Error of Judgment

by Roy Lewis

  ‘Yes, sir. ‘

  ‘Did you get anything more out of your check on Peters’s background?’

  ‘Nothing new, sir. Just more detail than we had previously. But I don’t think there’s anything which is useful to us.’

  ‘That’s for me to decide,’ Crow said bleakly. ‘Is that the file there?’

  ‘Yes sir.’ Gates handed the file to Crow and waited for a moment. ‘Is that all, sir?’

  Crow was already reading the file. He raised his head.

  ‘Eh . . . what? Yes, get on with it!’

  Gates left, trailing a comet tail of affronted efficiency. Crow was unaware of it. He was reading the file on Peters and, as Gates had said, there was nothing new in it. Some details on the year before Peters had married his Lady Sarah caught his attention. The girl to whom Peters had been engaged was called Valerie White. She had been living with her mother and stepfather, whose name she had taken. It would seem that her mother had divorced her first husband, four years before Valerie died. There was a photostat copy of a newspaper report of the girl’s death — she’d been driving a car which stalled on a railway crossing. When the London express hit the car she hadn’t had a chance. There were some details of her background . . . employed as a secretary at Munson Chemicals (that would be where Peters had met her, probably, and she might even have been his secretary). There was nothing there that could be of any use for him.

  Unless Valerie White’s death had not been accidental. It would certainly have suited Antony Peters to have her out of the way — he got engaged to Lady Sarah within a year of Valerie White’s death. But such supposition was fanciful. Crow rose and prowled restlessly around the room. Lambert locked up in the cells, the Faculty heads still under suspicion, the drugs thing getting complicated by Sally Woods running away from home, and he was still wondering about Peters.

  He glanced at his watch. Six-fifteen. Time to get out, get some air, obtain a meal at the hotel. He closed the office door quietly behind him as he went out.

  * * *

  At six-eighteen Fanshaw finally got through to the desk sergeant.

  ‘Chief Inspector Crow? I’m afraid he’s just left the station, sir. Is there anything I can do . . . anyone else I can put you in touch with?’

  Fanshaw hesitated.

  ‘No, thank you, I don’t think so. It’s the Chief Inspector I wanted to speak to, about the Harland case, but it can wait until tomorrow. I’ll ring again in the morning.’

  Fanshaw replaced the receiver and stood in the hallway of his bungalow, peeling off his driving gloves. He dropped them beside the telephone and bent to pick up the pile of mail, consisting mainly of official OHMS envelopes, from the mat. He flicked through the envelopes as he walked towards the sitting-room, then placed them on the table before taking off his coat and helping himself to a glass of sherry from the decanter on the sideboard. He sat down and sipped at the sherry.

  He could have spoken to someone else at the station, that Sergeant Wilson perhaps, but he had felt a curious disinclination to do so. He was one of Her Majesty’s Inspectors of Schools and the activity he’d been indulging in was hardy consonant with his position or his status. He had allowed his curiosity to get the better of him and he had started behaving in a most Lord Peter Wimsey fashion, the amateur thinking he could do better than the professional policeman. Perhaps that was why he wanted to speak to Crow, and only Crow, for he felt that from Crow, he would get a sympathetic hearing.

  After all, he had discovered nothing definite.

  Interesting, certainly, and suggestive, but not definite. It could be that Crow would snort in derision at his theorizing, but he didn’t think so. The Chief Inspector might present a forbidding appearance but Fanshaw felt that the man had a warmth and a liking for human beings that was cloaked by that gaunt exterior — Crow was not a man who would sneer, or deride. Even the efforts of an amateur detective!

  Fanshaw smiled. It really was too ridiculous, a man of his age and status getting excited and intrigued by a situation to such an extent that he spent time — even official time! — trying to investigate a murder! How on earth he was going to be able to put on his official diary the mileage he’d recorded he had simply no idea. And the result of it all — would Crow say there’s no fool like an old fool? He didn’t think so . . . particularly if the information he had for the Chief Inspector was as relevant as Fanshaw suspected it to be.

