And was it?
I said it might be. He was out.
Having his hair done or riding? Is it a dirty private joke? asked Dalziel. , hes on his way here for lunch with Landor. Theres a cricket match this afternoon, college versus the locals. Landors bent on keeping up the appearance of normality. So well see him then. And the others likely. Meanwhile
Yes, sir?
You can catch up on your reading. This is what I got out of Roote last night. While you were busy.
According to Frannys statement, a small group of students, Anita Sewell among them, had gone down to the beach for a midnight bathing party. No, there hadnt been anything odd or sinister going on. Witches dances? That was absurd. Mr. Lapping must have mistaken some very ordinary dancing he was an old gentleman, wasnt he? Music? Yes, they had had a transistor. There was always pop music on the radio, no matter what time. As for nudity, well some of them wore very skimpy costumes. At night, from a distance Why did the party break up? Somebody disturbed them. It was silly really, they werent breaking the law, just a couple of silly college regulations perhaps, if that. But it was dark, and late, and someone panicked and ran. Then they all grabbed their clothes and made off. It was a bit of fun. Exciting. That was all. They mostly stuck in groups, no one wanted to be alone. Hed been with Stuart Cockshut, Sandra Firth and a couple of others. All the time? Yes, all the time and all the way back to college. Theyd had coffee in Sandras room. Sat and talked for half an hour. No, he couldnt remember noticing what Anita did when they scattered. Perhaps one of the others certainly he would make out a list of their names.
Anything there, sir?
I should be very much surprised. Ive got a couple of the lads sorting round them; theres always a chance. I went back to see the girl Firth, and Chairman Cockshut last night. They confirmed Rootes story.
Is it true then?
Dalziel snorted contemptuously.
Youre joking! No, our Mr. Lapping had it right, I reckon. Harmless dancing indeed! There was obviously some kind of pretty abandoned sexual rollicking going on. I dont know what were coming to. But the important bit, about the party breaking up, and Roote and the others coming back here, now thats true, Id say. The girl was too obviously relieved when she got on to that bit of the story. She might as well have stuck up a notice saying, Here endeth the lies and beginneth the truth! So were nowhere. What do you reckon happened? asked Pascoe. runs off into the night without a stitch on, comes back for her clothes a short while later when things are quiet, meets Mr. X, perhaps the one who interrupted them in the first place, and is quietly done to death? Thats a good question, said Dalziel. youll try leaving a bit to answer in future. Anyway, you didnt tell me in your question what happened to her clothes.
X took them.
Why?
Kinky?
Dalziel shook his head.
This doesnt smell like a kinky one to me. Look, get Roote, Cockshut, any of them that were in on this bathing party. No, not the lot, any one of them. Ill pick up Mr. Lapping and well all go and see exactly where it was they were dancing. I want to see how far it was from where the girl was found.
Right, sir, said Pascoe.
Outside he met one of the constables Dalziel had set to checking up on the names on Franny Rootes list.
Anything? Not a glimmer, Sarge, said the young man lugubriously.
Anything? Not a glimmer, Sarge, said the young man lugubriously.
All right. Look, take a quick walk up to the golf club and tell Mr. Kent the supers on his way. Make it snappy.
From behind the half-open door, Dalziel watched the scene with interest.
He too had noted Detective-Inspector Kents unnecessarily sporty looking outfit that morning. But now he nodded in approval.
He liked loyalty in junior officers. He was sure Sergeant Pascoe would have done as much for him.
Almost sure.
Miss. Disney and Miss. Scotby were very differently situated, and neither would have changed with the other for love or wealth.
Miss. Disney sat under a hairdrier like a science-fiction monster with a badly fitting space-helmet. For a while the dextrous hands and tongue of Neville, her favourite hair artist, had soothed her mind, but now with only herself and an absurdly frivolous magazine for company, her thoughts were beginning to chase each others tails again. She tried to concentrate on the only readable part of the glossy magazine on her lap the Reverend Ronald Rogerss weekly message to the housewife but even this was distasteful, quoting St. Paul in support of his advice to mothers on dealing with the sexual problems of the adolescent.
It would have been even more distasteful, however, to be where Miss. Scotby was. Her face animated in a way which few students would have recognized, she rose and sank rhythmically with the body of her horse as it cantered through the shallows of the outgoing tide. As it approached the groyne which was the usual limit of their outward ride, it slowed down of its own accord, but Miss. Scotby urged it on. Surprised, it scrambled over the groyne, sinking fetlock-deep in the drift of soft sand piled against the farther side, and Miss. Scotby was almost unseated. She recovered expertly, however, and brought her mount to a halt, facing out to sea.
