“She can tell the time,’ said Davy proudly. ”s got a clock.”
“It’s an alarming clock,’ said the girl. ‘ wakes you up.”
“What about this feast, Julie?’ asked Mr. Plessey sternly.
“It wasn’t really a feast,’ protested Julie. ‘ should have been, but the others wouldn’t wake up, only Davy.”
“And the lady?’ prompted Pascoe.
The lady whom they had seen going into Fallowfield’s house at two o’clock on Friday morning sounded — once Julie had modified Davy’s extremely sinister description very like Anita Sewell.
Happy, Pascoe offered ice-creams all round. He hadn’t 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 hadn’t 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 wasn’t 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.
Dalziel’s 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 Fallowfield’s night visitor.
“So now you think Anita didn’t 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? They’d 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 couldn’t get underway. Perhaps that was the trouble. She said something… “
“You’ve 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.”
“It’s 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 Pascoe’s 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, couldn’t it? In Fallowfield’s room?”
“It crossed my mind when I found them,’ admitted Pascoe.
“Well, lad,’ said Dalziel, ‘ you want credit for ideas, you’ll have to spit them out before I do, won’t you? Now, you bugger off out there again. That tedious bloody game’s still going on, I think. You can tell by the roar of the excited crowd. Start asking around about friend Fallowfield. I don’t 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.
“There’s one thing you’ve got to give those Krauts,’ said Dalziel.
“They’re 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.
“He’s 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? She’s 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 don’t mean she was taking Disney!”
“No,’ said Dalziel. ‘. Marion Cargo.”
Chapter 13
Profoundness of wisdom will help a man to a name or admiration, but it is eloquence that prevaileth in an active life.
SIR FRANCIS BACON
Marion Cargo seemed more relieved than confused when confronted with this new information. Dalziel had half-expected the usual excuses and rationalizations — ‘ didn’t think it was important,’ ‘ was all so long ago, I’d 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 wasn’t 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 didn’t think so. I still don’t. But she suggested that I should go
on holiday with her that Christmas. My mother had died during the previous summer — I can’t 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 don’t 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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. Girling’s 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 couldn’t 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.
“No. I was as miserable as hell all night and most of the next day, that Monday. Finally I plucked up courage to go and see her again.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t remember. About tea-time. It was dark, but then it got dark even earlier than usual that December with the fog. I tapped on her door. There was someone inside, I could hear voices.”
“Her door? Which door?” “This one,’ said Marion surprised, pointing to the door of Landor’s former study.
“Of course,’ said Dalziel. ‘ thought you might have meant her house.”
“Oh, she didn’t have a house. The principal’s house was only built when Dr. Landor came. Miss. Girling had a suite of rooms here, through that door and up the stairs.”
She nodded at the room’s other door which Dalziel had already tried and found to be locked.
“What happened to the rooms?”
“Oh, they’re used for other things now. A library storeroom. The bursar’s office. That kind of thing.”
Dalziel tried the door again. Still unsuccessfully.
“Interesting,’ he said. ‘ voices did you hear?”
“When? Oh, you mean after I’d knocked? I don’t know. One was Miss. Girling’s. The other was a man’s. There may have been two. They all seemed to be talking very loudly. I don’t think anyone even heard my knock, it was so timid. Anyway, it didn’t seem a good moment, so I crept away.”
“Did you try again later?”
“I meant to. But as I was walking over about an hour later, her car went belting by me along the drive. It was going very quickly, I lifted my hand, but I doubt if she saw me. I just stood there in the middle of the drive, feeling quite miserable, watching the tail-lights disappear. I think I’d have stood there for ever if another car hadn’t come up behind me. I was almost knocked down. I don’t think I’d have minded much,’ she said with a wry grin.
“Another car?’ said Dalziel. ‘?”
“I don’t know. I jumped out of the way when he blew his horn and he went on up the drive almost as fast as Miss. Girling.”
“I see,’ said Dalziel thoughtfully. ‘ that was all?”
“Yes. I went back to my room, then spent Christmas with my dull relations. I knew nothing about the avalanche till I came back to college in January. It was terrible news. I suppose I should have been relieved I hadn’t gone. Disney certainly thought so. She alternated between the tragic bereaved bit and the I-savedyour-life line. I was too numb to take much notice. I just hung on till finals were over in the summer, then got out, rejoicing that I’d never see the place again.”
“And here you are.”
She shrugged.
Things change after a couple of years. You grow up. I saw the job, it was a good step career-wise, and I was a bit curious to see the old place. It was quite a surprise to be offered the post in fact. I hadn’t really banked on it. But I said, why not? and here I am. Disney returned to the attack, but apart from that, it was very pleasant, till Dr. Landor decided to move the statue.”
“Miss. Disney bothered you again?”