  He sighed, glancing at his watch and reached for his mail. He’d better run through it before he ate the meal that Mrs Palin, his housekeeper, would have left in the oven for him.

  The first few envelopes revealed nothing of importance: notifications of promotions of office staff he did not know, an invitation to attend the opening of a school in his district, a statutory instrument on teachers’ pay, a copy of Trends in Education and two professional journals on circulation from Inspectors’ Despatch.

  He left the largest envelope until last. It contained a yellow Minister’s file and he groaned. That meant immediate action. The Secretary of State did not wait upon the digestion. Fanshaw opened the file and read the minutes it enclosed. The last minute sheet was from a Chief Inspector.

  ‘HMI Mr R Fanshaw

  You will see from the above minutes that considerable disquiet has been expressed by the Minister that the delicate situation regarding student activity at Burton Polytechnic would seem to have been exacerbated by actions of the administrative staff. There now seems every likelihood that a question will be raised in the House in connection with the attached letter below. The background to this is that a complaint has been made to the local MP Mr Collins, concerning this matter, and he intends raising it as an issue with the Minister in the House. We need to be fully apprised of the facts of the situation, but more important, I think you will agree, is the desirability of no repetition of the action taken by the rector, Peters. It would seem he has acquiesced or even encouraged industry in the sending of “spies” into the student meetings to obtain reports of the proceedings These reports presumably go on private student files and the students are incensed about this and the involvement of business interests. We are not concerned to enquire how the student making the complaint came into possession of the attached letter, nor would we normally be concerned in this matter at all. But the Office is hesitant about making a direct approach to Peters to suggest he desist until things ‘cool down’. It is suggested that his District Inspector might meet him and make the position clear. It would be helpful if you could see the rector as quickly as possible on this matter. The tenor of the discussion I leave to your own appraisal of the local situation.’

  The Chief Inspector’s usual scrawl appeared below the minute, with the date, and attached to the minute sheet was the letter mentioned. It constituted the evidence of someone having been sitting in at student meetings and making reports. The letter was not original, but a photocopy. There could be little doubt about its authenticity.

  STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL

  A Peters Esq., MA, PhD,

  The Rector,

  Burton Polytechnic.

  Dear Rector,

  At Sir Humphrey’s request I attended a meeting of the Student Action Committee which brought together some fifty other students. The meeting was addressed by the student leader Sadruddin Khan. My personal conclusions are based upon an admittedly limited knowledge of the local situation but they are as follows:-

  (1) Nothing that Sadruddin said could involve any question of a prosecution under the Aliens Restrictions Act, 1919.

  (2) Sadruddin’s speech revealed a very definite bias against the polytechnic administration but he revealed an equally violent reaction to employers in general and I consider that he is extremely Left Wing in his leanings. It is possible that a certain indoctrination of other students could ensue, since he is a persuasive speaker and seems to exert considerable influence during his speeches.

  (3) My suggestion is that the earliest opportunity should be taken to expel this student,
but only on obviously constitutional grounds. Examination failure is the obvious one.

  The attached notes give greater detail of the content of Sadruddin’s speech, and these are intended for your confidential files.

  Sincerely,

  There were no notes attached, though marks of pinholes could be seen in the paper. The signature was indecipherable.

  Fanshaw sat back angrily. This was too much! He saw no reason why HMI should become involved in a political quarrel of this kind, and he certainly regarded it as not his job. The Chief Inspector should not have placed him in this position . . . but he was stuck with it now. And it would have to be dealt with immediately. He rang the college at once.

  The girl on the switchboard at Burton Polytechnic put him through to the registrar.

  ‘Is Dr Peters in the college?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Mr Fanshaw, he’s not available this evening.’

  ‘When is the next student meeting scheduled?’

