baggage removed from the wreck. It seemed likely shed have it in her hand-luggage which would be with her in the coach. At least, thats what was thought at the time. They got the drivers body out and a list.
Girlings name was on it, and ticked off. But that might just have meant the luggage in the light of what you say. And thats about it. Oh, said Pascoe. He was sure there was something else he ought to ask before cutting off finally (at least it seemed an act of finality) this connection.
Hey, you still there?
Yes.
At the hotel there was evidently another dame, a particular buddy of Girlings. It seems a group of them, half a dozen or more, used to meet up for the winter sports every Christmas vacation, but this one was a special friend. And they usually travelled together, the manager thought. Did she now? said Pascoe with interest. dont suppose
You want her name? Miss. Jean Mayflower. Like an address? Its old; she stopped coming after your girl bought it. 17, Friendly Villas, Doncaster, Yorkshire. Got it?
Got it. Many thanks. I dont suppose the hotel had any correspondence from Miss. Girling herself?
Oh no. I checked. All they had was a confirmatory note from her travel agent. He did all the arranging every year. I dont suppose
said Pascoe again.
Hey, I like that
I dont suppose, I can use it. Wait. Ive got an address. Super-Vacs Ltd, Harr-oh-gate, that make sense?
Very much so, I cant say how grateful we are.
Think nothing of it. It breaks the routine. Lets know how you make out, huh? I mean, if she aint at the bottom of that ravine, then thats one less cadaver weve got lying about.
I will. Goodbye.
OK. Grussgott:
Oh, I will, I will, thought Pascoe as he heard the receiver go down 900 hundred miles away. Public money well spent!
Are you finished? asked the cool, efficient, female voice.
Oh no, said Pascoe in a husky, passionate whisper. re just starting.
The line went dead. He replaced the receiver with a smile.
Perhaps things were beginning to break for him after all.
Sandra Firth had been a grievous disappointment. Something somewhere had gone wrong. She had carried on for a while in the cool, self-possessed manner in which she had started, but after offering a brief outline of her own background and position in the college, there had been a hiatus.
Finally Dalziel had tried his earlier bluntness once again.
Look, he said. , Miss. Firth, whatever you want me to call you, if youve got something to say, then say it. If you havent, then were wasting each others time.
I just wanted to find out, she began. mean I was a friend of Anitas So you said. Were you with her last night?
No! she said sharply. mean, when?
Any time?
No.
Wasnt there a party on somewhere?
Pascoe had mentioned the emptiness of the bar to him earlier.
No. Again very sharply.
Nowhere? You surprise me. I thought there were always parties!
Not that I was at, I meant.
Exasperated, Dalziel struck the desk with the flat of his hand.
Is there anything you do know about these murders?
Murders? She stressed the plural.
Thats right. Theres been two.
She looked at him frightened.
Your friend, Miss. Sewell. And Miss. Girling, the late principal.
Oh, that. She laughed, relieved.
Doesnt that matter? he asked.
No. I didnt mean that. I mean, we didnt know her, so it didnt bother me when the name came up. It was interesting really, rather than tragic.
When the name came up, echoed Dalziel. does that mean?
Nothing really, she said.
Why were so many students certain it was Miss. Girlings body? persisted Dalziel.
No reason. Oh, it was nothing. Coincidence, I expect. Its just that some of us them play around with the wineglass thing. And the letters. Or a ouija board.
You mean, you had a seance? Asked the bloody spirits? asked Dalziel incredulously.
Thats right. Not really a seance, just a bit of fun.
And it this thing told you it was Miss. Girling? Yes, she said defiantly. spelt it out quite plainly.
Well, laughed Dalziel. d better ask it about your friend!
Something about her silence made him lean forward and peer closely into her face.
Youre going to, arent you? he said gently. Then with greater violence, t you?
I dont know. We might!
My God, he said sadly. think of the money thats being spent on educating your tiny minds.
She stood up, breasts swinging disturbingly.
Thanks for seeing me, she said. Ill be off now. I have a lecture. You didnt do it, did you? he said shaking his head.
Do what? She looked frightened.
Tell me what you wanted to tell me. Or ask me what you wanted to ask.
Why not? Im sorry if Ive put you off. Why not sit down, lass, and lets try again? For a second he thought she was going to agree but after only a perfunctory knock, the door burst open and Kent strode in, his face awash with good tidings.
Excuse me, sir, he said. weve come up with something, a chap who was out along the dunes last night and saw something which could be relevant.
Through the open door, Dalziel saw a white-haired man, with a sun-darkened face in which a pair of bright blue eyes flickered and darted glances of alert interest at the scene before him.
Its a Mr. Lapping, continued Kent, but Dalziel raised his hand in a silencing gesture.
If you could just hang on a moment, Inspector, he said with suspicious gentleness. m rather busy No. Dont bother about me, said Sandra. m finished, and I have to go anyway. Goodbye.
Head bowed so that her hair covered her face, she walked quickly from the room, past the old man who turned to look at her with undisguised interest.
What was she going to tell me? wondered Dalziel. If only that fool Kent hadnt come in But it was more than just the interruption, he felt.
It was the content of the interruption, perhaps Will you see Mr. Lapping now? asked Kent. There was little choice. The old man had wandered into the room and was peering around with interest.
Round his neck hung a large pair of binoculars. Dalziel sighed inwardly, wondering what Kent had let him in for.
But two minutes later as the old man described what he had seen the previous night, all his little half-formed plans for tearing Kent limb from limb had disappeared.
Harold Lapping told his tale with great gusto, not disguising his wholehearted enjoyment of the show he had so unexpectedly stumbled upon.
Ahd niver seen owt like it. Niver in all me days. Some on had paps asd have made World Cup footballs! He paused, bright-eyed in reminiscence then his expression became sombre.
But when ah heard about that lassie
He shook his head distressfully.
Ah niver thowt, niver when they all ran it seemed a joke, someone walking by the shore like meself.
Reginald Hill
D amp;P02 An Advancement of Learning
Ill
He paused as though to study the implications of his last remark.
Like meself, he repeated sadly. expect he were.
I doubt it, said Dalziel in his kindly tone, cursing Kent once again for an unthinking fool. What kind of checking on this old man had he done? Was there enough strength in those thin arms to hold a well-built young woman face down in the sand till she choked? Enough desire in that seventy-year-old body to drive him to such a deed?
You saw someone? he asked, breaking the silence which was beginning to run on too long.
Ay. Just a glimpse through the glasses. Just afore they all ran. Just an outline.
Well? said Dalziel.
Nay. Its no good, said the old man sadly. was just an outline, like ah felt him.
He nodded at Kent who smiled encouragingly.
The hat, said Kent.
Oh ay. The hat. This fellow that ah saw, or it mightve bin a woman, wore a hat. A
He made a gesture over his head.
Pork pie, said Kent. did some drawings, didnt we, Mr. Lapping? A pork pie hat.
That was that. A mysterious figure in a pork pie hat disturbing what sounded like a Roman orgy. It might mean something or nothing. It was very intriguing whatever it meant.