Of course its not, she said. long as you dont mind. Look, come in. Im glad youre here. Id like to talk to you.
Obviously there would have been no point in Harolds remaining there for the moment anyway. Had he struck off at a right-angle and drifted through the evening air till he penetrated the next block, he might have found a much more promising situation.
Sandra Firth lay naked on the bed. Beside her, standing looking down at her, was Franny Roote, his shirt in his hands. She reached up and pulled it from him.
My word, he said. re impatient, love. Is it my manly charm? The others will be coming soon, she said.
He glanced at his watch as he took it off and put it carefully on the bedside table.
So they will. Perhaps we shouldnt bother?
She turned her face away from him and he laughed, undoing the heavy brass-buckle of his trouser-belt.
By the way, love, he said, were you saying to that nice fat policeman today? Nothing, she said, pushing herself up on her elbows. . I just wanted to ask, well, you know, what they were doing.
Oh, he said, still again.
Yes, she said urgently. just wanted to see what I could find out.
And what did you?
Nothing, of course. What do you expect?
I expect discretion.
Discretion! Dont you want to know who killed Anita! Her voice rose and he reached out his hand and caressed her gently.
Of course I do. Very much.
Something in his voice chilled her.
Listen, Franny, let the police do it. Its their business.
Everyone to his trade, eh? He laughed again. , you stick to yours in future. I thought I could trust you. Everyones getting all independent. Stuart thinks hes laying the base-work of the peoples bloody revolution. Now youre off Sherlocking about the place.
Im sorry, Franny. Really.
All right, he said, pushing his trousers down.
Harold would have been puzzled to observe he did not seem in the slightest degree excited. But Sandra seemed capable of remedying that.
Unfortunately once again there was an interruption, a sharp banging at the door.
Franny? Open up. Stuart here. I wanted to see you before the others arrived.
Hang on a sec! Sorry, love, he said to Sandra as he rolled off the bed. dont think I can concentrate with Cockshut listening at the door. Later, eh? OK?
With a blank expression almost amounting to despair Sandra rose up and began to dress.
Harold with a shrug of resignation would surely at this point have launched himself seawards to the more certain delight of bird-song and the golf club.
Miss. Scotby and Simeon Landor were strolling in the garden of the principals house, apparently admiring a fine display of roses. The house itself standing on the edge of the college grounds was only two years old. The long line of spinster principals had been easily accommodated in a flat in the Old House. But the ready availability of college-employed labour had already turned the garden into a thing of beauty.
Miss. Scotby and Simeon Landor were strolling in the garden of the principals house, apparently admiring a fine display of roses. The house itself standing on the edge of the college grounds was only two years old. The long line of spinster principals had been easily accommodated in a flat in the Old House. But the ready availability of college-employed labour had already turned the garden into a thing of beauty.
They had been discussing matters of college business. Miss. Scotby still held a writing-pad in her hands in which she had been jotting down notes.
Roote came to see me today, said Landor. polite. He expressed student concern. He said they were worried.
Arent we all? We must be careful. That boy Cockshut will be out to cause trouble. Rootes just a pawn.
You think so?
Yes. I saw him today. Cockshut. Mr. Fallowfield was passing. Some very unpleasant things were said. Mr. Fallowfield looks quite ill which was a blessing in a way as I dont think he heard them. But he ought to see a doctor. Ill speak to him, said Landor. its a hard one this. Hes still officially suspended, but now of course With the girl dead, concluded Miss. Scotby, s not much that can be done.
No. Well, I think thats all, isnt it? Shall we go in?
They turned back to the house. Behind a closed upstairs window, the pale gleam of a face was visible, staring down at them. Landor raised a hand in acknowledgement and it turned away.
Among the roses the principal and the senior tutor stood still for a moment before moving over the lawn to the open french window.
Nice of you to come back, said Dalziel. was beginning to think youd bloody well gone to Austria.
It wasnt as bad as Pascoe expected. Dalziel listened to his report with hardly a comment till he came to the end.
So, he said. re no further on? What about her car?
Pascoe was ready.
At the airport in the long-term car-park. Where youd have expected it to be.
You spoke to the attendant? Its five years, almost, said Pascoe protestingly. can you remember about that Christmas?
It was, to say the least, an unwise question. By itself it smacked of impudence when directed at a superior officer. In terms of Dalziels broken domestic life, God knows what significance it had. Once again Dalziels reaction was surprisingly mild.