  ‘The Action Committee? I understand there is a meeting this evening. They seem to be very active this week and—’

  ‘Is any college or business representative attending?’

  The Academic Registrar was silent. Harshly, Fanshaw repeated the question and the anger in his voice provoked a nervous response.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Fanshaw, I’m not sure what you mean, and it’s all rather difficult—’

  ‘Listen to me! I know damned well that Dr Peters has agreed to people being sent into these meetings. I know it, you know it, and the students know it! They’ve got hold of letters on your files—’

  ‘But they can’t have done that, they—’

  ‘I’m telling you they have! And there’s going to be trouble unless the spy you’ve sent in is pulled out!’

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Political trouble — and maybe the students themselves will take a hand.’

  The Academic Registrar uttered several mild epithets and worried verbally at his dilemma but finally admitted to Fanshaw that a man had been sent in from the college to the meeting. A junior clerk this time, a man Fanshaw had seen from time to time. Fanshaw groaned. It was worse than he had feared. An office clerk!

  ‘Can you get him out of there?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, Mr Fanshaw, we’re short-staffed just now and I don’t see how I can send anyone else to—’

  ‘Forget it. I’ll be around to discuss this with the rector in the morning.’ Fanshaw’s tone was curt and he replaced the telephone abruptly. In an angry frame of mind he strode towards the hall cupboard and began to put on his coat. Mrs Palin’s dinner would have to wait. That young clerk would have to be pulled out of that meeting before trouble really started. If the students got to him, and grabbed his notes, the Minister really would find the bullets flying in the House.

  What a job for HMI to do, he thought disgustedly as he drove away from the bungalow. It was all a far cry from the academic life he had once known, before he faced the Civil Service Commissioners, almost twenty years ago.

  * * *

  The meeting was already in progress when he finally arrived. Like other student meetings of late, it was held at Deercliffe Hall and Fanshaw was surprised at the size of the turnout. There were about eighty people there, as far as he could guess, and it was quite obvious that feelings must be running high at the college.

  No heads turned as he walked in at the back of the hall. Sadruddin was speaking on the platform, waving his hand to emphasize points he was making, but Fanshaw hardly listened. The Arab’s voice was a sharp background to his own thoughts as he stared around him, looking for the clerk from the office. It was several minutes before he caught sight of him, and all the while Sadruddin continued.

  ‘ . . . we cannot allow the standards of the college to be seduced by the infiltration of Big Brother Business! The paths have already been pointed out to us in the last year or so, at the universities and the colleges; there is only one way in which we can get our voices heard; there is only one way in which we can obtain the evidence we need, to disturb even the Establishment. We must go in, we must seize, we must take upon ourselves the mantle of democratization and revolution! For what else is there if we do not move? Is there any chance of action by the academic staff? Are they jealous enough of their positions? I tell you, if we leave it to them, all we will hear is the dull thuds of academic knives in academic backs as they struggle in the corridors of pseudo-power for the largesse that industry and commerce bestow upon them, forgetting the price that they will have to pay for such munificence!’

  The clerk was sitting at the end of a row, at the side of the hall. At least he had had that much sense, but there were students behind him, and his attempts to hide the fact that he was taking notes only made more obtrusive the nature of his activity. Even so, the students about him were so taken up with Sadruddin’s vehement outbursts that they appeared not to have noticed what the clerk was doing. The sooner Fanshaw got him out of there the better. Provided it could be done quietly.

  Fanshaw moved among the pillars at the back of the hall until he stood directly in the shadow of one, opposite the young clerk. For a few minutes he tried to capture his attention but it was to no avail. The clerk was too concerned with getting his notes completed and could not be distracted. Fanshaw fumed, getting hotter as he waited. One or two students at the back glanced curiously in his direction and he knew that if he didn’t get the man out soon something would happen, and violently.

