An Advancement of Learning - Reginald Hill 26 стр.

Pascoe turned to go.

Except the lady.

He turned back. It was one of the children, a happy faced boy of about six years.

No! said one of his fellows, a little girl slightly older, who managed to inject considerable scorn into her voice. That was at night. Oh bother! said the boy, smacking his left fist into his right palm with a look of mock-exasperation. s right. Sorry!

He jumped on top of the dog which didnt seem to mind, and the others followed suit.

With some help from the elder Plesseys, Pascoe brought him to the surface again.

Whats your name? he asked.

Davy, said the lad.

Which night was it you saw the lady? Can you remember? I dunno. Last night, he said with great charm but little conviction.

The night before last, said the little girl with quiet certainty.

Pascoe turned his attention to her as the more reliable witness, but instantly she became shy and tongue-tied, so he went back to Davy.

What time was it?

Very very late, he said shooting a sideways glance at his mother.

How late? Midnight, he said. were having a midnight feast. It was her idea.

He spoke very earnestly, pointing at his sister, but spoilt it by starting to grin as his mother looked accusingly at him.

It was nearly two-o-clock. Dark two-o-clock, I mean, not light two-o-clock.

She can tell the time, said Davy proudly. s got a clock.

Its an alarming clock, said the girl. wakes you up.

What about this feast, Julie? asked Mr. Plessey sternly.

It wasnt really a feast, protested Julie. should have been, but the others wouldnt wake up, only Davy.

And the lady? prompted Pascoe.

The lady whom they had seen going into Fallowfields house at two oclock on Friday morning sounded once Julie had modified Davys extremely sinister description very like Anita Sewell.

Happy, Pascoe offered ice-creams all round. He hadnt realized quite how many little Plesseys there were and how much the cost of ice-cream had risen since he was a boy. Perhaps, he thought not very optimistically, Dalziel would let it come out of their informant funds.

Only once more did he pause before leaving the beach. Something distantly observed from the corner of his eye tickled his consciousness.

He glanced to the side, did a double-take.

No, he hadnt been mistaken. The figure was some distance away, but quite unmistakable.

What on earth was Miss. Disney doing recumbent in all her tweedy glory among the hoi-polloi on this holiday beach?

Dalziel had initiated the hunt for Fallowfield very cautiously. For all he knew, the man was merely spending a weekend with friends somewhere, or perhaps even doing some shopping in one of the neighbouring towns. If so, he would come trotting back to Dalziel of his own accord and the superintendent had no intention of sending him to cover by advertising the eagerness of the police to interview him.

Nevertheless the wheels were set in motion, and what little information they had on the man was disseminated. It was very little indeed; there wasnt even an easily accessible photograph. In fact, the information consisted almost entirely of name, verbal description and car-make and registration number.

This last item produced almost instant results. Within the hour the car was spotted outside a garage only a few miles from the college.

Dalziels satisfaction when this was reported to him was short-lived.

Within ten minutes it was established that the car had been left for servicing two days earlier. Fallowfield had not been back to collect it.

Going by the book, Dalziel immediately diverted more of his men to checking local car-hire services, but he felt uneasy. Checks at bus and rail stations had already proved fruitless.

Pascoe on his return from the beach had found an attentive audience as he described Fallowfields night visitor.

So now you think Anita didnt get killed right after the dancing party split up, but got dressed and later went to keep her appointment with Fallowfield?

Pascoe was used to being appointed owner of theories until they became certainties, when they returned to his superior.

It could be, he said.

But why did he undress her after killing her?

Perhaps she was naked when he killed her?

Dalziel shrugged.

What for? Theyd never been at it before. Why start now? Or, if they did start, why stop and kill her before things really got underway?

Perhaps Fallowfield couldnt get underway. Perhaps that was the trouble. She said something

Youve been reading those dirty psychological books again, said Dalziel reprovingly. ; if he killed her in the house, then he undressed her and took her out to the dunes. Or took her out to the dunes and undressed her.

And brought her clothes back with him?

Yes.

Odd.

Its fairly straightforward compared with the rest of this business.

No, the interesting thing is, why did he undress her? Eh, Sergeant?

To make it look began Pascoe slowly.

To make it look as if she was killed right after the dancing. Which means?

Pascoe was there already, but diplomatically looked enquiringly at his superior. He overdid it ever so slightly, hoping Dalziel would wonder if he was being condescended to.