Not much, he agreed. you asked?
Yes. Nothing.
So all we have is that Disney saw her drive off into the fog that night, and that is that, till her bones turn up back here two days ago.
What about the girl, sir? Anything there? asked Pascoe hoping to strike a more promising vein.
Not much. What there is is bloody puzzling.
Briefly Dalziel filled his sergeant in on the events of the day.
Thats very interesting! said Pascoe when he heard Harold Lappings story. sounds like a coven.
A what?
Witches, sir.
You mean black magic? That stuff? Perhaps.
What did the autopsy say?
If youre thinking its a nice ritual murder, you can forget it. It was a straightforward case of jumping on her back and holding her face in the sand till she stopped breathing. No frills. No white cocks, black candles or any of that howsyour-father.
No. Well, there wouldnt be, would there? Obviously something or someone disturbed them and it was after they all split up that this happened. Likely. The time fits, said Dalziel without much enthusiasm.
Do we know who else was in on it? asked Pascoe.
Nothing definite. Ive a feeling this girl, Firth, can tell us something. But everyone seems to have shut up tight as a virgins knees.
Weve been asking around. Nothing. Landor expresses amazement at the thought of such goings-on. Im beginning to think hes as wilfully blind to realities as Disney and Scotby. Perhaps more.
Moodily the superintendent pulled a bottle of scotch and a couple of glasses out of a desk drawer. He filled them both and pushed one towards Pascoe who took it quietly and raised it to his lips.
He had seen this pessimistic, almost self-doubting mood come upon his superior before but was still at a loss how best to deal with it. Nor was he certain whether his presence at these sessions was a mark of favour or a potential source of disfavour when Dalziel recalled his own weakness.
The sun was still bright outside, though now the shadows lay long. Very distantly there came the mumble of thunder.
The sound seemed to rouse Dalziel.
Look, he said. ve a feeling Im missing something about this bloody place. Perhaps thats what comes of leaving school at fourteen. I talked to those buggers this morning but Im not sure we really made any contact. Theyre meant to be educating these kids about society, but all the time I could feel they didnt trust me themselves. Not that I give a toss about that. Im not looking for love.
Pascoe essayed an expression which he hoped could pass for either amused appreciation or serious agreement depending on what Dalziels comment required.
But it worries me, not knowing what makes the place tick. I thought I had it sorted out. An old guard, represented by Disney and Scotby and what-have-you, and a new guard represented by Landor and his supporters.
Reaction and radicalism. Christ, I come from a good trade-union background, I know all about that. But suddenly people start making nasty cracks at Landor, as if he belongs in the dark ages. And hes obviously shit scared of the students. Someone wants to tell him about appeasement in the thirties.
He has a degree in history, I believe, ventured Pascoe.
Christ, whats that mean? Flint axes, stately homes and kitchen gossip!
Thats the trouble, most of these sods have spent all their bloody waking lives in schools and colleges and universities. Its all inbreeding, like a Welsh village
Dalziel refilled his glass but didnt offer a second helping to Pascoe.
It was pure malt, Glen Grant, and not to be wasted.
I dont think youre quite fair, said the sergeant diffidently. s the nature of the institutions which matters rather than peoples backgrounds. Youre bound to get a certain special kind of underlife developing. Like in a prison.
Dalziel studied the analogy for a moment.
You mean therell be gangs? tobacco rings? that sort of thing?
Not quite the same, but something like it. Initiation ceremonies for instance. An encouragement to belonging, a threat to not belonging. Food fiddles. Gambling schools. Witches covens even.
But OK so that could happen, well, but why isnt something done? I mean, there are rules. Who knows? If you know, then a hell of a lot of other people must have worked it out too. Of course, said Pascoe impatiently. knowing and acting, or even admitting are different things. No, said Dalziel, finishing his drink once more. sounds well, theres something not right. It isnt a prison after all. They dont seem to have any rules at all here! Perhaps not, said Pascoe. in a place like this, it can be more than just rule-breaking. There must exist whole areas of shadow where self-deception is necessary because clarity would be too awkward to deal with.
Dalziel slapped his broad knee violently, evidently found it pleasurable, and did it again.
Dalziel slapped his broad knee violently, evidently found it pleasurable, and did it again.
Like me at school!
Pardon?
When I was a lad at school, about ten, I was supposed to be an innocent little boy, playing football and so on with other innocent little boys.