In a moment she would ride back and experience once again the fierce exhilaration of the gallop. But now she sat in thought, a grey-haired little woman with a face long practised at keeping the counsel of the mind that worked so busily behind it.
To be confined in a hairdressing salon on a morning like this would have been a blasphemy beyond anything ever touched upon by Reverend Ronald Rogers.
But so very differently situated though Miss. Scotby and Miss. Disney were, they did for a brief time have a thought in common. It was a deep-down thought, almost unacknowledged, certainly never to be brought out into the light of day.
They each wished someone dead. But for only one of them was the wish to come true that particular day.
Pascoe was having lunch at the golf club with Detective-Inspector Kent, who in the space of a couple of days had established himself as persona very much grata in the clubhouse. His readiness to admire shots, exchange anecdotes, and sympathize over the malevolence of fate, had won golden opinions from the members.
Pascoes message had in fact been unnecessary. Kent had been going about his legitimate business when it arrived, but he appreciated the thought.
Sandra Firth had been the only student concerned that Pascoe had been able to pick up quickly. She and Harold Lapping had very soon agreed on the location of the midnight dance. No reference had been made by either to the difference between their two versions, but Pascoe noted with interest that Sandras nonchalant air was beginning to wear a bit thin under the amused glances from Harolds bright eyes.
The hollow in the dunes where Pearl had found Anita was nearly a quarter of a mile away, almost at the bottommost end of the golf course.
Some way from where she left her clothes, commented Dalziel.
Perhaps the killer picked them up and then went after her, knowing she wouldnt go too far, suggested Pascoe.
Why not just wait near the clothes? replied Dalziel.
Or she might have taken them with her when she ran and have stopped here to get dressed and then he came upon her. Perhaps, said Dalziel. m off after some lunch, then I think Ill watch the cricket. Thanks for your help.
He flung the last remark over his shoulder as he strode off hack towards the college. Lapping grinned broadly after him, Sandra looked thunderstruck at his apparent callousness.
Pascoe had been about to follow when Kent had issued his invitation.
It was a pleasant lunch. Kent had chatted amiably about a variety of subjects, with golf not unbearably predominant. Pascoe who had hitherto regarded the man as a slightly risible example of what not to be in the police-force, found himself enjoying his company. When talk got round to the case (or cases) in hand, he listened appreciatively to Kents assessment. He didnt say anything new, but he missed nothing out either.
Its motive were after, not murderers. Not yet. Motive. Its a truism, Sergeant, but its true. Find out why and youll like as not find out who. Agreed, said Pascoe, starting on his second pint. .
Your astonishingly good health, remarked Kent, before carrying on his theorizing. to find out why, it helps to eliminate why not. Take the girl, for instance. Obvious thing is sex. But he never bothered.
Never touched her. Now why not?
Perhaps it was a woman, suggested Pascoe.
Shed need to be a hefty one, said Kent. . Something else, I think.
Now whod have a motive for killing her, if it wasnt just a nut?
Fallowfield? said Pascoe.
Who?
Fallowfield. Lectures at the college. Dont you know?
His new-found respect for Kent began to evaporate. Somehow the man had contrived never to have heard of the relationship between Fallowfield and Anita. It would be Dalziels fault partly. He didnt believe in Spoon-feeding his men.
Certainly not Kent.
Pascoe filled him in quickly, efficiently. Kent supped his beer and chewed on his cheese and biscuits with a distantly worried look in his eyes. Finally he swallowed and shook his head.
No, he said. . Are you sure?
Of course.
His mistress?
He admits it.
Kent began to look really concerned.
She must have brought out the father feeling in him, thought Pascoe.
They can all look so innocent when theyre lying there, dead.
No, said Kent again. was a virgin.
Dont be daft. It said so in the medical report. A virgin. No, said Pascoe in a kindly voice. hadnt been sexually assaulted. Thats what it said. Not quite the same thing. A virgin. It said she hadnt been assaulted that night. And it said she was still a virgin. I should know. I read the bloody thing to the super.
Pascoe froze, his glass in midair.
You read it to him? he asked. t he look at it himself?
I dont know. Not when I was there. You know he hates to be bothered reading things himself. Always gets someone else to do it if he can, said Kent defensively.
A virgin? Youre sure? said Pascoe, adding as he saw Kent react to his tone.
Yes! But listen, Sergeant
Pascoe carefully put his beer on the table and stood up.
Thanks for the lunch, sir. Id better be getting back now.
Swiftly he moved out of the room before Kent could reply. It might have been a kindness to let him do his own reporting to Dalziel. But one kindness a day was enough for the likes of Kent.