It means, said Dalziel ignoring the subtleties of Pascoes facial expression, means that he knew there had been a wild, orgiastic, Bacchanalian rout.

He brought the phrase out with mock-triumph.

Hardly Bacchanalian, Pascoe murmured, but Dalziel ignored him.

And that could tie up with those books, couldnt it? In Fallowfields room?

It crossed my mind when I found them, admitted Pascoe.

Well, lad, said Dalziel, you want credit for ideas, youll have to spit them out before I do, wont you? Now, you bugger off out there again. That tedious bloody games still going on, I think. You can tell by the roar of the excited crowd. Start asking around about friend Fallowfield. I dont want people getting ideas, you understand. Not yet.

But find out when he was last seen. Where. Doing what. Anything else you can. Use a bit of charm.

Someone tapped discreetly at the door.

Come in, for Godsake! he bellowed.

Hammer the bloody wood, will you? he said to the uniformed constable who entered. re a policeman, not a butler. From HQ, sir, said the constable handing over an envelope.

Right, said Dalziel opening it and glancing quickly at the contents.

Pascoe held the door open so the constable could follow him out. It would be quite pleasant to watch a bit of cricket, especially once the cooling breeze which often blew up in the late afternoon put in an appearance.

Theres one thing youve got to give those Krauts, said Dalziel.

Theyre bloody thorough. Sir? said Pascoe, stepping back into the room.

That Austrian fellow you were talking to at vast bloody expense yesterday. You must have interested him.

It sounded dirty.

Sir? said Pascoe.

Hes been doing some more checking round the hotel where Miss. Girling always stayed. And he came up with this.

He waved a sheet of paper in the air.

Sir? said Pascoe. This was getting monotonous.

That year, it seems, according to the old booking charts he unearthed, Miss. Girling made an extra booking in October. Her own booking was carried on from year to year, it seems.

Oh, said Pascoe, trying not to sound too supercilious. mean Miss. Mayflower? From Doncaster? Shes dead.

What on earth are you mumbling about, Sergeant? No, this booking was cancelled in December, at the last moment.

Someone at the college? said Pascoe. lord! You dont mean she was taking Disney!

No, said Dalziel. . Marion Cargo.

Chapter 13

Marion Cargo seemed more relieved than confused when confronted with this new information. Dalziel had half-expected the usual excuses and rationalizations didnt think it was important, was all so long ago, Id forgotten. In fact, he was half-ready to accept them. It was hard to see how the investigation could be helped by anything Marion could tell them. And when she had finished, he still wasnt sure whether he had been helped or not.

I should have said something sooner, she said, only her tightly clasped hands in her lap contradicting her appearance of complete self-possession. s nothing much to tell, mind you. Miss. Girling was very kind to me. I was a favourite, I suppose. She got me working on that statue. It was absurd really. Youth it was to be called! It cost a fortune, most of it her own money. She paused.

A favourite? said Dalziel softly.

Yes, she said. That was all. Nothing more. At least, I didnt think so. I still dont. But she suggested that I should go on holiday with her that Christmas. My mother had died during the previous summer I cant remember my father at all and I was temporarily with a very dull uncle and aunt. It was just a nice, thoughtful gesture. I was delighted.

What happened?

Miss. Disney came to my room one evening. Everyone was scared of her then. Not like now, students dont seem to be scared of anyone, but we were all frightened little mice just five or six years ago. Anyway, she started talking about me and Miss. Girling, about the holiday. I didnt understand her at first. But I began to get the idea pretty quickly. She made it sound awful, as if somehow was a bad influence on Miss. Girling! She got very worked up, not hysterical or anything, but full of indignation, all puffy and red. I didnt know what to think. She implied all kinds of things, even that Miss. Girling could lose her job because of me! It was absurd I know, but I was very innocent, naive I suppose. p

Disney left finally; I just sat for a bit, then went round to Miss. Girlings room. This was the last Sunday of term, I was about the only student left in the place, there was no one of my own age to talk to and in any case, I just had to see her. But all I could do when I saw her was blurt out that I couldnt go to Austria after all, something had come up. I suppose I expected an emotional scene, with tears, explanations, comfortings etc. But she just looked at me and nodded.

Then picked up the phone and started cancelling my booking, plane-seat and so on.

Did you see her again? asked Dalziel.