Someone shouted at him as he marched across a beautifully-kept green, and he broke into a trot.
Dalziel wouldnt be pleased. Kent would have some explaining to do.
But that would be nothing to the explaining that Dalziel would surely expect from Mr. Sam Fallowfield.
The reason the English love cricket, said George Dunbar in his loud, guttural voice, that it structures their bloody indolence. Or masks their machinations, added Henry Saltecombe.
Oh aye. You all like to think youre so bloody clever, sneered Dunbar.
Looking round, Pascoe had to agree with Dunbars theory, much as he disliked the man. The thinly delineated oval of spectators, in brightly striped deck chairs, others recumbent in the grass, was positively Keatsian in its projection of indolence. But, he thought, as in all great works of art, realism alone did not do the work; realism only existed at a single level. What was needed for art was the living symbol at the centre, and the almost motionless white-clothed figures inside the oval were precisely that symbol. Yes, it was more than just a demonstration of indolence, it was an act of worship.
But Pascoe also saw with a policemans jaundiced eye; and that part of his mind was very ready to accept the hypothesis that machinations were being masked.
Roote, for instance, and that little gaggle of students almost hidden in the tall grass at the end of the oval farthest away from the pavilion.
Reginald Hill
D amp;P02 An Advancement of Learning
They looked as if they were merely enjoying the innocent pleasures of sun on flesh. A bit perhaps of the less innocent pleasures of flesh on flesh. But nothing more. Yet he wished he could listen in on their talk.
Or Miss. Disney. Her deckchair as upright as it would go, her long skirt pulled challengingly low over her short, chubby legs. Her face showed nothing except the usual indignation at lifes insults it always seemed to bear. She spoke to a passing girl, Sandra whats-er-name, who paused, obviously reluctant even at a distance, shook her head twice, answered briefly, and moved on towards the Roote group. The Disney basilisk gaze shot after her, but, happily, she did not look round. What had been said? What was she now thinking? And why, even as Pascoe watched, did she stand up and stride purposefully away?
Or Halfdane, still to be talked with, but now reclining elegantly between two deckchairs in which Ellie and Marion Cargo were competing in a whose-leggoes-farthest competition. Ellie, he felt, was just inching ahead, but looked to have little in reserve. Perhaps he should stroll over and talk to them, but if Ellie still had ambitions in the Halfdane area, he was unwilling to butt in. Or worse still, despite the previous night, appear as a competitor. Though why it should be worse still, as memories of the previous night flooded back, he could not really imagine. In any case, the point was, what was really going on inside those three minds?
Or Jane Scotby, listening with the obvious dislike sometimes called deep interest to Mrs. Landors sparrowy voice twittering from under the eaves of a broad-brimmed hat, which was supplemented by a fringed parasol of golf umbrella dimensions. The principal himself sat slightly apart, though still in his wifes penumbra, and viewed the two women thoughtfully. Perhaps, thought Pascoe, he and Scotby are busily deceiving poor Mrs. Landor and even now are throbbing with frustrated lust after a brief passionate embrace behind the pavilion.
The thought made him smile but his policemans eye continued on its beat and the next tableau it paused at swung him wholeheartedly towards Henry Saltecombes view of the situation.
Two elderly gentlemen, one corpulent, bald, jolly, the other spare, white-haired, straw-boatered, their heads, wreathed in cigar smoke, nodding like mountain peaks through the mist as some piece of action in the central ritual caught their attention, their hands clapping, once, twice, even three times in moments of wild excitement; old friends relaxing together watching the youngsters carrying on in ancient, revered tradition.
One was Captain Ernest Jessup, chairman of the governors. The other was Superintendent Andrew Dalziel.
Of one thing Pascoe was convinced however involved in a ritual of indolence the others might really be, here at least there were mental machinations aplenty.
Not a bad sort of chap, Jessup was thinking. Self-made of course, with the stitching poorly concealed, but there was nothing wrong with that.
He himself belonged to a service with a long tradition of advancement through merit. And at least the fellow could relax. He had feared total interruption of his afternoons cricket when Landor had introduced the man. Not that he wouldnt have been willing to talk with Dalziel all day and all the next day too if it promised to help get to the bottom of this business.
But all was going well, it seemed. The assistant chiefs confidence in the man seemed justified (though he had been less than warm about his personal merits) and their conversation so far had been restricted to the field changes between overs. It looked like being a good game.
What a bloody way to spend an afternoon! groaned Dalziel to himself.