“No, not bothered. She started by implying that her influence had got me the job, then began dropping in on me, going all girlish, “isn’t it nice that we’re colleagues now?” and “let’s tell each other secrets and talk about Al,” that sort of thing.”
“What happened in the end?”
She laughed.
“It was funny really. The others noticed, of course, and most of them sympathized. But it was only Sam Fallowfield who did anything about it.
I suppose in the end I’d have worked my courage up to the point where I’d have told her myself, but I’m not a very bold person, Superintendent. So I was very pleased when Sam took a hand. All he did was join me as soon as Walt came and sat beside me. And he called to see me a couple of times just after she’d arrived. He just sat and smiled at her, nodding sympathetically every time she spoke. After a couple of weeks, she gave up. I was delighted, of course. But she hated Sam. It was obscene to see how pleased she was after this trouble with the girl blew up. She went around saying it was no more than she had expected. I could have killed her.” “I see,’ said Dalziel, wondering if she was speaking purely figuratively.
“You don’t think there was any chance she could have put the girl up to it, do you?”
This was obviously a brand-new thought to Marion. She gave it careful consideration.
“I don’t think so,’ she said slowly. ‘ was a nice girl, Anita. I’m not saying she couldn’t be influenced, but not by Disney. No, I’m certain of that. It would need a very different kind of influence than a woman like Disney could bring to bear.” “Good,’ said Dalziel, standing up to show that the interview was over.
The move was abrupt, but, as Pascoe would have vouched, it passed for courtesy compared with many of his usual modes of dismissing people.
He watched with open pleasure as Marion uncrossed her legs and stood up.
“Thank you for being so frank, Miss. Cargo,’ he said.
“I’m sorry you had to ask,’ she replied. ‘ was silly of me.”
“Not at all.’ Gallantly he opened the door.
“Just one thing,’ he said as she passed through it. The other voice you heard when you knocked on Miss. Girling’s door that night. It was definitely a man? Or men?”
She hesitated, looking back into the study as if somehow projecting herself back in time to the point where she had stood outside this same door vainly waiting to be invited in.
“Yes,’ she said. ‘ a man.”
“But you didn’t recognize it?”
“I’m not sure,’ she said slowly. ‘ was somehow familiar. But it was so distorted, I couldn’t say.”
“Distorted?” “Yes,’ she said. ‘ anger.”
The cricket match was almost over when Pascoe finally reached it. He had been delayed first of all by the task of getting hold of Marion Cargo and escorting her to Dalziel. She had come without hesitation or protest, almost as if relieved. But Halfdane, still nursing his earlier annoyance, had more than compensated for her easiness. It had only been Marion’s own insistence that prevented him from following her into the study.
Pascoe had been tempted to question him very roughly about his last sighting of Fallowfield, but remembering Dalziel’s invocation of his charm, decided he would leave it till later and start elsewhere. So, leaving Halfdane striding sentry-like up and down outside the study door, he set off on his delayed
journey to the playing-fields.
He had missed the day’s main excitement, it seemed. Half-way through the afternoon one of the umpires, an elderly man with a gouty toe which made the time-lag between overs even longer than it usually is, had fallen into a kind of sun-induced trance at square-leg and had to be nursed back to consciousness with iced lemonade in the pavilion. Subsequently he had been weaned on to strawberries and cream and the prognosis seemed good. But his place had been taken by the portly figure of Henry Saltecombe who, determined not to suffer the same fate, protected his bald pate with an incongruous porkpie hat. The hat was the most interesting thing on the field as far as Pascoe was concerned. It would bear looking into, as the actress said to the conjuror, he thought.
His informant about the affairs of the day was George Dunbar who masochistically was hanging on to the bitter end, despite his expression of distaste for the game.
Perhaps he wants to establish exactly where he is, thought Pascoe, laughing at his own conditioned suspiciousness, but not dismissing the suspicion. ‘. Fallowfield around?’ he asked casually.
“Fallowfield? He’s got more bloody sense.”
“Oh. What’s he do at weekends then. Golf?’ asked Pascoe at random.
“No, he hasn’t got that much sense. Why’re you asking, eh?’ Dunbar glanced keenly at the sergeant who grunted noncommittally.
“If he’s wise, he’ll be at the quack’s,’ Dunbar went on.
“Quack’s?’ ‘ doctor’s!’ said Dunbar exasperatedly. ‘ you see him yesterday? Man, he looked ill. All this business must have been a strain. I reckon he’s heading for a crack-up, myself.”
He spoke with some relish.
“So you haven’t seen him today?”
“No. Not a sign. Now, why do… “
But Pascoe had already moved on.
He stopped trying to be subtle after a while, deciding that even if he just asked people what time it was, they would start wondering what this had to do with the investigation.
Only with the group of students round Franny Roote and Cockshut did he have any success. ‘, I saw him this morning, going towards college,” said a little square, ugly girl.
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