  But Sadruddin was reaching the climax of his speech to the Action Committee. He was advocating total war against the administration, he was advocating violence, he was advocating anarchy, and all in the interests of academic purity and autonomy. It was an interesting, explosive and well-argued thesis that would find few dissenters in this hall, Fanshaw suspected. But he was not interested in following the argument through.

  Sadruddin was ending his speech, soon the tumult would arise, without doubt, and in the middle of the noise Fanshaw should be able to attract the clerk’s attention.

  This was how it turned out. Sadruddin finished on an almost hysterical note and a great wave of sound bellowed through the hall. Students leapt to their feet, hands above their heads, clapping, and the clerk stood up too, stuffing papers in his pocket as Fanshaw moved lithely forward until he stood at the clerk’s side. He gripped the young man’s elbow. A startled face turned to him, and he saw recognition in the young man’s eyes.

  ‘Come on,’ Fanshaw said abruptly. ‘Out!’ The clerk opened his mouth to say something but caught the urgency in Fanshaw’s tone. Someone jostled Fanshaw as he turned and began to walk towards the side of the hall but he said nothing. He glanced up towards the platform and Sadruddin was leaving it, his face flushed. But he was not looking at his audience; he was staring directly at Robert Fanshaw.

  The clerk was at Fanshaw’s elbow. ‘What’s up, sir?’

  ‘Let’s get out of here, with those damned notes!’

  Fanshaw turned towards the back of the hall, but suddenly a small group of students materialized near the doors. It was taking too much of a chance to walk past them; Fanshaw wanted no trouble, no confrontation. Already the noise was dying, Sadruddin had left the platform, and so, it seemed, had the other student leaders and the hall was beginning to buzz in some confusion. Fanshaw’s pulse quickened and he glanced around the hall.

  ‘The side entrance,’ he said urgently, and preceded the young clerk. They walked away from the hall and out through the side door into the corridor beyond. Fanshaw hesitated, then made for the swing doors at the far end of the corridor.

  ‘We should be able to get out this way.’ Another short corridor, turning left, but no exit. Back inside and they found a second door, barred, but easily enough opened. It led out into a narrow alley, running at the side of the building.

  ‘Right,’ said Fanshaw. ‘Get the hell out of here, and report to the registrar in the morning. If I were you, I’d scrap those notes before you see him. They’ll cause more
trouble than they’re worth.’

  ‘I don’t understand, sir.’

  ‘Reason not, just do as you’re told! I’ll see you at the college in the morning. Away with you!’

  The young man backed off, shaking his head and then he shrugged and walked quickly away as Fanshaw turned to close the door behind them. The heavy bolts clanged inside as they dropped automatically into place and Fanshaw breathed a long sigh. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the clerk had already vanished from the alley. Fanshaw rubbed a hand over his jaw and straightened his tie in a gesture of nervous relief. He began to walk up the alley. He thought he caught a pale glimmer of light from the last doorway on the left, but it could have been his imagination. When he drew level with the doorway he realised it was another exit from the hall. He heard a sliding, scraping sound as he walked past and his first reaction was that it was caused by a stray cat. But then the exploding stars came, and the numbing pain.

  And the rushing noise in his head.

  Chapter 5

  Wilson was waiting for Crow as he came into the station next morning. Crow took off his coat and frowned at the detective-sergeant.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve got a problem this early.’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. Maybe. There’s possibly a connection, but I can’t be sure.’

  ‘Connection? What do you mean?’

  ‘Mr Fanshaw telephoned last night, trying to get in touch with you. Wouldn’t speak to anyone else.’

  ‘Something to do with the Harland enquiry?’

  ‘Probably. Could hardly be anything else, sir.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Last night he was attacked, sir. In an alley, outside a hall in which a meeting of the Student Action Committee was held.’

  Crow sat down slowly, staring at Wilson’s stolid face. He picked up a pencil from the desk and toyed with it, caressing it with long bony fingers. In a soft voice, he said, ‘You suggest the attack might be connected with his call to me.’