Rugby he could enthuse over, soccer could move him deeply, but these flannelled fools moved to a music too refined for his coarse ears. And the deckchair! A direct descendant of the rack out of the Iron Maiden!
He had not yet recovered from Pascoes news about the dead girl. That had come dangerously close to being a blunder. He didnt normally make blunders. He prided himself on being able to extract from all the usual scientific twaddle in these reports the few important facts. These generally confirmed his own observations and deductions. Or often there were none at all.
Pascoe would have noticed and subtly drawn his attention to it. But stuff Pascoe! He didnt want a kind of constabulary Jeeves hanging around all the time. Yet if poor Pascoe were to be stuffed, then what of Kent? Lash him naked in a deckchair with his back to the eighteenth green at St. Andrews during the Open? It would bear further thought.
As for the information itself, that the accusation made against Fallowfield by Anita Sewell could not possibly have been true, the implications were far from clear. Fallowfields reason for admitting the truth of the accusations, or at least that part of them which said he had been knocking the girl off for a couple of years, would bear investigation. But he had no intention of rushing in like the bear he was popularly reputed to be. With a bit of luck hed run into Fallowfield during the course of the afternoon, though there was no sign of him yet.
But this old goon on his right had to be kept happy for a while. He had been quite unable to remember a single thing about the meeting at which Miss. Girling had made her last public appearance. He probably had difficulty remembering the way home, thought Dalziel savagely and quite unjustly. But he had agreed to telephone the clerk to the governors who had promised to dig through the records and send any pertinent information to the college that afternoon.
Meanwhile an hour and a half, two wickets, and thirty eight runs had trickled away with agonizing slowness. But despite his discomfort and his boredom, Dalziel had felt curiously enervated and quite unable to rise from his chair to do something useful. In any case everyone was here, everyone that mattered. Nearly everyone. Big wheels were moving elsewhere, and all those who had left the college since Girlings death were being traced and interviewed. But Dalziel was somehow certain the solution was here somewhere.
Well hit, sir! boomed Jessup. think thats our man, Superintendent. Oh, yes, indeed. Very promising, said Dalziel.
By the pavilion. The man with the minutes, said Jessup patiently.
Lets go and see.
The shade of the pavilion was a relief. Dalziel realized his shirt was wringing with sweat; Jessup on the other hand in his absurd hat looked quite cool as he glanced through the papers he had been given.
No, Im sorry, he said. doesnt bring anything back at all, except very vaguely. Certainly nothing which might help you, Superintendent.
Though I see now why it was so late in the term. It was an appointments meeting and obviously we hadnt been able to convene the full interviewing panel earlier in the term. Miss. Girling would be eager to get things like this done as soon as possible, before the good candidates got offers elsewhere, you understand. Interviewing? said Dalziel sharply. what?
A post, of course. It was a short list, only three. For a lectureship in the Biology Department. Let me see, said Dalziel, unceremoniously removing the papers from Jessups hand.
Quickly he flicked through them till he found what he wanted. A list of three names. One stood out as though embossed on the paper.
Samuel Fallowfield.
Excuse me, he said, moving quickly out of the pavilion leaving Jessup tugging his moustache in exasperation.
Dalziels cry of ! as he strode round the outer oval of spectators almost certainly caused the fall of the third wicket. But by the time the angry batsman had returned to the pavilion, Dalziel had disappeared in the direction of the sea and only Pascoes head was visible as he went in hot pursuit.
Chapter 12
For many are wise in their own ways that are weak for government or counsel; like ants, which is a wise creature for itself, but very hurtful for the garden.
SIR FRANCIS BACONThe dismissed batsman was not the only one who noticed Dalziels sudden departure. Halfdane and his two female consorts did.
Perhaps hes off for a swim, he suggested.
Thats not a bad idea, said Ellie, watching Pascoe picking himself up from among the daisies.
She stretched herself voluptuously, back arched, breasts at maximum projection, legs at maximum exposure.
I wouldnt mind myself, she added, watching Halfdane carefully. She saw she had his interest.
Somethings happened to me recently, she thought. Suddenly Im a huntress! Ive been eyeing this poor bastard hungrily for a month or so now. Then last night; that was me. And what do I want anyway, for Gods sake? Some memories for a lonely old age? Or something permanent? Its too late for that with PC Pascoe, even if he doesnt know it yet. And Im not really going about it the right way with this one. Any lasting erection must have a firm foundation, so they say.